by J D Wade
“Fuck you, Nathan Reed!” She jabbed a finger in his face a final time and stormed towards the door.
She hadn’t taken a single thing out of her supplies. Not even the unopened bottled Mocha Frappuccino. I reached over and snatched it, deciding it was mine once the suite door slammed behind her. Nathan frowned at me.
“What?” I shrugged. “It was going to get hot anyway.”
A moment later, one of the agents I hadn’t met before popped his head into the meeting room to make sure everything was copasetic. Nathan murmured a few comments about making sure Marty didn’t steal anything campaign-related and that he wanted her gone in thirty minutes or less. The agent indicated that he understood, and he, too was gone. I had already shaken up the drink and was sipping on it when Nathan turned to me once more.
“This has been the strangest few days of my life.” He said.
“Really?” I smacked my lips. “You’d think running for president would produce better drama than this.”
He was chuckling again, though he seemed nervous.
“You know when you told me that Marty Goldman had nothing to lose except her pride and track record if I lost?”
“Yeah,” I answered.
“It got me thinking.” He said. “I wasn’t going to call Justine. I was going to tell you once I had some more sleep that your idea was bad. But thinking about what you said, I started to wonder who would even know about Justine except for Justine and me. Sure, enough searching from a reporter would eventually turn up some records, but who is going to go to that trouble for an annulment? So, I started to wonder what Marty’s pride and track record were worth.”
“Dollar figure, you mean?”
“Right.” He nodded. “Then I realized that the timing of Cady Blankenship’s question for the Des Moines Article was suspect. There was no way I wasn’t going to trounce Ledbetter in the debate. I’ve seen him debate. He’s terrible at it. He only became governor because his opponent was a real piece of work that only douchebags would vote for. This campaign—as far as getting the nomination is concerned—was mine to lose. When I refused to lose it on my own, Marty Goldman sold me out. I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe Justine was confused about the name?”
“You’re on Marty’s side?”
“Absolutely not,” I replied. “She was a real see-you-next-Tuesday to me when she came to my apartment. She’s no friend of mine. I’m just making sure that you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay.”
“So,” Nathan leaned in, his fingers laced on the table before him, “the plan is for you, Joy, Elliot, and Marta to help me get ready for the debate. We’ll fly out the day after tomorrow. The debate is that night. If it goes well, we’ll move forward with the next phase of the operation.”
“Operation Breakfast and Dinner with Nathan Reed?” I smiled.
“We need a shorter operation name, but sure.” He agreed.
“You’ll need a new campaign manager.”
“I’ve got some calls out.” He waved me off. “But you report directly to me from now on. Whomever I hire, they’re not interfering with our plan.”
I slowly nodded.
“And you trust me after not even two days why?” I asked the logical question.
“I don’t. Not really. But you said you believe in me. Maybe I need to believe in you?” He grinned.
“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard,” I said. “All right. I’m in. But you know you haven’t seen the last of Marty Goldman. She’s a snake. And she is pissed.”
A gleeful look overtook Nathan’s face as he chuckled.
God, I love his chuckle.
“I’m not kidding, Nate,” I said. “I know you’re not entirely stupid. If Marty Goldman sold you up the river to Governor Ledbetter, then hired a Crisis Manager to handle the crisis that betrayal caused, you have to wonder why.”
“What do you mean?” Nathan frowned.
“Why would she hire me to handle a crisis she created so that you would lose the nomination?” I asked. “You might want to start thinking about that.”
Chapter 10
Timothy
Las Vegas
Going from Minneapolis to Las Vegas was in and of itself, a shock. The fact that I was traveling with the campaign for Nathan Reed, possible future Democratic nominee for president, was odd, of course. But going from freezing temperatures to a more moderate 60s was enough to make a guy wonder if he hadn’t gone a touch crazy. When we landed in Vegas, early-afternoon, it was sunny, yet cool, and the desert stretched out endlessly. As a YouTuber and Social Media Influencer, I’d done plenty of traveling—even internationally—but I’d never made it to Las Vegas somehow. As we were getting off of the plane, I made a mental note to see if I would be allowed to hit one of the casinos after the debate or if I’d be sequestered with everyone else to our assigned area of the hotel.
