Twitter Girl

by Nic Tatano

  “Don’t think we have enough booze. Tell you what, how about we do the opposite of what we did back then?”

  “What, ignore him?”

  “Ripley, you know that men always want what they can’t have. That’s one thing we have learned since high school.”

  “Very true. So therefore he would have to make the first move.”

  “Exactly. And then there would be no hard feelings between us.”

  Ripley slowly nods and extends her glass. “Very well. May the lucky girl win.”

  I clink her glass as the ball starts to descend in Times Square. “Just hope it’s one of us.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  #FireTheRedheadBitch

  @TwitterGirl

  Say bye to this hashtag, cause the bitch is back, joining Senator Becker’s campaign! #HIREtheRedheadBitch!

  @TwitterGirl

  About to meet my new boss, Senator (and next President) Will Becker…

  “Welcome,” says Frank Delavan, extending his hand as I get up from the couch in the sparsely furnished lobby. “Great to have you on board.”

  “Happy to be here,” I say, as I shake hands.

  “Great timing, as we just opened this office. The Senator is very excited about meeting you.”

  “The feeling is mutual.”

  Mutual, hell. I’ll bet his heart isn’t hung up on his tonsils.

  Frank leads me out of the lobby, down a hallway and through the campaign headquarters, a beehive of activity filled with mostly twentysomethings on phones dressed in jeans, probably volunteers. A few people are busy hanging political posters while a couple of teenagers are stuffing envelopes. I see several men in shirts and ties and a few women in expensive dresses moving about and figure them for the paid staff. Every one of the women gives me the once-over as I walk through the office.

  Well, more than a once-over. More like a glare.

  They see me as competition. They want the same guy I do.

  Fine. Bring it.

  For my first impression I’ve chosen a conservative long sleeved emerald green dress that matches my eyes with a hemline that hits just above the knee. My shoes take me up to six-three. I know a lot of tall women try to minimize their height, but hey, why should I pass up on great shoes just because I’m an amazon? Had my hair done this morning, so my red tangles bounce as I power walk, dusting my shoulders. I didn’t go overboard on the makeup as I don’t really have cheekbones to be accented anyway and I don’t like to cover up my freckles. Like Ripley says, they’re handy when I wanna play the little innocent girl card. (Okay, maybe not so innocent, but you get my drift. Add a pout to the freckles and it’s game over.)

  The door to the corner office opens as we arrive and a thirtyish guy in khakis and a blue oxford shirt walks out, nodding at Frank as he passes. We walk into the office and find Will Becker leaning over a cluttered desk, talking on the phone as he makes a note on a yellow legal pad. He looks up and smiles at us. “I’ll have to get back to you on that,” he says. “Talk to you tomorrow.” He hangs up the phone, moves around the desk and extends his hand. “So, I finally get to meet the famous Twitter Girl.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Senator,” I manage to get out while we shake hands. I’m blown away by the real life version of America’s most eligible bachelor as photos and television don’t do justice to this man. His deep-set powder blue eyes lock onto mine, and the rest of the world seems to disappear.

  “You can call me Will when we’re alone,” he says, placing his other hand on top of mine and sending a bolt of electricity through my body like a defibrillator.

  When we’re alone…

  “And you can call me anytime,” I say, before my filter has a chance to catch those words by the tail. I feel my face flush and know my freckles are catching fire.

  “There’s that wit we need for the campaign!” he says, obviously not realizing I was being literal with one of the oldest bar pickup lines. He lets go of my hands and gestures to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, Cassidy, have a seat.”

  I sit down next to Frank as I take in this forty-three year old vision of masculinity. Becker is about six-four, slender with broad shoulders revealed by a tailored white shirt, an angles and planes face framed by thick black hair, a lock of which cascades over his forehead. The rolled up sleeves reveal sinewy, buffed forearms. A warm smile makes me feel like I’m the only one in the room. That smile, I can see, could easily melt a heart. The twinkle in his eyes makes him somehow incredibly handsome and unbelievably cute at the same time. A quick look at his slacks as he sits down confirms my suspicion that you could probably bounce quarters off his ass. He’ll probably moonlight as a Chippendale when he’s done leading the free world.

