Twitter Girl

by Nic Tatano

  This sounds fine with me. I stir some cream and sugar into the coffee.

  Vinnie continues. “This should be worth more than a few percentage points so you’ll at least need to keep the relationship going till November.”

  Suddenly I go cold.

  “Dammit, she’s not a campaign prop,” says Becker in an angry whisper. “I’m not gonna use her or fake a relationship for votes.” Long pause. “And now I’m not gonna use you. Get out, Vinnie. You’re fired.”

  My blood starts pumping again.

  He stuck up for me.

  I hear footsteps and a door slam as I head back into the living room carrying a coffee cup and a plate of donuts, acting like nothing happened. Everyone turns to face me wearing a pained look and I can’t let them know I heard everything. “I know, I know, I look like shit. Sorry I didn’t warn you I resemble the cryptkeeper when I first get up. I’ll go put my face on so as not to scare away the seagulls. So, Senator, now that you’ve seen me in the morning, you still wanna take me out?”

  He offers a soft smile. “Yeah, Cassidy. I’ll be proud to be seen with you.”

  An hour later the plan is in place. We hide nothing, which thrills me even though it was Vinnie’s idea. (As soon as I tell Ripley, she’ll cut him loose. And once again, my brother is right.) So no more restaurant back rooms, no more closing curtains, no more fake names, no more driving myself to dates. Everyone clears out to get ready for a luncheon, which will no doubt attract a media horde, leaving me alone with Will Becker. I move toward him, wrap my arms around his waist and lay my head on his shoulder. “Thank you for sticking up for me and getting rid of Vinnie.”

  He grabs my head and pushes it back so he can look at me. “Oh my God, you heard that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cassidy, I’m so sorry.”

  “What the hell are you sorry for? You defended my honor like a white knight.” I lay my head back on his shoulder and hug him tighter. “That’s why people want you for their President.”

  “Glad you’re taking it so well.”

  I lean back to look at him. “But you should know, Mister, that had you agreed with him, I woulda been outta here.”

  ***

  Media gang bang. And the shoe is on the other foot.

  I see exactly what I expected as we pull up to the restaurant for our luncheon. Satellite trucks lined up, dishes pointed toward the sky like electronic petunias. A horde of reporters and photographers between us and the front door.

  Frank turns to me with a worried look I’ve never seen. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea. You can stay in the car if you don’t feel like running the gauntlet.”

  “Frank, I got this and I’m not running from anything. I know exactly how they think, what they need and what they’ll ask. We have to deal with it eventually so better to do it now before the opposition has time to come up with gotcha questions. And the longer we wait, the longer the focus is on me instead of Senator Becker. Every reporter knows that the more you avoid something the better chance you have something to hide. We’re not hiding anything.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just that you’ve never been on the other side of the microphone.”

  “Twitter Girl is ready to rock. Let’s do this.”

  Frank opens the door for me and I step out into the bright sunlight, which suddenly turns into a blinding glare thanks to all the television lights as I’m surrounded and peppered with questions.

  “Cassidy, are you and Senator Becker in love?”

  “Did you sleep with him last night?”

  “How long have you two been dating?”

  I pause a moment, scanning the faces, most of which I recognize. “Tell you what, guys. The Senator has an important campaign announcement and you’re gonna miss it unless you get inside. After that I’ll answer all the questions you want for as long as you want.”

  Becker is standing at the center of a long table at the front of the restaurant. There are so many media people in the room the restaurant has run out of chairs and it’s standing room only along the back wall. The Senator is wrapping up a speech in which he’s outlined some new ideas to balance the budget.

  No one cares. They’re all staring at the redhead sitting at the far end of the table. Every camera is pointed in my direction.

  “Hello, Buckingham Palace? Can I speak to Kate Middleton? Hi, Kate, you don’t know me but I wanted some advice…”

  The Senator wraps up his prepared remarks. “And now I’ll take a few questions. Though for some reason I have a feeling you don’t want to talk about tax reform.”

  The horde yells questions all at once. “How serious is your relationship with Ms. Shea?”

  “She and I have had dinner a few times. That’s about it. And the photo that has been whipping around the Internet is one of our first kiss. If you’re looking for something out of a romance novel, I’m sorry to disappoint you because nothing else happened. I will say that we are both single and interested in dating, though it’s not the easiest thing to do in the public eye in the middle of a campaign.”

  “Have you talked to your daughters about this, and how do they feel about it?”

  “My daughters have both met Cassidy and they like her. They also feel she’s a lot cooler than their father. I think they understand their dad is human.”

  “Do you think your relationship will hurt the campaign?”

  “You know what? I don’t really care. I’m interested in getting to know her, and my personal life is separate from politics. If voters have a problem with two single people dating, I don’t know what to say. Who I have dinner with has no bearing on how I’d act as President.”

  Becker takes about ten minutes of questions and then a reporter calls me on my promise. “Twitter Girl said she’d answer questions. Unless you don’t want her to.”

  “I don’t tell her what to do,” says Becker, who cracks a smile. “Frankly, I don’t think anyone does.”

