by A. C. Fuller
"Don't tell me more. I don't want the details. But you guys are good at hiding it, I'll give you that."
"You know me. I dated my boss for six months once, and was practically engaged to Damien, remember? I was his direct supervisor, and we made it work. The key is keeping work separate."
She studies my face, trying to read me. "Why'd you bring that up? I figured you knew he was gonna make my booty list. But why now?" She tilts her head sideways. She's on to me. "Ooooh…You've got something to hide."
I say nothing.
"Mia?"
"I kissed Peter."
"What the what? I'm not you—I want details."
I tell her the short version of the visit to my room, the drive, and the kiss, but my heart's not in it.
"Okay," Steph says when I finish. "Unless you regret not pouncing on David damn Benson when he was in your bedroom, which I understand, why do you look miserable that you made out with a hot billionaire?"
It's a good question. Between the stone driveway, the lighting, and Peter's looks and intense charisma, it should have been the kiss beyond all kisses. The world should have fallen away, a moment frozen in time, and I should still be tingling with aftershocks. Instead it was just…nice. Not thrilling, but nice.
It's not just that he funded my project. I have worried about that, but Steph's ability to keep things separate with Benjamin gives me confidence that I can navigate it.
And it's not because I have any interest in playing hard to get, or playing any other games for that matter. I'm a grown woman and I'll do what I damn well please. It's something about Peter I can't put my finger on.
"I don't know. He invited me to some festival. Burning Man for the super-rich, or something."
"Future Now?"
"That's it."
"You're going. That's an invitation-only thing for, like, CEOs and their mistresses."
I give her a look.
"Or their wives," Steph says. "And there are plenty of women CEOs who bring their boy-toys, too. It's a big deal, though, and it'll be fun."
"I'm not going."
"You really are."
"I'm really not."
"If not because of Peter, go for our site. You'll probably meet potential donors there."
She's right, but I'm distracted by the subtle panic that's been rising in me ever since that email from the CNN producer.
Plus, during breakfast I've been watching through the window as our staff filtered up to the office, and I know I need to get up there and lead them. We need to develop a press strategy for the Mast story and begin to get back to the dozens of journalists calling for comment.
"What are you gonna do about Peter?" Steph asks.
"I don't know yet, but let's go. We've got work to do, and I need to figure out what to wear on CNN tonight."
15
After the busiest day in Ameritocracy history, I drove Bluebird thirty miles north for my interview with Anderson Cooper. Now I sit in front of a green screen in a padded closet, microphone clipped to my chest. The air is stale and a bit too warm, and I try to remain calm as I stare into a large TV camera.
I take a few breaths, recalling the cool breeze that blew through my hair on the ride from Santa Clarissa to the CNN studio in South San Francisco. An earpiece relays the voice of a manic producer along with the deep, comforting voice of Anderson, who opens his show and goes over the big national news of the day.
Like I've said, I'm a bit of a Monica, so I arrived half an hour early, and now I have nothing to do until we go live.
"Seventeen minutes before you're live." The producer's voice is in my ear, intense and focused, like if a triple espresso could talk.
Pulling out my phone, I check my email one last time. My daily media summary has come in, and I scan the list of news articles that mention Ameritocracy, our candidates, or me personally.
One link takes me to a video from a local newscast, KGTV out of Reno, Nevada, where a makeup-caked news anchor speaks dryly and with a forced sense of humor. "On the lighter side tonight, it's Uber for the presidency, as a startup website tries to take the political primary process by storm."
The video changes to a still shot of the Ameritocracy homepage, where Destiny O'Neill still holds the number one spot. It's a screenshot from a couple weeks ago, which pisses me off slightly because she's barely clinging to the top ten. But, as Steph loves to point out, all coverage is good coverage.
The anchor continues, "Like many of you, secretary Mia Rhodes was fed up with politics. But unlike most, she did something about it, starting a website called Ameritocracy just after the 2016 election. For the first couple years, she attracted only a few followers.
