Love Gone Viral

by Meg Napier

Meg couldn’t count how many times she’d watched people, those with and without power, realize their place as individuals within a society. Alice had gotten there a lot faster than most, and that gave Meg pause. She may have been out of the political game, but she was an old dog with old tricks that worked every single time. She leaned forward and asked that all important question:

  “So what do you want to do about it?”

  Alice took a long drink of tea and Meg took in the contours of muscle beneath her pale neck, a pang of attraction shooting through her. Stop being lecherous, you old biddy, she admonished herself. Alice placed the mug with a definitive thud on the table as if to punctuate her decision.

  “I want to show them they can’t treat us this way.”

  “And how do you want to do that?”

  “What else is there? We have to strike.”

  Chapter 2

  How had the conversation gotten away from her? Alice let the consonant ending of “strike” reverberate through the apartment. It was so unlike her, to even think of anything so radical. Sure, she dressed like a rebellious teen who never grew out of that phase, but she considered herself a non-confrontational pacifist, someone who minded her business and muddled through the best she could. Take Back the Night marches and Pride Parades were too overt for her, even though she was drawn to leaders of progressive and women’s movements like a small moth to an insurmountably large flame.

  Frustratingly, Meg remained silent, her face inscrutable. Alice couldn’t for the life of her figure out if she was a friend or not.

  “Are you sure that’s what you want?” Meg asked quietly.

  Her question reminded Alice of the steady crescendo in film scores that inevitably led to the hero’s—never a heroine—grand statement of epic adventures and purpose. It was a question that would probably lead to events that Alice didn’t know if she wanted. Stalling, she chose to disclose, “No, I’m not sure I want to strike. I’m not sure if it’s worth it or even feasible. What I am sure of is that it isn’t fair to pay for something you can’t get.”

  “Then it’s probably safe to assume others feel the same way,” Meg stated.

  “Okay, but here’s what’s bothering me.” The words erupted from her in an unstoppable flood. “I don’t know you, yet you invited me in, gave me tea, and listened to me complain about something small. Based on the mugs, you’re probably used to bigger things. I mean, how does a Senate race compare to something as inconsequential as someone like me saying ‘it’s not fair’? Why are you talking to me?”

  Meg leaned forward and Alice looked more closely at her. Behind the tortoise-shell glasses were expressive eyes, with copper eyeliner subtly and expertly applied. That, in conjunction with the hint of pink lipstick on her full lips, led Alice to believe that this was a woman who put on makeup to check the mail. This was someone who wouldn’t dare to be seen not looking her best. Strangely, Alice didn’t scoff at this; she admired the attention to detail.

  “I’m talking to you because you need help, and I think I can help you,” Meg answered.

  “I don’t need a—”

  “I’m not talking about therapy. I’m talking about making change.” Meg took the empty mugs and began cleaning up. “Unfortunately, the word ‘politics’ has been so distorted that its original meaning is now buried in negative connotations. Don’t forget that politics is, at its core, from the Greek word meaning ‘affairs of the cities.’”

  “Sure, and?”

  “And so politics, at its core, is about people. All politicians shape their careers by continuing to ask the question, ‘How can things for people be better?’ And yes, there are politicians who frequently separate people into groups and prioritize them on supposedly demographic criteria but those criteria, are, of course, never separate from historical connotations.”

  “I didn’t ask for a lecture,” Alice remarked.

  Meg dried her hands on a dish towel and leaned against the plain white counter, crossing her arms in front of her body. Alice noticed the hint of cleavage peeking from behind the green scoop-necked blouse and chose not to think about why she noticed it. “I’m getting to the point. You want something to change, something that doesn’t only affect you; it affects your community. As it happens, I have experience in pushing people to make changes. And I use methods that have worked for millennia. Sure, there are new toys to use, but ultimately what you want is to have a group of people to organize around a goal so that you can get what you want.”

  “I don’t appreciate being condescended to, professor.”

  Yes, Alice was getting defensive to this nice-on-the-surface lady who didn’t know that Alice had been doubted her whole life. Still, though, she felt it a duty to stand up for herself on behalf of a generation that had been derided by so many for only caring about avocado toast and selfies. She, like so many twentysomethings, was sick of older people telling her she was too vapid while at the same time declaring her generation was murdering industries left and right.

  “Forgive me for my self-indulgence.”

