A Sweet Valley High Short Story
Donatella Trumpelina was new to Hamburg. Accustomed to being most popular kid with the other bullies back home, here at the G20 Summit he was awkward, disheveled. Uncomfortable without Kushy “BigGrift” or Roger “MadMan” Stone. They were so far away. He sat at the big round table sulking into his hands by himself while all the other leaders laughed and chatted about things he couldn’t quite hear.
Back at home, he’d been told by the Two Stevie’s that he'd be really hot if he played "aloof isolationist,” but instead it seemed he’d alienated all the people he wanted to impress with his big, gaudy class ring. “They're all dicks,” he pouted. "I didn't want to be in their stupid club anyway.” He glared at the immensely confident Macron, Trudeau and Merkel with seething jealously. "I'm stuck here with dumb Theresa May," he snorted.
Out of the corner of his eye, he observed a quiet but confident Putin come in. Though he didn’t look at him, his arm brushed as he walked past. "Hey," Don breathed. "I think he likes me." Putin threw a sly come-hither look under his slightly feline eyelids and Trump felt the joyful rush of acceptance.
Later, when there was a break in the exceptionally dull meeting droning on and on about trade deals, national security, and climate change, Putin leaned in and invited him to a more private room, away from all this fuss. "I just want to get to know you better," he said sweetly.
Donatella blushed in response. “This guy Vlad is totally the hottest guy in the room. He even rides a horse without a shirt on. I hope that he asks me to go horseback riding soon," Donatella thought. Just then, almost as though Putin had READ HIS MIND, he leaned in. "Do you like horseback riding?”
“I do.” His voice broke a little as he tried to subdue his racing heart. Donatella noted that the sound of the big G20 party was very far away. But Vladdi seemed to only look at him, straight into his soul. “Where is everyone else?" he wondered. "Stupid Trudeau is being all Canadian with Macron, who's being totally Continental, whatever THAT means. Ugh. I hate them all. Vlad is so much hotter, plus he thinks I'm pretty.”
The door cracked, and light fell on them from the hallway as Melania barged in on them there in the private, protective darkness. She seemed angry.
"...I..." Don stuttered.
“Forget it,” she barked. "I always knew. But everyone sent me to look for you. You been gone for HOURS. We’re going home," she spat.
Wistfully, Donatella stood up to follow Melania out, with a quick backward glance at Vlad, who was already slipping away into deeper shadows.
Back at home with the Two Stevie’s, Vlad was all Little D could think about. And Vladdi, though very busy, always made time for him: clandestine meetings in shadowy hallways; brief but passionate conversations on secure lines; sometimes Little D wondered why Vlad wouldn't be seen in public with him, but Donatella’s attention never wavered from Vladdi’s crooning, whispered affections, and all the secret meetings and messages made everything edgier. Cooler. Made him feel special.
"You're my one and only," Vlad told him. "I just need to get the Ukraine thing taken care of and then you’ll have my full attention, I promise."
Nights without Vlad were long, plus the D.C./ Moscow time zone changes were terrible. And he began to suspect Vladdi's eye was wandering toward Eastern Europe. "I gave him everything," Donatella mused. "What did I do wrong? He asked for intel, I gave him the best intel. He wanted cyber-security back doors; I gave him that too! Even when he wanted Alaska, and I said he couldn't have it because Melania might be able to tell, I gave in. Now all the fish are dead but he has the oil! WHAT MORE CAN I GIVE?!” He wept inconsolably as he pulled at his thinning hair.
Donatella pined, but he knew–he always knew–that as long as he had something Vlad wanted, Vlad would come back for him. Whisk him away. For such an occasion he saved the nuclear codes. Those nights were the worst, the ones when the only sound was Stevie Bannon muttering darkly in the broom closet. But always, just about the time Donatella was going to give in to despair, the Kremlin line would light up. "I'm still here, Pooky," Vlad whispered.
The lights had dimmed outside D's White House window. There was bloodshed in the streets, infrastructure was buckling. Europe had moved on, but what did he care? China had cornered the entire solar market, but who needed THAT? VLAD STILL LOVED HIM!
He only had eyes for the bulging ripples of Vlad's impeccable masculinity and the conspiratorial whispers that made him feel the power of exclusivity. It didn't hurt that Vlad had absorbed the Eastern Bloc again in a show of raw animal brute force.
Time passed. Empires fell. The earth warmed. But despite all the wrongs, despite the entropy, Donatella kept the Vladdi candle burning in his darkened window. Vlad would come for him...and when he did, they would run away into the sunset on horseback, laughing with joy in their ruggedly perfect union.