"After a five million dollar donation from billionaire Peter Colton, she's turning that around. The site allows anyone to run for president as an independent, and promises the fame and money to compete with the Republican and Democratic nominees in the summer and fall of 2020."
The video shifts to a montage of Destiny O'Neill from her Platform page. She wasn't wrong about TV wanting to put her on screen. "If the current leaderboard is any indication, the site is attracting only fringe candidates. Candidates like Destiny O'Neill, a scantily clad YouTube star with controversial views, and Thomas Morton, a former ambassador to the Ukraine with no experience in elected government.
"But a major PR push is underway, and only time will tell whether Ameritocracy will give an independent candidate the first real chance since Ross Perot, or whether it will flounder like Peter Colton's ill-fated private-plane-sharing app."
Three different articles posted today all say a version of the same point: Mast's entry signals a turning point for Ameritocracy. One right-leaning blog worries that Mast will siphon votes from their favorite candidate, Tanner Futch. A left-leaning blog argues that Mast's entry signals the end for Ameritocracy, not a new beginning, because he's "the military-industrial complex in a human skinsuit."
Another piece quotes a Republican strategist bemoaning the fact that, if Mast wins Ameritocracy, he could pull votes from the Republican candidate in the 2020 general election, given that most of his views align with the party platform. All in all, the coverage is positive, and it's clear to me that the CNN interview isn't a fluke. Ameritocracy is spreading into the public consciousness and may be reaching a tipping point.
I haven't yet seen stats on new registrations, but Mast climbed all the way to number 211 in our rankings in twenty-four hours, the fastest one-day rise in site history.
The producer is in my ear again. "Ten minutes, Mia. Do you have everything you need?"
"I'm all set," I say, still staring at my phone.
"Anderson wanted you to know that we expanded the panel."
I sit up and speak into the camera, feeling ridiculous because I'm unsure whether the producer can see me. "I thought this was just a one-on-one."
"We needed some alternative perspectives, so we brought in one of your candidates." She pauses for a moment as I run over our top ten in my head, wondering who it could be. "Tanner Futch," she continues. "Plus an independent congresswoman. Maria Ortiz Morales."
"I've heard of her," I say, trying to fill time as I adjust to this new reality.
"First Latina member of Congress from Ohio. First independent to win a congressional election in ten years. She'll have a great perspective on your site. Expect questions about Mast, about Ameritocracy in general. You've done this a million times. You'll be fine."
"Right," I lie. "A million times."
"Seven minutes. You'll hear Anderson in your earpiece when we're back from break."
It's too late to think through what it means that I'll be live with Tanner Futch and Maria Ortiz Morales, so I glance at my phone, planning to power it down and take deep breaths until showtime.
Then, in the very last line of the email, I see my name in a headline: 1988 Spoiler Mia Rhodes is Getting Back into Politics
"No, no, no," I whisper.
"What is it?" the producer asks.
>
"Nothing. Sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud."
"Are you sure you're okay?"
"Fine," I manage, but I'm anything but fine.
Someone wrote about me and my father. Against my better judgement, I click the link to an article on PoliticalMuckraker.com.
1988 Spoiler Mia Rhodes is Getting Back into Politics
With the expansion of her political reality-show competition, Ameritocracy, and its recent funding by eccentric billionaire Peter Colton, Seattle resident Mia Rhodes is looking to shake up the democratic process.
For the second time.
According to previous media accounts and hospital records obtained by Political Muckraker, Mia Rhodes is the daughter of former Connecticut Senator Payton Rhodes.
Mr. Rhodes, who served as Connecticut's Senator from 1970 to 1988, was the frontrunner for the presidential nomination in the 1988 Democratic primaries until scandal rocked his campaign.
The scandal was Mia herself, who was born to waitress Alexandra Dimakos on the night of the Iowa caucus, February 8, 1988.
