by J D Wade
Brandon rubbed his hands together and shivered, then brought his hands up to blow into them as he cupped them around his mouth. The sun wasn’t over the horizon, but the sky was lightening up as it approached. Does he maybe need to take off his sunglasses to drive safely? Brandon started the car, and then his hands were fiddling with knobs on the dash. The heater. Air began gushing out, frigid at first, though I knew it would warm up in time. As we sat there in the idling car, waiting on the heater to start doing its job, Brandon’s arm found the back of the front passenger seat, and he turned to look at me.
“First time in Minneapolis?” He asked.
“I was here with family when I was a kid.”
“Was it this cold then?”
“We were here in summer,” I explained. “But it wasn’t exactly hot.”
“Got family here?”
“Yeah. Aunt, uncle, cousins. That kind of thing.”
“That’s nice.”
“They’re religious freaks.”
Brandon grimaced. “Okay. I stand corrected, Timmy.”
I loved the way he said my name so much.
“It’s all right, I guess.” I relented, not wanting to ruin the moment between us. “They were always nice enough, I guess. Though we don’t really get together at the holidays anymore.”
He chuckled.
“You don’t bring the wife and kids up to see them?”
I wanted him to take those sunglasses off. Was he appraising me? Feeling me out?
“Gay.” I gave an upward nod.
My breath caught in my throat as I wondered how this would be received. Had I ruined a good thing? Maybe Brandon was just flirtatious in general, but if he knew that I was actually gay, would mind his manners better? He’s working as a driver on the campaign of a gay man who is running for president, though. Brandon’s smile widened, and he stared at me a moment longer. Then he turned in his seat and buckled his seatbelt. I mimicked his actions as his hands found the steering wheel.
“Nice.” He said simply. “Good to have you aboard. Timmy.”
“Nice to be aboard.” I agreed with a sly smile.
Then we were pulling away from the airport curbside, and the heat was finally kicking in, making me feel slightly more human. The Minneapolis-Saint Paul International Airport slowly shrunk behind us as Brandon drove through the relatively light early morning traffic away from the airport. It was somewhat surprising that, while the traffic wasn’t light by most cities’ standards, it wasn’t nearly as bad as I would have expected. Marty Goldman had selected an excellent time for me to fly in and do my consulting work.
Thinking of what I was being driven toward made me anxious. Everything had happened so quickly inside of my apartment with Marty, and I had been coming off of a day of thinking deeply about my own personal existential crisis that I let my mouth get ahead of me. Instead of really considering what it would mean to be a Crisis Manager for a presidential candidate—who was actively going through a crisis—I had just said “yes.” Marty had known where to strike, appealing to my desire to find some meaning in what I did for a living. As soon as she suggested that I could work on making the world a better place, and even record some of my experiences working for Nathan Reed’s campaign, I had leaped at the opportunity. Though the more I thought about everything, I wasn’t so sure I wanted to record my experience.
Everything in my life over the last few years had been recorded and saved for posterity, available to the public 24-7 for viewing. Maybe this would be a great opportunity to go partially off the grid?
Bitch. I thought to myself. Of course, Marty Goldman worked in politics. Those people knew how to get people to do what they wanted them to do. Instead of thinking about my own crisis and my life in general, I should have been paying attention to Marty. If I had been smart, I would have told her to get the hell out of my apartment and leave me to my misery. My smart mouth had accepted the position of Crisis Manager before I even considered everything. Now I was in a car being driven to some meeting that was going on with the staff that comprised Nathan Reed’s campaign, and I was expected to do something—anything—to help.
I didn’t know a thing about politics. I didn’t know anything about managing crises for other people. I’d never consulted on anything in my life.
“You a Nathan Reed guy?” Brandon glanced into the rearview mirror to smile at me before turning his attention back to the road. “Maybe that’s a dumb question since I’m driving you to his hotel, right?”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not dumb. But I’m not sure. If I’m a Nathan Reed guy, I mean.”
“You’re not a Trump supporter?” He grumbled.
I laughed.
“Obviously not.”
“Good.”
