It was a gorgeous summer day in Central Park. A couple of billowy white clouds floated across a beautiful blue sky. George sailed a remote controlled boat across the lake. Blair picked it up on the other side.

This is so ridiculous! She shook her head as she removed the message.

"How good is your intell?" it read.

She took out her invisible ink marker and wrote on the back: Solid!

She placed the boat in the water and he sailed it back over. Her information was as good as it could be. At risk of her own personal safety, she had confirmed it through Tweedledee and Tweedledum: Trump's stupid-ass sons. The attack on the Statue of Liberty was to take place on August 9th.

She watched as he retrieved the tiny sailing ship and held her message to the sky. This is so ridiculous, she thought. Why can't I just go over there and talk to him? I'm so sick of this cloak and dagger stuff!

She thought about her father as she watched children play with their parents around the lake. Not that he ever played with her as a child that she could recall. But seeing kids with their Dad's couldn't help but remind her of him. He was under threat from the Russians. She worried about him constantly. Russian operatives poisoned folks with horrible drugs that slowly destroyed people's organs and faces and took weeks to take full effect. Just eew! Be safe, Daddy!

She looked back across the lake. George was gone. She was truly through the looking glass at this point: in a strange and bizarre land.

"Blair!"

She was shaken from her thoughts as a young woman approached her.

"Theresa? What are you doing here? Did you follow me?" Blair felt suddenly paranoid.

"No," Theresa tilted her head. "It's my day off. Remember?"

"And I agreed to go to a club with you," Blair relaxed a little. "But… how did you find me?"

"I went to the hotel and they said you had gone out. I just took a chance that you might be here," she smiled pleasantly.

"And you found me!" Blair rose to face her. "Kind of early to be hitting a club, don't you think?"

"Um," the young woman was taken aback. "You said you would talk to me about setting up my own business. Have lunch?"

She did say that. She had been so distracted that she had forgotten.

"Right," she sighed as she gazed at the hopeful young woman in front of her.

"It's okay if you're too busy," Theresa stated timidly.

"Of course not!" Blair took her hand, feeling somewhat guilty that she had forgotten. "Let's get lunch."

Jo sipped her morning coffee as she perused the New York Times. Always good to keep up with the underground press. She read both the Times and the Washington Post each day, searching for any tidbit that might give her an advantage. Both were but a shell of their former selves, being forced to run on a shoestring budget while putting up with constant harassment from the government. In Trump's America, they were "Fake News," and, therefor, subject to raids and petty building inspections and such. Reporters had to stay undercover and use false names like Clark Kent and Lois Lane so that they wouldn't be jailed under the Fake News Sedition Act. The law didn't cover editors or publishers because the people in Congress who passed it were just plain stupid. As a result, the newspapers continued in a much-reduced capacity, overwhelmed by the glut of official government news, which assaulted the senses of the public over the airwaves, on the Internet, and in print. But, Jo was an information junkie and these were still two sources that could be relied upon. To her dismay, she just couldn't trust the Internet anymore. The Russians had totally messed with it. Besides, any search she tried would be immediately tracked back to her. Even social media was compromised. It was a good thing they hadn't completely abandoned print media before the country fell into the grip of fascism. Digital information was just no longer reliable.

"What a world," she sighed as she scanned the paper.

She was hoping she wouldn't come across anything about Blair. There was an item about her at a club with a cute blonde a couple days ago. A blonde… really, Blair? And here I thought brunettes were your type. At least they weren't kissing this time. But, man oh man: Blair was coming close to blowing her cover. They needed Blair to stay clean. She had really been coming through for them with her insider connections. She was a valuable asset who needed to be more discreet, Jo figured. And whatever she did at this point, Blair was newsworthy; whether she liked it or not. Plus, Jo found it inordinately distracting coming across news stories about her out there enjoying herself with other women. Yeah, sure, she had been out of touch with her for a while now, since their falling out. But, it still hurt when she saw her with someone else. Jo had to keep her focus. She was a leader in the resistance. Leaders didn't let themselves get distracted by beautiful women, did they?! Oh wait…

"Damn, Polniaczek! Stay focused!" she chastised herself internally. Her eyes drifted to something on her shelf: a memento Blair had given her years ago when they were together. It was a tiny figurine… a puppy with big, sad brown eyes.

