by J D Wade
“I’ll tell him you said that next time I see him.” I teased.
“Good.” Timothy was unconcerned. “But thank him for marriage equality while you’re at it. Put this on.”
He thrust his hand out to me. A tie dangled from his fist as he stared at me blankly.
“What’s wrong with gray?” I asked as I reached out to accept his offering.
“You’re matching your tie to your suit too perfectly.” He admonished me. “You look like you picked up a pre-matched suit at Sears for God’s sake.”
Another chuckle from the agents.
“See?” Timothy gestured vaguely at the agents. “They get it. They wear black on black or blue on blue to blend in. You need to stand out. And look like you have a modicum of fashion sense. Do you want CNN and MSNBC to show video of a head coming out of a gray blob on T.V.?”
“Fine.” I sighed and began removing my tie. “What about a pocket square? Got one of those?”
It was mostly a joke.
“Don’t be that guy. This is a debate, not a reception.”
“Pocket squares are nice.”
“Sure.” He agreed. “You want the American public to think you have fashion sense, not that you care too much about how you look, though. You’re going to be their leader. You shouldn’t be wasting too much time on your clothes. But you don’t want to look like you’re heading out for Picture Day at school, either.”
“Got it.” I handed him the tie I had removed and stepped over to the mirror over the small desk in the corner to put on the one he had provided. “Gray suit, blue tie.”
“Navy.” He corrected me as he gently folded my tie and laid it on the bed. “Or black. Even burgundy. Never match too much, though. And your tie should always be as dark, but preferably darker, than your shit. It’s a statement piece.”
“Good lord.” I chuckled as I made quick work of the new tie.
Timothy stood in silence and watched as I tied it around my neck—one thing I apparently could do well since he didn’t make any comments about my method. The agents stood at the door, pretending to mind their own business. Once the task was complete, and I had folded my collar back down, I turned to present myself to Timothy.
“It’ll have to do.” He shrugged. “Remind me to teach you how to tie a tie more efficiently.”
“Jeez.” I cringed, though I couldn’t help but be amused.
When someone teases you mercilessly, and you enjoy it, doesn’t that mean something?
No. No. No.
Timothy was looking at his phone again.
“Okay, Mr. Reed.” He gestured at the door lazily. “Lead the way. You’ve got a governor to roast.”
I smiled. “Still believe in me?”
He gave me an odd smile.
“Believe in yourself.” He said.
A frown threatened to form on my face when Timothy’s words reached my ears. Obviously, he could be a bit snarky at times. It was part of his humor and brand. Anybody who had seen an episode of Tuniverse knew that. He was acting like I was just his boss—not the guy he’d just had a huge heart to heart with about our personal scandals.
What? You thought you were going to be friends with an employee?
“Right,” I said.
“Lead the way, future President Reed.”
So, I led the way out of the hotel room. Well, one of the agents led us out of the room, and another followed behind. What I had really wanted to do was grab Timothy by the shoulders gently and ask him what was up with his disposition. Why was he mildly cool in his interactions with me? Was it the nearness of the agents? They could be intimidating. Was he upset with me? But I knew that would only make things worse. Timothy was a campaign staff member. One, it would have been inappropriate and intrusive to put my hands on him in any way. Two, he was just a campaign staff member. He didn’t have to act any way except professionally. I had to accept that Timothy was merely my employee until Super Tuesday. We weren’t friends as far as he was concerned. I had to be okay with that. I was okay with that. Right?
Why does your stomach feel like it’s full of hot lead?
As we approached the elevators, the agent in the lead pushed the Down button, and Timothy came to stand up alongside me as the second agent stayed behind us. I could hear a group of staffers further back, waiting for their turn to take the elevator down to the bottom floor. Not everyone was going to join us at the convention center, just those who had been instrumental in preparing me for what was to come. Some of my most senior staff members who were on the road with us were staying at the hotel, following up on feelers we’d sent out for a new Campaign Manager. They’d also be gathering data about polls, and searching out news articles, watching the debate live in their rooms, taking notes, preparing for the next stage of our campaign. Well, the next stage that would come if the debate went well.