  “Wow, a Boomer who apologizes. Call the media, because I’ve witnessed a miracle.”

  “First of all, I’m a Gen X-er, according to some scholars, and therefore I claim it. Secondly, I agree with you that it’s not fair to be denied something for which you’re still being told to pay. Third, I’m offering you my expertise, free of charge, when normally I charge a fee that I won’t quote you because yes, I’m that good.”

  “Again, we come back to my question: why are you talking to me?”

  Meg sighed. “Because despite your prickly attitude, I like you. Despite your resistance, I want to help you, even though by all accounts I don’t need to get involved. Despite your protestations, I recognize myself in you.”

  She stared back at Alice, whose skepticism was written all over her pale cheeks and dark eyes. Meg allowed that she no longer wore the signifiers of righteous indignation; she’d long ago traded her denim jacket littered with protest buttons for blazers with a single lapel pin. The cries of fury at the appalling disinterest of the Reagan administration were not far from her lips, but she couldn’t tell this now-no-longer stranger about her past. She had neither the time to tell her tale nor the inclination to open herself to this person who might or might not understand.

  “Okay, you like me. While I can’t see why, if you’re offering a helping hand, I’m not going to slap it away. How do we get the rest of the residents on board with this?”

  Meg stopped ruminating and answered. “With the shelter-in-place orders, door-knocking is out. Second-best option is to phonebank.”

  Alice scoffed. “No one answers the phone anymore.”

  “Trust me, I know. Phonebanking was the devil in 2015.”

  “All right, I’ll bite. Who did you work for then?”

  Meg leaned back in her chair and smiled. “ I worked for an incumbent Democrat in a state senate. Long story short, neither I nor the candidate understood how much digital messaging mattered, and we lost the primary to a young, progressive upstart who fit more with the college town that made up the bulk of the district.”

  “You lost because of Facebook?”

  “And Twitter. Trust me, it was my fault.” The sting of the loss no longer smarted. “I was the communications director, something I’d been doing for nearly two decades. The candidate and I believed we knew best. Our interns, however, thought otherwise. We had several post-phonebank debriefs where they told us that no one answers the phone since the important numbers are ones that people recognize and advertising on digital platforms was more effective. They were right, I was wrong, and I sent each one of them home with a glowing recommendation and ensured that they all ended up in excellent positions.”

  “You helped them even though you lost and they were on your team?”

  “It wasn’t their fault we lost the primary. No sense in punishing them for being right.”

  Alice stared back at her with a dropped jaw, then said, “I can’t
believe you did that for people who worked for you and said you were wrong.”

  “You don’t have to believe it and I’m not asking for praise. It was the right thing to do, I did it, that was that. Now, enough about my scraps in the arena. The third option, which will most likely be our only option, will be paper fliers.”

  “I was thinking of posting directly on the leasing office’s Facebook page, but I bet the mods would immediately take it down. Plus, I highly doubt that the page gets a ton of traffic.” Alice sighed. “Stupid idea, really.”

  Without thinking, Meg gently covered Alice’s hand with her own. Alice looked wide-eyed at her but didn’t pull away. Meg ignored the warm glow building in her core, ignored the soft skin, ignored the relief of human contact flooding her body. This was a gesture of comfort and reassurance, nothing more.

  Please don’t let it be anything more, she silently begged, while knowing she was lying to herself.

  “It’s not a stupid idea. Anything can be used, and we should definitely add it to our toolbox.”

  Alice didn’t move her hand away, nor did she tense up, for which Meg was grateful. She chewed her bottom lip and then said, “We can potentially see who has liked the page and reach out to them through the messaging app.”

  “Good idea. At the same time, we should print out fliers and put them in people’s mailboxes.”

  “Won’t that be expensive?” Alice gently withdrew her hand and crossed her arms in front of her body.

  Meg shrugged. “If they’re homemade, other residents might take time and read them.” It was an oddity she’d encountered over the years: the glossier the mailing, the faster it went in the recycling bin.

  “I can ask the guy who does Locksmith’s labels to make an image we can use. Nothing crazy expensive, since money’s going to be tight for a while.”

  Before Meg could inquire further, Alice rose from the table. “Look, I really appreciate the tea and the time you’ve given me. I’ll get out of your hair and figure this out.”

  “No one accomplishes anything alone, Alice.”