  The crowd laughs as he steps aside and I move in front of the microphone, followed by the sound of auto-winders and lit up by flashes from still cameras. “You guys are looking at me like my parents did in high school, so I’ll just say he doesn’t have a motorcycle or any tattoos, I was home by ten and finished my Algebra homework.”

  That gets a laugh and then the questions begin from people I’ve worked side-by-side with for years. “So what’s it feel like to be the girl who caught the most eligible bachelor in America?”

  “I haven’t caught anything yet. Like the Senator said, we’ve had a few dinners and plan on having a few more to see where this goes.” I turn and give Becker a sly smile. “Then again, maybe I’m the one who has to be caught.” He smiles and nods.

  “But you’re dating the man running for President. Surely the fact that you could be the First Lady has got to be in the back of your mind.”

  “Look, there’s Senator William Becker, the man who might be the next Commander-in-Chief and leader of the free world. And then there’s Will, the nice guy I recently met who asked me to dinner. You have to separate the two. And my life’s ambition has never been to redecorate the White House like Jackie Kennedy. I would start weekly poker games, though.”

  “Senator Becker is also your boss. Did you feel any pressure to go out with him in order to keep your job?”

  “Of course not. Senator Becker is a complete gentleman. He has a get-to-know-you dinner with all the new members of his staff, and after ours he asked if I’d like to have dinner again. If we’d met under different circumstances and he’d asked me out I would have accepted.”

  I get a question from a famous male reporter who’s probably pushing seventy and wrinkled as a prune. “How would you feel about having sex before marriage?”

  “I’m way too young for you, Hal, but thanks for the offer.”

  That one gets a huge laugh.

  “So will Twitter Girl be tweeting about the relationship?”

  “Sorry, if you want fifty shades of politics, I�
�m not your gal.”

  “So, how was the kiss?”

  The question from a young female reporter stops the crowd cold. Everything goes silent as they await my answer.

  ***

  The unbelievably long day finally ends. It seems like eons ago that Ripley woke me up with a phone call. The strategy session, the luncheon, being hounded all friggin’ day about my love life, which, up till now includes one kiss. Long phone conversations with Ripley and my brother, the latter of whom told me to “be careful” at least a dozen times. At least the debate gave me a break and I got back to my sarcastic self on Twitter. Dan Carrington tried to draw me out about the relationship, but I stuck to political snark.

  And though Will Becker is in the next condo, the only alone time I want is with my bed.

  I toss my purse on the dresser and begin to get undressed when my phone chirps. I check it out and find a text from Tyler.

  I’m up if you need to talk.

  And though I’m exhausted, I do.

  I prop up a few pillows on the bed, lay back, connect and find Tyler already turned in, covers up to his neck. “Hi Tyler, glad you called.”

  “Rough day, huh?”

  “I never expected anything like this. To be honest, it’s a little scary. I’ve been in the public eye for a long time, but my personal life has never been under a magnifying glass.”

  “Well, you handled it beautifully. You were really charming at the luncheon. All the commentators thought you were a breath of fresh air.”

  “Charming?” I point at my face “Moi?”

  “You were funny and cute at the same time. It’s all anyone’s talking about. Nobody gives a damn about the debate. They wanna know about the next President’s girlfriend.”

  “Well, I’m not his girlfriend yet.”

  “You will be thanks to Photoshop. Can’t wait to see the morning papers.”

  “Page Six here I come. But right now I’m trying to figure out how I’ll deal with all this scrutiny.”

  “Just be yourself, T.G. It’s what makes you so uniquely attractive. There are lots of beautiful women out there, but none has a personality like yours.”

  “Thank you, Tyler, it’s very nice of you to say that.” I stifle a yawn. “Oh, excuse me.”

  “You need sleep, go to bed.”

  “I can talk awhile.”

  “Hey, you made me go to bed when I was sick, now it’s your turn to listen. Lights out, young lady. You’re past your curfew.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll see you when I get back.”

  “Look forward to it, T.G. Pleasant dreams.”

  “You too, Tyler.”

  We sign off and I slide the iPad on the nightstand, throw my clothes on the floor, get under the covers and turn out the lights.

  But while my body is exhausted, my mind is wired, going over the events of the day, wondering if tomorrow and the next few months will be the same. Now I know what it’s like to be on the other end of the media. I roll over on my side and hug my pillow.

  ***

  It’s wheels up at seven but I’ve been on the plane since six. I didn’t feel like running another media gauntlet at the front gate of the condo complex so I bribed a maintenance guy to drive me out in the back of his pickup. Nothing like hiding under a tarp when dating someone new. It’s the political equivalent of sneaking out the bedroom window when your parents think you’ve gone to bed.

  Right now Becker’s niece Jessica and I are the only ones on the plane. I’m ravenous from the stress and have already downed a bagel, some eggs, a jelly donut and about a quart of orange juice. I look out the window and see a caravan of cars pull up to the plane. The cars are unloaded and baggage is transferred to the plane as staffers make their way up the stairs. Another media horde is on the end of the tarmac, hoping for a look at what they consider to be America’s First Couple. Ha! You’ve got to get up pretty early in the morning to outsmart Twitter Girl. (Like, around five-thirty.)

