Jefferson's POV
This is big. Possibly a pivotal point in my career. But Tom, I hear you ask, aren't you nervous?
Not in the slightest. I'm going to whip this immigrant so hard, she's not going to remember where she came from.
As usual, the man himself starts things off. "Ladies and gentlemen," cries President Washington, "you could've been anywhere in the world tonight, but instead you're here with us in New York City! Are you ready for a cabinet meeting?"
A roar answers his mostly rhetorical question, and the excitement courses through my body like liquid fire. I'm going to destroy this woman who thinks she's got a place in this room.
"The issue on the table: Secretary Hamilton's plan to assume state's debts and assume a national bank. Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir."
He gestures to me and James, and we stand and make our way to the middle of the room. I straighten by purple coat, and, clearing my throat, start out strong.
"'Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.' We fought for these ideals, we shouldn't settle for less. These are wise words, enterprising men," I shoot a pointed look at the only woman in the room, "quote 'em. Don't act surprised, you guys, 'cause I wrote them!"
I take a moment to soak in all the praise and applause before continuing, focusing my efforts on Hamilton herself. "Oh, but Hamilton forgets. Her plan would have the government assume state's debts. Now place your bets as to who that benefits. The very seat of government where Hamilton sits!"
Having traveled the length of the room, I aim a vicious kick to her seat, and she leaps up, her face flushing red. "Not true--" she starts, but I use my cane to push her back down on her seat. It's still my turn.
"Ooh, it the shoe fits, wear it!" I scoff, turning away from her and facing my audience instead. "If New York's in debt, why should Virginia bear it? Uh, our debts are paid, I'm afraid, don't tax the South 'cause we've got it made in the shade."
There are shouts, but I soldier on. "In Virginia we plant seeds in the ground. We create. You just want to move our money around. This financial plan's an outrageous demand and it's too many damn pages for any man to understand!" I say, almost bored as I flip through the papers. On the word 'man' I toss them over my shoulder, and she hurries to collect them, glaring swords at me when I deliberately step on one.
"Stand with me in the land of the free!" I yell, the crowd behind me. "And pray to God we never see Hamilton's candidacy! Look," I say, bringing down the volume, "when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky. Imagine what gon' happen when you try to tax our whisky."
As I take my seat again with Madison breathing hard next to me, a single person in the back screams, "That's my alcohol!"
"Thank you, Secretary Jefferson," says the President, sounding anything but grateful. More like reluctant, or exasperated. "Secretary Hamilton, your response."
She stands up, brushes her hair out of her face, then says politely, "Thomas, that was a real nice declaration." Then her expression warps and she yells, "Welcome to the present, we're running a real nation! Would you like to join us, or stay mellow doing whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello?" she asks, dancing around in mockery of me. I stiffen. This is war.
"If we assume the debts the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic. How do you not get it? If we're aggressive and competitive, the union gets a boost. You'd rather give it a sedative?"
Jeers and stomps greet me, and I feel small. This nobody has no right--
She cuts off my train of thought. "A civics lesson from a slaver. Hey neighbour," she says, a hard light entering her eyes as she thinks of nights long ago with old friends, "your debts are paid 'cause you don't pay for labour. 'We plant seeds in the south. We create!'" Hamilton mocks me, using my own words as weapons against me. "Yeah, keep ranting. We know who's really doing the planting."
I sink lower in my seat, unable to stop the embarrassed red from flooding my cheeks. So this is how James must feel all the time. Speaking of, he doesn't look so good. I ask him what's wrong, but he just waves me away.
"And another thing," God, does she ever shut up! "Mr. Age-of-Enlightenment, don't lecture me about the war, you didn't fight in it. You think I'm frightened of you, man, we almost died in the trench while you were off getting high with the French!"
SHE ACTUALLY COMES UP TO ME AND LAUGHS IN MY FACE WHAT DO I DO JAMES HELP ME!
