Why He Curtsied

A totally true history of a White House foreign policy decision

Air Force One. Somewhere over the Atlantic, en route to Riyadh in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia.

Bannon wipes the Wild Turkey from his mouth with his sleeve. “So we use the tapes against Comey. Threaten to ruin his credibility. Cut that lanky motherfucker down.” He takes another swig and pats himself down for his Winstons.

Priebus grabs the bottle from him. “Are you serious? You can’t be serious.”

“What? It’s afternoon. Somewhere. Ostensibly. Did you take my Winstons?”

“The tapes, you ass.” He takes a more modest swig. “If they even think Trumpy’s serious about tapes, they become evidence against us. He may be fucked, but I have a life to think about. We need to destroy the tapes.”

Bannon grabs the bottle back, splashing some Wild Turkey onto the carpet. “We need to use them. Congress won’t let impeachment happen. The voters would revolt. We blitzkrieg this fucker.”

“Why are you both talking like I’m not here.”

Bannon and Priebus swivel their seats in the direction of Trump and his desk.

“Sorry, sir,” Priebus says. “You started talking about seeing Ally Sheedy’s areolas on the set of Home Alone 2 and then you just sort of, um, drifted off.”

“We thought it best to let you sleep,” Bannon says, before adding, to himself, “Where the fuck are my cigarettes? I swear to God, I just had them.”

Trump stops rubbing his temples. “Well, now Daddy’s here.”

Bannon sits up straight. “Excellent, sir.”

Priebus coughs. “Should we talk about the tapes?”

“No tapes,” Trump says.

“No tapes?”

“No tapes.”

Priebus looks at Bannon and mouths What?

“I believe, sir,” Bannon says, “that what Reince means is, do you mean, ‘no tapes’ as in ‘no, I don’t want to talk about the tapes,’ or ‘no tapes’ as in ‘no, there are no tapes.’”

“The second one. Fuck. No. Tapes. No tapes. This is why I’m getting killed out there. Incompetence all around me. A lot like when I did my cameo in Home Alone 2. Did you know Ally Sheedy was in that?”

“No, sir, we did not,” Bannon says. “But back to the subject of tapes. There are no tapes?”

“What are you not getting? There are no tapes! I made it up. I mean, not because I didn’t try. But did you know you can’t find a tape recorder, like, anywhere anymore? No one has them. Sad!”

“That’s perfect, sir, if you don’t mind my saying. We use the threat of the tapes as leverage anyway against Comey but it can’t bite us in the ass because they don’t exist. If Comey says we threatened him, we deny. Simple. Best of all possible worlds. I mean, circumstances notwithstanding.”

“What circumstances?” Priebus asks.

“You know, the Je — — .”

The screech of feedback fills the room.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” a Russian voice says.

“Oh, fuck,” Bannon says. “Turn that fucking thing off. How long has he been listening?”

“We can’t turn it off,” Priebus says. “Remember?”

“You were being serious?”

“Serious about what?” Trump asks.

“The whole A/V setup,” Priebus says. “ It’s controlled remotely from Moscow. You authorized it. Because he has tapes.” He points upward.

“Wait,” Bannon says. “I thought you were being figurative, like hyperbole. I thought there were no tapes.”

“We don’t have tapes. He has tapes.” Pointing upward again.

“Explains all the fucking Tarkovsky screenings lately. Fucking pretentious.” Bannon continues patting himself and looking around his seat.

“Forget the cigarettes,” Putin says. “They’re bad for you and you look like shit.”

“Wait, are you watching us right now?”

“No. Just listening. But you always look like shit. Why would now be any different?”

“You fu — — ”

“In 1966, I lost my virginity to a kindhearted Leningrad prostitute. Her husband worked the night shift at a factory nearby. They had a dog. A mutt she called Chichikov but whose real name was Grigory. Chichikov, AKA Grigory, would lap up the discarded motor oil that ran into the gutter from the mechanic shop at the factory. It did this every day for 14 years. The day that dog died, it still looked more alive than you do today.”

