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Ciri, the Senator and Mickey Morgan

By June 17, 2020Musings

And again, they played along!

The rules were: Grab the closest book to you, turn to any page randomly and post the 7th sentence in your comment on Facebook. Don’t mention the title.  From the 22 sentences posted, I crafted this little story.

It was a challenge, and this time I just couldn’t include all of the sentences provided. You really made me work hard this time! Thanks to all who played along.

Note: the sentences that were provided are in italic. Also, because there is an actual Senator Rowe, although that was the name in the sentence from a book, I’ve taken the liberty of changing it to Senator Row.

Ciri, the Senator and Mickey Morgan

The day had begun normally enough.

The cherries were ripening, the winter skeletons of the vines had disappeared under a cover of bright green leaves, the mountains looked lush and soft. In this paradise of places, she thought for a moment: what could possibly go wrong? Her thoughts were interrupted when her brother appeared and asked: “how’s your weekend”, said Steven. Ciri turned her head away and wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“It was fine”, Ciri replied sarcastically, “except for some noise that woke me at 3 a.m.

“Do you think it was some stupid kid playing a dumb late night prank”, Steven asked.

“I don’t know”, replied Ciri, “but ever since that incident with the senator I’ve been on edge.”

“But think about that Ciri”, said Steven, “what does that have to do with you?”

“Well, it creeped me out when Senator Row said to me with a sneer in his voice, couldn’t stand another day without me, could you, dear?

Ciri had been the senator’s assistant for some time, but that was before what became known as “the incident”.

Late one night the senator had been driving a back road after having one too many at a local pub. He thought he’d be in the clear, travelling off the beaten path. But no such luck. In his rear view mirror he’d spotted the flashing lights of a patrol car. As he pulled to the side of the road and waited, the patrolman had the video camera out, shining the bright light on Senator Row.

“Do we tell Green and Latimer what we found here?”, asked the patrolman. “They wouldn’t be very happy to hear about you getting stopped, late at night with the smell of alcohol on your breath. They’d likely have a field day. Because that’s how they describe it, when the men with all the influence and money just happen to gather to drink coffee together in the same place so early in the morning that not even the local reporters have woken up yet. A flippin’ field day.

The next day Senator Row appeared in court before a senior magistrate for formal remand. “As I entered the courtroom out of the corner of my eye I noticed a brown leather slip-on loafer tapping the floor to the beat. It was that damn Mickey Morgan. What was she doing in the courtroom rather than at her desk at News America?”

During her twenty-two months at News America, Michaela “Mickey” Morgan had seen plenty of guests grow flustered under the hot studio lights, struggling to answer questions they hadn’t prepared for or trying to justify the rash statements they’d made years ago that were preserved on video. Here was her chance to discredit Senator Row: something she’d been trying to do ever since he’d treated her so poorly, calling her a dainty little lady who should be home baking cookies instead of trying to dig up dirt on law-abiding citizens. Her chance had finally come to reveal that the senator was no law-abiding citizen, and they she, Mickey Morgan could, in addition to being a crackerjack reporter, say in the sweetest, most sarcastic way, “I also record swatches of color throughout my day, the dress I’m wearing, my coffee, a door, the sky, etc.” Take that, Mr. Senator.

The magistrate took his seat and addressed Senator Row by saying “Now son, what’s this I hear about you driving drunk at all hours of the night?”

Senator Row bristled: “I’m not your son”, he snapped. To which the magistrate swiftly and sternly pronounced that the senator be escorted out of the courtroom and be remanded in custody to await a formal hearing and decision.

Mickey Morgan was beside herself with glee. Finally, finally the old coot would get his comeuppance. As Voltaire once wrote, “the best is the enemy of the good” and the magistrate had been his finest best.

Mickey would have loved to say to the senator there is nothing for you to fear, for the world where you have hidden till now has not existed at all.

But that world had existed. A world where the powerful and wealthy got away with things the average citizen did not.

Today, the average citizen won.

The end

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