Ashley carved a long line across the pad with her pen, and kept going, making a long dark gouge across her desk that went to the edge. She swept the pen and the pad on to the floor and just stared at me. “Do you, Jake—Foster—whatever, do you think I called you in here so we could talk about you banging the President’s daughter? Hell, I’ve handled worse scandals than that while I was cleaning my cat’s litter box! I’ve squashed stories like that in between doing lines of coke in the ladies room of a nightclub! I mean, you’re both hot, you’re both young, you’re both semi-famous because of your parents, and with a nickname like ‘Foster’ I can only imagine if there was a sex tape it would have gone viral in about ten seconds—but this has got to be bigger than just that—no offense.”
I nodded and tried to look sincere. “None taken. But I thought you were going to tell me what the big deal is, because I have no idea.”
Ashley nodded and pulled a different cell phone out of her purse. “I wanted to see if you knew anything before I make this call to a friend at the White House. The whole vibe, the feel, the fucking karma or whatever of this day is way off. I’ve been getting texts, emails, and voicemails from contacts I haven’t dealt with since I worked for CNN in DC. It’s got to have something to do with your father.” She started punching numbers into the phone and she gave me this completely phony smile that I had seen her give the press before. Somebody answered but all I heard was Ashley’s end of their conversation.
She said, “Hi, it’s me....No, it’s a cell....right, he’s a student here....I guess the last time he saw his father would have been at the convention...” She raised an eyebrow at me and I nodded. “Well, that’s news to me!.....Megan? No shit!....Right, she’s at least eighteen....But that’s not right, that’s impossible!....Why would he do that?....And nobody else—right...But the Secret Service, they must have—no? Okay. Who else knows....well, sure, I mean—right....No, he’s pretty clueless most of the time....” I was hoping she didn’t mean me but she was staring right at me. “Okay, well, so this shit’s not going to hit until tomorrow?......Right—no, it’s been less than two minutes....okay, alright—I will....right now. Thanks.”
She set the phone on her desk and picked up the stapler and systematically pounded the phone into about a hundred pieces. She swept all the little plastic pieces off the desk, pulled another pen and pad out of a drawer, and sat there staring at me.
I tried to go on the offensive. “So it was just the Megan thing, no worries, right? I mean the campaign is on cruise control, there’s no way they’ll lose a million point lead in the polls because two college kids had a little summer fun, right? I mean, it must be a slow news week or whatever—”
She started laughing and pulled out whatever was holding her bun so tight. Waves of dark curly hair fell to her shoulders, completing the whole librarian-gone-wild image. It would have been really hot if I hadn’t been getting less and less excited about girls.
“The good news, Foster, is that you’re really going to be seen as an innocent victim in all of this. But that ‘million point’ lead you mentioned is about to evaporate. Your little fuc—Megan—the President’s daughter, is going to hold a news conference tomorrow at the Willard Hotel, where she is going to announce that she’s been having an affair with your father for the last three months.”
I sat there and tried to absorb, tried to comprehend, this bit of information. All I could say was, “Well. Fuck. Really?”
She nodded and looked out the window at the front lawns of the campus like she was surveying her kingdom, and all was safe in the shire or whatever. She turned back to me and looked a little more serious. “So, this event, this revelation, this...announcement—it’s going to turn your world upside down. But you’re young, you’ll get over it—and the main thing is that it won’t hurt the school’s image at all. But there’s no doubt this is going to be the biggest clusterfuck the Republicans have had to deal with.”
“Since when?”
“There isn’t a ‘since’ in that statement, Foster.” She must have seen the look of terror in my face because she shifted back into business mode and tried to reassure me. “Of course, we’ll need to handle things for you on our end, you know—keep the press off campus, help you with any statements or comments you may want to release, boilerplate stuff. I mean, your parents are divorced, your father is single, he’s not smoking meth or anything. If he’s stupid enough to screw a girl half his age, and basically screw the President in the process—no offense—”
“None taken. You haven’t said anything so far I wasn’t already thinking.”
