Off Message

by A. C. Fuller

  8. Avery Axum

  To my amazement, Axum rose slightly since the rally despite a disastrous Facebook Live "Ask Me Anything" segment. Responding to a question about the death penalty—which he opposes—he spent fifteen minutes walking viewers through the history of capital punishment, starting with the twenty-five crimes punishable by death in the code of King Hammurabi of Babylon. When he started the Facebook Live event, he had over 5,000 viewers. When he finished, he had 81.

  But DB rushed to his defense on Facebook, claiming that Axum, "Knows more about everything than I know about anything." Though it was meant as a joke, and DB doesn't share many of Axum's center-right policy positions, the line won Axum a good deal of support.

  Steph likes to make fun of Axum, and I can't exactly blame her, but I feel better when he's talking. In a world of memes, tweets, disinformation, and outright lies, it's comforting to listen to someone who thinks deeply, thinks historically. Though he needs a touch more pizzazz if he wants to win this thing, I like that he raises the level of discourse, even when I disagree with his conclusions.

  9. Wendy Kahananui

  With the influx of more experienced candidates, Kahananui's ability to cling to the top ten through the winter was impressive. As other candidates posted position papers, held online debates, and worked their way into mainstream media, she toured the world teaching yoga classes. There's nothing wrong with that, but I'm beginning to think she isn't serious about becoming president because she still hasn't said much about what her policies would be if elected.

  Even so, her fans are rabid. Each time she slipped out of the top ten, they swarmed social media to convince new voters to register on Ameritocracy and vote for Kahananui.

  10. Beverly Johnson

  Though more extreme candidates do better in online forums, Beverly Johnson clung to the top ten in impressive fashion. She dropped a few spots as Mast and Axum rose, and lost some supporters to DB when she released a video complaining that celebrities shouldn't be allowed to enter Ameritocracy. But millions of new voters registered since the rally, and many of them are women between the ages of forty and seventy, the segment of voters most likely to support Johnson's emphasis on family, schools, and common sense fiscal conservatism.

  11. Orin Gottlieb

  After barely squeaking into the top ten before the rally, Gottlieb had a good month of November, including a series of online debates with Marlon Dixon and Tanner Futch.

  But he fell again in early December after a video leaked in which he made fun of a good chunk of his supporters, claiming that he was, "Sick of non-philosophical libertarian losers who live in their mom's basement and only support him because they want legal weed."

  12. Charles Blass

  A linguistics professor at San Francisco State University—and a registered member of the U.S. Communist Party—Blass jumped into the top ten briefly in December, carried by an online army of meme warriors who touted his support for student loan debt forgiveness and universal healthcare. But he stumbled during an online debate with Marlon Dixon when he dismissed Dixon's religious beliefs as a "pleasant fantasy." Though still holding strong, especially among idealistic young voters, he's been unable to explain how—or why—he'd try to implement his policies using the actual U.S. government.

  Closing my laptop, I see Steph standing in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.

  "What is it?" I ask.

  "They found the girl from the video. Her name is Sandra Foxworth, and she's going live on The Bonnie Grimmel Show tonight."

  4

  I arrive at Peter's house half an hour before the interview with Sandra Foxworth. When I first saw the mansion from the outside last fall, I joked that it looked like Hogwarts—all stone and vines and turrets. I've been here a half dozen times since our night at The Q Hotel in Los Angeles, the first night we spent together, and have learned that the inside is something else entirely—peak Silicon Valley tech mixed with timeless luxury.

  I enter through a side door that leads into the first-floor kitchen. Yes, there are two kitchens—a commercial space in the basement where staff cook for parties, and a "personal" kitchen for Peter.

  I find him in the living room reclining on a leather sofa, feet up on a matching ottoman. "How are you doing?" I ask, cautiously.

  "Better than DB, from what I gather. Still haven't spoken to him, but rumors are that Disney may use the video as an excuse to pull the fourth Atlantis movie."

