Chapter 14: Pals

“Well,” Eisenhower remarked from her infirmary bed as the television screen shifted away from Madison and Monroe walking out the arena, “what did you end up thinking about the match?”

“Oh, it was truly an awful affair,” Wilson replied with a snide. “There was absolutely no point in Madison attacking with her trident if she knew what Monroe’s EP could do, nor was there any reason for Monroe to fall for such an obvious trap from Madison at the end.”

“Agreed…there really is no benefit in watching a fixed fight...”

Back on the ground, Monroe slipped Madison a subtle glance.

“So…when did you figure it all out?”

Madison continued walking without looking to Monroe.

“…I had my suspicions from your very first shot,” Madison explained, rubbing the wound along her cheek, “it was a weak attack,” she pointed to her chipped nose, “and I know that you can shoot better than that.”

Madison looked down to the scars running along her arm.

“But I only became certain of things after you used Monroe Doctrine against me…all of the slashes you gave me looked painful from the outside, but none of them actually inflicted any real damage.”

“And I appreciate you doing the same for me,” Monroe replied, wiggling out her supposedly injured leg. “Though of course,” she said with a smirk, “I let you land that last attack.”

“In any event,” Madison continued, ignoring Monroe’s quip, “could you please explain to me why in the world you made us go through this ridiculous farce in the first place?”

“Isn’t it obvious, baby?”

“It is not,” Madison replied with a slight growl, “which is why I asked you to explain yourself.”

“Oh Maddie,” Monroe said with a shake of her head, “If you went through this fight on a bye, then every cat here would be jeering our Party’s name until the end of time. Even if we won the tournament and forced all the other Presidents to pledge their allegiance to our Party in the end, none of their soldiers would willingly join with us. But now,” she gestured to the cheering crowd around them, “I don’t think we’ll have any problems gaining new recruits.”

“…I suppose that’s true…” Madison mumbled. “But why not tell me all this beforehand?”

“Because you’re a terrible actor!” Monroe replied before softening her smile. “That, and I thought that maybe…just maybe…there might be an itty-bitty chance you’d blunder so badly that I could take the win myself.”

Madison stomped on Monroe’s injured foot, inciting a quiet yelp.

“Honestly,” Madison remarked, shaking her head with the faintest of smiles across her face, “you never cease to amaze me.”

Monroe grinned back.

“You too, pal!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Elsewhere in the stadium, a giant cowboy paced up and down the halls mumbling to himself.

“You got this,” LBJ muttered, “you got this!”

“Feeling nervous there, big guy?”

LBJ looked to see JFK approaching with a handsome smile painted over his face.

“N-nervous?” LBJ replied loudly, puffing out his chest. “N-nope! Not at all! Why, I’m calmer than a turkey the day after Thanksgiving!”

“You know,” JFK chuckled, resting his hand on LBJ’s broad shoulders. “It’s perfectly alright if you’re feeling a little uncomfortable. These are extraordinary times we’re living in, and you face an extraordinary challenge! That being said…if you’re thinking about reducing your sights in the face of difficulty…” he shook his head. “Well…perhaps it would be better for you not to go at all.”

“Not go…?” LBJ spoke wearily, then let out a heavy snort. “Not go!”

He threw JFK’s hand off his back, marching onwards as JFK playfully shook his head from behind.

“Like hell I won’t go!”

LBJ continued onwards, stopping just in front of the final gate to the arena. He stared at the heavy iron door; at the sole barrier separating him from the match that would make or break his entire career. He swallowed hard, licked his lips…then turned back around.

“I should eat something,” he muttered before shuffling down the hall.

He started to round a corner, but stopped as he heard a familiar voice speaking from the other side.

“Jesus Christ!” JFK screamed. “I swear, I can’t stand Johnson's long face! He’s always standing around looking sad, waiting for someone to stroke his damn ego!" He shook his head. “Honestly, I think we ought to reevaluate whether he’s even worth keeping in the Party.”

LBJ dropped his jaw, his lips quivering as a woman in a wheelchair replied with softened tones.

“I understand your frustrations, Jay,” FDR spoke out, “but we ought to at least see the outcome of Landon’s fight before making rash decisions such as this.”

“Oh please,” JFK said, rolling out his eyes, “LBJ’s up against the Will McKinley; a veteran fighter known for his impeccable technique and ruthless tenacity! LBJ, on the other hand, is known only for his signature move, the `Johnson City Windmill’…”

At that, JFK got on his back and started kicking his legs around in a windmill motion.

“If you hit me I’ll kick you!” he squealed in a mock imitation of LBJ’s voice, “If you hit me I’ll kick you!”

“Oh, stop that, Jay,” FDR insisted, doing her best to suppress a laugh.

From around the corner, LBJ ceased quivering, his muscles stiffening as his fingers curled into a pair of meaty fists.

“But seriously now,” FDR continued, “I will readily admit that Landon does turn into a real scaredy cat whenever he comes face to face with even the mildest of dangers…”

LBJ continued tightening up his fists; his fingers digging so deep into his palms that they cut into his skin.

“You damn Harvards…” he whispered to himself. “You think you can look down on me, huh? Well, I’ll show you…I’ll show all of you!”

LBJ ran down the hall, not bothering to listen into the rest of the conversation.

“…but,” FDR went on with a wide smile, “when his back is up against the wall…that’s when Landon shines best!”

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JFK and LBJ. Lyndon B. Johnson and Jack F. Kennedy have a somewhat complex relationship. They competed against each other for the 1960 democratic nomination, after which Jack invited Lyndon to be his Vice President, largely to help him win states in the south. It’s been theorized that Jack would have dropped Lyndon from their ticket in 1964, both because it seemed they were unlikely they’d be able to win any states in the south even with Lyndon’s help, and also because Jack had been known to complain about Lyndon’s “damn long face.” Ultimately though, Jack was assassinated before he ever had the chance to officially declare whether he would keep Lyndon in 1964.

Johnson City Windmill. Lyndon Johnson attracted crowds during his campaigns by flying around in a helicopter (nicknamed the Johnson City Windmill), which was a piece of technology that was practically unheard of in many parts of rural Texas at the time.