It was a Wednesday.
Olivia needed some “time” off the grid that morning after Jake Ballard broke into her shower the night before to show her a sheet of paper. With three numbers on it. That proved that Fitz was a serial killer. Of homeless hermaphrodites. If news got out, Fitz might not get reelected. This upset her. It didn’t upset her nearly enough. She almost smiled that morning when seeing a piece of corn on an episode of Chopped that reminded her of him. But it did upset her. She also really liked how the white iPhone matched with everything she owned. So she decided to change course on her usual 22 mile morning run, allowing her to stop past the Apple store in Georgetown on the way back home.
Kanye was there already. Actually, he wasn’t technically there anymore. He was sleep outside of the store. Well, everyone thought he was sleep. No one actually checked, though. He might have been awake the whole time. He was probably awake the whole time. He’d been there since 1:37 AM, after abruptly ending his show at the Verizon Center. Midway through a rendition of “Hold My Liquor”, he ordered the music to stop, announced to the crowd that he “needed some motherfucking apples,” (His exact words: “I need SOME motherfucking apples”) and left. No one knew if Kanye ever got his apples. Or if he meant that he needed to go to the Apple store. Or why he so urgently needed some apples (or to go to the Apple store). Or if he maybe thought they sold apples at the Apple store. Perhaps, when people like Kanye go to the Apple store, they do provide apples. Who knows? Maybe he does.
Although there was a slight drizzle, and she had just run 19 miles, Olivia was somehow dry. Her skin was sparkling. Her hair was flawless. Her teeth looked like Altoids. Olivia Pope is a vampire.
As she neared the Apple store, she became distracted. By a bench. That reminded her of Fitz. She paused. Her bottom lip quivered. A harp started playing from somewhere. That damn harp. She thought she just came. Yea, she just came. She was happy she was wearing white. So happy. Oh, Fitz! Her bottom lip fell off. She picked it up, reattached it, and kept running.
Four strides later, she tripped over Kanye.
“I’m so sorry about that.” she said. She was lying. She wasn’t that sorry.
“YO, HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME?” Kanye said. He was definitely awake the whole time.
“Excuse me?” Olivia said as she turned around.
“YOU JUST SAID ‘I’M SORRY, KANYE.’ HOW DID YOU EVEN KNOW MY NAME WHEN I DIDN’T EVEN TELL YOU MY NAME IS KANYE WEST YET? DID FRANK OCEAN TELL YOU MY NAME IS KANYE WEST? DID YOU SOMEHOW SEE MY NAME IS KANYE WEST ON MY SHIRT?” Kanye replied.
Kanye stood up to reveal he was wearing a white t-shirt with “MY NAME IS KANYE WEST” on the chest. The letters were black. Close examination showed that each letter was actually 10,000 miniature photos of a pixelated labia. He was also wearing no pants. Like, literally, no pants. No pants. No underpants. Nothing. Just a t-shirt with his name on it. And some red Chucks.
“I never said your name, sir.” Olivia replied. “I have no idea who you are.” This was true. She knew nothing about pop culture. Her father (that bastard) taught her that music was too time-consuming. So, when she listened to it, she only listened to one song: Ted Neeley’s rendition of “Gethsemane” from Jesus Christ: Superstar. She loved that song. It reminded her of Fitz.
“ALEXANDER MCQUEEN CALLED ME SIR, ONCE.” Kanye replied. “WE WAS AT A DAIRY QUEEN IN DUBAI TWO YEARS AGO. I ORDERED A PRETZEL AND OREO BLIZZARD. THAT SHIT AINT ON NO DAIRY QUEEN MENUS. NOT EVEN IN DUBAI. CAUSE PRETZELS AND OREOS DON’T NATURALLY GO TOGETHER LIKE THAT. THAT SHIT IS OFF MENU. BUT I THOUGHT ABOUT IT AND ORDERED IT. I INVENTED THAT SHIT!!! ME!!! I CONJURED THAT BITCH!!! KANYE WEST!!! I OFFERED HIM SOME. HE SAID IT WAS NASTY. I WAS LIKE FINE, MORE FOR ME. A YEAR LATER I’M ON A TRAIN IN PARIS WITH ZACH GALIFIANAKIS. I LOOK OVER MY SHOULDER AND SEE A MOTHERFUCKIN PARISIAN BITCH EATING OREOS AND PRETZELS AND ICE CREAM. SHE HAD ON A BABY BLUE IVY JCREW JUMPER AND SOME JORDAN’S. I ASKED HER WHERE SHE GOT THE PRETZELS AND OREOS AND ICE CREAM FROM. SHE SAID EVERYONE IN PARIS EATS PRETZELS AND OREOS AND ICE CREAM NOW. EVERYONE!!! THAT MOTHERFUCKER ALEXANDER MCQUEEN STOLE MY IDEA!!!”
“I’m so sorry to hear that.” Olivia replied. She was sincere. She had experienced loss before. Once, when her and Fitz were playing Monopoly, she lost. He was very good at Monopoly. She could never beat him. This would make her sad. She would cry. Then he’d make her a frittata. Then they would have sex. Like, all night long. They both had great stamina. Then they’d finish eating the frittatas. So yeah, she had experienced loss before.
“Well, Mr. West. It was nice talking to you, but I have to go into the store. Be well.”
“I LOVE YOU!” Kanye replied. No one was sure if he was talking to Olivia or himself. He wasn’t even sure.
Olivia wanted to help him. She needed to help him. He was broken. A broken man. A broken man that needed her, Olivia Pope, to unbreak him. She unbroke broken men. Sometimes, she’d break men just to see if she could unbreak them. That’s what she did. That’s who she was. She handed him a business card.
“Call me if you need anything.”
Olivia went into the store. Kanye nodded his head and laid back down. He was still pantless. But it didn’t matter. He went to sleep.
—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)