  I sit next to him on the sofa, then scooch forward until I can swing my feet onto the ottoman. The ninety-inch TV mounted on the wall plays four cable networks simultaneously in four boxes—CNN, Fox News, MSNBC, and CNBC. I read the scrolling news along the bottom without taking in any of it.

  Then the gravity of what Peter said hits me all at once. "Wait, they're talking about pulling the fourth Atlantis movie? Like not releasing it to theaters? How did you find out?"

  "Colton Industries owns half of Magic Pixel, a digital effects company that did some work on all four of the Atlantis films. You remember that scene where the space pod sunk to the bottom of the ocean?"

  "Yeah."

  "We did that one."

  "Okay, but—"

  "I heard from the CEO of Magic Pixel that they've been pulling overtime redoing scenes that are supposed to be finished already. They've been doing post-production rewrites, which is usually a sign of trying to salvage an unwatchable movie. They might see this as an opportunity to look like they're taking a principled stand, while avoiding being stuck with a guaranteed flop."

  "You're kidding, right? I don't even know where to start with that."

  Peter runs a hand through his shoulder-length black hair, exposing his widow's peak. He always does that when he's stressed. "If I'm hearing it, DB has too. My guess is Disney is just waiting until tomorrow to make it official."

  "Before the woman even gets interviewed? Before—"

  "There are other rumors."

  "I saw some go by on Twitter, but nothing that—"

  "The studio probably knows things that aren't showing up on Twitter yet. Remember, these studios employ fixers to bury the transgressions, and sometimes crimes, of their stars. I always knew DB was a bit of a playboy, but—"

  "If they pull the movie, that's basically like calling him a rapist in public. Don't get me wrong, he should be in prison if he is one. Public disgrace should be the least of it, but what happened to trials and justice or even taking three deep breaths before rushing to judgment? And, wait a sec, no one except the internet has accused him of anything."

  We go quiet, both reading the scroll at the bottom of the muted TV. CNN has switched from coverage of DB to a recent mudslide in the Bay Area. A pundit on Fox News rails against DB as proof of the moral corruption and hypocrisy of liberal Hollywood elites. MSNBC discusses the online sexual assault allegations about DB, over B-Roll of DB handing oversized novelty checks to charity and campaigning for the first female mayor of Los Angeles. DB has appeared on MSNBC regularly for the last few years, arguing on behalf of liberal causes, and my guess is that the producers are torn. They know they need to cover the story, but don't want to condemn him too quickly since they're the network that's done the most to raise his stature as a political commentator.

  I wait for Peter to shift his eyes from the screen. "Can I ask you something about DB?" He nods sadly, like he knows what's coming. "You know him well, have known him for years. I know you don't remember the girl in the video, but if Disney is gonna drop the movie, there are more allegations coming. You have to know something." The look in his eye tells me he does, but he shrugs. "Peter?"

  "He slept around, enjoyed his success. And long before he was famous, he enjoyed his looks and charisma."

  I try to imagine Peter and DB together at a college party. Peter has light olive skin and a Spanish look; his parents moved from Granada to California a decade before he was born. DB looks like an all-American farmboy—tall and muscular with light brown hair and a jaw chiseled from gr
anite. Peter is one of the handsomest men I've ever seen in person, but next to DB in college he was probably the plain one.

  "Sleeping around is one thing," I say, "but, do you think he assaulted women? Grabbed butts, groped interns, or could have raped someone?"

  Peter looks forlorn, like he doesn't want to answer. "I hate to say it, but yeah. In Hollywood, men have been doing that for years, decades—"

  "That doesn't make it okay."

  "I'm not excusing, just explaining. And I've never done anything like that. Not once. But is it possible DB could have gotten so full of himself that he took some liberties?" He drops his head into his hands. "Yes."

  "Took some liberties? We're talking about assault."

  "I know, I know, I'm just trying to get in his head space. Could he have grabbed some butts? Yes. It's also possible that he could have slept with half the interns in Hollywood—consensually—and then a few of them decided to destroy him by spreading false rumors."

