Jo scurried across the street, dodging bullets, bottles and scores of angry young men hollering racist epithets. Something had gone terribly wrong. ICE had left without incident. Their plan to protect the immigrant workers had been successful. When, suddenly, all hell broke loose. Her operatives had reported back and made it to the safety of her club, all but Willis. She was determined to get to him. Something was thrown that glanced her forehead. She slumped against the wall of the bakery, slightly dazed, as blood trickled down her face.

"Willis," she roused herself.

She stumbled to the door.

"Willis!" she called out.

"Jo?" he called back. "Get over here!"

He was crouched behind the counter. Jo fumbled her way over to him.

"What happened?" she collapsed beside him.

"I dunno', Jo," he spoke excitedly. "ICE left, the cops came in, I offered one a cannoli and he pulled a gun on me!"

"You pointed a cannoli at a cop?"

"Well, yeah. You know cops like donuts and all, but a cannoli was the best I could come up with here. Next thing I know, he says he's feeling threatened and pulls his gun! Well, I duck behind this counter so fast it was like I was never here! Then everything goes ballistic, Jo! What happened?"

"I think Trump's jackboots showed up."

"Jack what?"

"White Supremacists, Nazis," Jo clarified.

"Why would they start trouble here?" he questioned.

"There's no explaining their behavior, Willis," she winced as she touched her head.

"Let me get you some ice for that," he offered as he began to rise.

"No!" she pulled him back down. "It's not safe."

"Well, what we gonna' do now?" he questioned. "The door to the back room is locked. I already checked. We're trapped."

"Wait it out," she advised.

"What if they come in here again?" he asked.

Jo lifted her shirt to reveal a semi-automatic pistol tucked into her jeans.

"No way, Jo! We can't shoot people!"

"We can if they're gonna' shoot us first!" she fired back.

"That's not what we're all about," he offered as he placed a napkin on her bleeding forehead.

"Anyway…" she sighed.

"Anyway, how's the club?" he dabbed her wound.

"Are you kidding me? There's a police line in front of the club. It's their hangout!"

"How'd you get by them to get over here?"

She tilted her head and gave him a crooked grin.

"Told them I needed a cannoli."

"Oh my God!" Blair cried out as she watched the riot on television. "I've got to get down there!"

"And do what, Blair?" Cecil questioned.

"I, um, don't know," Blair put her hand to her mouth with worry. "Help Jo?"

"There's nothing you can do, Blair," he advised. "Just sit tight. I'll see what I can find out."

He texted someone on his cell phone.

"Well?" Blair looked at him expectantly.

"Give it some time, Blair. I'm sure Jo is fine. She is perceived by the police as a friend, remember?"

"Yeah, but, what if she got hurt or something? Without her knowing that we're on the same side? I just couldn't take that, Cecil!"

"None of this is easy for any of us," he reminded.

His phone chirped. He read the message.

"No fatalities. The police have it under control," he reported.

"This is under control?" Blair eyed the television incredulously.

"They have a lot of fire-power," he assured.

"That's what I'm afraid of," she glared at him.

"I don't know what you think you could do," he shook his head. "Aside from blow your cover."

"Oh God, I am so sick of my cover!" she complained. "Whose bright idea was it to isolate me from my friends anyway, huh?"

"I don't know, Blair," he sighed. "They probably just want you to be clean, above reproach, as far as the government is concerned."

"Meaning, they don't really trust me," she shot back.

"It's possible that isolating you from your friends guarantees that there will be no unforeseen slip-ups," he nodded.

"Meaning that they, whoever they are, don't really trust me!" she reiterated.

"Let's look at this logically, Blair. Obviously, you cannot be seen associating with your friends Natalie Green or Dorothy Ramsey."

"Oh no! The Jewish woman and the black woman?" Blair rolled her eyes in mock horror. "Obviously not!"

"I know," he sympathized. "It is repugnant."

