GOVERNOR’S MANSION – VIRGINIA, DAY

“Governor Northam, thank you for meeting with me.”

“Always time for the Virginian–Pilot, Gordon.”

“Let’s get right to it: in the past 48 hours, it’s come to light that you posed in either blackface or a Klan robe in your medical school yearbook. Additionally, your high school’s yearbook has you listed under a racist nickname.”

“Gordon, I was the first member of my family to attend medical school. My people are simple hill folk, often lacking in knowledge. Most of ’em are also lacking in pinky toes due to a genetic hiccup caused by close-breeding. My cousin Junie’s neck doesn’t go up-and-down; it goes side-to-side. Doctors puzzle over the phenotypical spasms that biology takes in my home, but we were honest people and we were right with the Lord.”

“Okay.”

“There you go.”

“Sir, you didn’t answer my question.”

“Repeat it. I was thinking about Junie.”

“Was that you in the blackface photo in your yearbook?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Absolutely not. I remember precisely where I was when that photograph was taken, and it wasn’t there.”

“How could you remember that?”

“I kept my schedules and calendars. I couldn’t have taken that photo because I was working out with Squee and Tobin.”

“You know Squee and Tobin?”

“Different guys with the same names. All prep schools have a Squee and a Tobin. Plus a Mooch and a Rosie.”

“You were working out with Squee and Tobin?”

“Yes. In blackface.”

“What?”

“We would routinely cork up for our workouts. To pretend we were powerful black bucks.”

“I’m sorry what now?”

“I am not the person wearing blackface in the photo, but I did regularly don the ol’ warpaint for most of my adolescence and young adulthood. And also occasionally nowadays.”

“You do know that you’re speaking into a recording device, right?”

“The voters will understand that my use of traditional minstrel makeup was out of respect. It was a tribute!”

“A tribute?”

“Yes. I went as Soulja Boy for Halloween seven Halloweens in a row. That was because I was a fan, not out of racism. Look, I even learned to Superman Dat Ho. Watch.”

EXASPERATED WOMAN ENTERING THE ROOM NOISE

“Ralph! Do not Superman Dat Ho!”

“Not cool?”

“No, dipshit. Not cool. Fucking moron.”

EXASPERATED WOMAN LEAVING THE ROOM NOISE

“That was my wife.”

“Yes.”

“Rest assured, I know the dance. Don’t ask me to twerk, though.”

“No, sir.”

“Although I should just get ahead of that and tell you that there will be video of me twerking coming out soon.”

“Oh, that won’t be good for you.”

“No. And I am, of course, in full-body blackface during the video.”

“Of course. I just need you to confirm this one more time because I need to make sure I’m not insane: your argument is that you weren’t in blackface in the photo, but you were during almost every other moment of your life?”

“Yuh-huh.”

“Now what about the other yearbook?”

“Which one?”

“The one where you’re called ‘Coonman.'”

“Again, that goes back to my upbringing. Raccoon was our prime protein back in those days. My uncles Jezroath and Feelings taught me to tree them. We were bare-chested and heroic and, as you might have expected, in full-body blackface. I had a knack for it, and would come home with dead ‘coons slung from both shoulder. Sometimes, I would distribute finely-sliced fillets of the varmint meat to my classmates and teachers. Thus, I became known as the Coonman. Nothing racist about it.”

“I guess that’s more believable than the rest of it.”

“There you go. Anyway, I got a lot of important Virginia business to do, so–”

“Sir, what is that behind your ear?”

“–if you’ll excuse…what now?”

“Your left ear. There’s a black smudge.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’s just ink from the mimeograph machine.”

“Were you in blackface right before I arrived, Governor?”

“I got nervous!”

“We’re done here.”

“I’m not resigning!”

“See you Monday afternoon at your resignation.”