In a luxurious but bland hotel room in the flat Midwest or sweaty suburban Florida, far from the cooling breezes of La Jolla, MITT ROMNEY is wearily pulling off his calfskin loafers after a long day of campaigning. ANN ROMNEY is already prone on the vast bed, wearing eyeshades. MITT ROMNEY looks at his reflection in the mirror across the room, running a hand through the gelled perfection of his hair. Suddenly he sits upright, as if struck by sudden thought, and believing his wife asleep, begins to roll down the airplane window of his soul to his image in the mirror.
MITT ROMNEY (sotto voce) Ann, I want to quit. (ANN ROMNEY doesn't stir. In a louder voice) I'm sick of the whole thing.
(He stands and begins pacing)
MITT ROMNEY: I thought it would be a snap. Like being President of Bain. People stood in line to kiss my behind. If I screwed up, a bunch of brainy subordinates would fix things and then give me credit for it. Now it's nothing but finger-pointing and yelling when I make a little slip-up. And if I lose, all those brainy subordinates can't wait to write a book about it.
(Gets up, goes to the ice bucket. In it is a crystal decanter of chocolate milk.)
MITT ROMNEY: And at Bain, I could fire the VP any time I wanted to. Not this little prick. I swear, Ann, he really wants me to lose. Last time we had lunch, I caught him writing RYAN—2016 on one of the napkins with those diner crayons they give to kids. He's already trying to one-up his rivals. I hear every time Chris Christie starts looking a little tighter around the jowls, Ryan sends him an ice-cream cake.
(Pulls the decanter out of the ice bucket and pours himself a shot)
MITT ROMNEY: And what are we running for? To save the middle class? Ann, WE DON'T KNOW ANYBODY IN THE MIDDLE CLASS! Sure, we drive past their little McMansions sometimes, and watch them in their yards, trying to save a few bucks off the 200 grand a year they scrape by on by doing their own yard work, but we don't actually know any of them. And why would we want to? When I said I don't worry about poor people I meant it.
(Downs the shot of chocolate milk. Shudders as the cold diary treat hits his stomach.)
MITT ROMNEY: Why do I need to be President? I've got a hundred million dollar IRA to cash in, six houses and a secret island in the Caymans to go along with my bank account there. And even if Obama takes God off the money, that won't stop me from collecting plenty of it. I ask you, dear Ann, why do we bother?
(ANN ROMNEY takes off her eyeshades and looks at him evenly)
ANN ROMNEY: So I can rip out that awful vegetable garden and put a decent paddock on the White House lawn.
MITT ROMNEY: Right. Well, I've just been staying up so I could put a call in to Shel Adelsen anyway. What time is it in Macau?
MITT ROMNEY (sotto voce) Ann, I want to quit. (ANN ROMNEY doesn't stir. In a louder voice) I'm sick of the whole thing.
(He stands and begins pacing)
MITT ROMNEY: I thought it would be a snap. Like being President of Bain. People stood in line to kiss my behind. If I screwed up, a bunch of brainy subordinates would fix things and then give me credit for it. Now it's nothing but finger-pointing and yelling when I make a little slip-up. And if I lose, all those brainy subordinates can't wait to write a book about it.
(Gets up, goes to the ice bucket. In it is a crystal decanter of chocolate milk.)
MITT ROMNEY: And at Bain, I could fire the VP any time I wanted to. Not this little prick. I swear, Ann, he really wants me to lose. Last time we had lunch, I caught him writing RYAN—2016 on one of the napkins with those diner crayons they give to kids. He's already trying to one-up his rivals. I hear every time Chris Christie starts looking a little tighter around the jowls, Ryan sends him an ice-cream cake.
(Pulls the decanter out of the ice bucket and pours himself a shot)
MITT ROMNEY: And what are we running for? To save the middle class? Ann, WE DON'T KNOW ANYBODY IN THE MIDDLE CLASS! Sure, we drive past their little McMansions sometimes, and watch them in their yards, trying to save a few bucks off the 200 grand a year they scrape by on by doing their own yard work, but we don't actually know any of them. And why would we want to? When I said I don't worry about poor people I meant it.
(Downs the shot of chocolate milk. Shudders as the cold diary treat hits his stomach.)
MITT ROMNEY: Why do I need to be President? I've got a hundred million dollar IRA to cash in, six houses and a secret island in the Caymans to go along with my bank account there. And even if Obama takes God off the money, that won't stop me from collecting plenty of it. I ask you, dear Ann, why do we bother?
(ANN ROMNEY takes off her eyeshades and looks at him evenly)
ANN ROMNEY: So I can rip out that awful vegetable garden and put a decent paddock on the White House lawn.
MITT ROMNEY: Right. Well, I've just been staying up so I could put a call in to Shel Adelsen anyway. What time is it in Macau?
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