"Still doesn't explain Jo," Blair pointed out. "She's supposed to be on the fascists' side, just like me."

"I just don't think they want you involved in that. Her role is quite different from yours. No need to muddle things up with past relationships."

"Muddle things up?" Blair was outraged. "She could be shot or injured or…"

"I'm going to find out where Jo is. I won't leave until we both know," he promised.

Natalie and Rachel sat at a small table in their prison barracks after their morning work duties were completed. They had acquired a set of playing cards in a trade for Lime Jell-O.

"What's it going to take, Rachel, to repair our country?" Nat inquired.

"It's a complex situation, Nat," Rachel shook her head. "There is a lot of damage to be undone."

"How do you figure it?" Nat asked.

"Got a five?" Rachel responded.

"Go fish," Natalie returned.

"It's more complicated than just the Russian interference in our democratic process," Rachel viewed her cards. "Congressional Districts have been gerrymandered in several states."

"Yeah, that does suck," Nat agreed. "Got a three?"

"Go fish," Rachel replied. "Beyond that, is the issue of voter suppression. Minorities have been purged from the voting roles in many districts. And after all is said and done, there is always the issue of voter apathy. People are just not participating in our democracy. Got a nine?"

"Damn," Natalie handed over her card.

"So," Rachel continued, "we are looking at a multi-tiered problem, as far as voting is concerned. We have minority rule, not majority rule, unless you count majority rule as those who actually vote. Got a king?"

"Go fish," Nat replied. "The issue of voter apathy is huge. Got a queen?"

"Add to that the voter machine hacking… and people just don't trust the process anymore," Rachel handed over her queen.

"Agreed," Nat sighed. "So how do we fix this?"

"At this point?" Rachel shrugged.

"Got a seven?" Nat asked.

"We are under a fascist regime. He has ceded all military decisions to the Pentagon, which really doesn't seem to matter at this point, as he is assembling his own private, for profit army. Go fish."

"So… you don't have a seven?" Natalie grinned.

"Nope. But at sixes and sevens seems to be where we find ourselves."

"He's going to call off elections anyway, you know that, right?" Nat gave her a look.

"Why should he? He's already got the system rigged in his favor," Rachel countered.

"Most people probably wouldn't notice anyway," Natalie sighed.

"That's a sad statement. I think maybe our system of government has played itself out. I hope folks are waking up."

"Do you think he's going to start up a SS kind of thing like Hitler?" Nat queried.

"I wish people would quit comparing him to Hitler," Rachel protested. "He's no where near that smart! No. He's going to set up police departments as his enforcement arm domestically. He's already, basically, done that: appealing to their basest instincts, most self-serving interests, and allowing the military to arm them to the teeth."

"So… no concentration camps?"

"Whadda' call this?" Rachel waved her arm at their surroundings. "Since the Fake News Sedition Act of 2017, we are pretty much interred in a concentration camp for reporters."

"I meant death camps and like that," Natalie clarified.

"Who knows?" her friend raised her eyebrows.

"I just know Jo's going to get us out of here! She's amazing, Rachel, a true fighter!" she enthused. "A hero!"

"I can't wait to meet her," Rachel gave her a smile. "You've always spoken so highly of her."

"George is amazing, too. He's smart and clever and so handsome, Rachel!"

"Well, I'll take your word on that, Nat," Rachel laughed. "But, not my type, to be sure."

"Oh, yeah, right. Well, Jo's not too bad looking, either. You two might hit it off!" Nat gave her a huge grin with a twinkle in her eye.

"I'm spoken for," Rachel smiled back. "But, thanks anyway."

"I wonder what's going on out there? I wonder what the resistance is up to?"

"We haven't had any word for days," Rachel agreed.

"Probably nothing going on right now," Natalie shrugged as she perused her cards.

"Yeah, I think it's mostly cyber-warfare at this point. Not much action."

"Got a six?"

"Go fish."