“Right, so here’s the thing. I’m going on...vacation tomorrow and this just doesn’t rate postponing it. I mean—don’t get me wrong—they’re going to roast your father over the coals of a thermonuclear explosion, but the press will be sympathetic to you. You’re just another spoiled kid at a four year or longer summer camp, and you have the perfect image to sail right through this.”
I frowned a little. “I’m thinking that reputation isn’t all that flattering to me.”
“No doubt, the press is just going to see you as a dumb jock, a frat boy, whatever. You’re not writing deep political articles for the New Republic, you’re posing in boxer briefs in People. If they managed to catch you in a rare sober moment I’m still not sure they’d get a newsworthy quote out of you.”
“That seems...harsh.”
“Sorry—I told you, I’m due for a vacation! And that may sound harsh, but you’re one of my favorite students! God help the next parent who wants little Johnny’s heroin habit to stay out of the press.”
“So, when will you be back? What do I do in the meantime?”
“If my therapist helps me resolve my anger issues then I might only be gone a week or so, but that may be a little too optimistic. And as far as you’re concerned you’re in good hands, I’ve assigned an intern to handle things for you. He’ll handle coordinating everything—press evasion, campus security, Secret Service—whatever comes up.”
“He’s got a lot of experience in this sort of thing, right? You trust him?”
“Hardly any experience, but this will give him something simple to handle while I’m gone. I’ve got to use my best interns for more important things.”
“Well, maybe I’m being selfish because this particular clusterfuck involves me, but do you really have bigger things than this happening around here? I haven’t heard about anything?”
“Right, that’s kind of the whole point of my job here.”
The Week According to Levi
I was walking out the front doors of the administration building when this guy came flying up beside me. He was juggling a tablet, a cell phone, and a briefcase that looked like it was about to explode. This kid was a dead ringer for one of those door-to-door Mormon salesmen or something. He was shorter than me so he craned his neck as he followed me down the sidewalk. “You’re Jake, right?” I nodded and he freed up a hand to shake mine. A legal pad popped out of the briefcase and I stopped to let him pick it up. “I’m Levi, from Ashley’s office! I’ll be helping you out over the next few days with media relations. I’m here to protect you from the vultures, ha ha.”
I studied him a little harder. He was thin, like a swimmer or a goalpost or something. He had reddish-blond hair, bright greenish kind of eyes, and I noticed there were freckles across his cheeks and nose. “No offense, little fella.” I didn’t really want to hurt his feelings but I couldn’t help it. “But you, Levi, look a little like Purina Vulture Chow to me. I mean, really? Are you part of some kind of high school exchange program?”
I figured he’d be pissed but he gave me this huge grin. “I’m a sophomore—here, in college!—but everybody does think I look a little young! But it sure is great to meet you, Jake! I hope you don’t mind but Ashley had me review your school file. Very impressive! High school MVP in baseball and backup QB on the football team, dean’s list here your freshman year, just all kinds of awards and honors! Gosh,
your parents must be so proud of you they’re bustin’ at the seams!”
I stared at him and wondered what planet or kids’ TV show Ashley had discovered him on. “You do know, Levi, that things are going to be a little touchy on the parental front for the next few days or weeks or years or whatever after tomorrow’s news conference?”
We started walking again and he followed me to the parking lot. He whistled at my car and said, “Oh, my gosh! That is just about the fanciest thing I’ve ever seen. I bet with a car like that you get all the girls! Wow!”
I shook my head. “Did you really just say fuckin’ ‘gosh’? Is this a joke, is this something Ashley’s doin’ for reality TV or something? You can’t be the only thing standing between me and the national media! Are you a drama major? C’mon, Levi—nobody’s really as goofy, fuckin’ hayseed, mid-western numb nuts as you pretend to be.”
