Heartbreaker

"And here we have Heartbreaker's," Barbie said, finishing the tour. Samson had places to go eat, get his dry cleaning, get cheap gas, and now apparently to find cheap strippers.

"Looks better than you said," Samson observed. Barbie chuckled huskily.

"Well, John and I did always have a sentimental attachment to this place," Barbie responded. "We have to layer it through a bunch of intermediaries, but we've kept this place up and running."

They went in and each got a beer from a past-her-prime bartender, and sat down at a table. It was 3 p.m. on a Thursday and the place was dead. Barbie looked almost wistful.

"I had to practically tear him away from this place, all these skanks," Barbie said. "But it was so worth it."

"Never thought people wouldn't connect two and two?" Samson asked.

"Never cared," Barbie responded. "People liked having a First Lady that was sexual. That serviced her man. That was submissive. Fuck, I did a swimsuit calendar when I was First Lady of the state."

"Does lead to salacious rumors though," Samson said, chuckling.

"Like?"

"I heard you did a photoshoot wearing the stars and bars once," Samson said. Barbie's smile faded.

"Lesson two. People like a pretty blonde being a slut. But they also like to have one that will pander to the base. But the things I do aren't always representative of my beliefs. Case in point ... I have Black nephews and nieces. I have Hispanic grandchildren. I love them all just as much as I love the rest of my family. But I've subsumed that as a public image to honor John's legacy. And one reason my inbox is filled with MAGA-men wanting to ball my brains out. Do have one interesting prospect though."

"Well, one byproduct," Samson noted. "Sometimes even someone from the other side of the aisle grew up watching a hot blonde in the White House and dreamed of fucking her."

Barbie's lips quirked, and she took another swig of cheap beer.

"Best of luck to you, young man."