IMAGINES: Celebrity Encounters Starring You (53 page)

That’s your title; it’s short for “right hand.” Once upon a time, you’d have been called a secretary or assistant or gofer. But your boss believes in empowering his staff. He’s often told you he couldn’t make it through his workday without you, that you are his right hand, and the moniker stuck. You’re proud of it. “Yes, Mr. President?”

“Where was I October twenty-first last year?”

Your clear glass tablet rests on your knees and you swipe at the screen, already knowing the answer before you look at his calendar. “You were in New York, announcing the closure of the one thousandth prison and increasing the funds going into public schooling, which was approximately fifteen billion dollars at the time.”

He nods regally. It was a huge double victory; by decriminalizing possession and removing mandatory minimums, he not only reduced the prison population by a quarter, but funneled all the excess spending into education.

“What about the year before that?” he asks.

“October twenty-first, 2021, you were in transit between Australia and DC, after meetings to discuss gun control legislation.” You glance up and beam at him. “As soon as you landed, you began to implement the new regulations.”

You don’t have to add what everyone knows already: that despite huge resistance from the gun lobby, your boss charmed and coerced the bills through the Senate. A buyback scheme was initiated, with millions of guns purchased and destroyed, and mass shootings had dropped by 80 percent. It’s a topic you’re passionate about, having lost your little nephew in a school shooting during the previous administration.

The president’s eyes crease kindly, as he knows how much
gun laws mean to you. “And how about my first October in office, Righty? Where was I then?”

It’s a rhetorical question—everyone in the country remembers the date, October 21, 2020, as clearly as people remember the date of Pearl Harbor or the year Columbus landed. Your voice is low and husky with the memory of those dark days. “You were in Switzerland, signing the international peace treaty to end the World War Trump.”

Everyone in the office freezes, petrified by the horrors of what had almost come to pass. When former president Trump had been elected, most of the country found it humorous. The reality star with the ridiculous hair and his promises to “make America great again” was looked upon as a mildly entertaining change to the bland presidents who’d come before him, and the world watched with interest as he took office. But that interest soon turned to terror as Trump immediately expanded military forces in the Middle East, then rounded up every Muslim in the United States and detained them in inhumane internment camps. The prison population swelled to the breaking point as every undocumented migrant and minor offender was incarcerated, and the health-care budget was slashed to fund a giant, chrome-and-gold wall between the United States and Mexico.

The real terror began when Trump declared war with countries around the world on various whims: China, England, Russia—
Canada?
He launched missiles with the attitude of a bored schoolboy playing with his water pistol, randomly targeting countries that held little to no threat unless riled, and in only months America was at war with over 80 percent of the world.

Hope began to fade, law had failed in many major US cities, looting and rioting were daily occurrences. People lived in fear for their lives. Canada generously opened its border to allow US refugees to escape—until Trump declared defection to Canada high
treason and shut the border, trapping everyone inside the mess he’d created.

But out of the darkness came the light.

Presidential candidate West.

When Kanye West first announced his intention to run for office, he was treated as a joke, just another celeb trying to get political—but you saw things differently. You’d read his policy paper, entitled “Run This Country,” a play on a song title from one of his early albums. You’d opened the document, expecting obnoxious grandstanding and uninformed ramblings, and had been stunned to find a logical, ordered policy focusing on equality and education.
Son of a Gold Digger
, you’d sworn silently. You realized he was the one man who could change the fate of the United States before there wasn’t a country left to save.

You still remember the day your phone rang. It was an unlisted number, and you answered cautiously, “Hello?”

“Hey, this is Kanye West. I got your number. We’re gonna meet.”

Sure, you’d reached out to his campaign office to offer your services, but you never expected a response. You’d laughed, thinking it was one of your friends pranking you. “Oh, sure. Nice to speak with you, Mr. West. I’d love to meet you too!”

“Good, good. Listen, I’ve sent a Maybach to pick you up.”