  Frank enters the plane and makes his way down the center aisle carrying a stack of newspapers. He plops them down in my lap and sits down next to me. “Some light reading material for the flight.”

  “How did they say we did in the debate?”

  “That’s not exactly the lead story.”

  I turn over the paper on top of the pile to look at the front page and see a picture of myself with Becker at the luncheon under the blaring headline: BECKER’S RUNNING MATE?

  I roll my eyes. “Oh, this can’t be good.”

  “Actually, it’s all very good,” says Frank. “Turn the page.”

  I flip open the paper and start reading.

  MEET WILL BECKER’S TWEET-HEART

  By Jolene Parker

  Sorry, girls, Senator Will Becker may be off the market. His eye has been caught by a snarky redhead who would probably make the most entertaining First Lady in history.

  After a paparazzi photo of Becker and campaign staffer Cassidy Shea stealing a kiss went viral, the two came clean about their relationship at a political luncheon yesterday. And clean it apparently is, as that kiss in the photo is as far as they’ve gone.

  Geez, I woulda guessed a guy who looked like Becker would have no problem getting to second base with a woman.

  Shea, the former network reporter known as Twitter Girl who was canned in December over a controversial remark she made on social media, joined the campaign in January to bring her digital sarcasm to a presidential race that badly needed some levity. Dressed in a stylish emerald green dress that showed off killer legs atop four inch heels, the towering copper-top fielded questions with ease from the media about the relationship, which so far consists of a few dinners. And when asked to rate that now famous first kiss, she tap danced like a seasoned politician and said, “Next question.”

  Ms. Shea, who is thirty-five and has never been married, was a fixture on the CBJ network for several years and had a Twitter following of more than one million when network executives deemed her snark had gone too far in a comment about a tornado. She was quickly snapped up by the Becker campaign, and has been launching hilarious barbs at just about everyone involved in the Presidential race, including the debate moderators.

  Both Becker and Shea stressed that their private lives were just that, but good luck trying to keep something like this under wraps.

  And while this bit of breaking news may have broken the hearts of millions, this reporter has to admit they look good together.

  I snap the newspaper shut. “Well, she was certainly nice.”

  “All the articles are positive,” says Frank. “Everyone loves you. Women want to be you and men want to… well…”

  I put up my hand. “I get it. I was worried I was going to have a negative affect on the campaign.”

  “Cassidy, I think it’s just the opposite.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  @TwitterGirl

  Super Bowl Sunday! Go Giants! Will Becker is a guest on the pre-game show!

  It’s a party atmosphere on this late Sunday afternoon as we arrive at the campaign headquarters, because it’s a Super Bowl party. I’ve been looking forward to this day for two very important reasons.

  –I want to see the Giants beat the hell out of the Patriots. (Known as “the evil empire” in New York.)

  –We’re all allowed one guest, so I brought Sam, who will be meeting Will Becker for the first time.

  And I’m very nervous about what his take will be. Because things have been going very well and I don’t want to hear anything bad.

  Have I reached the rose colored glasses stage? No. Okay, maybe they have a slight tint because I’m a little bit smitten. But I’m still a reporter at heart and have to cover all bases.

  The past few days have been a whirlwind since our relationship went public. We’ve been out to dinner a few times, which turned into photo ops during the appetizers. I’m being cheerful and pleasant with the media, knowing they have a job to do since I’ve been on the other side and know what it’s like. But
I know how to dodge them when I need a break.

  Will Becker is seated in his office, dressed in a blue Giants sweater with their embroidered logo on the chest. Frank is looking over his shoulder. Both look to be in a good mood. Frank spots me and waves us in.

  I head into the office along with Sam and handle the introductions. Becker gets up, shakes his hand and says, “Sam, I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Same here,” says my brother, studying the Senator’s face.

  “So,” I ask, “what are you guys doing in here? The game’s about to start.”

  “Looking at the latest polls,” says Frank. “Your approval numbers are incredible.”

  “I have approval numbers?”

  Frank nods. “One of the Washington newspapers did a poll on you. You’ve got an eighty-seven percent favorability rating.”

  “Mine’s fifty-nine,” says Becker. He turns to Frank. “Maybe she should be running for President.”

  I fold my arms and stick out one foot. “If elected, I will not serve.”

  Ripley appears as planned in the doorway and grabs my arm, “Hey, Cassidy, some people want to meet you.”

  “Sure. You boys get acquainted.”

  I leave Sam in the office, hoping that he’ll like what he sees.

  Please like him, Sam. Please.

  ***

  Ten minutes into the game I’ve had enough of meet-and-greet and I’m missing the damn Super Bowl. I look around the room and see Tyler sitting on the end of a couch talking to Sam, who is parked next to it. I quickly moved toward them and wave Tyler toward the middle of the sofa. “Scoot over. Wanna sit between my two best guys.”

  “Rose between two thorns,” says Tyler.

  “Think you got it backwards,” I say, as I plop down just as the game breaks for a commercial. “Damn, I’ve been grabbed more than a pass-around girl at a frat party.”