  “So,” he says, as he adjusts his chair, “this is the woman with two hundred thousand more followers than I have. Maybe you should be running instead of me.”

  “Yeah, but you’ve probably got more support in Mississippi.”

  “Hey, six electoral votes aren’t gonna kill us. Look, I thought your tweet about the tornado was funny as hell and it was bullshit that you got fired, especially considering what really happened. But the network’s loss is our gain.”

  “I’m happy the way things worked out. I can’t thank you enough for bringing me on board.”

  “You’re going to be a unique asset, our secret weapon. Though after today it’s not going to be much of a secret. Nothing stays quiet on the Internet for long.”

  “I’ve given her the basics of what we’re looking for,” says Frank. “But I know you’ve got some ideas of your own.”

  “Right. Cassidy, you’ll be here about half the time working with our strategy team, and the other half you’ll be traveling with me. For instance, we’ve got the first debate in Iowa on Thursday and I want you in place with a laptop next to Frank. He knows the other candidates like the back of his hand and can help you push their buttons. It will be great to tweak the other guys during the debate the moment they make a gaffe or say anything that gives you an opportunity for a comeback.”

  “Well, I was blessed with a quick wit.”

  “Not just a quick wit, but a snarky one,” says Becker. “Some of your tweets were downright wicked and devastating. What was that one you had about the New York City Mayor shoveling his own driveway?”

  “Politicians are used to shoveling something of a different color.”

  Becker nods and smiles. “A classic. Anyway I want you to take the gloves off. Nothing is sacred.”

  “Well, I don’t want to tweet anything that will come back to bite you. You guys need to let me know if I’m about to cross the line.”

  “You let me worry about that.” He turns to Frank. “Did you tell her about the other part?”

  Other part?

  Frank shakes his head. “Figured it would be better coming from you.”

  Uh-oh. My smile fades as my face tightens. “There something I should know about?”

  Becker notices my worried look. “Oh, it’s nothing bad. Just that if I do become the next President, there will be a position for you in my administration.”

  I exhale my worry and my adrenaline spikes.

  I could end up working at the White House.

  Of course, there’s one position I really want at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, and it’s not a job.

  ***

  By four o’clock I’d been introduced to nearly everyone in the campaign. “I saved the best of our office staff for last,” says Frank as we walk past the Senator’s office. “Get ready to meet the smartest guy in the building,”

  “Shhhh!” I cock my head toward Will Becker’s door. “The Senator—”

  “Hell, even Becker will admit Tyler Garrity is the Stephen Hawking of politics. The Senator prides himself in hiring people who are brighter than he is. But Tyler is off the charts smart. We’re talking genius territory.”

  “Sounds like a guy I wanna get to know.”

  “Well, brace yourself, he’s quite a uni
que character.” Frank stops at a closed door and turns to face me. “This is the war room. Now, one thing you need to know about Tyler. He has a medical condition, some sort of rare fatigue syndrome, that only allows him to work every other day. Monday, Wednesday and Friday. And traveling wipes him out, he gets horrible jet lag, so Becker keeps him fresh here in New York. But even working on a limited basis, what we get from him is pure gold. Anyway, he doesn’t mind talking about his health, so you don’t have to tiptoe around him.”

  “Sounds like my brother.”

  Frank opens the door and leads me into a long rectangular room without a single window but with light provided by about a dozen flat screens that take up one wall, each tuned to a different channel. I see a guy in his mid-thirties opposite the monitors totally focused on a laptop. “Tyler, someone I want you to meet.”

  The man is furiously typing something, locked in on the screen, and doesn’t look up. “Give me ten seconds.” He finishes banging the keyboard and hits one key with a flourish, then looks up and closes the laptop. “Done. Ah, I see Twitter Girl has arrived!”