"Reminded me of you," Blair said.

"Because of my big brown eyes?" Jo returned a quizzical look.

"Alright, then… reminded me of me. I want you to have it so that you'll always remember how much I love you," Blair smiled.

Jo felt alone. She was surrounded by the people working for her, as well as friends and family… but she felt apart from them all, somehow. Everyone was looking up to her, wanting direction, depending on her leadership. Yet, she was empty inside: depleted. She desperately longed for that one person she could talk to, pour her heart out to…

"Blair," she sighed. "What happened?"

Her phone chirped. It was George.

"You're needed in downstairs," the text read.

Natalie and Tootie were thrilled to be back together. They had lunch sent up from the kitchen and ate in Tootie's room upstairs from the club. Nat dove into her sandwich with reckless abandon.

"Whoa! Slow down there, Nat!" Tootie cautioned. "Wouldn't want you rescued from prison just to choke on a sandwich!"

"Oh my God, Tootie! They fed us lime Jell-O and matzo balls! I've been dreaming of a sandwich like this for months now!"

"Okay," Tootie laughed. "Enjoy yourself."

"I am so happy you weren't killed, by the way, Tootie," Natalie managed between bites. "I mean in the gulag and being shot and all."

"Back at you," Tootie nibbled on her salad.

"So… Jo," Nat shook her head in admiration. "She's really something, huh?"

"She rescued us both," Tootie agreed.

"But?" Natalie gazed at her friend curiously.

"But, nothing… she saved us both," Tootie reiterated.

"Don't try to fool me, Dorothy Ramsey. I always know when you think there's trouble!"

"No," Tootie laughed again. "Not trouble, Nat. It's just…"

She shook her head and looked away.

"It's just what, Tootie? I'm dying here! C'mon!"

"All right, then," Tootie looked her directly in the eyes. "Blair."

"Ah!" Natalie placed the sandwich on her plate, her attention now totally focused on her friend. "You think there's something up there, too? Spill!"

"It's just not like her to take up with Trump and his ilk after what he did to her father."

"Agreed," Natalie nodded. "Continue."

"Well, the other day, Jeff and I were watching TV with Jo when Blair came on at some medal ceremony in Washington, D.C. I noticed she kinda' wouldn't let us joke about Blair. And believe me, after the photos from Paris…"

"Hold on! What photos from Paris?" Natalie stopped her.

"Oh that's right! You didn't see them!" Tootie remembered. "Blair was photographed totally kissing this woman in Paris! It was all over the media!"

"Damn!" Natalie was exasperated. "I've got to remember to stay out of prison… you miss all the gossip!"

"And it was big, Nat!" Tootie's eyes grew wide. "America's Sweetheart making out with another woman? So, anyway, Jo's like defending her to Jeff and me. Like, we don't really know what Blair was doing in Paris and such. That's when I became suspicious."

"Like Jo knows something we don't?"

"Well, yeah!" Tootie gazed at her incredulously. "Jo always knows something about Blair we don't. Remember?"

"All too well…" Natalie resumed eating her sandwich.

"So?" Tootie questioned her impatiently. "What do you know?"

"So, when I was in prison, Rachel came up with this theory about Blair."

"Wait! Rachel did? She doesn't even know Blair, does she?"

"No. But Rachel does know just about everything," Nat informed her friend casually. "So, anyway, she has this theory that Blair is actually deep undercover working for us from the inside. It made total sense."

"It does make sense, Nat! Blair would never betray us like that!"

"I know, right?" Natalie nodded. "I feel so guilty about how I told her off on social media."

"Me, too," Tootie shook her head. "Of course, Jo's the only one who knows for sure and she ain't talking."

"Did you expect her to? No matter what happened between them, Jo would never betray Blair or vice versa," Nat returned to her sandwich.

