By Jennifer Moses

12 May 2017

To:  The Office of the President

From: Patricia “Pinky” Jones-Packer

Subject: Application/Final Round/Fully Vetted

HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL / HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL / HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL / HIGHLY CONFIDENTIAL

Dear Mr. President:

As you already know, I’m putting myself forward as an applicant for the office of First White House Mistress, or, if that doesn’t seem a suitable match for me, Assistant Secretary of State for European and Eurasian Affairs.

I hope that this letter might serve as an introduction to my candidacy for both positions, and, as a supplement to my C.V., might give you a sense of who I am not just as a series of bona-fides, but as a person.

As a forty-one-year old redhead and former model with the Elite Model Agency, I walked on such coveted runways as the Paris Fall Shows, Tokyo Fashion Week, Madrid Fashion Week, and even Lakme India Fashion Week, which truthfully, I didn’t enjoy very much, how could I, surrounded by such an odd, dark, strange-smelling people who use hair products unknown in the First World.  Moreover, my photographs have been featured in fashion spreads in pages of Vogue, Elle, and for the sake of “diversity” (ha ha!  AS IF!) O, the Oprah Magazine, wearing ensembles by such top designers as Channel, Dolce & Gabanna, Roberto Cavalli, Gucci, and Prada among others.  But can I tell you a little secret?  My favorite—and I mean FAVORITE!—designer is none other than, wait for it, can you guess?  That’s right:  none other than Ivanka Trump, your stunning daughter who looks just like you and not like her whore of a foreign mother.

Which brings me to my next point.  I know you have a “soft spot” for women whose own upbringings in undeveloped countries, such as Czechoslovakia, Slovenia, and Dalton, Georgia, I myself am fully conversant with as an expert in designers and fashion trends.  I myself, however, am a true-blue American, with a mix of Prussian, Saxon, and German blood running through my veins, and a background rooted in real America, the legit one, not the fake icky one that you find in places like the Upper West Side and Brooklyn, but rather, Park Avenue and 75^th Street, where I was raised by a mother who was proud of her work on behalf of the Keep the Bums Off Our Beautiful Avenue Society (she single-handedly waged and won a campaign to pass city ordinances banning homeless people from the entire Park Avenue Median from 61^st through 86th streets)  as well as her decorating, flower-arranging, and tennis skills, which she continued to perfect during summers spent at the family home in Sag Harbor, and winters on Hilton Head.  As for my father, his name continues to inspire awe among hedge fund managers, arbitragers, the Heritage Foundation, and the American Conservative Union.  And did I mention that he made an absolute killing during the “crash” (so called!) of 1987?

In short, I’m everything you’re looking for in  a woman:  fully fluent in English, up-to-date on the latest in cosmetic medical procedures, skilled and schooled in society fundraising affairs, with a great body, great sense of humor, blue eyes, and a no-frills, no-fuss approach to matters of the heart that make things in the  boudoir as exciting as an Inauguration, because as you know, your own Inauguration, sir, was, hands-down, the best one ever, in the history of our country, not to mention with the biggest crowd and the best singers and totally the best everything else, too.  I mean:  REALLY!

It is with exquisite anticipation that I imagine your cry of “Donald!  Oh!  Oh!  Oh!  Donald!” before collapsing in my arms.  And as for discretion:  you betcha!  Who do you think really gave all that dirt on Hillary to Moscow?  I’ll give you a hint:  it wasn’t Julian Assange!

Enclosed please find the final paper I wrote, during my senior year at Texas G and T (which for all you wags does not stand for “gin and tonic,” but rather, as you, Mr. President knows, for “golf and tennis,”) on the subject of shifting national boundaries during the reigns of both Heil Hitler and Emperor Hirohito, which showcases my thorough knowledge with the subject areas of both Europe and Eurasia. Also enclosed please find a series of photographs that I hope will aid you in your decision regarding whether to appoint me, or some other worthy applicant, for the job of either First White House Mistress or Assistant Secretary for European and Eurasian Affairs.  And may I, Mr. President, point out at this juncture that it’s pretty durn funny that the position in question (position—get it?) is purposefully stated to involve “affairs” (affairs—get it?)

Please understand that while the focus of this introductory letter to you has been personal, I’m more than just an incredibly hot broad. I’m also a graduate of Texas G and T, with a major in history and a minor in backhand, with considerable experience on the world stage, or perhaps I should say world stages, which, when you think about it, is what fashion runways are.  Why, then, did I retire from the highly compensated and cosmopolitan world of fashion modelling?  Well, it’s simple, Mr. President:  I wanted to give other, younger girls who hadn’t had my advantages—girls, for example, from New Jersey and Staten Island—their own chance to shine.   I didn’t quit, though, but rather, went back to school to get my master’s degree in interior decorating.  Which is another asset I might bring to the table as either your First White House Mistress or Assistant Secretary of State for European and Eurasian Affairs:  do I know my way around French Limoges and Pillivuyt Brasserie, imported Chinese toile, and high-end ultra-expensive English chintz, or what?   European?  Asian?  Oriental?  No sweat!

Thus it is with high hopes, Mr. President, that I submit my application for the position of either First White House Mistress or Assistant Secretary for European and Eurasian Affairs.

Yours willingly,

Pinky

Jennifer Moses is the author of four books — two fiction and two non-fiction. Her short work has appeared in The New York Times, Wall Street Journal, Washington Post, Southern Review, New Letters, Pushcart Prizes, Best New Stories from the South, Glimmer Train, Commentary, and numerous other publications.