by J D Wade
Less than twenty minutes. Good job, Timmy.
“You’re that goober from YouTube.” Nathan finally said, our eyes still locked.
“Timothy Long,” Marty interjected, “He’s a—”
“Social Media Influencer.” Nathan cut her off.
Nathan’s expression looked like a mixture of worry, fear, and anger, though I didn’t know him well enough to fully decipher it. For all I knew, this was the expression Nathan had on his face when he was absolutely overjoyed with life. I wasn’t dumb enough to convince myself of that, though.
“Tuniverse,” I said. “I run a YouTube channel.”
“I know who you are.” Nathan nodded. “Why is he sitting here?”
Obviously, Marty wasn’t as in charge as she thought. She still had to explain herself to Nathan Reed if he so wished it.
“He’s had his own scandal before, Nathan,” Marty responded quickly. “He handled it well, and within days, no one cared anymore. I thought he might have some unique and interesting insight into how to handle your little kerfuffle.”
“Tell the truth,” I repeated.
“Tell the truth.” A bitter smile appeared on Nathan’s face as his eyes moved to the table. “I don’t even want to know how much Marty promised to pay you for that advice and your obvious lack of experience.”
“Seven-five thousand dollars,” I responded, unashamed. “Which is what I’d make in a month of doing my normal job—so you’re getting me at a steal since I won’t be here that long.”
“Your normal job?” Nathan said. “You’d make that much money in a month. At your normal job? What’s normal about your job, Timothy Long?”
“What’s normal about being president?” I said.
“I’m trying to make the world a better place.”
“Samesies.” I shrugged.
“How does,” Nathan chuckled, “acting like a buffoon on the internet make the world a better place?”
“Well,” I responded, “I’m not struggling over whether or not it will hurt me politically to fight for universal healthcare or a woman’s right to choose. Or whether or not the LGBTQ-plus community should have rights. Or if trans people should be allowed to serve like any other American human citizen. Maybe I won’t affect policies for these people, but I don’t use political affiliation to decide if doing the right thing will be good for me and my career.”
Nathan’s face was a blank mask again.
Several more moments passed of us just staring at each other.
The fact that Marty hadn’t interjected with any thoughts made me nervous.
“Get him out of here, Marty,” Nathan stated as he rose from his seat. “I don’t want him.”
Then he was marching away and breezing through the double doors that led into the main part of the suite. I listened as he stomped across the living area of the suite, into what I presumed was the bedroom, and then the door slammed shut. Marty Goldman, drama queen extraordinaire, let out a drawn-out sigh from the other end of the table, redirecting my attention to her. Her head was in her hands again.
“He’s a sassy little fella, isn’t he?” I said.
“You really do have a smart mouth.”
“Pot meet kettle.”
“Look,” Marty lifted her head out of her hands, “just go to your room. Get cleaned up. Unpack. Do whatever it is you need to do to get comfortable. I’ll work on Nathan. We don’t have time for the two of you to hate each other.”
“I don’t hate him. I don’t know him.”
“By tomorrow, I’ll have this all smoothed over, and the two of you can get down to the business of solving this crisis.” Marty ignored me.
“Fine.” I pushed back from the table once more. “But if he doesn’t want to work with me, you may as well let me go home. If he thinks I’m a buffoon, he won’t take any of my advice anyway, so what am I doing here? Better yet, you’ve been a complete asshole to me since we met, so why do you think I should stick around?”
“I don’t have an answer for that,” Marty replied. “Just a hunch. I trust my hunches.”
“Well,” I rose from my seat, “my hunch is worn out. I’ll be in my room. You have my phone number, right?”
“There’s a phone in your room, dumbass.”
“Well, in case I step out.”
“Fine, fine.” She waved me off almost as dismissively as Nathan had waved off his staffers.
With nothing else to say to Marty, and having been dismissed, I left the meeting room and made my way into the main part of Nathan’s suite. I pulled my coat off of the back of the chair I had laid it over and draped it over my arm. I checked the pockets, making sure that no one had snagged my phone. It was still there in the right-hand outer pocket, cold and hard in my hand. The door to Nathan’s bedroom was shut when my eyes wandered over to look. I could only imagine the hair-tearing session he was having within. I had gotten under his skin, and he obviously did not want me working on his campaign. The fact that Marty Goldman had pulled me into the inner circle for even a moment was probably enough to make Nathan’s lid fly off.
The fact of the matter was, Nathan Reed couldn’t lose his cool. At least not in a way that made it obvious that he was about to either strangle someone or bang his head against the nearest wall. Presidents had to be measured, patient, considerate, thoughtful—regardless of the example our current president was setting. Nathan Reed had to be sure that anything he did seemed to be the antithesis of who was currently sitting in the White House. If you seem any bit like the person you’re trying to replace, what’s the point of there being a replacement? May as well stick with the evil you know, right?
A smile crept to my lips as I realized that I had an ace up my sleeve that Nathan did not.
