“C’mon, Frank. He’s never had a scandal and just got named to a certain magazine’s most beautiful people issue. Can’t say I disagree with their judges.”
His face turns serious for a moment. “Still, there are plenty of wild cards in the deck you can’t anticipate in politics. A lot of people still might feel funny electing a President who’s single.”
“Yeah, but he’s a widower. He didn’t get divorced. Big difference. The man can’t help it if his wife got sick and died. And plenty of women would want to vote for the country’s most eligible bachelor. Or date him. Think about it, you go from dinner and a movie to First Lady. It’s the American version of marrying a prince. The only thing we don’t have is Buckingham Palace.”
He smiles and nods. “So, you get that part, huh?”
“I’m a single woman, he’s unattached, and, no offense, the man is smoking hot. Hell yeah, I get it.”
I almost regret saying that but Frank laughs as he reaches for his water. “You’re certainly not subtle.”
“Hey, you want Twitter Girl, this is what you get.”
“Good, because that’s the attitude we want. But Becker doesn’t need a girlfriend right now. He needs a Vice President of snark. Help get him elected and then you can take your best shot at the Lincoln Bedroom.”
***
One hour, two beers and a killer cheeseburger later, I’m seriously intrigued. Frank has laid the cards on the table and they’re all aces.
“There is, however, a catch,” says Frank, as he leans forward.
“Ah, I thought this was too good to be true. What’s the catch? I gotta pay for my own lunch today?”
“Cassidy, the campaign is a long, exhausting road. Even though our main campaign headquarters will be in Manhattan you’ll be away from home a lot, sometimes for a week at a time. From now till November.”
I shrug. “I figured as much. What’s the big deal?”
“I say that because… I, uh… read about what happened with your brother. We didn’t know if you could be away or if… you know. You needed to be here in town all the time.”
I lean back. “Nah, Sam is more self-sufficient than I am. He drives, has a good job. He’s an advertising copywriter. Does all the cooking, grocery shopping. The network already sends me out of town a lot. Or at least they did. Sam is fine when he’s by himself. Honestly, I don’t even notice the wheelchair anymore. He sure doesn’t.”
“Oh, I just thought since you two shared a home.”
“I was twenty-five when my parents died in the accident and Sam became unable to walk. He was fifteen. He needed a legal guardian and extensive rehab so I moved back home. My boss was very understanding and gave me a leave of absence. But he doesn’t need my help anymore for physical stuff. And he’s got some girls he hangs out with if he misses female companionship.”
“That’s good to hear. So, you never wanted a place of your own after he got better?”
“I originally thought I would but the accident made us incredibly close. Before we were always on different wavelengths because of the ten year age difference. We don’t even look alike, except for the green eyes. He got my mom’s black hair and I got the red hair and freckles. But Sam’s like an extra best friend and I wouldn’t want to have any other roommate. Until I meet Mister Right, that is.”
“It’s great that you have such a good relationship with your brother. My sister is the devil’s spawn. I think if you shaved her head you’d find three sixes.”
I laugh, already on the same sarcastic wavelength with Frank. “It’s funny, but originally I moved back home because he needed me. Now I can’t leave because I need him.”
“How so?”
“It not just that he’s my emotional rock and in some ways older than me. Sam’s got a built in bullshit detector. He meets the guys who come to pick me up on dates. Let’s just say he’s saved me from a lot of heartache. The man is an incredibly accurate judge of character.”
“I see.”
“And Sam’s my hero. He went through a whole bunch of surgeries and I know he’s occasionally in a lot of pain, but he never complains and hasn’t let his situation hold him back. I admire him more than anyone I know.”
“That’s nice.” Frank smiles and takes a sip of his beer. “Cassidy, one more thing. I know this is another personal question, and I apologize for asking, but a Presidential campaign is unique. We need your total commitment, so would this job cause any problems with a relationship?”
“It might if I had one. My boyfriend left skid marks last night. Apparently an attorney cannot have a girlfriend who has attained national redhead bitch status.”
“My, how supportive.”
“He shoulda just broken up with me on Twitter. I’m thinking of writing a book. Dumping your significant other in 140 characters or less.”
“Was this a serious relationship?”
“I thought it was. You would think a lawyer would have a set of brass ones and stand up for his girl. But I got even. The coward forgot he’d left a whole bunch of legal documents at my house for some cases he was working on. It made wonderful kindling for the Yule log.”
“I’d better not get on your bad side. Sounds like you’re not exactly broken up over it.”
“Hey, better I find out now than when I’m walking down the aisle. Sam had warned me about him and turned out to be right again. Anyway, that catch of yours is no problem. I am unattached and not ready for another relationship, even if it was Will Becker.” (Yes, my fingers are crossed behind my back. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. I lied through my teeth while thinking about having sex with my new boss.)
He nods and smiles.
C’mon, we’ve gotten all the details out of the way. Get to the good part. How much?
“You seriously want to pay me just to be sarcastic? Travel with the campaign and play on Twitter? That’s all?”
He nods. “That’s all. And we’re prepared to pay you fifty percent more than you were making at the network.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulls out an envelope and slides it across the table.
I open it, take out a small sheet of paper and my eyes bug out at the figure, which is exactly fifty percent more than I was making. “How the hell did you know what my salary was?”
He cocks his head to the side. “Really, Cassidy? I do work in politics. Your tax dollars at work. By the way, your return shows you’re very generous with your charitable dollars.”
“Right, I forgot Big Brother knows all.” I pick up the ketchup bottle and look underneath it.
“Problem?”
“Just checking to make sure the condiments aren’t bugged.” I look at the slip of paper again, knowing this is the only lifeline I’m about to be thrown and someone actually wants to pay me a ton of money to be, well, my snarky self online. I can work for Will Becker. I agree on some of his issues and don’t on others, but I wouldn’t have a problem if he were President. I like him better than the current reptilian occupant of the White House. And, of course, there’s that little thing about him eventually needing a First Lady and perhaps he might like a skinny, spunky redhead for that position. “Okay.”
“That mean you’ll do it?”
“Yep. But I don’t want to be VP of Snark. I want to be the CEO.”
“Done.” We shake and I pull out my cell.
“Calling