JARED is quietly melting down at his desk. He is unable to sign onto his work computer. Instead of trying to remember and then inputting his correct password, he presumes he has been fired. He looks around and sees that everyone else is working, even KELLYANNE CONWAY who typically just talks about how busy she is without ever doing much of anything. GARY COHN is listing taxes to cut like they’re items to pick up from the grocery store to make a cake not one rich person is allergic to. GENERAL KELLY is reinforcing the patriarchy but not present. IVANKA is sprawled out on her reclining couch. The one leg is a little charred from the time STEVE BANNON and REBEKAH MERCER tried lighting it on fire. Moving it into the West Wing was IVANKA’s way of reclaiming her power. It’s worked. She is with her LAWYERS, avoiding liability and criminality.
KELLYANNE CONWAY [into her phone]: That toast Steve Bannon smells? He’s not just having a stroke this time. It’s a civil war.
[JARED cleans dust from his keyboard to disguise the fact that he can’t log onto his computer. When his keyboard is spotless, he notices the Chinese takeout fortune he long ago affixed to his monitor, “Wherever you go, there you are,” is furled. He reapplies Scotch tape. He presses the edges three times, but it won’t unfurl. JARED decides he doesn’t want to be where he is anyhow, and peels off the paper. It’s the most decisive action he’s taken since redacted.]
KELLYANNE CONWAY [into her phone]: I don’t know what side I’m on either but that’s not the point. The point is, you’re going to need reinforcements. You can’t win white women without—[KELLYANNE CONWAY pretends she wasn’t hung up on. She walks over to the office white board and crosses off BERNIE SANDERS from her list of “Contingency Plans.” She opens her music, searches for and plays Donovan’s “Season of the Witch,” and lights a cigarette. JARED coughs reflexively. She slinks over and reaches for the Nilla Wafer wrapper in JARED’s waste basket.]
KELLYANNE CONWAY [ashing into the Nilla Wafer wrapper]: These were mine.
IVANKA [reclining]: Leave him alone. [There’s inaudible crosstalk with her lawyers, who are sitting on the floor, crossing their legs and holding up documents to IVANKA who is either nodding Yes or No. The Yes documents are marked with invisible ink and filed into an accordion folder that will eventually be buried where ROBERT MUELLER would never think to find them: Grant’s Tomb, the resting place of Ulysses S. Grant, the polar opposite of MAGA hero, Robert E. Lee. And the No documents will be recycled into gift wrap and sold to QVC moms who may never vote TRUMP again but will always, always, always believe the War on Christmas is real.]
JARED [to KELLYANNE CONWAY, helplessly]: I think I’ve been fired.
[KELLYANNE CONWAY shows JARED a photo of himself with TRUMP and STEPHEN MILLER and HOPE HICKS. They’re stupidly giving thumbs up even though their losses earlier in the week likely portend even more losses in 2018. JARED doesn’t know how to interpret the photo. He doesn’t remember ever posing for it. IVANKA’s LAWYERS swarm him like flies to dog shit. They have some questions for him about his unusual workplace behavior.]
LAWYER 1 [nasally]: Hi Jared.
LAWYER 2 [nasally]: Can we talk about some of your emails?
LAWYER 3 [nasally]: You seem to subscribe to a lot of—
LAWYER 2: A lot of lists.
LAWYER 1: From your work email.
LAWYER 2 [whispering]: Stuff that we’d primarily expect someone—
LAWYER 1 [whispering]: Someone of your stature?
LAWYER 3 [whispering]: Don’t you have a personal email?
JARED [resignedly]: I’m very faithful to my wife
LAWYER 1 [whispering]: No. No.
LAWYER 2 [whispering]: Stuff we wouldn’t expect.
LAWYER 1 [whispering]: You to bother with?
LAWYER 3 [whispering]: Coursera?
LAWYER 1 [whispering]: A four-course specialization in Construction Management from Columbia?
JARED [kind of surprised he would sign up for something like that]: It was a different time.
LAWYER 2 [not whispering]: 100pushups dot com?
JARED [looking down]: That was—[JARED wishes he hadn’t thrown out his Chinese takeout fortune.] I wanted to be able to do a hundred push-ups. Like I said. It was a different time.
IVANKA [exuding unearned wealth]: Was it?
LAWYER 1 [reasonably]: We just didn’t think it was you, is all.
LAWYER 2 [reasonably]: We were worried you’d been hacked
JARED [assertively]: I wanted to be able to do push-ups.
GARY COHN [looking up from his notepad]: Jared, if you want to be able to do push-ups you should’ve come to me. An email can’t teach you how to do a God damned push-up. [GARY descends to the ground and beings doing push-ups.] I’ve got this guy. He’s great. You’ll love him. He trains Tony Romo. I know, I know. He’s a Cowboy. Once a Cowboy, always a Cowboy. [GARY COHN opens the Lehman Brothers duffel bag he carries with him when he’s feeling like a jackass. He puts on his Odell Beckham Jr. jersey over his shirt and tie.] But his game calling. My God. I had no fucking idea he was a fellow member of the Never Wrong club. You, me, Tony, Barack Obama when he is in town. You’ll be doing tricep push-ups in three weeks.
JARED [to the LAWYERS]: Look, is this important? I can’t log into my computer. I think I’ve been fired.
LAWYER 1 [accurately]: That would certainly make this all easier.
LAWYER 2 [whispering]: Who can we talk to, to find out if you’ve been fired?
JARED [hesitantly]: My daughter, I guess.
LAWYER 3 [not whispering]: Your daughter?
JARED [ashamedly]: She’s my boss.
IVANKA [powerfully]: Kind of.
KELLYANNE CONWAY [rolling her eyes]: She’s the shadow President. The generals and Gary put her in charge a few weeks ago.
[The LAWYERS look to GARY COHN, who is now doing one hundred push-ups.]
GARY COHN [not incorrectly]: It makes some sense. We put her in charge after the—[GARY COHN holds a plank and looks directly at JARED. JARED whispers to the LAWYERS that whenever ANYONE says the word “redacted” they are likely referring to the Russia investigation.] We put her in charge after the redacted, so none of it touches her. It’s a Chinese firewall.
KELLYANNE CONWAY [messaging, but too little, too late]: MAGA firewall.
GARY COHN [resting]: Plus, in the off chance that redacted does reach her, she can be tried as a minor, and get her life back in time for—
IVANKA [proudly]: The Wharton School.
GARY COHN [matter of factly]: For Harvard College.
LAWYER 3: Well, can we talk to her? Where is she?
JARED, IVANKA, KELLYANNE CONWAY and GARY COHN [in unison]: Class.
[The LAWYERS all look at each other. One of them asks IVANKA if it’s okay to smoke indoors since KELLYANNE CONWAY just did. IVANKA doesn’t respond, recalling an early lesson from her father: Don’t waste words on people you pay. She walks over to JARED’s computer and enters his password. The computer unlocks and IVANKA exits.]
JARED [to the LAWYERS]: My daughter gets back from school at 3:30pm, but maybe I wasn’t fired. [JARED follows his wife to ask her what his password is. KELLYANNE CONWAY reads aloud excerpts from GARY COHN’s most recent CNBC interview.]
KELLYANNE CONWAY [lighting another cigarette]: Trickle-down economics?
GARY COHN [doing push-ups again, this time elevating his feet on a medicine ball]: Trickle down was the only thing I could think of that Republicans say.
KELLYANNE CONWAY [lying]: Paul Ryan doesn’t even say that anymore. Pivot to the anthem next time.