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Girls’ Night Out



It’s a little-known fact, but once a month, on a Friday night, a certain group of prominent women in Washington, D.C. gets together for drinks, eats and gossip.

The group, who call themselves “The Girls,” is non-partisan. It consists of Kellyanne Conway, Melania Trump, Ivanka Trump, Sarah Huckabee Sanders, Kamala Harris, Jane Harman, Sonia Sotomayor, Tammy Baldwin, and, occasionally, Rachel Maddow, if she’s in town.

The Girls usually get together at a local restaurant. Some of their favorites are Chef Goeffs, Le Diplomate and Blackfinn (whose Yin Yang Shrimp The Girls are addicted to).

Don’t ask me how I managed to get a tape recording of their latest gathering, last week, at Blackfinn. Let’s just say I have friends who have friends. Here’s how it went down.

All of The Girls, except for Melania and Ivanka, were already seated when Ivanka rushed in. “Sorry I’m late, ladies, but traffic was horrible!”

“Where’s Melania?” Sonia asked.

“She’s really bummed,” Melania replied. “All this business with Stormy Daniels and that other one, what’s her name, the Playboy bunny–?”

“McDougal,” Sarah said, arching a disapproving eyebrow. “Karen McDougal.”

“Yeah,” Ivanka said. “Melania just sits around all day and night in her snuggly-wuggly watching T.V.”

“Sad,” Kamala said. “She should snap out of it. No man is worth putting yourself through that much depression.”

“I know,” Ivanka said. “Anyhow, I need a drink! André?” André, the maître d’, came running up. The Girls are among his favorite and most important clients. “André, a Manhattan. Make it a double.”

When Ivanka had her drink, Jane clinked on her glass—of Chardonnay—and proposed a toast. “To us,” she smiled. “The Girls.”

“Here, here,” Tammy said. She was drinking a Molson, straight from the bottle. Kamala was working a Margarita, Sarah a bourbon Old Fashioned, Rachel a Hemingway (with her favorite Cuban rum), Sonia a triple sec. Kellyanne, who doesn’t imbibe, sipped a Shirley Temple.

They began with shared appetizers: Yin Yang Shrimp, deviled eggs, fish tacos, tuna poke, and Buffalo chicken flatbread. Rachel always insists on the Portobello quinoa, which she loves, but none of the other girls care for it. Kellyanne, who watches her weight, ordered a pear, blue cheese and arugula salad. The ritual after appetizers is always the same: a lively debate about entrées.

“Ooh, let’s split the pan-roasted chicken,” Sarah said, scanning the menu. Sarah loves chicken.

“We had that last time,” Tammy observed. “How about fried chicken?”

“I’m bored with chicken,” Ivanka said. “What do you ladies say about the New York strip steak?”

Sotomayor frowned. “I don’t know, Ivanka. I’m trying to watch my cholesterol.”

“Me, too,” said Sarah. “The doctor told me to limit my red meat.”

“Is your doctor Ronny Jackson?” asked Kamala, referring to the White House physician.

“Yeah,” Sarah said.

“He’s soooo hot,” Ivanka said. All The Girls giggled.

“No wonder your Dad loves him,” Jane said.

“He’s made for T.V.,” Ivanka said. “Dad loves good-looking people to work for him. That’s why he liked Rex.”

“Too bad that didn’t work out!” Kamala chimed in.

Around 10:30, The Girls were feeling good. Jane proposed that they order a final drink: Champagne. “If we split the bottle—without Kellyanne, of course—it’s only another glass.”

“Dad would kill me if he knew, but sure, let’s do it,” said Sarah. André brought the bottle: Veuve Cliquot Yellow Label. After André poured, Tammy clinked her glass, and said, “I want to toast us again. Even though we’re on different sides of the aisle, we can leave our differences behind and have a good time.”

“Girl power!” said Jane.

“True enough,” Ivanka said. “Too bad the men in this town are such testosterone victims.”

“Like your father?” Kamala asked. Ivanka didn’t answer for a while. Then, she said, “God, Kamala, you had to spoil a perfectly lovely evening with that bitchy remark.”

“What, your father isn’t a testosterone case?”

“It’s totally inappropriate for you to talk about him that way,” Ivanka replied. “He’s my father.”

“So what?” Sotomayor interjected. “Does that mean you have to stick up for him no matter what he says or does?”

Kellyanne, who was agitated, said, “Sonia, you have no right to criticize Ivanka for defending her father.”

There followed some loud arguing. The rest of the customers stopped their conversations to witness this bizarre altercation between some of the most famous women in Washington. Poor André didn’t know what to do. He just stood by, wringing his hands, when, all of a sudden there were Ooohs and gasps, and in through the front door burst Melania Trump, looking gorgeous in a white mini-dress by Gabriela Hearst.

“Better late than never!” she smiled to The Girls. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing,” Ivanka said. “We were just leaving.”

The Girls stood and gathered up their purses and cell phones. There were Ubers waiting outside, limos, and Secret Service SUVs. As they were leaving, Rachel turned to Melania and said, “Call me.”

Melania smiled wanly. “I will. I need someone to talk to.”

Rachel: “Don’t we all. Have a lovely weekend, Mrs. First Lady. And don’t let the bedbugs bite” And with that, The Girls disappeared into the warm, Spring Washington night.

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