“How are you feeling about tonight?” Timothy asked as we waited.
I glanced at him, wondering what that question meant. Was he being friendly, or simply doing his duty as an advisor to keep me calm?
“Nervous.”
“You should be.”
“What?” I asked. “Do you think this will go poorly?”
He smiled as he stared at the elevator doors. “No. I’d just be nervous if there was a real chance I’d be the leader of the free world in less than a year. That’s terrifying.”
“That’s the part I’m least worried about,” I confessed.
“What part do you worry about the most?”
“That people will think that I was intentionally deceiving them to win the candidacy, and eventually, the election.”
Timothy produced a thoughtful look as the elevator chimed. The doors opened, and the agents stepped in, one to hold the door and the other to, I guess, protect us as we got onto the elevator. Timothy and I stepped into the elevator and put our backs to the wall. As he passed the agent holding the door open, he mumbled to him, “Don’t let anybody else on the elevator, please.” The agent gave a mere nod, which I found interesting.
These agents already respect him.
With a quick word, the agent who was last to get on the elevator took a cue from the one in the elevator with us and indicated that anyone else should take the stairs or wait for the next elevator. Everyone seemed to understand the logic behind that decision. As the doors closed and the agents positioned themselves in front of us, Timothy turned to me.
“You’re going to tell the truth.” He said.
“Well, of course.”
“Tell them that you hadn’t mentioned the annulment yet but would have eventually, but it was not the biggest priority as far as you were concerned. Also, make sure to tell them that it was something from your past that didn’t make you particularly proud, so additionally, you weren’t averse to leaving it for a later briefing. Then they’ll know you’re being completely honest. Don’t tiptoe around the truth like a fucking asshole.”
“Got it.”
“Then lay out exactly why you got married to Justine. Remind them you played by the rules set up by the system that never serves the American people like it should, but you did nothing legally or ethically wrong. Some people may not like it, but that’s not the issue. The issue is that you didn’t disclose it in a timeframe that others found acceptable, and you’re sorry for that. But this is really a mountain out of a molehill situation meant to distract from the real issues, i.e., universal healthcare, prison reform, immigration reform, LGBTQ-plus rights, women’s rights, Roe versus Wade, a morally and ethically bankrupt president ruining our values and economy. Blah blah blah. At least allude to those things.”
I smiled.
“Don’t let Governor Ledbetter goad you into saying something defensive or untrue.” He continued. “If you say something people don’t like, yet is true, that’s easier to rebound from. If you lie, you’re done. Above all things, remember that you did nothing wrong. If you don’t believe it, the American people aren’t going to believe it.”
“And, for God’s sake, don’t look like you’re about to have diarrhea all over the place.”
The agents chuckled in front of us as I tried to adjust the look on my face. Slowly, I released the tension in my face and replaced it with an easy smile.
“There ya’ go.” Timothy turned away from me and put his back to the elevator wall again, just as the chime sounded.
“Are you riding in my car?”
Jesus Christ, Nathan. How desperate are you trying to sound?
Timothy gave a slight frown, though he didn’t turn to look at me, as the agents repeated their dance of holding the elevator door and also making sure the area was safe.
“I’ll be in a different car.” He replied.
Then we were exiting the elevator and stepping into the lobby of the hotel. I immediately felt like a weirdo for sounding like I was pleading with Timothy to ride along with me and hold my hand. Obviously, I should be in the car with Secret Service, not my Social Media Advisor—particularly one who was only a temporary employee. Instead of addressing the issue at the moment with Timothy, especially since we were in a very public place, I followed the agents through the hotel.
As per usual, people in the lobby recognized me and waved or shouted affirmations, and the agents even let a few get close enough for a quick handshake and a “hello.” I had to make it clear that we were on our way to the debate and couldn’t be tardy, so I couldn’t linger. However, most of the people in the lobby were very welcoming and excited. It gave me hope for my campaign, all things considered. Timothy had disappeared once people started reacting to my presence, and I didn’t see him again until I was climbing into the SUV waiting for me outside of the hotel. He had been getting into the front passenger seat of the SUV at the back of the line of three SUVs outside of the hotel.