  I look at him skeptically.

  "I know, it's not likely."

  The thing that drives me crazy about the media, and people in general, is that we overreact and underreact at the same time. We hype things before knowing all the facts, we race to share our opinions, making mountains out of what often turn out to be molehills. We lead with emotional reactions when information appears that confirms our prejudices and prior beliefs.

  But when actual, complex wrongdoing occurs—wrongdoing with shades of gray that don't fit into a sound bite or a tweet—we're too intellectually lazy to take the time to understand it. Too busy to hunt the truth until we find it. By the time all the facts are known, the media has moved on, and so has the public.

  This is what Peter is doing now. He's assuming the worst and acting forlorn about what a disaster this incident is for DB. Simultaneously, he's looking for ways to minimize the allegations, to convince himself that they may not be true. Overreaction, underreaction. Both are an assault on the facts we simply don't yet have.

  It's eight o'clock, and Peter changes the channel so the four boxes disappear and the TV displays the opening credits of The Bonnie Grimmel Show, a daily Hollywood interview program that specializes in clips of celebrities running through airports chased by paparazzi and interviews with nannies after their affairs with superstars are revealed. That sort of dreck.

  Tonight, Bonnie Grimmel looks more serious than usual behind her silver desk. She's got shoulder-length platinum blonde hair and a tight, angular face plastered with tan makeup. If not for her severe black suit, she'd look like someone pulled straight off a Fort Lauderdale beach.

  After a brief introduction by Grimmel, the camera zooms out, revealing Sandra Foxworth sitting next to her behind the desk. Foxworth is hard to read. She's average height and weight, with dirty blond hair and a face that gives away nothing. Her blank expression adds to the tension as we wait for Grimmel to ask the question everyone in America has been asking for the last twenty-four hours: was it rape?

  Grimmel turns to her. "Thank you for joining us, Ms. Foxworth."

  Foxworth offers up a Mona Lisa smile—a smile that can be interpreted a thousand different ways by a thousand different viewers. "Thanks for having me." Her voice is calm and quiet, full of a self-confidence that's impressive given that she's about to talk about her sex life in front of thirty million people.

  "There's one question on everyone's mind," Grimmel says. "One question the world has been asking. But before we go there, I want to learn a little more about you. I want to let our viewers into the world of Sandra Foxworth."

  I should have known Grimmel would milk this moment. The interview is the biggest scoop of her life and will be one of the most highly-rated shows of the year. Of course she doesn't start with the question everyone is waiting for.

  Instead, she leads Foxworth through a roundabout series of questions. Over the next fifteen minutes, we learn that Foxworth grew up in Boston and attended Boston College on a dance scholarship. We learn that she attended classes with DB, who she recalls as "charming, and kind of a ladies' man." Before getting too close to the subject of DB, Grimmel steers the interview back to Foxworth herself, who tells us that, when she injured her knee during her senior year, she moved to Ohio, where she's lived for the last twenty years. She now runs a successful real estate development company and teaches dance to toddlers.

  After the second commercial break, the final segment begins, and the look on Grimmel's face—both grave and excited—tells me we're about to get to the meat of the story. "Yesterday, Ms. Foxworth, a video surfaced. An explicit video."

  Foxworth looks unfazed. "Yes."

  "Are you the woman in the video?"

  "Yes."

  "You mentioned David Benson earlier, or DB as you said he was known to friends." She pauses, a badly-faked look of concern on her face. "Is he the man in the video?"

  "He is."

  "Take us back to the night in question."

  "Well, Bonnie, it was an off-campus party during our senior year. DB and I were in the same class. BU class of 2000. I don't recall the exact location."

  "Do you remember who hosted the party?"

  "I'm sorry, I don't. Me and my friends used to go from party to party some nights, and, to be honest, sometimes I wasn't sure whose house it was."

  "That's understandable," Grimmel says. "Did you attend the party with David Benson?"

  "No, he was at the party when I arrived."

  "And then what happened?"