  He gets up and moves toward me bringing an incredibly bright smile. Tyler Garrity definitely has that boy-next-door thing going, with tousled dark brown hair and a matching two-day growth contrasted by deep-set olive green eyes. He sorta reminds me of Bradley Cooper. He extends his hand and I shake it. I tower over him as he’s not very tall, maybe five-nine, and slender. Still, he’s a seriously cute little thing. “Pleasure to meet you, Tyler.”

  “Pleasure’s mine, T.G.”

  I furrow my brow. “Huh?”

  “T.G. You know, Twitter Girl.”

  “Oh, right.”

  “Tyler likes calling people by initials. Or nicknames,” says Frank.

  “You got it, Viper,” he says.

  I turn to Frank and raise one eyebrow. “Viper?”

  He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m not exactly the warm and fuzzy type.”

  Tyler pulls out the chair next to his. “Have a seat, T.G. You need coffee, soda, juice? I’ve got bagels, donuts, croissants, every kind of chocolate you can imagine—”

  “I can always go for a chocolate bar,” I say as I sit down and he pushes in the chair. Hmmm. Gentleman. I usually only get this in an expensive restaurant.

  “I’ll leave you two to get started,” says Frank, who leaves the room and closes the door.

  Tyler opens a drawer on a credenza, pulls out a candy bar and hands it to me. “You look like a Dove bar kinda girl.”

  “Very perceptive.”

  He sits down and shoves his laptop out of the way as he swivels his chair to face me, wide-eyed with a look of excitement. “Well, your reputation precedes you. I must say I absolutely loved your tweets and cannot tell you how excited I am to have you on the team. I’ve been a fan for a long time.”

  I start unwrapping the candy. “Well, that’s very kind of you to say. I’m excited to be here.”

  “So, did Frank tell you what I do?”

  “He basically told me you should be designing rockets for NASA or building a time machine.”

  Tyler leans back and laughs as I take a bite of the candy and savor the smooth chocolate. “Actually the time machine is finished.” He leans forward and whispers. “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m from the future.”

  I lean toward him and drop my voice. “Okay, it’ll be our little secret.” For a guy with a fatigue problem, Tyler is incredibly animated and talks fast with a ton of energy in his voice. He’s more full of life than anyone I’ve met in awhile. Frank’s right, he’s definitely a character.

  “Seriously, I’m the chief strategist here. I try to keep my finger on the pulse of the general public and play devil’s advocate. Top Dog likes me to point out things he might be doing wrong.”

  “Top Dog would be Senator Becker?”

  “You catch on quick. Anyway, I’m only here Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but you can always reach me at home on Skype or Face Time. Or if you’re old school like me, call me on the phone. But I warn you I never shut up and may talk your ear off.”

  “Yeah, I kinda get that.”

  “Or drop by if you’re in the neighborhood. I’ll take you for a ride in the time machine back to the seventies and we can hit a disco.”

  “Sounds like fun.”

  “Frank probably told you that my body can’t handle work two days in a row, but thankfully God blessed me with a decent brain.” He looks at the clock, grabs a television remote and fires it at the wall of flat screens.

  “Well, if you’d like a little help when you’re not here my best friend has her own ad agency and she’s incredibly clever. She mentioned she wanted to volunteer for the campaign.”

  “I’d love someone to bounce ideas off. Bring her in.” He looked at the television. “You ready?”

  “For what?”

  “Showtime, T.G. Time to pop your political cherry.” I can’t help but laugh. Tyler is a free spirit unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and newsrooms are loaded with quirky personalities. He opens up his laptop and slides it in front of me. “President has a press conference. Watch, wait for the usual gaffe, and send a sarcastic tweet his way.”

  “Right now?”

  “No time like the present and you’re on the clock.”

  He turns up the sound as I log into my Twitter account. I look up at the flat screen just as President Gavin Turner arrives at a podium. A graphic fills the bottom of the screen with Dubuque, Iowa while a diagonal red Live banner stretches across the upper left corner.

  “Good face for radio,” I say as the high-def television brings the President into uncomfortable clarity.

  Tyler leans back and laughs. “Never heard that one. A TV term?”

  “Uh-huh. Suppose he doesn’t screw up?” I ask.

  Tyler leans his head to the side as he gives me an incredulous look. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, you’ve got a point.”

