I had no idea what awaited me when I knocked on Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s door./Image: Licensed Adobe stock, archideaphoto.
As I stood in the elevator in the J. Edgar Hoover FBI Building, it occurred to me that it’s not exactly a skyscraper. Why was it taking so long to get to Special Counsel Robert Mueller’s office? I decided I might as well make use of the time, so I looked down at my phone and scrolled through my emails.
*Ding!* I looked up, and in front of me the elevator doors parted to expose an eerily empty, quiet floor. At the end of the hallway in front of me was a set of double doors that said: “Special Counsel Robert Mueller, III.” I walked up to the entrance with my laptop bag slung over my shoulder. Upon my knocking on one of the doors, it drifted open.
“Mr. Mueller..? Mr. Mueller, it’s Natalie Berkus here to interview you,” I walked in slowly. Suddenly, the door swung shut behind me and I gasped a little, standing up straight.
“I’m sorry if I frightened you,” Mueller said in a baritone, mellifluous voice. “Oh, wait, I’m not sorry. Because I always maintain the element of surprise,” he said, with a charming smile and an extended hand. We shook, and he walked around his desk to take a seat.
“I’ve been looking forward to this, Natalie. It’s rare that I get to talk to someone not involved in the Russia investigation or who doesn’t work in this building,” the most mysterious man in Washington said as he took a few initial puffs from a chunky cigar. I sensed I shouldn’t take my seat until he offered. He motioned to a chair in front of his desk.
I began to remove my laptop from its bag to jot down some notes on the interior design choices for this office, one that could be his for possibly years to come, until I felt something sharp beneath me. I leaned over to find a pen cap on my chair.
“Please forgive me, Natalie. I left that there BECAUSE IMMA BUST A CAP IN YO’ ASS!”
“But…I’m not under investig…”
“Don’t split hairs, Natalie. It’ beneath you.”
An antique globe in a corner behind Mueller’s desk caught my eye. “Oh, that’s a beautiful piece,” I said. “Did you..?”
He chuckled warmly and said, “Oh, there’s actually a funny story behind that. It’s all the places on the Earth YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME.”
I managed a smile as I shifted in my seat, and the smoke from his cigar wound its way toward the ceiling.
“I’m actually a little hot, could I get a glass of water,” I asked him, adjusting my color nervously.
“Of course,” he said, rising and making his way to a small fridge from which he produced a bottle of Pellegrino.
“Now, ex-Deputy FBI Director Andrew McCabe told me this whole floor was empty and the two of you decided to, kind of, set up shop here to…”
I watched as Mueller filled a whiskey glass a foot away from my face with the water, as if he weren’t hearing a word I was saying. I was grateful that there was some noise punctuating the heavy silence, though. The silence didn’t seem to bother him at all.
“I actually keep it rather warm in here all the time. Do you know why that is, Natalie?’ he asked perching on a corner of his desk.
“No, why…sir? I asked.
“Because I’M COLD AS ICE,” he replied, in an almost gangsta intonation, cocking his head to the side.
“Right,” I said, sensing a moment to jump in and take control, “So, did you have specific decor-related concerns when you were…”
He asked me to hand him a stress ball that lay out of his reach on his desk. I did, and noticed it had the word “you” printed on it
As he smushed it, he looked me straight in the eyes leaned over and said, “Yeah, cuz I’M GONNA CRUSH YOU IN THE PALM OF MY HAND,” and as it regained its shape, “But you WON’T bounce back.”
“Mr. Muller..,” I said, tentatively, “Is this a bad time, or..?
Mueller pointed to a small clock next to him, shot me a look of almost comical confidence, “Oh, no, Melanie,” he said, nearly growling, “It’s fine, cuz time…IS ON MY SIDE!” And, lemme just save YOU some time and point out that these two bronze impressions of my size-14 feet are because I’M ALWAYS TWO STEPS AHEAD OF YOU!
“As I said, I’m not the one you’re investigating,…but, I did want to talk about how you’ve used natural light in here to…”
“Yeah, yeah, and that Monopoly board,” he continued, almost running over to a corner of the room, oblivious to my words, “in the trash can is a reminder THAT YOU BETTER NOT TRY TO PLAY ME!” he nearly screamed making the “rock on” symbol with both his hands as his eyes practically bugged out of his head.
And: Three Trump admin officials volunteer to decorate your home!
I had had it. I began loudly packing up my laptop as I felt the blood rushing to my face. “You know Mr. Mueller, this is my job, okay? Like, I was sent her to do a job. And now I have to go back to my boss and tell her I couldn’t get this interview. And maybe this was just some big joke to you, but I take my work very seriously.”
By this time I was standing just outside his doorway with my back to him.
“Impudent girl!” came his voice booming at my back. “This was all my way of keeping you off guard–and it’s just who I am. Let me ask you this: would you have seen it coming if two of my henchman appeared on either side of you to handcuff you to the chair?!”
I whipped around, stunned, and my hand shot up to my mouth even as a tiny gasp escaped it.
“I didn’t think so,” he said with an I-told-you-so sneer. His fist appeared in front of his face, unfurling to reveal a tiny pile of silver glitter. He blew it at me, and I winced, still too stunned to move.
“You know what that was, Natalie? That was some MUELLER MAGIC.”
The door swung toward me and shut with a resolute thud.
I smiled, knowing the nation was in good, if eccentric, hands.
However, I couldn’t resist. I knocked lightly on the door. He opened it just enough to reveal his confused expression.
“I’m sorry, but do you have any coffee in here?” I asked.
“What? Why..?”
“Because I was GETTING REALLY TIRED OF YOUR VISUAL PUNS!,” I said, smiling, and slammed the door shut just as he let out. a man-scream of frustration.
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© 2018 Akbar Khan
