by Nic Tatano
“So, Sam, what were these two like growing up?” asks Tyler.
“He was too young to remember,” I say.
Sam starts to deal. “That’s what my sister thinks. The guest room used to be my bedroom and I would lie on the floor next to the vent and hear what was going on in her room.”
My eyes widen as I turn to my brother. “Excuse me? I never heard about this.”
“Yeah, it was like a soap opera when Ripley would come over and you guys would talk about boys.”
Ripley narrows her eyes at Sam. “You little sneak.”
Sam shoots a quick smile at her, then turns to Tyler. “Anyway, during their senior year in high school they both had a thing for the quarterback on the football team—”
I reach over and grab Sam’s arm. “Tyler doesn’t need to hear this.”
“Yeah, but I want to,” says Tyler.
“Dear Lord,” says Ripley, who buries her head in her hands.
“Anyway,” says Sam, “they both had no interest in cheerleading but joined the squad to get close to the guy. They weren’t getting anywhere so they borrowed my mom’s sewing machine and did some, shall we say, alterations to their uniforms.”
My jaw hangs open. “You know about that?”
“The results were hard to miss. So this one day I hear the sewing machine going all day in Cassidy’s room but it’s loud and I can’t hear what they’re saying. But I know something’s up with these two. Anyway, when they’re done this one starts walking around with her skirt hemmed up to her ass to show off her legs while this one is practically spilling out of her top.”
Tyler looks at me as I’m turning beet red.
“I need more wine,” says Ripley, as she gets up and heads for the kitchen.
“Make it a double for me,” I say.
“So what happened?” asks Tyler. “Did either one ever get a date with the quarterback?”
“Nope,” says Sam, who finishes dealing. “He was already sleeping with another girl. But the whole episode did make for an interesting yearbook photo of the cheerleading squad.”
Tyler turns to me and smiles. “I’d love to see that—”
I grab my brother’s arm again. “Don’t you dare, Sam.”
“You know,” says Tyler, “a photo of the Senator’s girlfriend in a cheerleader outfit could be worth a lot of votes.”
I glare at him.
“Kidding,” he says. “You couldn’t possibly look better than you did last night anyway.”
The next four hours are a mash up of stories, wine and laughs. And amazingly, my new partner and I have managed to defeat the previously unbeaten team of Sam and Ripley. We’re on the same page, like we’ve been playing as partners for years.
Tyler looks at his watch. “Guys, this has been great but I probably need to get going.”
“Somewhere you gotta be at midnight?” I ask. “What, you gonna turn into a pumpkin?”
“I don’t want to overstay—”
“Nonsense,” I say. “The guest room is still available and you don’t want to miss one of our wonderful Sunday brunches.” I turn to my brother. “Sam, deal the cards.”
***
I hear the boys laughing as I plod down the stairs on a bright Sunday morning and smell something new coming from the kitchen. The coffee pot is gurgling as I enter and I head straight for it. “What is that wonderful aroma?”
“You’ll see,” says Tyler. “Thought you guys might want to try some of my specialties. I think you’ll be hooked.”
“If it’s edible, she’ll be hooked,” says Sam.
“Hush, dear brother.” I pour a cup of coffee and take a seat at the kitchen table, then study Tyler’s face. “You look well rested.”
“Long as I get my recovery days, I’ll always be back to normal.”
“Good. I heard you two laughing, what the hell are you guys talking about?”
“You,” they say in unison.
“Oh, here we go again. Sam, you didn’t show him the yearbook photo, did you?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. I tortured you enough last night. But I’ve hidden it so I can keep it as blackmail.”
The oven dings and Tyler grabs a potholder. “Okay, get ready for something wonderful.” He opens the over and pulls out a cookie sheet filled with what look like some sort of biscuits.
“What are those?”
“Cranberry walnut scones. I have a friend in London who sent me the recipe.”
“Oooh, they look fantastic.”
He slides the cookie sheet on the island and I get up to grab one, but he playfully slaps my hand. “Gotta let them cool a bit and then you eat them with clotted cream and jam.”
I lean on the island and stare at them. “Tyler, how about you move into that guest room permanently?”
Tyler grabs his coat as he heads for the door. “Guys, I can’t thank you enough for the hospitality.”
“Great having you,” says Sam. “Please come back and stay another weekend. We had a blast.”
“Really,” I say, taking his shoulders in my hands. “And thank you again for what you did Friday night.”
“Hey, this turned out to be the best weekend I’ve had in years. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I say, as I open the door and he heads out toward his car. I smile as I watch him make his way through the snow. He turns and sees me as he puts the key in the door. “What, you gonna heat the whole neighborhood?”
“Just making sure you get to your car and don’t fall on the ice.”
He waves, gets in his car and drives off.
I shut the door and find Sam smiling at me. “What?”
“I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy in a long time, that’s all. It’s a good look on you.”
“Hey, all is right with the universe. I live in a great house with my amazing brother, I have wonderful friends, I’m healthy, I have a really cool job, and we just had a terrific weekend doing simple stuff.”
“Yeah, you have nothing to complain about. A far cry from those days right before Christmas.”