"Whadda' you think happened with them?" Tootie queried.

Natalie relaxed back into her chair and took a sip of iced tea. She shook her head and thought for a moment.

"I ran into Blair at the airport a couple of years ago, when I was still working for the Times. I asked her if she was okay and how was Jo because, you remember, they were living together in Manhattan after college."

"Yeah, I remember," Tootie affirmed. "They were kinda' a world unto themselves for awhile."

"Anyway, when I asked her about Jo, tears filled her eyes."

"So why was she crying?"

"I don't know," Natalie shrugged. "She changed the subject. But that's when she took off for Europe to run her Dad's business interests over there."

"So," Tootie sighed deeply as she sank back into her chair. "Jo broke her heart, somehow."

"It's a possibility," Nat agreed. "They should've let us into their lives more back then. Maybe we could've helped. Why would they keep something like that from us?"

"Who knows? It was always so hard to tell what was going on with them, anyway. One minute they were fighting and calling each other names, the next they were sitting on the couch with their heads together reading a book and laughing. I could never figure it," Tootie shook her head.

"Well, opposites attract, as they say. And, boy, were they opposite!" Nat nodded. "Like fire and water."

"Like yin and yang."

"Like oil and vinegar."

"I think that's salad dressing, Nat."

"Well, whadda' ya want? I'm still hungry!" Natalie shrugged.

"We're both thinking they were more than just friends, right?"

"Duh," Natalie grinned. "Especially after the photos you told me about! Show me, Tootie! I know you saved them!"

"Maybe," Tootie raised her eyebrows provocatively.

"Show me!" Nat demanded.

Jo entered her office to find ten guys surrounding George.

"Oh, Jo, you're here!" George said as the others backed into the corners of the room. "These are some of our supporters from the intelligence community!"

"The Men in Black?" Jo questioned as she walked to her desk.

"In a manner of speaking," George replied. "They're here to help with the August 9th action."

"Meaning?" she gave him a curious gaze.

"They want to protect the Statue of Liberty as much as we do," he responded firmly. "We just need access to particular weapons. They have to be totally untraceable."

"And you figure I have them?" Jo eyed him intently.

"My guys are good," George continued. "Here's what we need: two rocket launchers and two silent weapons to protect them."

"That's all?" Jo tilted her head at him.

"Yep," he gave her smile.

"Let's say I have them," she crossed her arms across her chest as she rocked back in her chair. "What would your guys do with them?"

"Our intell is solid on this, Jo. They intend to replace the Emma Lazarus plaque with another. We're going to take out that other plaque before it can be placed on the base of the statue."

"By blowing it up?" Jo questioned.

For the first time the Men in Black George had brought into the office began to respond.

"Yep."

"Yeah."

"Works for me."

"Completely doable."

"Without a trace."

"Well okay," Jo's rocked forward in her chair, smiling. "I like the attitude. But, the word is out on this already. Many concerned citizens will be showing up. I need guarantees that no one will be harmed by your actions."

"We're good at this, Jo," George stated confidently. "No one will be hurt because of what we do."

"All right then," she rose to get the key for the secret room upstairs. When she turned to face George again… all his friends had vanished.

"What the…?" she looked around.

"I told you they were good," he shrugged.

"But that's just…" she couldn't find the words.

"Amazing?" he tried to fill in the blanks for her.

"I was going to say creepy-weird," she shook her head. "Listen, George, people are going to show up there on August 9th. I can't emphasize enough that I don't want innocent people harmed because of anything we do."

"No way, Jo!" he assured her. "We're just going to take that phony plaque out!"

Blair sat in a nightclub tapping her foot nervously upon the floor.

"Are you alright, Blair?" Theresa asked as she leaned in to her to be heard over the loud music.

"Yeah. Fine," Blair smiled. "Just can't believe I'm going to get to see her again!"

Her was Valera: a fusion artist Blair had become fascinated with. She was Venezuelan, had closed cropped hair, played the guitar, sang, danced and rapped.

"She's so amazing!" Blair enthused.