  Alice’s shoulders tensed. For what had to have been the fifth time in the afternoon, Meg was struck by this young woman’s defensive guard; for the second time, she wanted to slip between the cracks in that guard, find out what happened, and alleviate whatever pain and distrust lingered there.

  “Not to sound like a petulant child, but I think I can do this on my own,” Alice muttered.

  “I don’t doubt you can, but that doesn’t mean you should.” Meg turned and looked up at her. “Please let me help you. Divide and conquer, after all.”

  Alice sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine. No sense in refusing the hand that feeds.” She reached into her back pocket and unlocked her cell phone, tapping on the screen. Meg noticed the slight upturn in her lips and hoped it was a positive sign. Handing her the phone, Alice said, “I don’t do phone calls unless someone’s bleeding out, so please either text or email me.”

  Meg quickly typed in her information and got her phone from her purse. After typing a message from her phone to Alice’s, she handed the phone back to her. “And to think we used to use Blackberries.”

  Alice smiled, just a small one, but Meg considered it a victory. “Thanks again for this. I’ll reach out when I have anything to share.”

  “Be careful out there,” Meg said.

  Alice didn’t answer and closed the apartment door, leaving Meg with a whirring brain already sorting tasks into manageable lists.

  God, it’s good to be back, she thought.

  Chapter 3

  “Jason! How’re you doing?”

  Alice had collapsed into her lumpy couch, the prize among her collection of thrift store furniture, and stared at her phone, impatient for the ellipses to appear. She absentmindedly wiggled her foot and tapped her fingers, doing anything to not think about Meg. The last thing she needed was a glamorous older woman imparting kindness and knowledge in her direction, even though, of course, Meg was right.

  Gah, why are they always right?

  The phone vibrated. “Trying not to think about business drying up; doubt you guys will be needing new label designs anytime soon.”

  Alice responded, “Don’t know about that, I’m afraid. Mike basically said things are changing by the hour and he’s been waiting for the governor and county counsel to issue statements and orders. I’ve got a different request, though.”

  The texts now came quickly. Jason was probably staying in his apartment in limbo, much like Alice. “Oh? Personal or business?”

  “Personal.”

  “You’ve got my attention. Never knew Alice, Lady of Mystery, had a personal life.”

  Alice rolled her eyes. “Don’t be mad that I compartmentalize. It’s one of my skills. What’s going on with your leasing office?”

  The ellipses appeared and stayed up longer. Jason was writing a novel. While she waited, she let her mind wander lazily back to Meg. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Alice wanted to peruse the woman’s closet, not to steal anything, but for curiosity’s sake. What, she wondered, would it be like to dress like a boss, to don the battle armor of a woman with a modicum of power? Alice, not a gambler by nature, would bet that Meg had been unstoppable yet charming, disarming detractors with beauty, brains, and wit. A small yet growing part of her desperately wanted to watch Meg in action.

  Jason replied, “I mean, they’re in the business of making money. I called them and asked about rent and didn’t get a response. My assumption is that as soon as the governor issues a proclamation or whatever (also proclamation? Like we’re in Robin Hood minus the tights?), they’ll put out some email saying they still expect rent on time. Which—I mean, I get it—but it’s like there’s no room for forgiveness or relief.”

  Alice’s thumbs flew as she typed, “I know, right? My leasing office said they’re not modifying rent at all, while closing the office and the shared spaces. We have a gym and pool and stuff like that. I told them I completely understood not wanting to risk communal spread, but that it’s also unreasonable for us to pay for things we’re not going to use.”

  Thoughts of Meg were replaced by renewed bitterness mingled with dread. Even after the afternoon tea, she didn’t hold out much hope for anything to change.

  Her phone vibrated, but this message was from Meg. “If we go with the flier route, we’ll need to make some of them in Spanish.”

  Without thinking much about it, she smiled and typed back, “Good call! Might be better to have one side in English and the other in Spanish. Saves us the guesswork.”

  Jason’s message flashed across her screen. “Do you have some kind of evil genius plan in mind?”

  Alice laughed and remembered how she’d gently threatened Mike with not scheduling anyone to work any shifts until he implemented the minimum safety equipment in the tasting room. It had been her first brush with confronting problems head-on, as opposed to simply running in the opposite direction. “Possibly. Can you make a graphic for me? Nothing crazy or anything, and I can’t pay much, but I’ll absolutely pay you.”

  Meg had responded and Alice switched to that conversation. “Thinking like a staffer already