Traveling with a bunch of campaign staff is different than traveling in other professions, and obviously much different than traveling with friends. One, it’s not a lot of fun, and no one is encouraged to get shitfaced on the plane. Two, everyone is mostly working as you move from one destination to the other, so there is not a lot of chit-chatting about inconsequential, yet, fun things. Three, everything is a blur. Luckily, as Nathan’s newly appointed Social Media Advisor, most everyone left me alone. I’m not one of the great political minds or civics professionals that he had on staff to help him be the best candidate he could be. I couldn’t prepare him for things that had to do with policy, foreign affairs, law, or anything candidates debate on stage. So, I mostly got to stare out of the window of the plane and play on my phone. I was absolutely crushing it in Candy Crush.
In fact, after Joy, Elliot, Marta, and I had spent most of the afternoon two days prior, talking with Nathan about how he wanted to manage to tell the truth at the debate, once it was brought up, then firing questions at him like crazy people, we were dismissed. Once he felt that he could calmly and truthfully answer any question that Governor Ledbetter or the moderators launched his way, he had to be prepared for the non-scandal related questions he would surely get from the moderators. Knowing how to handle his minor scandal was important, but handling that well, yet not knowing how to discuss the most recent Middle East crisis or healthcare for Americans would have made things worse for him than not disclosing his annulled marriage.
So, for the remaining evening in the hotel, while Nathan was talking to the real minds in the campaign staff, I sequestered myself in my room. I ordered pizza—supreme, extra cheese, thank you very much—and watched T.V. I jerked off a couple of times since it had been a rough few days. Then I slept until breakfast the next morning. The next day was nearly identical. However, the following day, the entire staff tried to cram into Nathan’s suite for a breakfast roll call, food, and a pep-talk from Nathan. There had been even more staff members than I had ever suspected. Most of us had ended up standing up, lining the walls, as we hungrily stuffed food into our gobs and slammed back coffee. Shortly before lunch, we all boarded a plane to Las Vegas, and we were on our way. In a matter of fewer than three days, I’d gone from Crisis Manager hurriedly brought on to help Nathan with his scandal, to traveling to Las Vegas for a debate.
We were down a Campaign Manager, but we were all loaded for bear. Everyone had been briefed on the scandal about Nathan’s annulled marriage, though everyone was sworn to absolute secrecy. Nathan advised everyone during his morning pep-talk that he was simply going to tell the truth since he had done nothing wrong. He told the staff that he “didn’t want to let his opponent make a mountain out of a molehill—especially when there wasn’t even a molehill to begin with.” I agreed with that assessment of the situation, and obviously, I agreed with how to fix the crisis.
The worst part about everything that had happened was that Nathan and I had not really spoken directly since Joy, Elliot, Marta, and I had prepared him for the scandal questions. He had been too busy wit
h everything else in preparation for the debate to talk to me. Not talking wasn’t really an issue, as I got paid no matter what use Nathan got out of me. The fact that I felt upset about it was the real problem. Every time I’d wander out into the hall of the hotel in Minneapolis to get a soda or see if anything new was in the vending machine, or just to stretch my legs, and I caught sight of Nathan, my stomach flip-flopped. If I saw a staff member being let into his suite by the agents at the door, I felt jealous.
Why do I want all of his attention on me?
Of course, I knew the answer to that question. Nathan was attractive, funny, kind—kind of a dork—and smart. I liked talking to him, and he was easy on the eyes. Everybody likes talking to someone that they’re attracted to, even if nothing will come from it. So, it only stood to reason that I just wanted to spend time with Nathan. What else was going on in my life now that Tuniverse was on indefinite hiatus?