As far away from me as possible.
One of the agents climbed into the front passenger seat to sit alongside the agent who was driving, and the other let me climb into the backseat and scoot over behind the driver. Once I was in, he climbed in and sat alongside me. Apparently, none of my staff would be riding with me to the debate. I was left alone with three agents who were not all that fond of chit-chat, so my only option was to sit with my own thoughts for the ten-minute ride to the convention center. Of course, the only thing I could think of was Timothy. My mind raced with questions as to why I wanted to be around him so quickly. I’m not a moron—I’m running for President of the United States, after all—I knew that something inside of me was attracted to him. We were both gay men, he was attractive and charismatic, honest—maybe a bit too young for me—but he seemed to be a good guy.
As we rode to the convention center, I couldn’t help but wonder why I suddenly had even an inkling of feelings for a guy I barely knew when I hadn’t had feelings for any guy in years. Even as we pulled up to the convention center and Secret Service was in full-on protection mode as I exited the vehicle and walking inside, my brain kept racing. Along the hallways, we walked as I examined why Timothy had caught my eye after years of being alone. Was he just convenient? Was it because something inside of me told me that I liked him? A combination of both things? My brain was preoccupied with thoughts of Timothy and why I was acting like a lovestruck teenager as we waited in the wings leading up to the televised debate. My brain could think of nothing else, save Timothy. Before I knew it, I was being informed that the debate would start in five minutes.
Now I have two things freaking me out.
My knees felt like jelly, and my mind was racing with what would happen over the coming hours. Would I be able to convince the American public that everything they’d heard was much ado about nothing? Or was this the end? Timothy’s eyes are so pretty. I wonder what his favorite food is? I had to make sure that I said nothing but the truth. I had to be honest. I wonder if he’d want to go out for dinner sometime after he was no longer my employee? Or hang out in some other way? Just see where things go. Governor Ledbetter was going to be on the attack. I couldn’t let him rile me. I had to look calm, collected, and unconcerned to the public. If a silly non-scandal like an annulled marriage made me falter, what would happen if a real catastrophe happened when I was in office?
I didn’t know how many minutes passed before my eyes came back into focus to find Timothy standing in front of me with a frown plastered on his face. In fact, a few of my senior staff members were nearby, looking concerned as well. The Secret Service agents minded their own business, making sure everything else around us was copasetic.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, wondering if he had been speaking.
“I was over in the wings, watching with everyone else.” He replied. “Until I saw this.”
He gestured vaguely at me.
“You look like you’re gonna barf.”
He cares about you.
No, you idiot, he’s an employee doing his job.
“I was just thinking,” I said. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” He didn’t look like he believed me.
“Absolutely,” I confirmed. “I guess I’m just in my own head, wondering how things will go.”
Timothy snapped his fingers lightly in my face.
“Don’t get inside your own head,” He said. “You’re just going out here to tell the truth and explain to everyone why Governor Ledbetter is a far inferior choice to you. Well, if you can, let him show them why he sucks. You’ll look best if you just keep pushing back, and he sinks his own ship. Got me?”
I nodded. “Don’t be defensive or rude. Don’t trade barbs unless absolutely necessary. I got you.”
“Good.” He said. “Focus on the debate. Nothing else matters right now. When you’re asked about the annulment—and you will be—make sure to appear as though you understand everyone’s concern and fascination with it, but make sure they know it’s just a common thing that happens with many marriages. Tell the truth. Apologize for not bringing it up sooner, then stop. Okay?”
“Okay.” I nodded.
Timothy smiled and turned to walk away.
“Hey, Timothy.” I stopped him. He turned to look at me. “Thanks. For getting me back on track. I appreciate it.”
Timothy stared at me for a moment, then gave a small smile.
“Well, I don’t get paid in donuts, ya’ know.”
I chuckled. “Wait here until it’s time, would you?”
“What am I? Your security blanket?” He quipped, making the other staff members and the agents chuckle.
“Just in case I have a last-minute question,” I answered though I allowed myself to smile.