A rock came flying through the window of the bakery showering Jo and Willis with glass.

"Jo! Willis!" a loud voice called to them from within the building.

"George?" Jo called back.

"C'mon! Let's get out of here!" he made his way over to them.

"We're kinda' pinned down, George!" she was still shaking glass from her hair.

"I found a safe way out," he reported.

"Hey, George," Willis smiled.

"Hey, Willis," George grabbed for both their arms, helping them up. "We're going through the roof!"

"I like the sound of that!" Willis said.

"I don't!" Jo eyed them both.

"You wanna' stay here?" Willis questioned.

"No," Jo sighed. "Lead on, George."

"Keep your head down," he commanded.

"Why didn't I think of that?" she mumbled.

"We gotta' jump up there," he pointed to a trap door in the ceiling that was hanging open.

"Easy!" Willis took a running jump and caught the edge of the opening. He pulled himself up. "C'mon, Jo!"

"Um?"

"I'll give you a leg up," George winked at her.

Willis caught Jo's arms and pulled her up. George followed. Once they had access to the stairs at the back of the building, they made their way up to the roof. They ran across until they were at the edge.

"What now?" Jo asked.

"We gotta' jump," George informed.

"This just keeps getting better and better," she complained.

"It's like three feet," Willis shrugged.

"With a fifty foot drop!" she eyed him.

"You can do it, Jo!" Willis slapped her back.

"Ow!" she placed her hand to her still aching head.

"Oops, sorry," he shrugged apologetically.

"Oh my God, Jo!" George noticed the blood running down her face. "What happened?"

"I dunno'," Jo replied. "Guess I got hit by something."

"You don't look right," he examined her eyes. "Could have a concussion. Answer this: who's the President of the United States?"

"Don't remind me, George," she complained.

"She sounds clear enough to me," Willis offered.

"Her eyes aren't right, Willis. She can't jump."

"Well, I gotta' go," he insisted. "My little brother's over there."

"He's safe," Jo slunk down against the wall on the building's roof. "He's in the club."

"He'll be worried," he countered.

"He's a grown-ass man, damn it, Willis. He's fine!" Jo was adamant.

"I don't think anyone has ever called him grown-ass before, Jo. He'll appreciate that. But, I gotta' go," Willis replied. "So, what's the plan here, George?"

"Jump to the other roof, take the fire escape down on the other side, go through the side door at Goldman's Market. They'll let you in. Then go through the alley to the street. Cross the street, make your way to the alley on the other side and enter the club from the back."

"And don't pull any cannoli's on a cop!" Jo added.

"Good advise!" Willis smiled as he took a running jump and leapt across the buildings.

"There he goes," Jo waved as she gave George an ironic grin. "And to think, I came to save him."

He sat down beside her.

"He'll be alright," he put his arm around her.

"I know that," she nudged him as she rested her head on his shoulder.

He discreetly reached for his cell phone and began texting.

Blair had decided to call the masseuse back. She was awfully cute and lord knows it was the closest thing she was going to get to any physical comfort now that she was back home in New York. Maybe a full-body massage this time: something to really take her away while she waited for news on Jo. What else could she do? Cecil was right. If she went down to where the action was happening, she probably wouldn't find Jo anyway. And if she did find Jo, what would she say or do? Jo hated her now, just like the rest of her friends. She tried not to hate herself as the young woman dug hard into her shoulders. Her role in all of this was dirty, she felt. She was fake to people to get information. She allowed them to think she was someone she was not. She had left a beautiful woman in Paris standing on the street without explanation. Her life sucked.

"Oohh!" she moaned as the masseuse continued to work on her shoulders and neck.

"You're so tense today," the young woman noticed. "I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No. Are you kidding me? This feels great. I should put you on retainer."

"Actually, the hotel has put me on standby for you."

"Meaning?"

"You're my only client for as long as you're here."

"I like that," Blair sighed. "I should just hire you."

"Really?"

