Twitter Girl. Nic Tatano
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furrows her brow. “Excuse me?”
“Look, I know you’re young and all but if the media sees you in a clench with the Senator, it won’t be good.”
Her face tightens a bit. “Really?”
“Sweetie, the media would eat it up, and not in a good way. It would be a huge scandal.”
“So I’m not allowed to hug my own uncle?”
To say my face is turning beet red is putting it mildly. “Oh my God…”
Jessica studies my expression for a moment, then smiles and starts to laugh. She grabs my hand. “You thought… Uncle Will and I—”
“Please ask the pilot to make an emergency landing at the nearest hospital so I can have my foot surgically removed from my mouth.”
She slowly nods. “Yeah, I know what this is about. Frank told you to say something, didn’t he?”
“How’d you know?”
“He basically initiates new people into the campaign with a practical joke. I’ve seen some good ones but this takes the cake.” She looks around to make sure no one’s listening. “You gotta get even.”
“Oh, trust me, Jessica, I will. Payback will be a stone cold bitch.”
“And just so you know, we’re a really close family. Uncle Will is my mom’s brother, and when my dad passed away he helped raise me. He’s been like a father to me. I really don’t want to be a flight attendant but he only wants people he can trust on the plane.”
“That’s nice to hear. Anyway, I’m sorry this happened.”
“Nothing to apologize for. I’m used to it. Nothing is sacred on this campaign so it’s good preparation for the real world.”
“By the way, may I ask how old you are?”
“Twenty-five. Why?”
“You’re mature beyond your years.”
“Thank you. Oh, we’re about to take off, so you need to buckle up.”
“Sure thing.”
“And please let me know if I can help you get some revenge.”
I turn and head back to my seat staring daggers at Frank, while the rest of the passengers are biting their lips and doing their best not to laugh. “Okay, guys, you’ve had your fun.” Everyone bursts into laughter as I pass them and take my seat, then look at Frank. “I will get even.”
“I would expect nothing less.” He extends his hand. “Welcome to the campaign, Twitter Girl.”
Jessica’s voice comes over the intercom as the plane’s engines fire up. “Please fasten your seat belts as we’re about to take off. Once we’re at a cruising altitude I’ll be bringing coffee through the cabin. And I cannot guarantee what will be in it… Frank.”
Oh, I like this gal.
I sit back and melt into the soft leather seat and just as I’m about to flip my phone to airplane mode, it beeps with a text.
And as I read it, my blood runs cold.
@TwitterGirl
President Turner in NYC today. Over/under on gaffes is four. Bet the mortgage on the over.
“Cassidy. All is not as it seems. You’re still a reporter. Start digging.”
The text did not list a sender. In fact, when I hit reply button I saw something I’d never seen before.
Sender unknown.
This of course had made for a very stressful plane ride home.
After my blood pressure calmed down, I considered the possibilities. The text was from someone in another campaign. It was from a former employee of the Senator who had an ax to grind. Those were the most likely.
Or the worst possibility, it was someone who knew the truth. What that truth might be was anyone’s guess.
But when journalism gets in your blood, it’s as addictive as any drug. Tell a reporter there might be a story, and the reporter will always check it out, no matter how lame the tip might seem. The thought of another reporter getting a scoop because you didn’t bother to do a little legwork drives everyone in the news business. It’s not fear of failure, but fear of getting beaten.
My brother Sam, who is also a digital whiz, said the text was obviously from what is known as a “burner phone” which is disposable and therefore untraceable. He also thinks it’s from someone in another campaign, but wants me to keep my eyes open. Gotta love my brother, he’s always trying to protect me.
Between that text and the quick end to my dinner with Becker’s deputy campaign manager, my reporter radar is up. I’m going to start quietly poking around.
Is Will Becker all that he seems?
Inquiring minds wanna know.
***
Meanwhile, after the “Will Becker is off the table rollercoaster” I went through last week thanks to a combination of my own suspicions and Frank’s practical joke, Ripley and I are officially kicking off our own campaign to turn the Senator’s head by ignoring him. My best friend had been disappointed after hearing that he was spoken for, but she perked up when I told her that he was not in a relationship with his niece. (Of course, had they been from Arkansas, an actual uncle–niece romance would not have raised an eyebrow.)
Anyway, Ripley is dressed to the nines (as far as office attire is concerned) as I lead her into the Manhattan campaign headquarters for her first day as a “volunteer.” She removes her coat with a flourish and this brings every male in the room to a screeching halt. Jaws drop and eyes widen as they lock on her like a heat-seeking missile. The women who had simply glared at me give her the death stare. She follows me toward Becker’s office, sashaying in a form-fitting red dress that shows off her bikini-perfect body even though it has a high neck, long sleeves and a knee-length hemline. Cut-out shoulders offer a little tease of perfectly toned skin while four-inch matching stilettos complete the package. Her outfit is sort of a combination between conservative and slutty, which only Ripley can pull off. I’m thinking I wasted my head start. She has taken ignoring a man to a new level, as no red-blooded male could possible feel indifferent looking at her in that outfit.
Becker’s office door is open and he’s on the phone as we arrive. “Yeah, I think we have more work to do in New Hamp…(long pause) shire…”
Said long pause was caused as he looked up and saw Ripley. She flashes a smile at him as his eyes bug out and jaw drops.
Yep, I’ve seen it before. He’s been hit by the DeAngelo thunderbolt, which renders men momentarily speechless and unable to function, like some sexual Star Trek phaser set on stun.
I hear a voice on the other end of the phone. “Will? Will, are you still there?”
“Huh? Oh yeah,” he says, as he turns his attention back to the phone call. “I’ll get back to you this afternoon as soon as I run this by the staff. Talk to you then. Bye.” He tries to hang up the phone but misses the cradle.
I turn to Ripley and roll my eyes. She bats her lashes and smiles.
Round one to my best friend, no contest. A knockout by a knockout. The judges are unanimous.
Becker hangs up, moves around his desk toward us and extends his hand toward Ripley. “You must be Cassidy’s advertising friend I’ve heard so much about.”
She