107 Days

by Kamala Harris

When he finally got on the line with me, I said I was calling to check how he was. “Well, I’m okay. And I hope it never happens to you. It’s not a good feeling.” “I can only imagine for you, for your family. I’m so relieved you’re safe, but I’m sorry you had to go through this. It’s actually quite unbelievable that in our country this would happen. I pray for your safety.” He stressed how much he appreciated the call and stood up for “your Secret Service—they did a fantastic job”—despite the criticism he was hearing on television. He mused, “We’re all in this very precarious position being president or vice president. It’s dangerous, worse than race car drivers and bull riders.” Then he started to get surprisingly effusive. “It’s very nice that you called, and I appreciate it. You’ve done a great job, you really have. You’ve done a very, very good job… my only problem is it makes it very hard for me to be angry at you. It’s like, what am I going to do? How do I say bad things about you now?” “Well, then don’t!” I said, laughing. “I’m going to tone it down. I will. You’re going to see. I said, ‘I hate to speak to her because I can’t be vicious.’ ” I noted that it was important for us to be civil, especially at a moment like this. As I was wrapping up the call, he suddenly declared, “My daughter, you know, is your big fan. Okay?” And then after a few fulsome sentences about Ivanka’s regard for me, he started gushing about Doug. “And say hello to your husband. He looks like a...

really good guy. He did a good job at the convention, by the way. I watched his speech. He really was good.” He was being amiable. This man who had called me dumb, lazy, crazy, and mentally impaired. Implied that I drank and took drugs. Said I was a Marxist, a fascist. People had told me that he had the capacity, one on one, to show a warmer side. That he could even be charming. I hadn’t believed it. But now I was experiencing it. And then, a reality check: He’s a con man. He’s really good at it.