He turned a little red and said, “Well, Jake—”
“Golly-gee-shucks, Levi, you can call me Foster. That’s what all the fellas down at the general store call me.”
He turned a deeper shade of red and his freckles started to fade away. “I should probably just stick with Jake. Ashley told me about that ‘Foster’ nickname and why folks call you that. I’m just not sure that I was raised—and I mean no disrespect—but I’m just not sure I’m comfortable with that. Where I come from a fella’s privates, are, well...private.”
I looked at this kid and wondered if I could call my mother in LA and see if I could use her PR firm to handle all this shit. “Where, exactly, are you from, Levi—Paris, Rome, London, Milan?”
“Oh, no. Heck, no! I’m from Iowa,” he said proudly. “But if you really think I’m from some fancy foreign place than this education here at Hawthorne must be polishin’ me up. My parents’ll be so happy that taking on those second jobs and selling their prize cow was worth it—people see me as a man of the world, now!”
I stared down at him and wondered if I could save everyone a lot of money and heartache if I just kicked his ass all the way back to Iowa or Omaha or wherever. “Look, Levi, I get it now. I can picture your whole friggin’ family and your hound dog all weepin’ at the edge of a dusty road as the bus pulls up to take you off to the big ol’ mean world. Maybe a few of the town folk, the ones that weren’t pullin’ plows out in the fields or raising fuckin’ barns or whatnot held up good-luck banners as the bus passed through the one traffic light in the county. Maybe you got one last glimpse of Sally Sue as she waved from a farmhouse porch, the very porch on which you promised your virginity to her until you got back from Hawthorne. Maybe you found and ate the little slice of apple pie wrapped in plastic your ma tucked away in the pocket of your bib-fuckin’-overalls. And you washed it down with the tears you were crying for the homesickness you already felt. How did I do so far, Bo?”
He stood there trembling a little and nodded. “That’s pretty much the way it happened, except for her name’s Betty Sue. And we never could quite afford a hound dog, we had to settle for an overweight prairie dog on a leash.”
I nodded and pointed at the car. “You. Can’t. Help. Me. You’re from a world of tractors, and 4th of July picnics, and square dances or what the hell ever. I’m from a world of chartered jets, 50k a plate fundraising dinners, red carpets, and that bullshit. It’s not gonna help me if you’re off milkin’ cows while Anderson Cooper has a microphone shoved down my throat. I need to catch up with Ashley and see if we can rethink this plan. And you understand by ‘plan’, I mean you.”
He nodded and then set his juggling props on the sidewalk. “You need to rethink this, alright. You need to understand and appreciate the service I’m offering you, dumbass. Your Mother raised you in a small town in Bumfuck, USA to keep you sheltered from all of this shit. You’ve spent your fair amount of time at summer picnics and ridin’ on a tractor in the Bumfuck Carrot Parade or whatever.” He kept going. “And my father is a farmer, but he owns about half the state and is currently the governor of that same state. Ashley paired me with you because we can both turn on the good ol’ boy innocent friggin’ charm if we want to, and that’s what’s gonna get you through this clusterfuck that your father’s dick has gotten you into.
“So, I’m going to tell you what to do, Foster. And you’re going to do what I tell you to. The first thing you’re gonna to do is lose this Italian penis extender you have parked here. Ride with friends or rent something American made for a while. It doesn’t have to have a John Deere hood ornament but that would help. You’re going to limit your pot smoking and pill popping to indoors, away from cameras. You’re going to limit your walks of shame from the women’s and men’s dorms in the wee hours of the morning. I’ve got a whole page of these things, it’s probably too much for your alcohol-soaked dumb-jock brain cells to absorb in one lecture. I emailed the list to some guy in your frat that Ashley told me about—Spence?—so he can help you when I’m not around. And I will be around, I’m going to put myself between you and the press like a friggin’ pit bull. You can thank me later, douchebag.”