"No, not really. What's your name?"

"Theresa!" the young woman said excitedly.

"Well, Theresa, don't ever let a rich person like me try to co-opt you into something that might not be in your best interest just because I have money."

"Um, okay," Theresa was puzzled.

"I mean, you're good. I could set you up in your own business, if you want. So you could make your own way in the world, be your own boss."

"Really?"

"Yes," Blair laughed a little. "Really. But only if that's what you want."

"I've thought about it a lot," she responded.

"We'll talk later," Blair promised as she relaxed into Theresa's skilled hands.

Her phone vibrated. She gave it a quick glance: a text from Ivanka. She ignored it as the masseuse made her way down her back. Her phone vibrated again: a text from Eric. She had only left her phone on vibrate for news about Jo. She reached over to turn it off when she received a third text: from Don, Jr.

"What the hell?" she complained out loud as the young woman started massaging her ass.

"I'm sorry," Theresa was apologetic as she quickly removed her hands. "I thought you wanted a full body, deep tissue massage."

"I did," Blair huffed.

"I, um…" the young woman seemed confused.

"I do," Blair quickly changed her tone. "That comment wasn't meant for you. The foot massage you gave me this morning was wonderful, by the way. You're the best. Here, let me turn off my phone completely."

This is why people don't leave their phones on while getting a massage!

As she reached for her phone, another text came through: "Jo alright. Don't worry."

It was George. She heard Cecil's phone chirp in the other room simultaneously.

"Cecil!" she called out. "Get in here!"

"What is it, Blair?" Cecil ran into the bedroom of the suite alarmed: only to find her relaxed upon a massage table naked.

"Oh my goodness," he covered his eyes.

"I, uh…" the young masseuse stood frozen.

"I got a text at the exact same moment as you!" Blair wrapped herself in the luxuriously soft blanket Theresa had provided. She walked towards him with purpose. "That means we're being texted by the exact same person, I'm guessing: George!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Blair," Cecil complained. He nodded towards the young woman standing behind her. "Besides, we're not alone!"

"I, uh…" Theresa hesitated as she eyed them both.

"Oh," Blair glanced at her. "I'm sorry, Theresa. Hold on."

She walked over to the bed and retrieved her purse. She grabbed out a huge wad of cash and stuffed it into her hands.

"Tips are not necessary, Ms. Warner. Massage service is already covered as part of your stay."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're an excellent masseuse and I want to reward you."

"Thank you," she smiled nervously. "I'll just collect my things then…"

"And be off, thank you," Cecil interrupted.

"No need to be rude, Cecil," Blair eyed him as she made her way into the bathroom to grab her robe. She returned to see Theresa quickly making her way out the door. "So? George?"

"Yes, Blair, George," he replied.

"So," she walked out to the living room. "George is a common contact."

"It would seem so," Cecil followed her. "Jo's all right, apparently. Must be a relief to you."

"It is," she poured herself a drink. Truth be told, she was immensely relieved. Whatever had happened between them in the past, she could never let go of her attachment to Jo. She was such a huge influence in her life. That Jo didn't know about her? That they were actually working towards the same end… really bothered her: drove her crazy! But, Cecil, didn't need to know any of this.

"George is what I want to talk about. He was my contact in Paris."

"He's a contact of mine, as well, obviously," Cecil affirmed.

"Do you think he's running this thing?"

"The Resistance?" Cecil snorted. "Hardly!"

"Who then?" Blair eyed him intently.

"Your father, for all I know," he shrugged.

"No," she laughed. "Daddy's not behind this. Not his style. He supports it, yeah. But he's not in charge here."

"What difference does it make, Blair?"

"Just want to know, is all," she sat beside him.

"I wish I could tell you," he sighed.

"Meanwhile Qusay and Uday texted me."

"Who?" he was truly confused.

"Thing One and Thing Two: Trump's idiotic spawn?"