“He’s not wrong,” Trump says. “I’ve seen pictures of Chichikov. So sad. You need to stop exercising, Banno. It’s sapping your strength. You know I don’t exercise. Look at me.” He juts out his chin and lifts up his head. “See? Still angular.”

“Everyone shut up,” Putin says. “Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to forget the tapes. We have something more important to discuss.”

“So no tapes.”

“Yes,” Priebus says. “He has tapes.”

“No, I mean no more tapes today.”

“Right.”

“Um, you may not know this, Vlad,” Trump says, “but we have an important meeting in Riyadh in a few hours. We need to prepare. I have, like, real important things to do.”

“Yes, about Riyadh. I need you to do something.”

“Anything, Vlady. You know that.”

Bannon shakes his head.

“Are we recording right now?”

“Yes, Donny. Always. You know that.”

“Right.”

“So here’s what I need from you. In Saudi, when you meet King Salman and he presents you your award — — “

“I’m getting an award?”

“They give everyone awards. If it weren’t the desert they’d be snowflakes. When you get your award, you’re going to curtsy.”

“Curtsy?”

“Curtsy.”

“What is that?”

“It’s like a bow.”

“So I bow?”

“Not exactly. It’s more like if you were a ballerina. Or wearing a dress. You’d dip with your knees. Just a little.”

“Why would I do that? I never wear a dress.”

“We both know that hasn’t always been the case. Remember Moscow, 2010?”

“Right.”

Priebus takes another pull of Wild Turkey. Bannon starts looking frantically for his Winstons.

“Why am I doing this?” Trump asks.

“Because it’s funny.”

“It’s not funny.”

“It is funny.”

“It isn’t. I know funny. I’ve acted in comedies. Have you seen Home Alone 2?”

“The one with John Candy?”

“No. The one with Ally Sheedy.”

“Nevermind. The point is. I have a bet. So I’m on the phone last night with Bashy and Ali and they’re a little mad. They say you’re out of control and can’t be trusted. Because you’re selling $110 billion worth of arms to Saudi.”

“I’m doing what now?”

Bannon coughs.

“Ali starts saying you’re a hypocrite. You denounce radical Islam and then you play nice with Saudi. I try to play it down. I tell them, at the end of the day, Donny Daddy knows who pickles his herring. And to prove it to them, I make a bet. I tell them, Donny will curtsy like a Romanov princess if I ask. Bashy says no way. I say, yes way, dude. He says no way and bets me. He’ll give me free eye exams for a year if I win. Did you know that before he was Syria’s leading patriot, he was trained as an ophthamalogist?”

“Sure. He studied birds. Everyone knows that.”

“And what happens if you lose the bet?” Priebus asks.

“Bashy gets the property in Sochi. Been meaning to dump it for a while, so it’s a win-win for me. Still, don’t make me look bad. You curtsy. You fucking curtsy like the world depends on it.”

“Don’t do it, sir,” Bannon says. “It will make you look weak.”

“If he doesn’t,” Putin says, “I’ll leak damaging info to the press.”

“So what? No one believes the press anyway. It’s fake news. Tell them, sir.”

“We need to do what he asks,” Trump says.

“What? Why, sir? What does he have on you?”

“Yes, Donny. Tell them what I have on you.”

“I can’t.”

“You will.”

Trump smooths out his tie and takes a breath. “I never saw Ally Sheedy’s breasts. I wanted to go say hello, and, like, obviously she would have let me do whatever, but I had Russian dressing on my tie so I was too embarrassed.”

“Tell the truth, Donny,” Putin says.

“Okay. Fine. She wouldn’t meet with me. Wouldn’t give me the time of day. Said I was a . . . a loser. Are you happy now?” A single tear rolls down Trump’s cheek. “The world can never know.”

“Oh, sir,” Bannon says. He stands up and walks around the desk. He cradles the president’s head against his stomach.

“Banno?” Trump says.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s a curtsy again?”

Dane A. Wisher is based in Brooklyn.