He might not ever listen to a thing I had to say or even care for any of my future suggestions. Still, he certainly couldn’t tear me a new asshole over any of them. If I was being honest, looking into Nathan Reed’s brown eyes, staring into his handsome face, and giving back as hard as I got, was kind of a turn on. However, trying to become President of the United States is like a dog collar and leash. He couldn’t do just anything he wanted to do. Unless he wanted to further ruin his chances at the White House. I, on the other hand, could merely lose a job I didn’t even want. The deck was stacked in my favor.
As I left the suite, making sure to shut the door loudly behind myself so that Marty and Nathan would know I’d left, I said “hello, again” to both agents outside the door. If your boss doesn’t like you, it’s best if the rest of the employees do.
Chapter 6
Nathan
Scandals Are Us
Hotels who close down their kitchens so that a guy can’t get a simple burger and fries in the middle of the night are the worst. Even if they’re fancy and comfortable, attentive to my every other need, I will still hate them if there isn’t 24-7 room service. Hotels are supposed to be a home away from home, a place where you can get a grilled cheese at one in the morning if you can’t sleep on an empty stomach. Or a good cup of tea. It’s funny how people check into hotels to get away from it all and relax, but the comforts of home are never there. People sacrifice quite a bit of autonomy to stay in a hotel for any length of time. I’d been living mostly out of hotel rooms and suites for over a year.
Occasionally, I’d get to fly home on the weekend and spend a night in my own bed so that I could rest well. Or I could curl up in my easy chair in front of my own television and watch hours of some stupid—yet highly entertaining—show on Netflix or Hulu. All of it could be done with the guarantee that I could get something to eat at any time, for any reason, regardless of what others thought of it. The kitchen is never closed at home. Kitchens at home also don’t have eerie fluorescent blue lights that shine out at you as you go through your cupboards, either. The vending machine on the seventeenth floor of the hotel did.
“Flamin’ Hot Dill Pickle potato chips?” I muttered to myself as I scanned the rows illuminated by the cold blue
light. “What in the actual hell is a Zero bar?”
The vending machine was full of an assortment of snacks, some of which I’d never seen before in my life. Of course, I wasn’t one to indulge in overly sugared or salted snacks that were full of chemicals and fat, so my knowledge was limited. When my eyes landed on the Snickers bar, I was happy to at least know what was in that candy bar. However, I knew it was an awful choice for a midnight meal. My eyes found a bag of peanuts, but when I saw that they were Chili Lime spiced, I knew that they would make my eventual sleep fitful.
Why did room service close from midnight until five in the morning?
I could be eating a burger.
Eventually, if I managed to get through this small hiccup of a scandal, I knew that I would have to face the inevitability that my home and life would never be the same. It was possible that I could be President of the United States in January of 2021. I would be able to go down to a kitchen and make a grilled cheese at two in the morning if I wanted, but there would be no privacy. Everything I did would be monitored and recorded and saved for posterity. Four to eight years of my life—if I was lucky—would be endless journal entries, photographs, digital video, and audio recordings. Life would never be the same. Even after any time spent in the White House, my life would never be normal.
Why am I standing here at one o’clock in the morning looking at shit food and worrying about my future?
The White House is getting more and more unlikely anyway.
Leaning forward to lay my forehead against the glass front of the vending machine, I suddenly had the realization that I wasn’t sure if I cared. Winning the nomination, then winning the election, meant that my life would be forever changed in a way that could never be changed back. Did I want to spend years of my life in what was essentially a fortress, getting grilled cheese at two o’clock in the morning, but being under a microscope?
Yeah. Yeah, I do.
I didn’t decide to run for President of the United States simply because I was some egotistical jackwagon who wanted the power to influence millions or billions of people. Ruling over my dominion and telling people what they could or couldn’t do based on arbitrary criteria wasn’t my motive either. There was a real problem in America—not that there ever hadn’t been—and I wanted to be able to help fix it. I wanted to get in the trenches and help America be a better place for all of its people, regardless of gender, sexual orientation, ethnicity, race, economic status, education level, or religion. Maybe I could help reverse the damage that President Trump was doing every single day.
“Are you going to smear your oily face all over the vending machine much longer?”
Hearing someone suddenly speaking to me in the middle of the night in a darkened hotel hallway would have made me jump, usually. Having around the clock Secret Service protection had made me a lot less jumpy in the previous months. Besides, I had found out that I had to learn to be less reactive to situations if I wanted to be president. Instead of jumping at the sound of the voice, I merely pulled away from the vending machine and looked towards the source of the voice.
Timothy.
“You’re not the only hungry person here, ya’ know.” He said.
“Sorry,” I replied, my feet moving into motion before I even knew my brain had sent the signal to get myself out of his way.
Timothy Long.
Even though I had demanded that Marty Goldman remove him from my staff and get him out of my sight permanently, he was still around. It wasn’t because I was a nice guy who didn’t want to fire anyone. No, it was because Marty had torn me a new asshole—yet again—and had somehow convinced me to go along with her plans. After Timothy had left my suite following our morning meeting, Marty had burst into my bedroom and gave me a dressing down once more. I wasn’t happy about it, but she was right. We needed all perspectives about how to handle our current crisis. It wasn’t that I didn’t like Timothy Long. That’s not why I had told her to get him out of my sight. I needed crisis management. Not a distraction.