  "It's a bit of a blur but, I remember getting a beer from the kitchen. There was a keg there, I think."

  "In the video, we see a red plastic cup. Was that your cup?"

  Foxworth thinks for a moment. "Could have been, or it could have been his."

  "So he was drinking as well?"

  "Yes, I remember running into him in the kitchen. I spilled a little beer on him and he was cool about it. Then we got to talking."

  Grimmel pauses, as though choosing between multiple pre-planned questions. "Up to this point, Ms. Foxworth, what you're describing sounds like a fairly typical night on college campuses across the country. Tell us what happened next."

  Foxworth looks up briefly, then at the camera, then back at Grimmel, who leans forward like she's hanging on every word. "That's where things get a little hazy. I remember having a beer. I remember DB having a beer. I remember making out with him in the bathroom."

  "In the bathroom, you say?"

  "Yes."

  "And how did you end up there?"

  "I really don't remember."

  "Did he force you into the bathroom?"

  "No."

  "So, you were making out with him, meaning that you were attracted to him, correct?"

  "Everyone was attracted to him. I mean, look at the guy."

  Grimmel chuckles, then her face goes blank. "But just because you were attracted to him doesn't mean that…well, we'll get to that. But please, keep going. What do you remember after the bathroom?"

  "I remember dancing, I think there was a DJ, or maybe just music…I'm not sure."

  "Were you dancing with him?"

  "I'm not sure."

  It's ten minutes until the end of the show. Time for Grimmel to go in for the kill. "We're running out of time," she says. "And I want to make sure we get to the video."

  "Yes."

  "Do you know where it was shot?"

  "It was a bedroom in the house, maybe a friend of DB's, but I'm not sure."

  "Were you forced into the room?"

  "I don't think so."

  Grimmel leans in and lowers her voice. "There's no polite way to ask this, but America wants to know: did you consent to having sex with David Benson?"

  Foxworth looks flustered for the first time. "I, it's complicated. I don't remember explicitly consenting, no. But I also remember being attracted to him, to wanting him even. But maybe not like that, maybe not then. I—"

  "Ms. Foxworth, this is important, and I need to get the facts right here. Ameri
ca is watching. Did he force you to have sex with him?"

  "I don't believe so, no."

  Grimmel looks incredulous, like this wasn't the answer she was anticipating. "But you didn't consent?"

  "Not explicitly, not verbally, not that I recall."

  "And you were drunk, correct?"

  "We both were, yes."

  "Too drunk to consent?"

  "I'm not sure I understand what that means."

  "You said you didn't verbally consent to sex?"

  Foxworth squirms in her chair. "I don't recall for sure. I don't think so."

  "Did you resist?"

  "No, I don't think so."

  "So you enjoyed yourself?"

  "I wouldn't say that."

  "Do you regret it?"

  "Not exactly. I regret that it was filmed, that it was released."

  Grimmel leans back, gathering herself. "Most states have laws on the books that make it a crime to engage in sex with someone who has been incapacitated by drugs or alcohol. Had you taken any drugs?"

  "No."

  "Would you say that you were incapacitated by alcohol?"

  "No, I wouldn't say that."

  "But you were partially blacked out?"

  "I'd say the memories are fuzzy, more than black."

  I take the remote control from Peter's lap and pause the TV. "This is interesting. Grimmel is going for a black or white, yes or no answer from Foxworth, and Foxworth isn't giving her one."

  Peter's cellphone rings and he silences it. "It's like she doesn't want to say she was raped, but she also doesn't want to say that it was fully consensual."

  I start the show again.

  "But did you consent?" Grimmel demands.

  "I don't believe I consented verbally. But I may have consented via my actions. I do not believe I was forced in any way."

  "But rape can still occur if you were incapacitated by alcohol and, if we can return to the video, you look as though you might be." Selectively blurred and close up still shots from the video appear on the top right of the screen, showing the younger Foxworth, eyes closed, cheeks red. "You must be aware that a vigorous online debate is raging about the meaning of the noises you make in the video."