At the time of the affair with Ms. Dimakos, Mr. Rhodes was married to prominent health insurance executive Cecilia Rhodes. The couple had two young children—son Elliot Rhodes and daughter Patricia Ann Rhodes.
In the early months of the 1988 Democratic primary campaign, Mr. Rhodes was seen as the Democrats' best chance to challenge the Republicans after eight years of Ronald Reagan, largely because of his centrist positions, strong ties to the financial and insurance sectors, and stable family life. Early polling showed him favored by over ten points against any of the Republican candidates in the field.
Word of Rhodes' affair with Ms. Dimakos, however, began leaking in January of 1988 and, by Super Tuesday, Mia Rhodes was national news, forcing her father to drop out of the race, paving the way for Michael Dukakis, who eventually lost to George Bush in the 1988 general election.
Political reporters quickly moved on, but for a brief period, Mia Rhodes was known as the child who decided the 1988 election.
Though he and Mrs. Rhodes remained married, Mr. Rhodes left politics and went on to become a successful executive in the health insurance industry in Connecticut.
It's unclear whether Mia Rhodes and her father have a relationship, and whether her recent efforts to upend the democratic process are an attempt to vindicate her father.
The phone drops out of my hand and lands on the padded floor with a dull thud. My cheeks are hot, and I know they're taking on a shade of red that usually means I've had a couple glasses of wine.
But I'm not fighting back tears.
I'm fighting back rage.
"Thirty seconds back, Mia." It's the caffeinated woman's voice. "By the way. Expect fireworks. Futch and Morales hate each other."
I should have seen this coming, but I didn't.
The smooth voice of Anderson Cooper fills in my ears. "In political news tonight…"
My head pounds, my ears ring, and I hear only fractured words and phrases as he introduces the site, and me.
"…Ameritocracy…Bold concept…"
I always expected the story about my father to come out, but hoped it wouldn't. It sounds crazy, but somehow I convinced myself that if I didn't address it, it might just go away.
"…Upending the two-party system…Recent addition of Robert Mast…"
I look around the sound booth, wishing for something, someone to distract me. It's like I'm in a dream. I press my feet onto the floor, and, for some odd reason, I feel myself back in the car with Malcolm, the night he took me shopping before the party with Peter.
"You should be hyped," he told me then, and as Anderson Cooper says my name, I push the memories of my father away long enough to get hyped for the interview. Or at least to get through it.
The producer is back. "Video live in five, four, three, two, one."
"Mia Rhodes, welcome to AC360," Anderson says.
I throw a smile on my face. "Great to be with you, Anderson."
I fake my way through the first five minutes, during which I explain the origin of Ameritocracy, laugh when Anderson jokes that we're like 'The Voice meets Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,' and say a silent prayer that he doesn't ask me about my father.
By this point, I've repeated the responses so many times that many come automatically, and the knowledge I'm being watched by millions fades as I get going.
Anderson's next question is to Maria Ortiz Morales. "Ms. Morales, I'd like to get your perspective on this. You lost a leg in the war in Afghanistan at the age of thirty-three, were honorably discharged from the Navy, and served ten years as an intelligence analyst for the CIA. When your husband passed away, you returned home to Cincinnati and ran for Congress. A decorated war hero, how would you feel about taking orders from a commander-in-chief elected by an Internet poll?"
I want to object, but the question wasn't to me. "First of all," Morales says, her voice steady and quiet, "as a member of Congress, I don't take orders from anyone except the voters in my district. But I have to say that the concept troubles me greatly. I—"
"You like the system as it is because it benefits the politically correct status quo." It's Tanner Futch, loud and bombastic, interrupting Morales.
"Please let her finish," Anderson interjects.
"Thank you," Morales says. "As a service member, I learned to set aside my personal partisan beliefs to serve the mission. I served under commanders-in-chief from both parties, and though I chose to run for Congress as an independent, I respect both parties."
