Jared Kushner's Group Texts Go Unanswered

And Kushner daughter learns to ride a bike.

JARED is hiding in GARY COHN’s makeshift boiler room. He’s texting STAFF his newest initiative: eliminating all government forms. It’s a rash overreaction to the report that he registered to vote as a woman, but JARED is neither reasonable nor good at his job. HOPE HICKS is writing staff biographies for the White House website re-design. GENERAL KELLY is teaching KUSHNER DAUGHTER to ride a bicycle. It was on her bucket list and it broke the GENERAL’s heart when he realized JARED probably didn’t know how to teach her because he didn’t himself know how to ride a bike.

HOPE HICKS [notepad open]: I know your mother is our kickass ninja warrior princess. But how should I describe you?

KUSHNER DAUGHTER [pedaling with help]: Remember when you were telling me about that library of term papers your Tri Delt sisters kept? And you’d sign out a pre-written paper whenever you needed one. I’m the library.

HOPE HICKS [marveling at KUSHNER DAUGHTER’s metaphor]: I can’t say it like that though, can I?

GENERAL KELLY [steadying the bike as KUSHNER DAUGHTER tips]: Director of Research.

[IVANKA enters, directing STEPHEN MILLER and NEIL GORSUCH to place a Bodega in the corner of the office where the microwave was until JARED destroyed it making popcorn.]

IVANKA [powerfully]: We’re going to fill them with MAGA hats and other branded garbage and locate them in volunteer fire departments throughout the former Blue Wall.

SARAH HUCKABEE SANDERS [proudly]: Women entrepreneurs!

HOPE HICKS [taking notes]: And Sarah, obviously, is our mom.

SARAH HUCKABEE SANDERS [horrifed]: I’m six years older than you are.

HOPE HICKS [horrified]: How old do you think I am?

[JARED, frustrated no one has replied to his idea, exits the boiler room. He sends another message, “No government forms?????” Everyone’s phone, even his DAUGHTER’s, pings. They all look, but no one responds. JARED walks over to his colleagues to ask them why.]

HOPE HICKS [perfunctorily]: Jared, what is it that you do?

GENERAL KELLY [running alongside KUSHNER DAUGHTER]: This is a helpful exercise for all of us Jared. If you can somehow put into words your role here, that would help us all, immensely. I think?

JARED [walking towards the group]: How did you all know I was standing right here?

HOPE HICKS [declaratively]: Your sneakers make a squeak when you walk.

SARAH HUCKABEE SANDERS [correctly]: Like a little fart.

KUSHNER DAUGHTER [riding with assistance]: Like a little forest animal is farting.

KELLYANNE CONWAY [decorating the office for Halloween]: Remember when Steve—[KELLYANNE CONWAY glares at STEPHEN MILLER.]—not you. When Steve Bannon brought those raccoons to work?

IVANKA [blocking KELLYANNE CONWAY from sticking a pumpkin decal onto her beta Bodega]: To bite Jared. Yes, of course

KUSHNER DAUGHTER [riding on her own for a few seconds!]: To prove that rabies shots cause autism.

GENERAL KELLY [steadying KUSHNER DAUGHTER again]: You think it’s a fart? I always hear it as whimpering. A forest animal whimpering. A chipmunk, maybe.

[GARY COHN strides in. He is carrying a guitar because he is on his way to a music lesson with Bruce Springsteen. He is also crabby because his press conference unveiling his tax plan did not go well.]

GARY COHN [setting his guitar gingerly atop IVANKA’s startup]: It’s not farting or crying. It’s a broken windshield wiper. But you’re not going to crash, right? Yom Kippur skipper?

KELLYANNE CONWAY [handing GARY COHN a small gourd for his boiler room]: A $1,000 rebate to pay for a new kitchen?

GARY COHN [setting the pumpkin on IVANKA’s Bodega]: How should I fucking know? You told me they don’t even use their kitchens.

JARED [seeking validation]: I texted you.

GARY COHN [unfazed]: It must’ve auto erased. That app—who the fuck installed that app on my phone?

JARED [hopelessly]: I accounted for that and texted you every ten minutes.

GARY COHN [perusing IVANKA’s Bodega]: I don’t know what to tell you, kid.

JARED [to himself]: Does anyone read my texts?

HOPE HICKS [looking up from her notepad]: I wanted to the other day. I saw your name. The day you were crying about your haircut. I thought I should check in, see how you were doing. [She jots something down in her notes.] But then it disappeared.

GARY COHN [disappointed in the Bodega offerings]: Hope, I didn’t realize your dad ran communications for the NFL. [GARY COHN high fives HOPE HICKS.] Everyone in New York can watch again, guilt free.

KELLYANNE CONWAY [deciding a witch’s hat on her own head is too on the nose]: Meanwhile the President is doubling down like he’s a fast food sandwich where the buns are chicken patties.

GARY COHN [to JARED]: What did you want?

[JARED whispers to GARY COHN his idea to eliminate government forms.]

GARY COHN [aloud]: So you accidentally filled in the female box. Big fucking deal.

[JARED shushes GARY COHN, who’s tagged in at the bicycle because GENERAL KELLY’s knees were bothering him. GENERAL KELLY asks NEIL GORSUCH, while he has him around, to read and interpret ROBERT MUELLER’s most recent subpoena for him.]

GARY COHN [steadying the bike]: The key to long term happiness is what, Jared?

KUSHNER DAUGHTER [catching her rhythm]: Purpose.

GARY COHN [proudly]: It’s purpose, yes. What’s my purpose?

KELLYANNE CONWAY [witheringly]: Reforming the tax code, I hope.

GARY COHN [touching one finger on the bike]: Wrong. That’s incidental to my purpose which is—[GARY COHN makes the letter p sound.]

KUSHNER DAUGHTER [hesitantly]: Proximity to power.

GARY COHN [helicoptering the bike, but holding his hands in the air]: Pattern recognition. I recognized that all Presidents hire Goldman leadership and so I become a leader at Goldman.

KUSHNER DAUGHTER [braking her bike]: Do you think Mr. Bannon registered my dad to vote as a woman?

GARY COHN [correctly]: Listen, when you’re as powerful as your father is, you don’t have to fill out paperwork correctly. The paperwork conforms to you.

KUSHNER DAUGHTER [also correctly]: How can paper conform?

GARY COHN [steadying the bike again]: Keep your eyes on the hallway, Yom Kippur skipper.

HOPE HICKS [reading from her notepad]: Jared’s a mess and Gary is—

KUSHNER DAUGHTER [pedaling]: The boss.

GARY COHN [releasing]: No that’ll trigger—

KUSHNER DAUGHTER [pedaling faster]: The President.

GARY COHN [totally stepping away from the bike]: I mean, sure maybe, but I meant Bruce. I can always work for another President.

[KUSHNER DAUGHTER sails off, navigating past IVANKA’s Bodega and GARY COHN’s makeshift boiler room. HOPE HICKS and SARAH HUCKABEE SANDERS clap and cheer. STEPHEN MILLER is still lurking in the shadows.]

GARY COHN [to HOPE HICKS]: Say I’m the consigliere.

[JARED feels his armpit to check if the knot he felt when applying deodorant this morning is still there. IVANKA notices and says it’s a swollen lymph node. JARED must have another Indian summer cold.]