The immigrant's voice has become soft and mocking, spoken directly into my ear. "Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President. Reticent -- there isn't a plan he doesn't jettison!" Looking over at my friend who's doubled over in pain, she takes a cheap shot. "Madison, you're mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine! Damn, you're in worse shape than the national debt is in!"
I tense up, my hands forming fists at my sides. She doesn't notice because she's busy saying to the audience while gesturing to us, "Sittin' there useless as two shits." She turns, then says with malice, "Hey, turn around, bed over, I'll show you where my shoe fits!"
Springing out of my chair, I lunge for her, but President Washington catches me and hauls me out of the room, while I scream curses at the top of my lungs.
"Excuse me?" he asks after depositing me a safe distance away. "Madison, Jefferson, take a walk. We'll reconvene after a brief recess. Hamilton!"
She holds her head high with defiance and answers, "Sir!"
"A word."
Washington pulls her behind him towards his office. On their way there, James whispers in her ear, "You don't have the votes."
God bless that man. I join him, yelling to be heard across the distance. "You don't have the votes!"
I then let loose my most demeaning laugh, and I see her straighten. I smile, shark-like. It never fails.
"You're gonna need congressional approval and you don't have the votes!"
James joins me at the doorway, and we shake our heads. "Such a blunder, sometimes it makes me wonder why I even bring the thunder," I say dramatically, before leaving.
"Why he even brings the thunder," echoes James, before following my exit.
Washington's POV
I slam the door to my office shut so hard, I think I broke something. I thought Alexandra was better than this, dammit, I know she's better than this! I take a deep breath, release it, then say, as much to myself as to her, "You wanna pull yourself together?"
She only scoffs, folding her arms in and turning her back to me. "I'm sorry," she says, totally not sorry at all, "these Virginians are birds of a feather."
Typical. She'd rather blame a whole swath of people than admit she'd crossed the line. I feel my temper roar its ugly head and it explodes out of me. "Young lady, I'm from Virginia, so watch your mouth!"
"So we let Congress get held hostage by the South?" she asks, wheeling around and spreading her arms wide like that explains everything.
Calmly, I say, "You need the votes."
Alexandra disagrees, speaking slowly like I'm a dumb child instead of the President of the United States of America. "No, we need bold strokes. We need this plan."
Again, I say simply, "No, you need to convince more folks."
"James Madison won't talk to me," she complains, attempting to use weak excuses to support her horrible course of action. "That's a non-starter."
I want to hit her on the head with an anvil. Of course he won't help you! I want to scream. You've humiliated him in public for a condition he has no control over, insulted him for his beliefs and opinions, and still believe you're the one who's been wronged. Where is the brilliance I saw in you during the Revolution?
Forcing a smile instead, I say, "Winning was easy, young one, governing's harder."
Each of us take a moment to bring ourselves back to that moment, to reflect on the person we were at that time, the decisions we had to make, how that shaped our characters and made us into the people we are today. And by each of us, I mean me, because Alexandra keeps on whining about how difficult things are for her. Little doe she know she's her own worst enemy.
"They're being intransigent."
"You have to find a compromise," I urge her, not able to stress the point enough.
Running a frustrated hand through her perfect hair, she yells, "But they don't have a plan, they just hate mine!" I watch as strands fall around her flushed face in uneven waves that betray how much pressure she's feeling.
"Convince them otherwise," I say, like this is obvious, because it is! For someone so bright, she can be incredibly thick at times.
Alexandra's not buying it. She looks at me and asks, "And what happens if I don't get Congressional approval?"
Silence falls, then I give it to her bluntly. "I imagine they'll call for your removal."
My office is dead quiet, then she breaks it, her voice meek. "Sir --"
But I'm not having it today. She needs to learn, and I'm sick of teaching her. "Figure it out, Alexandra!" I snap, and she straightens immediately, composing herself at once. "That's an order from your commander!"