"She is!" Theresa agreed.

The lights dimmed as the pulsating music stopped. A voice announced over the sound system: "Ladies and Gentlemen, The Weimar Republic Café is proud to present… Valera!"

A spotlight hit an empty stage as a voice was heard:

I will not be controlled, nor marginalized. Not by a sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical bigot. I will feel my womanhood and will be realized.

"That's so amazing," Blair sighed.

"What?" Theresa gazed at her expectantly.

"She quoted Nine to Five!" Blair gave her a huge grin as a devastating electric guitar riff rang out.

Valera entered the spotlight and began to wail on her guitar as the band joined in behind her with a bass and drum heavy rhythmic beat. The crowd went wild as they rushed the stage.

"C'mon, Blair," Theresa tried to pull her up. "Don't you want to go up there?"

"No," Blair hadn't removed her eyes from the woman on stage. "I'll just watch from here."

Jo had taken the afternoon off. She handed a tool to her Uncle Sal as he adjusted a carburetor.

"I'm worried about you, Kid," he looked up at her. "That club? Those people? You're in over your head."

"I can handle it, Uncle Sal," she tried to assuage his concern.

"Yeah, but the police, Jo. They're not trained for conflict resolution anymore. They're trained to kill now: shoot first, make excuses later. I'm worried you'll be out there and get shot by the police," he sighed.

"The police are my friends, Uncle Sal," Jo winked and grinned at him.

"Hey, Jo!" her cousin Paulie walked into the garage, quickly followed by his brother and sister.

"We're down for you on the 9th!" Bud reported.

"All the way," Terry agreed.

"I, uh, don't want you guys there," Jo shook her head. "It could get messy."

"That's why we're going to be there!" Paulie insisted.

"No!" Jo was adamant. "You don't understand. Things could get out of control… fast!"

"Like when there was a riot outside your club and you didn't call us for back-up?" Paulie was insulted. "Not happening again, Jo."

"No way," Bud chimed in.

"You're our cousin and we've got your back… all the way!" Paulie stated. "Besides all that, it's the Statue of Liberty, for cryin' out loud! It's not really your call."

"Yeah, Jo, that belongs to all of us," Terry agreed.

"But, I've got some inside info, guys. You should just stay away," Jo warned.

"Listen to your cousin!" Uncle Sal shook a wrench at them. "She knows what she's talking about! I don't want her there, but I can't stop her! You are my children and I can stop you!"

"Sorry, Pop, but you can't stop us either," Paulie was defiant. "I watched that whole riot happen in front of her club, ran down there, couldn't find her…"

"You were there?" Jo was amazed.

"Of course I was," he gave her a chastising glance. "You should've called me in the first place!"

"I didn't want you involved," Jo stared at him.

"Too dangerous?" Paulie looked at her in disbelief.

"Exactly!" Jo leveled her gaze at him. "And August 9th will be worse!"

"You can't stop us, Jo," her cousin shook his head at her. "Indivisible is going. We'll just join them."

"And the police and Antifa and the white supremacists and…"

"So very fine people on both sides?" Paulie questioned. "Like Trump says, right?"

"That's not what I meant and you know it, Paulie!" Jo was upset at his accusation. "I've pretty much given up my whole life to fight fascism!"

"So? Let us join you!" he made his point.

"Paulie, it's going to be a shit show. I don't want my family there."

"Listen to your cousin!" Uncle Sal admonished.

"We're going!" he was adamant as his brother and sister nodded their agreement. "Jo, you're in this fight and we're in it with you!"

"Fuck," Jo whispered to herself.

"Language, young lady!" Uncle Sal scolded her as they exchanged wrenches.

August 9th

Blair showered after her morning massage. Theresa just kinda' hung out now in her hotel suite since the two had become friends and business partners. Blair trusted and liked Theresa. She was like comfort food: a regular American girl with achievable dreams of success.

"Did you eat breakfast?" she asked her new friend.

"Yeah," Theresa replied. "I had a power bar."