“I just, well, I planned to vote for the man or woman who was running against Trump when the time came in November,” I explained. “Trump’s so bad that I think maybe most of us are willing to vote for anyone who is not him, right?”
“Sounds right.”
“But, yeah,” I said. “I’m not a Nathan Reed devotee per se. I’m just anti-Trump.”
“Well,” Brandon replied, steering the car expertly, “that’s better than being pro-Trump.”
“What’s he like?” I asked. “What am I getting myself into here?”
“Don’t you ever watch his interviews?” He chuckled.
“Some.” I agreed. “But most people aren’t really themselves in interviews. I know I’m not.”
“That’s it. I knew I knew you from somewhere. You’re famous.”
“Social Media Influencer. I wouldn’t call that famous, really.”
“Timothy Long.” Brandon trailed off, his head tilting upwards to indicate he was thinking. “The Tuniverse! You’re that YouTube guy.”
YouTube guy? Well, yeah. Accurate, I guess.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah!” Brandon smiled. “I knew I’d seen your face somewhere.”
“You watch Tuniverse?”
“Well,” Brandon’s mouth tightened up, and his cheeks looked pink, “no, not really. That’s kind of a teenager thing, right? You seem good at your job, though. You look good on camera.”
“That last remark means you’re forgiven.” I teased, leaning forward in my seat slightly.
Brandon chuckled, and his blush disappeared. “He’s nice. Nathan Reed, I mean. But, between us, right?”
“Totally off the record.”
“Well, he’s kind of standoffish?” Brandon frowned slightly. “He’s nice and friendly and all that stuff a politician is supposed to be. Says the right things. Really listens. But you won’t learn anything about him. He’s very guarded.”
“Like a politician?”
Brandon’s rich, warm chuckle met my ears again. Something about making Brandon chuckle made me feel special. Whether or not my belly was doing flip-flops over the sudden realization that I was now in for a penny, in for a pound, with Nathan Reed’s campaign, at least Brandon was a nice distraction. Regardless of how hard I crashed with my first attempt at crisis management work, maybe I’d be flying home with a new number in my phone? Maybe Brandon was in the city every now and again?
“I guess so, yeah.” Brandon interrupted my train of thought. “He’s always super nice to me and everything, asks how I’m doing—even remembers my partner’s name—”
Well, shitballs.
“—asks how he’s doing. Ya’ know, the stuff you’d expect a good politician—a good person to do.” Brandon continued, though I was becoming less interested in what he had to say, which made me, rightfully, feel like an asshole. “But I just get this feeling that I’ll never really know what he’s like. No matter how long I drive for him.”
“Guarded, right?” I slumped in my seat, trying to slough off the initial impure thoughts I had about Brandon. He had a partner. Deal-breaker, obviously. Then again, when a guy looks like Brandon, why wouldn’t he have a partner? The guy would have to be a real douchebag to not ha
ve a significant other. “Doesn’t want anyone to get past his walls?”
“Sounds right.” Brandon agreed as he took an off-ramp. “I mean, you can’t be the leader of the free world and not have some boundaries, right? Gotta do it for your own sanity.”
“I’d think so.” I agreed as we exited the highway onto a city street. “It’s probably best to not trust anyone too much.”
“Yeah,” Brandon said. “Sad, right?”
“How do you mean?”
“Who’s really your friend, ya’ know?” He explained, turning his head to speak over his shoulder for a moment. “I bet it’s pretty lonely being super successful. Even if he doesn’t get the nomination, or he gets the nomination and loses to Trump—gross, by the way—he’s always going to be Nathan Reed. He’ll always have to worry if each person he tries to make friends with is really his friend or some leech, right?”
“Yeah,” I said, my brow furrowing deeply.
As we slowed on the city street, I had the sudden realization that once I became Timmy Long, Social Media Influencer and YouTuber, the guy behind Tuniverse, I had felt the same way. Some of my friends that never seemed to have time to hang out on my terms were suddenly showing up and being super friendly. It was apparent to me that they were hoping to go with me on one of my vacations, or get free swag, or meet a celebrity, or appear in a video even. After a few months of that, I’d had to put up some pretty firm boundaries.