Then again, I had to remind myself that I was only going to be on Nathan’s staff for a week after the debate. There was absolutely no point in wanting to spend as much time with Nathan as possible or getting butthurt if someone else got more of his attention. The man was running for president, for God’s sake. He didn’t need me getting puppy-eyed whenever I thought of him. I wasn’t exactly an older, experienced man, but I was old enough to know that crushes are just that. The day after Super Tuesday, regardless of the outcome, I’d be on a plane headed back home. This whole thing would be a distant memory within a week afterward. Hopefully, it would be one that I looked upon fondly as the years went by, but that was all it was in the long run.
To think that Nathan might even find me attractive, let alone someone he would want to be distracted by while he was trying to achieve his greatest goal in life, was also ridiculous. What presidential candidate stops to think that they might want to date—or even hook up—while they are on the campaign trail? When I thought about that, my mind immediately went to Presidents Kennedy and Clinton. However, I hoped those were the exceptions instead of the rule. Any reasonable, decent person running for president wouldn’t throw it all away at the first guy or gal that came along that piqued their interest. Nathan was decent. At least, I thought so.
So, once we landed in Las Vegas, and everyone was off of the plane and had arrived at the hotel, I went straight to my room. I didn’t need to bother Nathan by saying something idiotic like “care for a chat?” or “hey, do you think I’m cute?” or some such nonsense a teenager with a crush would say. I just wanted to bang my head against the wall and plead with the gods. Why did I agree to this whole thing—and why was I catching a boner for some guy I barely knew? This was just a one-off job, something to elevate my stock. Something that would make me even more appealing as an influencer. How many influencers from Instagram or YouTube can say they’ve worked closely on a campaign with a possible future president?
What does a person do when they know that everything they feel is pointless, and it’s best to just stay the course until a brief period of their life passes? Once we were in our hotel in Vegas, I kept to myself. I sat on my bed in my room and worked out ideas for how to video Nathan as he answered questions live over breakfast and dinner. Keeping my mind occupied was the best thing I could do while Nathan prepared to face Governor Ledbetter, the moderators, and the American public on the debate stage. A few times, I had gone to text him to ask if maybe it would be a good idea to release something to the press in regards to his scandal, but I hadn’t.
Releasing a briefing to the press right before the debate would have made an even bigger impact, I felt, but I realized that it just wouldn’t work for Nathan. He needed to get on stage, tell the public his truth, in his words, from his mouth, while he looked into a camera. It would be cathartic for him in the process of campaigning for the nomination. Anything else would feel like pushing the issue aside, instead of facing it head on. So, I kept my thoughts to myself and hoped that not texting had been the right thing to do.
As I worked on ideas in my hotel room leading up to the debate, I kept the news on the television, the sound just high enough to tell what was being said—something I never did at home. I didn’t enjoy watching the news but preferred reading it on Google News, MSNBC, or CNN. Sometimes I’d even sneak over to FOX News just to see what the other side was saying. When I saw Governor Ledbetter on screen, giving a live interview outside of some hotel in Las Vegas, possibly The Bellagio, I stopped what I was doing to give him my full attention.
“Governor Ledbetter, what do you make of Nathan Reed not disclosing the fact that he has a marriage he didn’t disclose? How do you think that makes him look to the American public?” Some reporter screamed over other reports off-screen.
“Well, Governor Ledbetter smiled in what I think he felt was a warm way but ended up looking creepy, “I think Nathan Reed has shown his true colors. He’s just like every other oily politician in D.C. He can’t tell the truth to save his life. If you notice, the man hasn’t even said word one about it since his campaign imploded. I hear he even lost his Campaign Manager over this. I’ll be surprised if he actually even shows up tonight, to be honest.”
I smiled to myself. Nathan was going to mop the debate stage with him. I just had to keep focused on my role in everything so that there were no further distractions. Nathan had the nomination in the bag. As long as he could remain focused.