"Aah, a Saddam Hussein reference combined with a Dr. Seuss reference!" Cecil nodded. "It's sometimes difficult for me to keep up with your cultural witticisms, Blair."

"The Crown Princess texted me, as well."

"Ivanka?"

"Who else?" she sniffed.

"What did they want?" he asked excitedly.

"They all want a get-together in the Oval Office on Friday before my Medal Ceremony."

"This could be huge, Blair! Are you kidding me?" Cecil looked at her wide-eyed.

"There is nothing huge about them except for how their father pronounces the word," she shook her head.

"No! I mean, you'll be in the Oval Office. You could gather valuable information there!"

"There's no valuable information in the Oval Office anymore, Cecil," she eyed him incredulously. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Well," he cleared his throat. "You never know."

"I'll keep my eyes open, okay? Just for you!" she stated reassuringly.

"Thanks, Blair," he nodded.

"No. Thank you," she patted his knee.

"For what?" he gazed at her.

"For putting up with me," she grinned. "I know I'm not easy, sometimes."

"You're quite alright, Blair," he reassured. "I have no complaints."

"Thanks again, Cecil."

"I do have a request, however," he adjusted his glasses.

"What's that?"

"Just once, when I come to see you," he coughed a little, "Could you please be wearing some clothes?"

"Okay," she laughed out loud. "I guess I have been a little casual around you."

"What's going on down there, George?" Jo asked.

"It's starting to break up, I think," he reported as he looked down at the street. He sat back down beside her. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," she sighed. "What do you think happened today?"

"The police versus the Nazi's? Pure theatre," he shook his head.

"So the police come out looking like good guys?"

"That would be my guess," he agreed. "Meanwhile, they get to bust up an ethnic neighborhood. Win-win for their side."

"So, George," she grinned as she shook her head, "You really scaled a fire escape, took a death-defying leap across buildings, ran down four flights of stairs and figured out a way to break into the bakery all to save me?"

"Actually, Jo, I have a huge crush on Willis. Didn't I ever tell you that?" he winked.

"That's what I figured," she nudged him and laughed. "But, we have to talk."

"Seriously, Jo?"

"Boots saw you talking to Men in Black outside the club. What's the story there, George? It's time we laid all our cards on the table."

"Boots, huh…"

"Yep. Don't underestimate her. It's a mistake many have made."

"Okay. Cards on the table: I was a C.I.A. operative in the Middle East. You may have guessed that."

"Explains all your superhero powers," she smiled.

"Well, those people don't let you go easily."

"Are you still working for them, George?"

"No! No way! I'm working for you, for the Resistance. There's a lot of the Intelligence Community involved in the Resistance, by the way."

"Boots said they wanted you to handle me."

"There is a strain of the C.I.A. who still want to control me. I tell them what they need to hear."

"Is there a CIA target on my back, George?"

"Not so long as I'm around. And, Jo?"

"Yeah?"

"The guy who scaled a fire escape, took a death-defying leap across buildings, ran down four flights of stairs and figured out a way to break into the bakery did it for you, because… I'm completely behind you. Do you believe me?"

"I have a feeling I'm going to be hearing that from some other folks pretty soon," she mentioned.

"The part about leaping tall buildings in a single bound or the do you believe me part?" he gave her his most charming smile.

"The do you believe me part," she laughed.

They looked each other in the eyes.

"Blair," they said unison.

"So you knew?" he questioned her. "You seemed so hateful of her!"

"Hey, it was the role I was supposed to play!" she defended herself. "Act like you hate Blair. Don't let anyone know!"

"I bought it!" he nodded. "You're quite the actress!"

"Not really. I just pulled on old emotions, past interactions."

"I was told not to tell you that she was an operative," he reflected. "Like you couldn't be trusted with the information. But, it was hard when I saw how you seemed to hate her so much."

"As if I could never hate Blair, George."

"You still love her, huh?"