  The President waits for applause to die down before he begins. “Thank you all for coming out on this very cold day.” He looks to the side at two men seated next to the podium. “Nice to see my good friends, Governor Lovegood and Senator Bracken… two great public servants.”

  “Wait for it…” says Tyler.

  The President goes through a laundry list of people to thank, then looks out at the crowd. “As always, it’s great to be in the Buckeye State!” The crowd groans.

  “There it is!” says Tyler, pointing at the screen. “Ohio is the Buckeye State. Iowa is the Hawkeye State.” He points at the laptop. “Go!”

  I pause for a few seconds, and then my snarky muse hits me with a gem.

  @TwitterGirl The President got a GPS as a Christmas gift. Obviously he returned it.

  “Ha! That’s terrific!”

  “Thank you.”

  He points at the screen. “Look at him. He knows he screwed up. But he may not be done yet, so stand by.”

  ***

  Thirty minutes and two scathing tweets later, Tyler and I are whooping it up in the war room as the President wraps up a gaffe-filled speech.

  “I’d say you had a great first day,” he says.

  “Well, most of what the President said were hanging curve balls over the middle of the plate.”

  “Ah, baseball fan. Mets or Yanks?”

  “Long suffering Mets fan.”

  “Me too. We should catch a game sometime. Nothing but obnoxious Yankee fans around this office and the majority aren’t even from the area. Damn bandwagoners.”

  Frank enters the room wearing a big smile. “Great job, Twitter Girl.”

  “Ah, you were monitoring.”

  “I wasn’t the only one. Those little barbs of yours have already been re-tweeted hundreds of times. The one about the GPS will probably end up as a joke on a late night talk show.”

  “Glad you liked ’em,” I say.

  “Well, Tyler’s got a conference call.”

  Tyler looks at his watch and nods as he gets up. “Yeah, need to
hit the phone. Great working with you, T.G.”

  “You too, Tyler. See you tomorrow.”

  “Won’t be here, remember? Besides, you’ll be on your way to sunny Iowa. If you need me, I’ll be in cyberspace. Operators are standing by.”

  ***

  Dinner is with Frank’s Deputy Campaign Manager, Roberta Willis, a mid-thirties sharp looking gray-eyed dishwater blonde I’ve seen on a few talk shows. While Frank Delavan is running the show, Roberta is the face of the campaign, being a lot more telegenic with a sharp wit. We are quickly bonding, as she also has a background in broadcasting, though she had bailed out of a dysfunctional newsroom (somewhat redundant) five years ago. In two hours she’s covered just about everything I need to know about the campaign.

  Of course, I want to know about the candidate. Ripley has already texted me twice to remind me.

  What’s the 411 on our objective?

  “So, what’s he like?” I ask.

  “What, you mean away from the campaign?”

  “Yeah, you know. When he’s not the next President is he a regular guy? What’s he do when he lets his hair down?”

  “You haven’t been around national politics a lot, have you?”

  “I follow it closely, but that wasn’t my beat as a reporter. I’ve covered a bunch of state campaigns, but nothing like this. Ironically I was set to cover the President’s campaign before I got the boot.”

  She nods slowly, then takes a sip of wine. “Well, I’ll give you the quick Cliff Notes version of Washington politics 101. There’s one thing that is the common denominator with Democrats and Republicans.”

  “Getting re-elected?”

  “Very perceptive, Cassidy. They all talk a good game about being public servants, but that term is an absolute joke. They have no more interest in serving the public than we have in washing these dishes after dinner. Most of them are incredible egomaniacs who are turned on more by power than everything else.”

  “But Becker’s not like that, right?”

  “In some ways he is, but in many ways he’s different, and losing his wife changed him. Humbled him in a way. Most politicians think they’re bulletproof and when his wife died that was a huge dose of reality. It softened him, but in a good way. Made him unsure of himself when before he was always dead certain he was in control. I mean, of course he has a huge political ego… you can’t be shy and modest on the national stage. He desperately wants to be President and he does honestly want to make things better for the country. But he’ll also do just about anything to get there.”