Don’t be a distraction, Timmy.
Chapter 11
Nathan
The Debate
Knock. Knock.
Knock.
Donned in a Kenneth Cole suit to look camera-ready, but not overly fancy, I stood outside of the door, adjusting my cufflinks as I waited for an answer. For some reason, I was nervous. Not because of the upcoming debate, but because my gut had been flip-flopping for nearly two days.
Timothy.
Having just met the guy—though I felt like I already knew him, thanks to the internet—I wasn’t sure why I enjoyed spending so much time with him. Of course, whenever we were together, we were talking about my campaign or how he handled his own personal scandal. Timothy made facing my crisis easier—maybe even funnier. I didn’t take everything so seriously when he was the voice of reason in my head. It was like he understood me. He understood humans. Even if other people wanted to try and knock me off of the pedestal they’d placed me on, he realized that the reactions of humans were fleeting.
I didn’t worry so much when he talked through issues with me.
The fact that I hadn’t been able to spend as much time with him after he helped the other staffers prepare me for handling debate questions irritated me. Everyone else was just doing the job they’d been hired to do and completing the tasks they’d been assigned to complete. As far as Timothy was concerned, I felt like he really connected to why I was doing what I was doing. Sure, my motives were not all that original. I wanted to make America a good place for all people—I loved my fellow Americans. However, I felt that he truly believed me. Everyone else on my staff was going through the motions.
When the door opened, and I saw Timothy standing before me in a suit of his own—that actually looked nicer than mine—I couldn’t stop the smile that came to my face. Of course, I tried to not be too obvious since I was also accompanied by two Secret Service agents and a gaggle of other staffers was milling about.
“Timothy.” I managed.
“Is it time?” He slipped his phone from his pocket to glance at it. “Well, at least I’m ready on time for once.”
I chuckled. The Secret Service agents scanned the hall.
“It’s time,” I affirmed. “You’re still joining us at the convention center, right?”
He looked at me as if he was just seeing me for the first time.
“Who dressed you?” His nose turned up, and his brow furrowed.
His words were venom, but his expression was adorable.
Oh, no.
“Me,” I replied.
“I can tell.” He rolled his eyes, then swung t
he door wide. “Get in here.”
Timothy was inviting me into his room?
I felt a lump in my throat at the thought of being alone in a hotel room with him—and not just one that had a meeting room attached.
“Come on, guys,” Timothy said to the agents, waving them inside. “Get in here and protect the future president. Make sure I don’t harm him.”
Oh. Okay.
I stepped inside Timothy’s room as the agents at the door glanced at each other, shrugged, then followed me inside. Timothy was ahead of us, digging through one of his bags. I jumped slightly as the door clicked shut behind me, and I turned to see the agents standing with their backs against it, their hands clasped in front of them.
Secret Service is kind of scary.
“Look,” Timothy mumbled as he dug through his bag, “if you’re going to be the leader of the free world in 2021, you at least have to learn what a suit and tie say about you, Mr. Reed.”
Mr. Reed? Oh, yeah. The agents. In a room together. Don’t want to give the wrong impression. I am his employer, after all.
“What do you mean?” I looked down at my tie as I walked across the room to join him by his bag. “I mean, its Kenneth Cole. That’s not bad.”
Timothy glanced at me.
“The suit’s not bad.” He agreed. “It could be fitted better. The tie is absolutely fugly though, Mr. Reed.”
“I resent that.” I laughed.
“Don’t care.” Timothy straightened up once he found what he was looking for in his bag. “Once you win the nomination, you really need to get yourself a stylist leading up to the election. Preferably for while you’re in the White House, too. We can’t have a repeat of Dad Jeans. No shade to President Obama.”
One of the agents actually snorted. I looked over to find the agent on the right reaching up to try and hide his expression. The other agent was simply smiling.