“All right.” He agreed, leaning against the post next to the entrance to the stage. “You’re the boss.”
The two most senior staff members, Ryan and Margaret, each gave me a smile in a turn and a thumbs up, indicating that everything was going to be okay. I did my best to provide them with my brightest, most confident smile as loud music started playing, and it was indicated to us that the debate would be starting—live on national T.V. momentarily. Margaret reached over and patted my arm as she continued to smile. Ryan glanced out beyond the stage to the crowd and the moderators, checking things out. The Secret Service continued doing what they do. Suddenly, an idea struck me. Margaret had been the Fundraising Director for our campaign until we found a new director so that she could assist Marty Goldman. Why not give her a promotion?
“Margaret,” I leaned in, so she did the same, “why don’t you take over Campaign Manager duties starting tomorrow?”
“Really?” She was aghast.
“Try it out?”
“But everyone is trying to find you a qualified Campaign Manager right now, and—”
“I think you’d be great,” I said, trying to be heard over the music.
For several moments, Margaret just stared at me, dumbfounded. Then Governor Ledbetter was being introduced.
“You have seconds to say ‘yes.’” I teased. “I might not
have a campaign after this.”
“Yes!” She spat, confused at first, then a smile finally bloomed.
“Good.”
Then my name was being announced, so I headed towards the stage as Margaret beamed proudly. With a glance, I caught Timothy’s eye. He had an odd look on his face as he watched me walk away, but he was smiling that indecipherable smile of his. When my eye caught his, he gave me a thumbs up.
“You’re going to do great!” He managed to say loudly enough for me to hear him.
I hope you’re right.
I smiled back, and then I was walking out onto the stage, waving to the crowd and smiling.
I got this. I know I do.
Chapter 12
Timothy
Chyron
Moderator: Mr. Reed, it’s evident that we have to address the elephant in the room. Within the last few days, it has come to light that you were married to a woman by the name of Justine Pearson around fifteen years ago, but the marriage was annulled. What, if anything, can you share about that? And what do you say to your voter base and the American public who may be thinking that you are lying about your sexual orientation solely for votes?
Governor Ledbetter:
Nathan Reed: It is sad, Governor Ledbetter. I feel shocked and ashamed, actually.
Governor Ledbetter: I’d imagine. If I were you—”
Nathan Reed: I’m shocked and ashamed because my own former Campaign Manager, on whose behest, I’d hate to speculate, leaked that information to Cady Blankenship at the Des Moines Article.
Governor Ledbetter: I can’t imagine that you’re insinuating that I had anything to do with that!
Nathan Reed: Of course not, Governor.
Nathan Reed: Look, let me be clear—not disclosing the information about my annulment was an oversight on my part. It was not a top priority since it’s something so many people experience as part of life. It was on the To-Do List, it just hadn’t been done yet. Until someone else took it upon themselves to do so that I would look as though I were trying to be deceitful. That couldn’t be further from the truth. However, I apologize profusely for any hurt my nondisclosure has caused anyone. My marriage was to a woman who developed breast cancer. We got married—with her fully aware of my sexual orientation—so that she could immediately access health insurance to treat her condition and so that she would not be condemned to death by a government and healthcare system that has been systematically structured to be against her. Well, not just her, but every American who is poor, underinsured, or part of any marginalized group that they feel isn’t worthy of the same rights as the one-percent. She was not deceived. I was not deceived. It was an arrangement to save a friend’s life. It was neither illegal nor unethical. We played by the rules of the system—that normally works against us—to win. Then, once it was obvious that she was in remission, we had the marriage annulled. Justine Pearson is her name—and she is a wonderful woman who is now cancer-free, with viable insurance, and she is thriving. I spoke with her the other day—since we are still very close friends—and she has agreed to speak to anyone who doubts the validity of what I say here tonight. We can stop making something out of nothing and smearing my name, Justine’s name, or questioning my integrity—though we can talk more about my timing. If you’d like. However, I’d really rather discuss real problems, such as Governor Ledbetter’s record of governing in a way that women, people of color, the economically disadvantaged, and the LGBTQ-plus community are further marginalized by these systems I just mentioned.