The King Has Left The Castle - Joe Biden’s First Night In The Master Bedroom

Joe Biden has promised that on his first day in office, he will clean house. Not only will he get rid of the detritus of the Trump years, but he will create a new, happy, considerate, inclusive America.  His Executive orders will rescind Trump’s worst policies and will expunge every trace of the former President’s white, elitist, capitalist excesses.

Biden can’t wait to take occupancy of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.  He knows he missed his chance four years ago.  There was little doubt that the likeable, comfortable Senator Biden would have better luck against Trump than that screeching, ambitious hyena ; but what goes around comes around, and now, finally, at long last, he gets to sleep in the Master Bedroom, the place where he has belonged for decades. 

What would the Bedroom be like, he wondered, or more specifically the Master bed – a magnificent double king, canopied, graciously comfortable mattress and down pillows.  A retinue of servants to help him dress and make ready for the day.  Le Lever du Roi it was called in the day of the Sun King, Louis XIV, a magnificent start to every day, the embroidered curtains pulled to reveal the early morning sunlight over the gardens of Versailles, the marvelously tailored robes, soft Italian slippers, and the silken wig of the hair from the heads of a thousand handsome princes.  Of course he would have to change the name – ‘Master’ bedroom simply wouldn’t do, suggesting as it does, slavery, black lovers, and le droit du seigneur. Names aside, Joe thought, I can’t wait.

Finally and at last he would be able to leave his crabbed and very modest house in Wilmington; and if he were being completely honest, he was quite happy to leave Delaware, known for Dupont, tax havens, and a few beaches.  Of course the good people of Delaware had rewarded him for his consistent attention to their matters, enabling decades of a Congressional sinecure.  He was fortunate, and since his reelections were always all but guaranteed and only a few votes to protect this or that were required to keep him in his state’s eye, seniority – one of the benefits of the Senate which did not reward work or performance, but longevity – was upon him.  

Which reminded him, he had to be sure to fight the conservative move to dismantle the university tenure system.  What was good for him, was good for college professors; and what was wrong with a heads down, moderate, cause no waves approach to tenure so that you could do whatever afterwards?

How would he be able to sleep that first night in the Master bedroom?  He would be so excited about being President and would miss his old bed.  Perhaps the best news about White House bedrooms was that he and his wife Jill would sleep separately.  The First Lady’s quarters were almost as sumptuous as his, and since he would be awakened by his valet many times during the night to take care of the nation’s business, sleeping in the same bed wouldn’t really be fair to his wife. 

Besides, although his campaign handlers did all they could to touch up his wrinkles and sags, Biden was approaching eighty, and like men of his age was quite creaky.  As importantly, although all men are obsessed with sex all of the time, it is with young women, not with old, sagging wives that they want to have sex.

Ah, but Kamala Harris, youngish, darkly attractive, model-ready at middle age, would be right next door, thought Joe until he realized she would be five miles upriver in the Vice Presidential residence; but knowing her, she would have her own fish to fry, and no one expected her to roll over for her husband twice a week. While the halcyon years of JFK and his dalliances were gone, and the press now nosed into a President’s every business, few cared about the private life of a Vice President, always out of the news, supernumerary, and ribbon-cutter at best.  Of course, given Biden’s age, Kamala could get her chance for the top job earlier rather than later, and the press scents this and will follow her very closely.

Still, Joe thought, he was to be the President of the United States with nobody telling him what do do; and since he – again in his most private thoughts – never gave a second term a second thought, what would a few dalliances of his own matter? How could they hurt him.  Since the beginning of the campaign, he has had the press entirely on his side.  In fact never before in electoral history was there such a cavalcade of boosters for one man and one party among the press.  Now that they had helped him win the Presidency and rid the country of the Demon, they would certainly look the other way at a few, minor indiscretions.

He stopped his reveries there.  It would do him no good to begin to think of perks and favors until the present King had left the castle.  Not that there was any real chance that Trump would refuse to leave, but you never know.  The soft, enveloping folds of the Master Bed would soon be around him.

Joe wondered if Trump would pie his sheets.  He remembered his college days when at lights out, someone would try to slip into bed only to find it short-sheeted, as impenetrable as a stubborn hymen and as frustrating.  Or Limburger cheese in a heating duct.  Joe smiled, but chased such adolescent memories from his head.  No, as crazy as Trump was, he would lay his traps in other more significant places – the budget, his orders, his judgeships, and most aggravating of all, his Executive pardons.  Given the American legal system, a Presidential pardon is for a lifetime, and one would have to be reminded of dirty tricks and chicanery of Trump’s buddies every time they showed up.  Arrogant pricks that they are, they would never retire quietly, thankful for having escaped jail, but would dance the Charleston in public squares.

Following Trump and his cronies would be an easy ride, do deep was the resentment and hatred for the man; yet there had to be signposts, signifiers of the radical change coming with a roundly Democratic government and him in the White House.  A Pablo Casals-type concert a la JFK or a Robert Frost-style invocation at a formal dinner – something of high culture, if not elegance.  No, he reflected, that wouldn’t do.  Such events would be examples of the very white elitism that he and Kamala had fought so hard against.  

Kenny Rogers? Too redneck.  Shakira, perhaps, a dish, and a Latino one to boot.  Joe knew he had to be careful since he knew that both he and Jill were middle-brow and any overreaching or patronizing would be caught and called out.   Just be yourself, Joe thought, but was not exactly sure what that was.  He had never thought a persona was important.  If anything, workingman was close enough.  His career had been based on factory floor and corn row effort, nothing else.  And as much as the far Left of his party might like to think that he was going to go whole hog on the gender spectrum, secularization, and feminist revolution, he would never stray from his middle of the road ideas and politics.

Ah, yes, but what about Kamala?  She wasn’t about to shut up about race, gender, and ethnicity – she, the three in one package of diversity that helped him get elected.  While she was not about to raise Asian awareness, she would – if the Secret Service let her – join the ranks of the BLM activists heady with his electoral success and ready to show their enthusiasm.  She and that nasty little ‘Squad’ in the House would be a royal pain in the ass, but he would simply stick to his guns, let them bitch and rant, and put up with him.  Unless Kamala stuck her fingers a bit too far in his business, caught him on an off day, and pushed through this or that legislation that he opposed.

His one big regret was that COVID had basically scotched his Inauguration.  No parades, caparisoned cavalry, marching bands, waving flags, and adoring thousands.  It would be a crimped and crabbed affair, hardly worth noticing.  He would simply slip into office unnoticed with none of the pomp and circumstance he had waited so long for.  He wondered if he should wear a mask at the swearing in – probably, since who knew where Chief Justice Roberts had been, and the mask had become his trademark during the campaign so it wouldn’t hurt to show this particular, patriotic flag during the taking of the Oath of Office.  Kamala demurred when asked about wearing a mask – she is actually quite vain and proud of her looks.

So, for Joe Biden January 20th can’t come soon enough – a dream deferred now a dream realized.  It would only be real when he slipped between the sheets in the Master Bedroom and awakened to a retinue at le lever du nouveau roi.