Hillary Clinton greets Elizabeth Warren in the cream-and-coral sunroom of her home on Embassy Row.
“Elizabeth, welcome,” Clinton says, smiling stiffly. “I was worried that you were lost since it was taking you so-o-o-o long to finally get here.”
“Hahaha,” Warren replies. “I’ve always heard you’re a hoot in private. I know I was the last Democratic woman in the Senate to endorse you but Bernie and I have more in common. We don’t buckrake on Wall Street. People are enthusiastic about us and believe what we say. We’re pure.”
“Pure scolds,” Hillary sniffs. “I guess it hit you, when you saw me fighting for my life against a dyspeptic 74-year-old socialist with one suit, that if you had jumped in, you could have been the first woman president.”
“Yes,” Warren muses. “I only loaned Bernie my progressive hordes. I’m the real leader of that movement.”
“Not anymore,” Hillary says.