"That's neither here nor there," Jo mused. "When she finds out that I was the one who recommended she be assigned the job she's doing…"

"She'll understand."

"Uh… no she won't" Jo lifted her eyebrows. "I mean, I knew she was sympathetic, vulnerable even, because of what happened between Trump and her father. I made a calculated decision."

"It's working out pretty well," he mused. "She's good at what she's doing."

"And hates every minute of it, I guarantee you. What am I going to say to her? I did it for the good of The Cause? Do you believe me?"

"It's a tough one, Jo," he put his arm around her.

"You could have a slight concussion," Cliff flashed a light into Jo's eyes as she sat in the comfort of her office. "Tell me, who is the President of the United States?"

"Why are people always asking me that to see if I'm okay? Thinking about that is almost guaranteed to give me a concussion, if I don't already have one!"

"Jo?" George drew out her name. "Be good."

"I'm putting you on limited duty," Cliff continued.

"No way, Cliff! I run this place! Everyone expects Jo when they come in here and that's just what they're going to get."

"Not for a couple of days!" Cliff tossed his equipment into his bag and closed it resolutely.

"Who do you think you are?" she protested.

"Your doctor," he eyed her.

"Listen to the man," George advised. "We'll cover for you."

"Who'll cover for me?" Jo was defensive.

"I will!" Boots entered the room excitedly. She had been listening at the door. "I'm really good with people!"

"There's more to it than glad-handing Trump's minions," Jo protested.

"Like what?" Boots was resolute.

"Well, there's knowing what each one prefers, for one thing. Not all treasonous sycophants have the same perverse fetishes, ya' know!"

"I think I can handle it for a day or two," Boots nodded thoughtfully.

"Yeah, Jo. Don't sell her short," George winked.

"Jesus, we have this neighborhood to clean up on top of everything else," Jo complained.

"I've already assembled a crew," George informed. "We begin tomorrow!"

"You're just starting to piss me off now. You know that?" Jo glared at him.

"Meanwhile, you're on limited duty for three days," Cliff affirmed.

George threw his arm around Cliff and glared at Jo.

"Fuckers!" she cursed at them.

It was Friday. Blair had been dreading this day: her Medal of Freedom Day in Washington, D.C. She was waiting in the Oval Office by herself, having been ushered in by some Trump lackeys. Might as well look around, she thought to herself. She walked around to the President's desk and pulled out a drawer. There was a notebook with notes scribbled. She perused them casually:

Notes to self…

#1: Always make sure big tie covers belly.

#2: Hairspray is not helpful on Marine One Helicopter.

#3: No more rides on Marine One.

#4: Undo everything Barack Obama has done.

#5: Bomb North Korea. No. California. No. North Korea.

#6: The Statue of Liberty thing. Get rid of it.

"This guy's pitiful," Blair whispered to herself as she closed the desk drawer.

"Blair!" Eric Trump greeted her enthusiastically as he rushed over to shake her hand. "So nice to meet you!"

Don Jr. followed.

"Yes! So nice to finally meet you!" he shook her hand with equal enthusiasm.

Blair was somewhat taken aback by their bold zeal. She eyed them skeptically.

"We are incredibly impressive at first glance," Eric commented. "But, if you think we're waxworks, you ought to pay, you know… not just stand there and gawk at us."

"Contrariwise, if you think were alive you ought to speak to us," Junior pointed out.

They both looked at each other.

"That's logic!" they said together.

The two brothers grinned. They looked exactly like a couple of idiotic schoolboys to Blair.

"I always feel so powerful when I walk in here," Eric began a little dance.

"Don't do that," Junior chastised him. "You look undignified. Watch me."

He began his own little dance. Blair was more than just a little disconcerted by this display of, well, giddiness.

"That looks like the Mulberry Bush Dance," Eric laughed.

"Fine then," Junior took Blair's hands.

"Here we go round the mulberry bush!" he began to sing.

"Stop that!" Blair complained.