“Really. Amazing how things work out. And I even have a terrific guy who’s crazy about me.”
“Yep,” says Sam. “You sure do.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
@TwitterGirl
It’s so cold today in Washington the President has his hands in his own pockets.
Remember I mentioned that a society page reporter talked to me after the opera? I’d forgotten about it but now there are two photos splashed across Page Six. One showing me arriving on Will Becker’s arm and the other has me leaving with Tyler. And a story about how I switched escorts in the middle of the evening.
WHY WASN’T TWITTER GIRL DANCIN’ WITH THE ONE WHO BRUNG HER?
By Jane Freelich
Patrons of the arts were thrilled Friday night when America’s favorite couple, Senator Will Becker and Cassidy Shea, showed up for a performance at the Metropolitan Opera.
Yet when the spunky redhead also known as Twitter Girl left the Met, she was on the arm of another man.
Trouble in paradise? Not likely, as the presidential candidate was called away on an emergency and chief campaign strategist Tyler Garrity was brought in to pinch-hit. “I was left with an extra ticket and knew Tyler lived around the corner, so I called him,” said Ms. Shea. “He was nice enough to be my escort for the evening.”
When asked if she was hurt by the Senator’s quick exit, she shook her head. “Look, right now the American people are his first priority, and I understand that trying to date someone who is running for President isn’t going to be easy. We’ll be fine. And he’s worth waiting for.”
No argument here. Shea, who was dressed in a spectacular turquoise gown, towered over her second date, who looked absolutely thrilled to have the beauty on his arm even though he barely came up to her nose.
I quickly head toward Tyler’s office and find him reading the newspaper while holding a pair of scissors. “Hey, Tyler.
Look, I’m sorry—”
“Hey, T.G.! Did you see our picture in the paper?”
“Yeah, and about that—”
“It will have an honored place in my scrapbook.” He starts cutting the article out of the paper.
“You’re not upset?”
“About what?”
“The article.”
“Why would I be upset? It’s a great picture of you and me.”
“Yeah, it is. I meant, you know, the story that went with the photo.”
He shrugs. “I thought you handled it well. Good line about the American people being more important than a date.”
“I meant what it said about you.”
“Hey, I was absolutely thrilled to have you on my arm.” He studies my face and then he gets it. “Oh, that. Look, I can’t help it if you’re going to keep wearing those platform shoes. But legs like yours should never be in flats.” He shoots me a smile that warms my heart.
“Tyler, you are an amazing man.”
The smile fades a bit. “Yeah, that’s what women keep telling me.”
***
I head up the stairs to the plane as the engines start roaring. We’ll be taking off in a few minutes as Will Becker will be making a few campaign speeches in Virginia and Philly before Super Tuesday, the biggest primary day of the season. Jessica greets me with her usual cheerful smile and closes the door as I make my way back to my regular seat next to Frank.
I still haven’t seen or talked to Becker since he was pulled away Friday night.
It occurs to me he told me he would call me on Saturday. But I forgot. Guess he forgot too.
“Hey,” says Frank, “Becker wants to talk to you once we’re airborne. He’s back in the office.”
“Sure thing.”
“Great sound bite you gave at the opera.”
“Thanks. Just trying to do my part.”
“You’re doing much more than your part, Cassidy.”
The plane taxis down the runway and quickly takes off, not having to wait in line for an hour like every other flight at a New York airport. Rank has its privileges. We reach a cruising altitude quickly and Jessica turns off the seat belt light. A few seconds later the door behind me opens. Will Becker sticks his head out and smiles at me. “Hey, come on in.”
I get up, quickly move into his office and lean against the wall as he closes the door behind me. “Cassidy, I wanted to apologize for the other night—”
“No apology necessary, Will. I understand.”
“And I’m sorry I forgot to call you this weekend.”
“Well, you know. Men always say they’ll call but they never do.” He looks worried for a moment until I give him a warm smile.
“Oh, you were kidding. I really need to spend more time with you or get some sort of Cassidy Shea humor decoder.”
“I’ll have one on your desk tomorrow.” I run one finger inside his lapel. “But you’ll have more fun if you discover things along the way. What good is a treasure hunt if you already have the whole map? It’s like what we women say about shopping: it’s not the treasure but the hunt.”
“You really are a treasure.” He moves closer and gently takes my shoulders. “As for your comment about the American people being more important than you, that’s not true.” He looks right into my soul. “Right now you’re as important as anything in my life.”
His words make me melt as he pushes me against the wall and gives me a long, passionate kiss while sliding his hands down my sides until they meet at the small of my back. I take his head in my hands and run my fingers through his thick hair.
The plane hits a bit of turbulence and makes us lose our footing for an instant and break the embrace. “Why, Senator, I’m not that kind of girl. But I’ll make an exception in your case.”
“I’ve been saving that since Friday night.”
“So, when’s our next opportunity for private time, since, as you say, you’ve been saving yourself for me?”
“Don’t know, but I’ll figure something out.”
***
@TwitterGirl
My younger brother and hero, Sam Shea, is profiled in today’s edition of The Post!
MEET CASSIDY SHEA’S LIVE-IN GUY
Senator Will Becker’s girlfriend has been living with a man for the past ten years. But there’s no way the presidential hopeful will be jealous.