“Mm-hmm, yeah, yeah,” you’d said sarcastically, until you were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was a suited driver, with the nicest car you’d ever seen waiting behind him. You’d gulped, suddenly realizing this call was for real.

Kanye had noted your silence and said, “I need people on my team who wanna help me save our country. Is that you?”

It was. You’ve been by his side as he won the election in a landslide, supported his every move in the chess game of international politics, and made sure that he had everything he needed before he had to ask.

And now President West is standing in a room full of the country’s best and brightest, with no one able to solve the mammoth problem he faces. And you know he needs your help again.

He lets the enormity of the last three years of change sink in to everyone in the room, then says, “You wonder why I view this as a national problem,
henh
? Can’t none of you guess?”

The secretary of state says cautiously, “Well, obviously, your wife’s birthday has been overshadowed for several years by your political duties, but surely you realize that the fate of our great nation is far more important than personal celeb—”

“No, Mr. Sanchez, it’s you who don’t realize.” President West spins and points to the life-size portrait of Kim hanging in pride of place opposite his desk. She’s ethereal in the picture, her svelte lines draped in violet silk, her face calm and confident. “That woman, she’s not just my wife. The first lady is the reason all of ya’ll are standing here today, living in a free country.”

He eyeballs everyone as he says, “Kim was the one to encourage me to get into politics. She’s the person who believed in me—before anyone else did—before I even believed in myself. She has been my muse, my angel, as I’ve battled my way through international politics and war rooms. She nurses my mind back to health, puts the passion in my body, steadies my emotions.” His voice trembles slightly and his eyes are gentle on Kim’s face. “I couldn’t have accomplished anything without her, which means this country, this world, might be very different if not for her. And she’s never uttered a word of complaint for her missed birthdays. This year, the mother of my children, my goddess, my
everything
, she’s getting a reward. So, think, people! What do I give to the woman who has it all?”

And like that you all had circled back around again; for the last two hours everyone’s been desperately trying to come up with a suitable birthday gift for First Lady Kim with no luck. Money isn’t an object; both Kanye and Kim have their own personal fortunes,
so much so that the president donates his salary straight to an arts school for underprivileged children in Chicago.

“There’s that idea about buying a racehorse,” bleats one of the other entourage members.

Someone else ventures, “Or name a school after her?”

“No, no,
no!
” The president rubs his chin in frustration; not many people realize he was in a terrible car accident when he was younger; the metal plate in his chin plays up when he’s vexed. You’ve always been sensitive to it. “Buildings can be torn down, animals can die! I want something that stands the test of time—a gift worthy of a queen! She’s as important to this country as Washington or Lincoln, and if I can’t show her that”—he folds forward over his desk, broken—“then I’ve failed her.”

The room has fallen into a sacred silence, but his words echo inside your brain.
Washington. Lincoln. The test of time
 . . .

An idea strikes you. “Oh!” you say out loud without thinking.

Kanye glances up at you sharply. “What is it, Righty?”

Every face in the Oval Office swings in your direction. You swallow thickly, unused to being the center of attention. “Well, I have an idea. But it’s kinda epically insane.”

The leader of the free world grins at you. “Epically insane ideas are the only kind worth a damn.”

RIDING BACKWARD IN HELICOPTERS
doesn’t bother you like it used to; your boss rides in choppers more often than cars these days, so if you hadn’t gotten over your fears by now, you’d be out of a job.

Beneath you, the gorgeous Rocky Mountains roll gently in glorious green lines. You still marvel that Kim and Kanye hold all of this land privately. The president purchased it from developers several years ago, and he has decreed any not-for-profit group or family can camp or hike there to their hearts’ content.

You are all bound for the northwest corner, but no one in the chopper knows that except you, President West, and the pilot. Little Nori and Saint are pressed against opposite windows, oohing and aahing as the clouds whiz by, their behavior flawless despite the early hour. The birthday girl snuggles in beside her husband, her face content.