It was really lonely.
Cheri was my only real friend.
She didn’t give a shit about Tuniverse or how special I thought I was.
“Here we are,” Brandon announced cheerfully, his face no longer tight and contemplative. “As soon as I stop here, I’ll text Ms. Goldman to let her know you’re here. She said that she’d want you to wait in the lobby, and she’ll come down to get you. I guess she’s afraid the hotel staff will show you to your room and not direct you to the meeting.”
He chuckled, so I did, too.
“It was nice to meet you.” I reached over the seat to offer my hand to Brandon once the car was in park.
Brandon’s hand found mine. “I’m sure I’ll see you again. If you make it through the day.”
“Jeez.”
“Don’t worry. Even if they fire you within minutes, I’ll be the one to drive you back to the airport, so we’ll see each other again no matter what.”
“That’s both terrifying and comforting, Brandon. Thanks.”
He started to laugh and was reaching for his phone when my door burst open and cold, near-wintry air assaulted us. Marty Goldman was the perpetrator. She was standing alongside the car, one hand on her hip, as she glared into the backseat.
“Ms. Goldman,” Brandon stated, chipperly. “I was about to text you.”
“He’ll be in room twelve-seventeen,” Marty stated dismissively. “Make sure his bags get up there, Brandon.”
“Sure thing.” Brandon didn’t hesitate.
Then his door was open, and Marty was still glaring at me.
“Well?” She demanded. “You don’t expect Nathan Reed to come to you, do you?’
“For the money I’m making, he should,” I muttered as I scooted across the seat and exited the vehicle. “Should have been in business class or first class. I can’t wait to see the shithole room you’ve assigned to me.”
Marty folded her arms over her chest, and her glare was replaced with an amused upturn of her lip as I took the car door out of her grip and closed it. Brandon already had the trunk open and was extracting my bags. Cold air whistled through the porte-cochere of the towering hotel, the outside lights still glowing golden yellow in the early morning. My escort made no indication that she was going to lead the way inside, so we stood there, staring at each other. Brandon rounded us with my bags in tow, obviously intending to take them up to the room that had been assigned to me. The ornate sliding doors at the front of the hotel “whooshed” open, and Brandon was gone. One more “whoosh,” and Marty and I were left alone, save the hundreds of thousands of other people in the city getting ready for the day.
“We’re ten days from Super Tuesday.” Marty said with finality.
“Okay,” I replied. “What does that have to do with me?”
“Christ.” She sighed. “I know you have no clue about politics or how campaigns are run—and you’ve got a fucking smart mouth, which I usually enjoy—but Super Tuesday is End Game, Timothy. There’s a debate in 3 days between Nathan and Governor Ledbetter. We need to get him ready for that—because Ledbetter won’t pull any punches. He’s a shark circling an injured swimmer right now, and he’s just waiting to sink his teeth in far enough that Nathan can’t pull away.”
“I’m following.”
And I’m petrified. Three fucking days until a debate?
“Nathan must come out on top at the debate if he has any chance at winning enough delegates to secure the nomination automatically. He’s 3 to 1 on delegates with Ledbetter right now. If it hadn’t been for this dust-up, the debate might not even have mattered. Nathan was mopping the floor with Ledbetter. Now we have an annulled marriage—to a woman—that wasn’t disclosed threatening to discredit and derail our guy. Ledbetter knows that. He’s going to pounce on it as soon as the mic is his at the debate. The bastard is probably foaming at the mouth, livid that it’s not tonight.”
“Still following.” I shrugged.
“That’s it, you idiot.” She snapped. “Do you want it in sign language for fuck’s sake? You need to help us get ahead of this. Spin this shit so that it doesn’t bite us in the ass in 3 days. We’re about to go into a meeting with Nathan and a few of his staff—don’t get too nervous around the Secret Service because they live for that shit—and you need to listen and take in everything. Then—and I really hope you’re following—it will be your job to take what information you have and. figure. out. how. to. manage. this. crisis.”
