She's just being herself

“Wow, don't you clean up nice.” I tell her as she strolls into the kitchen. “Is there something special going on?”

“It's just you're being so sweet to me,” she hesitates shyly, “I thought I'd dress up a little.” It's a kind thought, and I put her to work setting the table while I go back to my room and pull a sports coat on over my shirt. It is amazing what wearing a jacket can do to a a man's level of dressiness, Alison probably spent almost thirty minutes to look that fancy, but I can get almost the same effect in thirty seconds by throwing on a well-fitting jacket.

Alison's approval is written all over her expressive face which lights up in one of her thousand-watt smiles. “You look really nice too, Mr. P.”

As we eat, we talk about the Covid virus and the government's mixed messaging. Alison is a staunch supporter of the president, raised as she was, she really could be nothing else, but even she is disturbed by the discrepancies between what Trump is saying and the **** toll we see rising every day. The news cycle is filled with clips from the tapes that Woodward had made of the president, and for the first time Alison is hearing Trump himself admit how serious the situation really was and that he deliberately lied about how bad the virus really was. Over diner she tried to make excuses for the fool, and instead of arguing with her I let her work out for herself what she believed.

The dinner conversation was different from what I was used to with Fran who had hated Trump from the moment he came down the escalator of Trump Tower. Four years ago I had been willing to give the man a chance, now I just don't give a shit. Since my wife's **** I haven't let myself talk about politics with anyone. Some part of me knows I'm being a stubborn ass, but everything in my life is fucked up, so why should the country be any different?

“Are you listening to me, Mr. P.” I look up in surprise and realize she caught me a million miles away.

“I'm sorry, Alison, say that again.”

“I asked why politicians don't just tell the truth?” I shrugged, and smiled at her sadly.

“I guess for the same reasons that everyone else lies.” I tell her, “to try and make ourselves not look like the asses that most of us are.”

“You're not an ass, Mr. P.” She reaches for my hand but I jerk it away.

“Aren't I?” I snort bitterly, “maybe it was some other man that **** you to sleep with me?” Alison shakes her her head gently, and her knowing smile belies how innocent I know she really is.

“You didn't **** me to sleep with you, Mr. P, I promise.” She reaches for my hand again and this time I let her take it. “We can do it whenever you want.” Her big eyes find mine with an earnest honesty that I cannot evade. “We don't need to wait until next week, you can take me whenever and however you want.”