Kim is looking incredible as usual. You’re still always floored by her ability to rock every look she’s required to, whether that’s at a formal political ball in a Parisian palace or a heavily photographed trip to the mountains with her family. Today she’s wearing white fitted jeans and a gorgeous cashmere sweater threaded with pale silver. She chats easily to you over the headphones. “Hey, Righty! How’s Nix doing? You two still strong?”

Your goofy smile gives away how infatuated you are with the love of your life. Kim introduced the two of you at a charity gala; Nix was a rising R&B singer with incredible eyes and a smile that stole your heart. The two of you haven’t spent a night apart since—just one more reason to be grateful to First Lady Kim.

“We’re amazing,” you reply.

“Thirty seconds out,” says the pilot, and you watch Kanye sit upright, nervous.

He turns to his wife, love and passion burning in his eyes. “Baby . . .”

You know he has a big speech prepared because he’s been practicing it in front of the mirror for days. He planned to shower her with beautiful words of gratitude, to tell her exactly how much she means to him, to the country, to the world.

But emotion has caught up with him. Instead of the speech, he kisses her ardently. “Happy birthday, Mrs. President.”

The chopper has begun to descend, and outside the window, Kim’s present awaits. A magnificent waterfall pours from the top of a high cliff, and beside that spectacular water feature, Kim’s face and luscious body have been carved into the mountainside.
The artists, who have labored 24-7 for months, have perfectly captured her sculpted cheekbones and arched brows. Cascading vines fall over her temple and shoulders, mimicking her magnificent hair, and the enormous sculpture stares into the sky with an expression of hope and determination. If Mount Rushmore is iconic, this is a wonder of the modern world.

But the most striking aspect is the pose of the carving; it was based on the
Paper
magazine photoshoot—the one that broke the internet—because it’s a personal favorite of both Kim and Kanye. Kim’s rocky behind protrudes into the stream of the waterfall, where, rather than champagne, the dancing stream of water bounces merrily off her derriere before descending again. It’s just enough to be sassy and unique, and it perfectly encapsulates the First Lady’s vivacious spirit.

Kim gasps, clasping her hands to her mouth, while the children cry, “Mama! Mama, it’s you! Mama, you’re in the mountain!”

“It was Righty’s idea.” Kanye nods in your direction. “I wanted to give you something that would last forever, just like I know our love will.”

“This . . . This is . . .” Kim has begun to cry, her mouth open in a moue that doesn’t mar her beauty. “I can’t believe you did this!”

Kanye touches her face with tenderness. “Everyone who ever comes here will be inspired by you, just like I am. Is it . . . all right?”

Her fierce kiss is his answer. “It’s incredible. But my best gift is being married to you, Mr. President.”

Teary, you look away to give them their privacy. Outside the helicopter, the sun is rising over the mountains, casting the massive sculpture in a vibrant pink glow.

Your heart is filled with hope for a world on the mend, all thanks to President West and First Lady Kim.

Y
ou wake up before sunrise, per usual. It’s a Wednesday. Weather forecast calls for a small chance of rain later that afternoon. You consider whether you should take the umbrella.

But you can think about that when you’re leaving. You tend to jump ahead of yourself a lot. Think in the now. Act now.

So you act now. You get up, out of that huge queen-size bed (you’re more of an optimist than a realist), out of the warm comforters, and traipse through your apartment, right for the kitchen. Even though it’s only four in the morning, you start a pot of coffee and pull out your travel mug.

While that’s brewing, you walk back into your bedroom and pull out the blue jeans and T-shirt you plan to wear to work that day. No need to be fancy; it’s hot and dress clothes will just smother you.

You learned long ago that dress clothes weren’t required at this job . . . unless, of course, you’re trying to impress someone. Then they’re essential. But today, there’s no one to impress. Just run-of-the-mill people you see every day; same for the past month.

It takes you less than three minutes to put on makeup and throw your hair into a presentable ponytail. No shower needed right now, but later, after work, is a different story. You’ve been favoring
ponytails since filming began, finding it faster and much less work. That way, you can go to bed with your hair wet after your shower.