I frowned and opened the door to the car. “Okay, I believe maybe you can help. But all of this sounds really inconvenient if you ask me. It’s like my father never considered me when he was making these mistakes. I mean, how selfish can one person be? Okay, Levi. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow. Do you know what time the news conference is? I was thinking about setting my DVR or something.”
Levi stared at me like I was speaking in tongues. “You don’t need to record it, Foster. From what I understand it’s going to be the only thing you’ll see on TV for a long, long, time. And as far as not ‘seeing’ me until tomorrow, neither one of us is that lucky. Unlock the passenger door and let me in—Ashley told me that I shouldn’t let you out of my sight.
I sighed and unlocked the door. “That’s fine, Levi. But I have to warn you, keeping up with me is going to be intense. Between the frat, my classes, my gym schedule, and my social...needs, it can get a little crazy.” I studied the dash for a minute before I remembered how to start the engine and then I pulled out of the parking lot.
I headed out the gate and down the road to the boathouse for rowing class. Levi looked at the dash and said, “For someone who needs to keep a low profile you’re driving a little too fast, Foster.”
I looked at the gauges and said, “Dude, I’m doing 60 in a 55.”
“No,” he corrected me, “you’re doing 105 in a 55.”
I tapped the large dial in the center of the dash. “See, dumbass, it says 60.”
“No, you’re looking at the tachometer, that’s the rpm’s or something. The speedometer is the smaller dial on the left.”
I studied the dash again and realized he was right. “Well, shit. That explains why I thought everybody else was driving so slowly.”
Practice was uneventful. Levi sat perched on the rail of the dock tapping away on his tablet with one hand and holding a cell phone to his ear with the other. When I came back out of the boathouse he was talking to Trent, the coach.
“Foster, I’ve explained to Trent that you’ll only be attending classes on campus for the next...for the immediate future.” I shrugged and Trent walked away.
We got back into the car and headed for the frat house. “So,” I asked, “I’m not allowed to attend classes until this thing blows over? Do I get a note or something excusing me? There might be a silver lining in all of this, after all.”
“Just skip this one for a few days. Everything else is on campus, and you need to be seen going to some of those. Sober, with books or a backpack. Maybe wearing a sweater or a blazer. Walking a puppy or...an orphan or something.”
I nodded and told him, “Then I need to download Saturday Night Fever for my history class—I think there’s a test on Friday.”
Staff Meeting
Levi had me park at the back of the parking lot and we walked to the front of the frat house. He looked at the card reader and keypad next to the door as I was pushing it open. “You guys, you b
ros or whatever you’re called, you keep this door propped open?”
I nodded. “It’s just easier, remembering the combination or to carry the card is a hassle.”
“Imagine Barbara Walters, Dr. Phil, and Bill O’Reilly camped out in the living room of this place—wouldn’t that be a bigger hassle to deal with?”
I pulled the door shut behind us until I heard it latch and led Levi into the house. A large black woman walked into the foyer and pointed at me. “You better get your ass in the kitchen, Jake! You’re late for our meeting.” We followed her to the back of the house and sat down with her at a large table off to one side, while a couple of college-age kids stirred pots and chopped vegetables.
Levi smiled at her and introduced himself. “And you must be the house mother or head cook or something.”
I thought I could see a little steam coming out of her ears and she turned to me. “Who in the hell is this, Jake? Is he some crack addict that you took pity on? He looks like he escaped from junior high if you ask me.”
“No! This is Levi, he’s going to help me with media relations for the next few days. Levi, this is Ella, she owns the management company that handles things for just about every frat and sorority at Hawthorne—food services, cleaning, laundry, and whatnot.”
Ella nodded and stared at him. “I know you didn’t just call me a cook. Those kids over there working, they’re from the culinary school internship program. Around here the white kids work for me, shit for brains.” She turned to me and raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly, Jacob, have you done now that you have your own ‘media relations’ person?”
Foster's Fall (Foster's Life) Page 2