"That's not breakfast," Blair shook her head as she picked up the phone. "Send up scrambled eggs, fruit, toast and coffee."

"It's amazing how you do that," Theresa shook her head.

"Do what?" Blair looked at her quizzically.

"Just feel so confident to order people around."

"I wasn't ordering people around, I was ordering breakfast," Blair laughed.

"I know, but you didn't say please or thank you… you just ordered."

"Oh," Blair placed her fingers to her lips feeling remiss. "You're right. Civility is so important these days and I forgot to do that. Guess I'm falling into ugly past habits. Been hanging out with a bad crowd."

"It's okay. I'm just amazed at people like you: so in control. My family's not like that."

"It's not okay, Theresa. I feel like I'm in a bad dream, sometimes."

"You? You've got it all! My family?" she hesitated.

"Tell me, Theresa," Blair leaned towards her.

"Well, I've only got my Mom and my little brother, my Dad left years ago."

"Sorry," Blair offered.

"Mom is a secretary. She works for a school. My little brother is only eleven. He's special needs, meaning he's, um, Down Syndrome. So, you setting up this business for me means the world, Blair!"

"Oh my God, Theresa! Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"You never asked," Theresa shrugged.

"I have been completely wrapped up in myself," Blair reflected. "I'm sorry."

"Plus, you're so important, talking to the President and such," Theresa nodded.

"Um, that's not quite as it seems, Theresa," Blair frowned. "Let's just say… it's a duty."

"Well, I didn't want to bother you with my family's problems in any case," Theresa added.

There was a sudden pounding on the door.

"Room service?" Blair's eyes lit up as she jumped from the couch. She opened the door. What she saw… shocked her.

Jo and George observed the grounds on Liberty Island from high up in the Statue of Liberty's crown thanks to the National Park Rangers who worked there and were in complete support of the resistance.

"My guys are in place," George assured her.

"Yeah, yeah," Jo shook her head. "I'm just more than a little worried today."

"Why? Everything will go off like clockwork," he continued to appease her.

"Look!" she pointed towards the dock. "Protesters are showing up!"

"We expected this, Jo," he tried to calm her.

"But there's a huge police presence here already," Jo bit her lower lip. "I just hope everyone keeps their cool!"

"This is going to be a surgical strike by my guys," he nodded confidently. "In, out, done."

"I'm not worried about your guys, George," Jo turned to him. "It's everyone else."

"Looks like we have some unwanted traffic," Park Ranger Patty looked through her binoculars.

"What do you mean?" Jo questioned.

"Small boats, several of them," Ranger Patty reported.

"Damn," Jo exhaled loudly.

"Here comes the helicopter!" George pointed at the chopper flying in with a huge plaque.

"Patty, may I?" Jo asked for the ranger's binoculars.

Jo focused in on the plaque meant to replace the Emma Lazarus one presently gracing the base of the statue. It read: America for Americans!

As Blair opened the door to her suite, she was face to face with Valera, herself.

"Oh my God! You're Valera!" she gushed like a fan girl.

"I have seen you at my shows," she passed by her as she entered the suite. "I need to know why Trump's girlfriend would be attending my performances."

"Hey! I'm not Trump's girlfriend!" Blair defended herself.

Valera was maybe more impressive in person than she was on stage. She emanated a presence of confidence, bordering on arrogance, yet tempered by a light touch, an almost indescribable breezy persona. She somehow pulled off being elegant and tough all at once. On top of all that, she was undeniably beautiful.

"A meal is being delivered, I think," she intoned with a charming accent as room service showed up behind her.

"Breakfast!" Theresa was enthusiastic.

"You," Valera eyed her as she sauntered over to the couch, "I do not know."

"Oh! I was at your shows with Blair, too!" Theresa pointed out.

Blair was getting pissed off.

"I don't remember inviting you in," she placed both her hands on her hips.

"And, yet, you come to watch me every night," Valera helped herself to some fruit.

"I'm, uh, going to turn on the T.V." Theresa mentioned, trying to cut the tension.

"Only because I like your music," Blair rolled her eyes in an epic manner.