My mouth was opening to say something smart-alecky, but Marty turned on her heels and indicated that I was to follow. I dashed up to walk alongside her. For a woman with average legs, she walked like an extremely skilled stilt-walker. Her stride was somehow both staccato and long, covering more ground in one step than men with twice the legs could manage. She was a woman who was known for putting out the fires because she was always the first one to arrive. The sliding doors whooshed open, and we were in the hotel lobby. The receptionists at the front desk gave a smile and wave, which Marty begrudgingly returned.
“Three days?” I asked quickly as we stomped towards the elevator bank. “I thought I’d have until, I don’t know, November or something.”
“You really don’t know politics, do you?”
“No.” I snapped. “And you knew that, yet you didn’t give me a timeline before hiring me.”
“You didn’t ask.”
Marty turned to me with a wickedly saccharine smile as we stopped in front of the elevator call buttons. With a thumb, she jabbed the Up button as though it owed her money.
“Had anyone asked Nathan Reed about his annulled marriage before that interview?” I returned.
“Clever boy.” Marty nodded. “No.”
“So, I don’t get what you need me for. All he has to say is ‘no one asked, but if they had, I would have told the truth.’ You don’t need me to know that.”
“You’re just precious.” Marty chuckled. “Look, Timothy, politics are just as catty as those makeup queens on YouTube—”
“I don’t do makeup tutorials—”
“—they love to come for each other.” Marty continued, completely ignoring the fact that she really didn’t know what I did online. “You don’t disclose one thing that you don’t feel is all that important, and your opponents will use it as kindling for the fire to roast your ass—because someone is going to think that the non-disclosure was an attempt to hide something.”
I jumped as Marty leaned in to jab a single index finger in my face.
“And you only need one asshole with a cons
piracy theory and enough time on their hands to bring down a politician.” She growled. “One person to start bringing people into their cult. What once was a nice little campfire becomes a bonfire—pretty soon, you’re being burned alive.”
“Do you think Nathan intentionally withheld that information?”
“Of course, he did.” Marty threw her hands up dramatically. “We knew how it would look once he started running for president. Gay candidate has a secret marriage annulment from a woman. Gasp! Scandalous! But just bringing it up would have seemed odd, too. At first, we were trying to figure out how to handle it—you know, when he first threw his name in the hat—but he picked up momentum immediately before we could.”
“So there never seemed a good time to say ‘hey, guys! I once married a woman even though I’m gay!’?”
“Exactly.”
“So, if someone had asked early on, he would have just told the truth?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t care.” She snapped.
“Why didn’t he say anything immediately?” I asked as the elevator announced its arrival with a ‘ding’ sound. “Or, I don’t know, not freak out when the Des Moines Article reporter asked?”
Marty jabbed her thumb towards the elevator, and I climbed on. She followed right behind and immediately jabbed a button for the seventeenth floor. As soon as the doors slid shut, she turned sharply to me again.
“Because one of his selling points is that he’s gay.”
“So what?” I shrugged. “Lots of gay men hide who they are in the beginning. Or aren’t sure until later in life. Or don’t realize they’re gay until they meet the right guy. Or they are afraid of what being gay means for their life, so they try to ‘will it away.’ It’s nothing to be ashamed of, Marty. That’s all he had to say. Whichever thing is the truth, anyway.”
“This isn’t YouTube or Instagram, Timothy.” Her words were pointed. “He can’t afford to look weak by saying he couldn’t admit to even himself that he was gay until after he had made the mistake of getting married.”
I rolled my eyes as the elevator gently slowed to a stop, and the doors slid open once more. Again, I was treated like a dog, Marty’s hand movements, and head flicks indicating that I should follow her down the hall. Once more, we were like a couple of Clydesdales on a tight schedule, our feet carrying us swiftly along the hall towards wherever this meeting was that I’d heard so much about. The knots in my stomach had disappeared once I had Marty to angrily banter with, but the knots were regrouping. Walking into a meeting already in progress with a possible future President of the United States was making me feel like I couldn’t trust a fart.