Futch grabs the first opening he can. "You respect special interests. You're the token independent in Congress. You're like the one black dude in an all-white fraternity. They let you in so they can say they have an independent member. Ohhh, looooook. Anyone can run for Congress in America."
I'm speechless, but like the producer instructed, I gaze straight into the camera, motionless, a pleasant look glued to my face.
"Are you saying Ms. Morales isn't independent?" Anderson asks.
"I'm saying that no one can be independent in the current system," Futch says. "That's what makes Ameritocracy so important. For the first time, we're going to hear the voice of the people. Not the special interests. Not the deep state. Not the bankers in Europe and Asia who want to destroy America by taking away our guns and opening our borders. The voice of the people! I disagree with Maria Ortiz Morales about everything. I despise her gay-rights, pro-Latino, pro-immigration, so-called progressivism. But I'd welcome her to join Ameritocracy. Let's find out where the people stand on these issues. Not the bankers and media elite who fall all over themselves just because she's Latino and happened to get hit by an RPG on a hill outside Kabul. What do you say, Maria? Do you want to join the most transparent, most democratic political experiment of all time?"
Futch's rant is the most passionate case for Ameritocracy that has been made on national TV, and though I don't love the fact that it came from him, I have to admire his ability to articulate the vision.
"I don't know where to start with that," Anderson says. "I have a question for Ms. Rhodes, but you should have a chance to respond, Ms. Morales."
"Usually with Tanner Futch, when you filter out all the xenophobia, conspiracies, and insults, all you have left is a few prepositions. In this case, though, it's prepositions and one thing I agree with, which is a nice first. We do need better representation of people's real concerns. So thanks, Tanner. I'll give your suggestion serious consideration. Just not the rest of your boilerplate bluster."
"You will?" Anderson asks.
"I will," Morales replies. "Now if only Mr. Futch would cut out his racist—"
"Ra-racist? Racist. Racist?" Futch is stammering like a madman, but that's part of his act. Over the last couple months, I've watched his videos and tuned into his podcast from time to time, and I get the sense he may not believe half of what he says. He comes across like an old musician, playing the hits for his fans.
Interrupt a woman, check.
Blame the deep state, check. Blame European bankers, check. Close the borders, check. Interrupt a woman again, check and check.
This time, though, Morales talks right over him. "We all know what you mean by 'European bankers.' I've read your site."
"Didn't know you were a fan," Futch laughs.
"Ms. Rhodes, what do you make of this?" Anderson says loudly, cutting off the cross talk. "Here you have one of your leading candidates espousing what we can at least say are controversial ideas. Yet, as the leader of the project, you've promised to remain neutral."
"For me, it's about the platform," I say. "Though I can't condone everything Mr. Futch says, and I don't officially endorse any candidate or position, I believe in his right to say it. And I believe that, with Ameritocracy, we're providing the most transparent, most democratic platform in the history of elections. I know that TV hosts—no offense, Anderson—like to compare Ameritocracy to reality television, but our aim is earnest."
"And if I can interrupt," Anderson says, "would you say the announcement by Robert Mast is evidence that you're being taken more seriously?"
I open my mouth to speak, but Futch's voice is in my ear. "It's evidence that establishment thinkers are trying to co-opt the revolution."
"That was a question for Ms. Rhodes," Anderson scolds. "So, what do you think, Mia?"
"I think…" I trail off, head spinning, anger rising in my chest.
"They call it the deep state for a reason," Futch barks. "You know, this goes all the way back to—"
"No!" I say, and everyone goes quiet.
The emotion I stuffed down after reading the article about my dad is back. The sadness, frustration, and rage I squashed for decades hits me all at once, intensified by months of long days and short nights.
I have no more fucks left to give. "I think that men like Tanner Futch have been talking over me for too long. Talking over women for far, far too long."
Futch tries to interject in my earpiece. "No!" I say again, gaining confidence. "You're not going to talk over me. If you win Ameritocracy, I'll be the first to congratulate you, but you're not going to talk over me."