“You know that room service stops at midnight?” Timothy said as he stepped up to the vending machine. I had been about to walk back to my room but stopped myself. “I woke up starving and ended up getting a recorded message that they didn’t give a crap.”
“Uh, yeah,” I answered. “Same here.”
“If I was at home, I could just make a sandwich.” He said, scanning the items bathed in blue light, though he hadn’t scanned a card or produced any cash. “But, no. I’m here where I’m not wanted with an empty belly. Thanks, boss.”
I couldn’t help but chuckle, though I didn’t want to be friendly.
“I suppose I know what you mean.”
“If you were at home,” Timothy asked, his eyes on the machine, “what would you be making for a midnight snack?”
That question confounded me.
“Why?”
“I’d want a sandwich about three feet high. Or wide. Doesn’t matter.” He ignored my question. “Bread. Meat. Veggies. Lots of mayo. Or maybe I’d order in Chinese food. That always settles my stomach.”
“Chinese food at one o’clock?”
“Yeah.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “Some dumplings and sesame chicken? Sleep like a baby.”
Again, my own mouth betrayed me when I chuckled.
“So?” He asked.
“So what?”
“What would you be making in your kitchen right now?”
“I don’t know.”
“Afraid of the truth?” Timothy turned to me.
Just as easily as I had been chuckling at his light jokes, I just as easily found myself glowering.
“I’m not afraid of the truth,” I said.
“You won’t even tell me what you want to eat.” He said. “That’s an easy truth—yet I still haven’t heard it.”
“Grilled cheese.”
“Wake the president. Nathan Reed gave away classified information.” He smiled and turned back to the machine. “What would you have ordered from room service?”
“You’re insufferable.”
“You’re welcome.” He was still scanning the offerings of the vending machine, as though things might have changed while his back was turned. “I wanted something greasy and salty, myself. But, that’s moot, I guess.”
I sighed. “Burger and fries.”
“I’m more of an onion ring or tater tot guy myself,” Timothy said. “But, I’m not mad at your brand either.”
I found myself suddenly smiling, as though such simple approval mattered.
“Yeah, well.” I knew I needed to get back to my room. “That’s something I’ll have to wait for, I suppose.”
“A guy running for president with Secret Service protection can’t just leave and drive to McDonald’s?” Timothy asked over his shoulder. “I’m absolutely shocked at that.”
Why did everything that came out of his mouth make me want to laugh? Well, maybe it was the way he said things? His bland, sarcastic delivery—nothing like his online persona—was funny.
“Part of the entire package.”
“Sounds miserable.” He said, turning to me once more. “Though, I’m sure it’s not without its perks. The scales seesaw back and forth, right?”
“That was actually kind of a deep observation.”
He shrugged. “I’m a lot less ridiculous than I seem online.”
“Ya’ Boy Timmy has depth?” I decided to tease him back. “I’m absolutely shocked to find that out.”
He smiled. “Are you a subscriber?”
“I just know of you.”
“How well?”
“I’ve seen a few episodes.”
“How many is ‘a few’ then?”
“About a dozen,” I admitted. “You’re—well, you’re funny. Sometimes. Your followers seem to enjoy Tuniverse.”
“Yeah. Timmy’s Universe.” He leaned back against the vending machine. “It’s kind of asinine. I’ll admit that. Product reviews. Pranks. Silly s
kits. Drunken observations. Even drunker vacations. It’s better than my old job, though.”
“What did you do before Tuniverse?” I don’t know why I asked. Or cared.
“Marketing Director for an NPO.”
“That sounds nice. What was wrong with it?”
“Any office has its politics.”
“And now you’re in the middle of politics.”
“Exactly.” He said. “Thanks again, boss.”
“You don’t have to be here.”
“Neither do you.” He quipped. “Tell me why you are, I’ll tell you why I am.”
“I should be in bed.”
“Just one more truth won’t hurt you.” He smiled.
Was it the late hour that made me happy to stand in the hallway of the hotel and be accosted by Timothy’s questions? What is it about the middle of the night that makes intimacy and conversation so much easier?
I glanced down the hall. Two agents were still parked at the far other end by my room, watching us. Timothy glanced down the hall, then his eyes were back on me
“I want to make the world a better place,” I said.
“I’m just nosy.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Why didn’t you bring up your annulment before?” He asked.
“So,” I shook my head, “you’re just here for the gossip?”
“Nah,” He said. “But it’s better than a canned response. I want to make the world a better place? What kind of bullshit is that?”
“Pardon me?”
“Everybody who runs for political office says that same load of crap. Maybe in a different way, but it all sounds the same. One canned response after another. I’m sure you want the world to be a better place, but that response tells me nothing about what you think a better world would look like. It’s why I hate voting, to be quite honest.”