He stopped suddenly.

"Four times round is enough for one dance anyway," Junior panted out, and they left off dancing as suddenly as they had begun.

There was a rather awkward pause, as Blair didn't know how to begin a conversation with someone she had just been dancing around the mulberry bush with. It would never do to say: Your father is a douche bag and so are both of you, she thought to herself. Although, in truth, that was what she wanted to say.

"You guys are totally weird," she managed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to do a bush dance with a woman you've just met?"

They stared at her blankly. There was another awkward pause.

"I thought Ivanka was joining us," Blair finally managed.

"The time has come," Eric approached her. "To speak of many things."

"Of shoes and ships and hedge fund risk and how to make Dad king!" Junior approached her, as well.

"I've got news for you boys," Blair stood her ground. "The sea is boiling hot and pigs do have wings! Thanks to your father's policies!"

"Flying pigs, Bro," Eric eyed Junior.

"Excellent!"

They fist bumped.

"Didn't Dad say to grab what we wanted?" Eric asked his brother.

"By the pussy," Junior nodded idiotically as he replied.

"Where is Ivanka?" Blair demanded.

"Oh, Blair, there you are!" a voice boomed out as an orange person with an insane yellow hairdo entered the Oval Office. Blair thought she would never be happy to see Trump, but if it meant getting her away from his creepy-ass sons? "Ivanka's outside waiting for us! C'mon! This ceremony is going to be HUGE! The best ceremony ever! Believe me!"

Smoke, flames and rapid fire from automatic weapons surrounded Jo. She hid behind a broken wall as she gripped her pistol so hard that her knuckles turned white. She held it up to her ear in anticipation. More shots were fired.

"Oh God! Oh God!" she cried out.

A young man ran through the miasma and stopped in front of her where she crouched.

"Who are you?" he yelled.

"Who are you?" she yelled back.

He pointed his weapon at her. She pulled the trigger of her gun and fired several shots. He dropped to the ground. She jumped up and watched as the light left his eyes and he faded into oblivion. His blood flowed around her feet, soaking her shoes in a sticky red. She flipped open his jacket with her gun. There was a police badge clipped to his pocket.

"What have I done?" she screamed as she looked up to the sky. "What have I done?!"

"Jo, wake up," Tootie shook her shoulder.

"Huh?" Jo was roused from her dream. She sat bolt upright on her couch.

"I shot a cop!" she blurted out.

"No you didn't," her friend tried to calm her as she sat down beside her. "It was a dream."

"It was a nightmare! I had to kill someone," Jo reported breathlessly. "It was horrible."

"God forbid it comes to that," Tootie said as she and Jeff reclined on the couch.

"What are you guys doing here?" Jo was still slightly confused.

"You said we could watch Days of Our Lives with you, remember?" Tootie informed.

"I have to find out if Stefano is really dead!" Jeff put his arm around Tootie.

"He's really dead because the actor playing him died," Jo informed.

"Damn, Girl! Why'd you have to tell me that?" Jeff complained.

"Let's just watch," Jo pulled out the remote control. She turned on the T.V.

"Breaking News!" a television talking head reported excitedly. "Our leader, President Trump, is about to give the Medal of Freedom Award to America's Sweetheart: Blair Warner!"

"Are you kidding me?" Tootie complained. "They're preempting Days of Our Lives for this?"

"Might be amusing," Jo conjectured.

"Oh my God, Jo!" Tootie exclaimed. "Look! He's holding her hand!"

"She has to be hating that," Jo shook her head.

"What makes you say that?" Tootie eyed her curiously.

"Just a guess," Jo shrugged.

"Oh my goodness, Jo! He kissed her cheek!" Tootie laughed out loud.

"Ooh, she flinched! Did you guys see that?" Jeff laughed. "I know she's hating that!"

Tootie and Jo looked at him curiously.

"How do you know that?" his girlfriend questioned.