"You like more than my music," Valera sucked on a strawberry seductively. "So… what does Trump's girlfriend want from me?"

"That's the last time you call me that!" Blair approached her menacingly.

"Or you'll what?" Valera laughed. She leveled her glance at Blair. "I saw you in the audience, every night. I asked my people: who is this beautiful woman who stalks me?"

"Hey! I have never stalked anyone!" Blair was outraged.

"When they tell me Blair Warner, I was intrigued. I came to find you," she popped a grape into her mouth.

"So, who's stalking whom?" Blair finally regained herself.

"Um, hey guys, you should watch this," Theresa interrupted.

"Not now, Teresa!" Blair dismissed her.

"No," Valera crossed her legs and smiled. "Do not disturb the blonde goddess."

"Oh, so I'm acting like a goddess?" Blair smirked. "You need to check yourself!"

"No, you guys really need to watch this!" Theresa reiterated.

"What?" Blair was irritated.

"They're flying in a new plaque for the Statue of Liberty!" Theresa reported.

"I knew that," Blair was off her guard.

"Turn up the T.V., small blonde person," Valera commanded. "Let us all bare witness to the new America in front of it's princess!"

"Hey! Only my Dad get's to call me that," Blair responded angrily.

"This is so glorious!" a male newsman gushed. "Finally Americans will have a true representation on our most iconic statue!"

"This is an iconic moment," a female reporter agreed. "It's just, just… iconic!"

"All of America must be proud today!" the male newsman enthused.

"Well, I know I am!" the newswoman agreed. "It's just so inspiring seeing the helicopter fly in with the plaque… a true symbol of American strength and superiority!"

"And there it is!" he announced. "It's coming into view! It says…"

There was a sudden explosion as the new plaque was blown out of the sky and disintegrated into dust.

"There seems to be something, I can't quite describe it… but, that something has gone terribly wrong!" the newsman reported breathlessly.

"What happened to the plaque?" the female reporter called out. "It exploded!"

"Oh! The humanity!" her colleague lamented passionately.

"Yes!" Blair couldn't help but pump her fist as she laughed.

"Interesting," Valera eyed her intently.

"Yes!" George pumped his fist as he watched the plaque explode and the helicopter fly off. His men disappeared as he turned to Jo. "I told you my guys would get that!"

"Yeah, but look down there," Jo pointed to the base of the statue.

A fight had broken out between the fascists and protesters. The police were moving in dressed in full riot gear.

"Can I borrow your binoculars, Patty?" he asked.

"My cousins are down there, George!" Jo exclaimed.

He peered through the binoculars at the action below.

"My guys are gone, without a trace! But it is getting a little heated down there, " he reported to Jo.

She did not answer. He turned to look at her, but she was gone. "Damn!"

Jo flew down the steps of the Statue of Liberty. She exited the pedestal and rounded the corner. She reached for her gun… just in case. Damn! Where was her gun? Shit! Had she had left it on the desk in her office? How could she be so careless? Distracted, she guessed. She was determined to find her cousins. She scanned the crowd searching for them. She thought she saw Paulie. She pointed and called to him.

Gunfire.

It was strange being shot. Not what Jo expected at all. She felt a burning, then a loss of equilibrium as she spun helplessly to the ground. She was aware of blood flowing out of her body as she gazed at a couple of billowy white clouds as they floated across a beautiful blue sky. What a gorgeous summer day. She felt herself slowly growing cold, as two cops appeared over her, blurry in her vision.

"What did you do?"

"I dunno'! I thought she had a gun! I feared for my life!"

"She's not even black! Plus, she's a girl! What were you thinking?"

"She was pointing something! I feared for my life!"

"Oh my God, it's Jo Polniaczek, from the club downtown! We have to get her to the hospital! This could be big trouble. Did you remember to bring a gun to plant?"

"Yeah, I got one."

"Okay, leave it, just in case."

"Uncle Sal was right," Jo thought as she drifted off and her eyes began to flutter shut. "The cops shot me!"

She faded into darkness.