Fallen Angels, Season 1

Jane quietly slipped out of the ballroom less than an hour after the weekend fundraiser at Mar-a-Lago began.

She booked a Friday night red-eye out of Palm Beach and called Dick from the boarding area.

She had reported to work at the White House four years earlier, a prodigy at messaging who competed fiercely for visibility. Mid-sized fictions and full-blown conspiracy theories became her thing.

But without a paycheck and the energy of the group – and with too much time on her hands – Jane started to have doubts.

In that ballroom at Mar-a-Lago, watching donors contribute millions to overturn the certified election of an American president, something happened.

“You’re coming home two days early.” Dick noted.

“Do you believe in epiphanies, Dick?” Jane asked.

“I think so.”

“What about second chances?” she added.

“As many as you need.” he said.

“They’re boarding my flight. Can you pick me up at 3:15?”

“Text me from the vestibule when you get there.” he said. “How about we drive over to the shore and wait for the sun to come up?”

“Bring my hoodie, will you?” she answered.

 

Follow the fate of the Fallen Angels from the first episode.

“Our sincere apologies.” The manager of Mar-a-Lago told Jane.

“You were invited to our Million-Dollar Donor Weekend by mistake. Our databases have been hacked by somebody like
Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez.”

Jane responded with an eye roll.

“But if you’d care to serve as a volunteer staffer, Mrs. Doe – greeting donors and making sure their glasses are filled – we can make you comfortable in the employee locker room. How does a half-price voucher for our $69.95 breakfast buffet sound?”

Jane was livid but desperate to make connections.

As she moved through the Donald J. Trump Grand Ballroom later that evening, a number of the more prominent guests avoided making eye contact, some crossed the room to keep their distance.

She had met and spent time with them, when she was a very young woman, at private gatherings arranged by her “Uncle Jeffrey” Epstein.

 
Follow the travails of the Fallen Angels from the first installment.

“You can’t be seen with the president.” Dick said.

“You’re going to be subpoenaed for the Jan. 6 trials and hauled in front of the Select Committee. The knives are out for you and me.”

“He’s raised a $100 million this year.” Jane replied. “He’ll protect us.”

“Just like he’s protecting Giuliani.” Dick said.

“We need money, Dicky. It’s been ages since we decanted a Richebourg.”

“We knew we were pimping for a used-condom salesman, fair enough, but then he goes and incites his dead-enders to put up a gallows for Pence.”

“Ancient history, Dick. You’re just jealous he’s recruiting me and not you to be one of his strategists.”

Dick took his phone from the nightstand and showed it to his wife. “Got the same invitation you did, Jane. I’m surprised you couldn’t read between the lines.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been invited to Mar-a-Lago to attend a fundraising event, Sweetheart.”

 
Follow the travails of the Fallen Angels from the first installment.

Soon after Dick and Jane moved to Columbia Heights, they’d hear thumping in the distance.

As the weather warmed and they opened their windows, voices and shouts were added to the soundtrack.

Down toward 13th NW, a backboard had been installed on the parking lot of a storefront mosque.

Dick would stand back and watch the pickup games, not aware his limbs were twitching along with the moves under the boards.

After some weeks, one of the brothers walked over.

“You play?”

“NCCAA for a year.”

“NCCAA?” the guy asked.

“Christian conference.”

“For sure! So put your hat on the bench to get in the lineup. We do ‘make-it, take-it’ to 12. Turns over fast.

”We got us some jag-offs who go Bobby Knight when they‘re wasted, so we kick their asses off the court for the night.”

“Played with my share.” Dick said.

He didn’t mention he’d been suspended from the NCCAA for unsportsmanlike behavior.

He’d have to watch himself. He didn’t want to fuck up the only good thing that’s happened in months.

 
Follow the travails of the Fallen Angels from the first installment.

She didn’t look anything like the undocumented immigrant who had been so eager to clean Jane’s apartment at half the going rate weeks earlier.

The hair and the wardrobe were different. The glasses were gone. Jane needed a minute to be absolutely sure it was same woman.

“Why, if it isn’t our little Maria José speaking perfect English.” Jane said. “And shopping at Gucci no less.”

“Lo siento, no hablo inglés.” The woman replied.

Jane took the seat across the table, blocking the woman‘s exit.

”You tricked your way into our apartment!”

“Let’s be civilized, Mrs. Doe,” the woman said in formal, textbook English.

“Ask yourself, Mrs. Doe, who would be interested in a recording of the talking points for the Big Lie that you and Mr. Doe pitched to Mr. Giuliani’s associates on Zoom?

”And not to worry, Mrs. Doe. I’ve been made responsible for your welfare and I’ve taken steps to disguise your voices.

“And if you do happen to end up in a witness protection program – no need to change your name. ‘Jane Doe’ is perfect.”

Jane bristled. She’d been browbeaten into giving up her maiden name when she married into the powerful Doe family.

 
Follow the travails of the Fallen Angels from the first episode.