"You saw the photos from Paris," he eyed them back. "She likes girls now and that French girl was fine."

"Watch yourself," Tootie nudged him.

"Besides, we don't really know what Blair was doing in Paris," Jo said.

"All I'm saying is that if Blair likes girls now, that woman in Paris was hot. She can't possibly like an old perve like Trump pecking her on the cheek," Jeff conjectured.

"It's a big if," Jo pointed out.

"You should know," Tootie shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?" The comment irritated Jo. It could mean so many different things!

"I only meant that no one knows Blair like you," there was another shrug.

"What are you implying?" Jo glared at her friend.

"I'm not implying anything," Tootie glared back. "Just stating a fact."

"Let's, uh, dial this back a notch," Jeff tried to intervene.

"No, Babe," Tootie silenced him. "If she knows something about Blair, I want to know what it is. And she always knows something about Blair, believe me!"

"Well excuse me, Mr. Trump," Jo barked at her.

"I notice you're not denying it," Tootie was smug.

"Whatever I do or do not know about Blair is none of your business," Jo insisted.

"That means you know something," Tootie was equally as adamant. "Something you don't want us to know!"

"Enough already!" Jeff interrupted. "Blair is hundreds of miles from here! Let's talk about something that really matters!"

"Like what?" they both snapped at him.

"Like when you coming back to work, Jo? Boots is driving me crazy! You know she shows up in a top hat, tails, shiny shorts and dances something called the Soft Shoe with a cane every night, don't you? She's like a demented Michael Jackson impersonator. It's bad enough I gotta' put up with a dead white guy with an arrow through his head, but this? I'm about to go mental working down there every night!"

Tootie and Jo looked at each other and laughed.

"Yeah, no worries," Jo smiled as she shook her head. "I'm back on duty tonight. Poor Boots."

Just then a phone rang. It was the "burner" phone.

"I've got to get that guys," Jo said.

"Go ahead," Tootie nodded.

"Um, no. In private," she gave them an apologetic look.

"That's okay, Jo," Jeff helped his girlfriend up. "The soap's preempted anyway."

"Glad you're feeling better, Jo," Tootie gave her a hug as she exited.

"Likewise," Jo hugged her back.

"Why'd you go after Jo like that?" Jeff demanded as soon as they were out of earshot.

"I just think she knows more than she's saying, is all."

"Of course she does, Babe. She's kinda' the boss of this whole operation, in case you haven't noticed."

"But Blair was my friend, too, Jeff. And I told her off pretty good on social media. I severed our relationship. If something's going on, I deserve to know!"

"What makes you think something is going on?" he asked.

"It was that photo in the paper from Paris. It made me suspicious. Jo and Blair were always so close. And Jeff," she gave him a look, "I mean close."

"You mean?"

"Yeah. That's what I mean," she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.

"Jo and Blair? But…"

"It was just talk, but that picture triggered my memory. They had a big falling out after college. When I saw Blair kissing that woman in Paris, I started putting things together. I should've seen it the whole time," she shook her head. "I need to know what's going on, Jeff."

"You're making a lot of assumptions here," he shook his head. "And, anyways, you shouldn't have been so mean to Jo like that."

"Excuse me?" her eyes went wide. "She's not my boss!"

"No. She just risked her life breaking you out of a Trump prison and saved your life in the process," he reminded.

"Yeah, you're right," Tootie looked down remorsefully. "I'll apologize."

"And, Babe?" Jeff lifted her chin.

"Jo is the boss… of everyone," he smiled sweetly.

As soon as Tootie and Jeff had left, Jo grabbed the phone.

"Hello? I wasn't expecting to hear from you today."

She sat down at her table.

"Yes, I'm much better," she reached for a pen and paper. "Thank you. I feel the same way."

She tapped the pen nervously.

"Yes. I understand," she nodded.

She quickly began scribbling information on her pad.

"I'll get on it right away," she continued writing.

"Yes, Ma'am."