Because it’s Cassidy Shea’s kid brother Sam.
The two have shared a Staten Island home since a car accident took the lives of their parents and left Sam unable to walk. Cassidy, ten years older and his only sibling, put her television news career on hold and moved back home to take care of her fifteen year old brother, who needed both a legal guardian and extensive rehab. A decade later, Sam is completely self-sufficient, but his sister doesn’t have the desire to get her own place.
“Sam is my emotional rock. When I first moved back we weren’t even that close because of the age difference. But Sam is an old soul, and incredibly mature. Our relationship is amazing. He takes good care of me like a big brother and I couldn’t even imagine living without him.”
Sam Shea, now a handsome, fit young man of twenty-five, still has to use a wheelchair due to the extensive damage to his legs. He’s not paralyzed but is unable to walk. “Maybe someday, as I understand there’s some stem cell research that might help,” he says. “But I don’t even think about it anymore. I have a normal life and my chair is simply a vehicle that allows me to do everything I want to do. I’m not confined to a wheelchair, I’m liberated by it.”
Sam, who works as an advertising copywriter, gets high marks from Cassidy’s best friend Ripley DeAngelo, who spends a lot of time at the Shea house. “Thank goodness Sam can cook, ’cause Cassidy could burn a salad. The guy is incredible. He drives like a Manhattan cabbie, does all the grocery shopping, has a great job and is one of the kindest people you’ll ever meet. He’s sweet, protective, funny, incredibly smart and a real old-fashioned gentleman. And he’s cute as hell. Honestly, if you were going to build a perfect man from scratch, you’d end up with Sam. He’s everything a girl could want.”
I walk through the door and find Sam sitting at the kitchen table, sipping coffee, staring into space. The newspaper article in front of him.
I was afraid of this.
Ripley’s quote.
“Not feeling well today?” I ask, knowing he’s physically fine. I rest one hand on his shoulder.
He looks up at me, eyes a bit misty. “I didn’t want to do the article, but you made me.”
I crouch down and wrap one arm around him while stroking his hair with my free hand, then lean my head against his. “I know it hurts sometime. But maybe this article will lead to someone who really is perfect for you.”
“Ripley’s perfect for me. I know it, you know it. Why the hell doesn’t she know it?”
“Ten years is a big age difference, Sam.”
“It doesn’t seem to be a problem with us.”
Damn, he’s got a point.
“Caz, maybe I need to tell her how I feel.”
Dammit, she already knows. I shake my head. “No, no way. You’d lose her as a friend. And I know you don’t want that.”
He drops his head and sighs. “No. You’re right, I sure don’t. Not having Ripley in my life would hurt even worse. I always want her to be around. Even if she’ll never feel the same way about me that I do about her.”
I look at the clock. “Well, get yourself together because she’s coming over for dinner and I rented a movie. I’ll order a couple pizzas, I know you’re not in the mood to cook.” I playfully mess up his hair, then kiss him on the top of the head. “I know this doesn’t mean as much coming from your sister, but you really are everything a girl could want.”
“Thank you, but I get tired of hearing that. Just go find me the girl.”
The romantic comedy I rented is hilarious but Sam has barely cracked a smile. Ripley and I are on opposite ends of the couch sipping wine, as
two empty pizza boxes take up most of the coffee table. Of course she showed up looking spectacular in the red dress with the cut-out shoulders that’s his favorite, making things worse. I’m kicking myself for not warning her about his mood.
The movie ends and I mute the sound during the credit roll. “Well, that was a keeper.”
“Yeah, hysterical,” says Ripley. She turns to Sam and studies his face. “Didn’t you like it?”
“It was okay. Not wild about the actress who played the lead. She doesn’t do anything for me.”
“Yeah, I guess she’s an acquired taste.” Ripley refills her wine glass. “By the way, young man, great article about you in the paper today. Very inspirational.”
He nods slightly. “Yeah. I guess.”
She turns to me with a gleam in her eye. “You know what I found interesting, Cassidy?”
“No, what?”
“I’d never been quoted before so it was strange reading my own words in print. Makes you look at things from another perspective. You see yourself in a different light.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. When I started on TV I had the same feeling.”
“Well, I’m sure glad I wasn’t misquoted. That reporter got it right, verbatim. I would want anything I said taken out of context about Sam.”
He gives her a soft smile despite the sad eyes. “That was really nice what you said about me, Ripley. Thank you.”
Damn, he looks like he’s about to lose it.
Or worse, tell her how he feels.
“I meant every word. Boy, that reporter was thorough. She was asking me how you get around in that chair, how you drive, stuff like that.” Ripley gets up and walks toward him, carrying her wine. “I was telling her how the armrests of the chair come off and you can slide into the van, onto the couch, in and out of bed.” Ripley reaches down with her free hand and removes one of the armrests and puts it on the coffee table.
Sam looks up at her, then turns to me. I have no idea what she’s up to and shrug as she removes the other armrest.
“Ripley, what are you doing?” he asks.
She sits on his lap and wraps one arm around his neck. “Just wanna be comfortable and the armrests get in the way.”
