Page pulled up to the large gates. Beyond was a short tree-lined road that turned to the left, the cliffside residence out of view. She leaned out of her car window and pressed the intercom. There was a buzz and a momentary pause before a garbled voice barked out of the speaker.
"State your business," the voice said.
"I'm Page Tallen, I have an appointment to interview Cassandra Kellen."
There was another short pause, then another buzzing sound, and the metal gates opened inward. Page drove through. Moments later the large modern-looking mansion appeared ahead, looking very imposing and very isolated.
Page parked in the driving circle, got out, and approached the large front doors. She rang the doorbell and waited. And waited. And waited some more. She was just about to ring again or pound on the doors when they opened. On the other side of the threshold stood a tall pale woman, small breasted, with short platinum blond hair, and wearing only an ecru bikini that showed off the complete lack of carbs in her diet. She frowned at Page.
"Yes?" said the strange woman.
"I'm Page Tallen, I'm here to interview Ms. Kellen. My editor arranged the appointment."
"Fine," the woman said in a tone that left it clear that it wasn't. "Come in." Once Page had done so, the woman said, "Follow me," and walked down the hallway. Page wondered who the woman was. An assistant? But what assistant dressed like that?
The hallway led to a large room, a living room apparently, but not a cozy one. The décor was almost exclusively white -- tiled floor, walls, furniture -- with only the occasional black object or trim to break the monotony. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows provided an expansive view of the Pacific.
Page only waited a couple of moments before a middle-aged Caucasian woman in a business suit that looked like it cost just slightly less than Page's car strode into the room. "Miss Tallen, is it?" the woman said.
"Ms. Page Tallen, yes. Cassandra Kellen?"
"Yes."
Page awkwardly extended her hand for a handshake. Cassandra ignored it. Instead, she told the other woman, "You can leave us. I'll text you when I'm ready."
The other woman walked away. Page lowered her hand and waited until she was gone before asking, "Interesting apparel for your assistant, Ms. Kellen ... I'm sorry, what was her name?"
"It doesn't matter," Cassandra said.
Page considered the older woman, the secretive backer of so many far-right candidates at state and federal levels. Cassandra Kellen was rarely photographed and never interviewed, at least that Page was able to track down. It had taken weeks for Page to arrange this interview through Cassandra's people.
"Let's walk while we talk," Cassandra said, turning and walking away before she'd even finished speaking and not bothering to see if Page agreed or not. Page hurriedly followed, getting her phone out of her purse as she did so. She realized that no one had offered her a drink or a chair since she'd arrived. Cassandra led her down a small side corridor, out a non-descript back door, and outside. It was a spacious back yard, well-tended, bounded by a low wall, with ample space for the outdoor fundraisers for high class and secretive donors that Page knew Cassandra hosted here. The late afternoon sun hovered just a little bit above the horizon. It would've been a perfectly pleasant day if not for her present company as well as a headache that had just started coming over her. She turned on the record feature on her phone.
"You should feel honored," Cassandra said. She was walking steadily across the lawn, Page keeping pace and holding out her phone to catch the woman's words. "I rarely give interviews, let alone to reporters from the type of biased newspaper that you work for."
"Thank you again for agreeing to this," Page said, ignoring the jibe. "I was surprised that you did. You certainly are a private person, Ms. Kellen. I couldn't find any previous interviews that you've done."
"I don't like to be questioned, regardless of setting or intent. With that said, I do surprise myself on occasion. You know, just a few years ago I agreed to an interview by someone else, but the article never ran. That reporter was an intrepid young woman like yourself. I might have to tell you the story about what happened to her at some point. For now, let's get into it. I presume you want to know why I provide financial backing to so many horrible people."
Page nearly tripped. "You admit that the candidates you support are horrible? You mean that they're horrible candidates?"
"No, I mean they're assholes, one and all. I know it, you know it. They don't know it, they think they're great, but that's because they're assholes. Irredeemably stupid, the lot of them. But they're greedy and easy to manipulate, bless their black little hearts, and thus useful."
Page was aghast. In the days leading up to the interview she'd spent a lot of time imagining how it was going to go, how it would start. This particular opening wasn't one that had ever crossed her mind. "Why do you support them, then?"
"That's obvious. Because they advance my goals."
"You admit to supporting the far right, then?"
"It's not really about the left or the right. It's about which candidates will be most willing, and able, to enact policies that benefit me."
"That's very self-serving."
"Should I try to pretend otherwise, come up with some story that makes it sound as if I'm being beneficent? You wouldn't believe me, and I don't wish to dissemble."
Page decided to move onto the next question. "You've most recently supported Harriman in the gubernatorial election, despite the numerous fraud allegations surrounding him."
"Harriman? That sodomite?"
"Excuse me?"
"Harriman likes to take it up the ass from young twinks," Cassandra said, laughing without mirth. "Can you imagine, a man of his age, still acting as a butt boy?"
"Are...are you implying that you have blackmail on Harriman?"
"Don't be silly, Harriman will do what I tell him because I pay him. I just like to know all there is about the people I give money to."
"Why are you saying all this?"
"Where's the fun in having gossip if you can't share it from time to time? Besides, it's not all that interesting or special. Everyone's a pervert behind closed doors."
