Corset in Congress (A Hamilton Genderbend)

Chapter Thirty-Four: The Adams Administration

Burr's POV

This may come as a shock, but Alexandra screwed up. Again.

Here, I'll explain. How does Hamilton, the short-tempered, protean creator of the Coast Guard, founder of the New York Post, ardently abuse her cabinet post, destroy her reputation? Welcome, folks, to the Adams administration! 

Jefferson's the runner up, which makes him the Vice President. And, as he put it, "Washington can't help you know, no more Mr. Nice President." That got a rise out of Alexandra. Jefferson still has a black eye.

If that wasn't hard enough for her, Adams fires Hamilton, privately calls her "creole bastard" and other things which shall be left unsaid, in his taunts. Hamilton publishes her response.

She wrote, An open letter to the fat, arrogant, anti-charismatic, national embarrassment known as President John Adams. "Shit," I say, and Jefferson and Madison who I am reading this nod in agreement. We don't say anything after that, just continue to read with growing expressions of horror.

The man's irrational, he claims that I'm in league with Britain in some vast international intrigue! Bitch, please! You wouldn't know what I'm doing! You're always going berserk, but you never show up to work! Give my regards to Abigail next time you talk about my lack of moral compass. At least I do my job up in this rumpus!

The three of us take a sharp intake of breath at exactly the same time, the exhale in a soft "Oh." This is both the greatest and worst letter we have ever read, tearing into every flaw in the President's armour and destroying the man inside.

The line is behind me, I crossed it again. Well, the President lost it again! Aww, such a rough life, better run to your wife! Yo, the boss is in Boston again. Let me ask you a question: who sits at your desk when you're in Massachusetts? They were calling you a dick back in '76 and you haven't done anything new since! You're a nuisance with no sense, you'll die of irrelevance! Go ahead: you can call me the devil, you aspire to my level, you aspire to malevolence! Say hi to the Jeffersons! And the spies all around me! Maybe they can confirm I don't care if I kill my career with this letter, I'm confining you to one term!

You fat mother-- Jefferson quickly flips over the page, stopping the words from oozing out at us. We've seen enough. All of us are breathing hard, imagining the possibilities if Hamilton ever decided to tell the country what she thought of one of us. It's not a pretty picture.

I break the silence, saying quietly, "Hamilton's out of control." 

"This is great," says Madison eventually, and I do a double-take. I'm sorry, are we looking at the same thing here? Did you not see the most powerful man in the United States of America get his ass handed to him by a short, feisty, female immigrant? "She's out of power, she holds no office, and she just destroyed President John Adams, the only other significant member of her party."

Well, when you put it like that, things do look better for us. But Jefferson's shaking his head, not buying it for a minute.

"Hamilton's a host unto herself," he declares, rubbing his eyes. It strikes me that he's truly exhausted. She's playing games with all of us, I note. Madison's jumpy, more violent, I'm constantly on alert, and Jefferson's drained, emotionally and physically. "If she can hold a pen, she's a threat."

The next words he says rock my world. "Let's let her know what we know."