Twitter Girl. Nic Tatano

      I post the tweet and watch the LOL and ROFL responses fly by at blinding speed.

      “See, they love that kind of stuff,” says Frank. “And regardless of who people are supporting, you’ve said something they all can appreciate.”

      The moderator pulls an index card from a stack and says, “So, let’s begin the first debate on the road to the 2010 election.” Snickers fill the room and Jones doesn’t react, clueless that he hasn’t changed refrigerator calendars in awhile.

      “Good God, he doesn’t even know what year it is,” says Frank. He points at the laptop. “Hit him again.”

       #IowaDebates

       @TwitterGirl

       Re: Jarvis Jones death in 2011. I rest my case.

      “Damn, you’re quick,” says Frank, wearing a big smile. Again, the responses fly by, and within seconds someone has created a new hashtag:

       #RIPJarvisJones.

      “Jump on it,” says Frank. I start typing again.

       #RIPJarvisJones

       @TwitterGirl

       In lieu of flowers, mourners are asked to donate a personality to the Public Broadcasting System.

      “You think he’ll be upset?” I ask.

      “You really think he even knows what Twitter is?”

      “Good point.”

      ***

      The debate begins, with six other challengers flanking Becker, who, as the front-runner in the polls, is at the center podium. Nothing “tweet worthy” happens as the first four candidates answer a question about foreign aid. But then we come to Marvin Hensler, a sixty year old extreme whack job with an extreme following. The walking definition of “lunatic fringe.”

      “Stand by,” says Frank. “He’s bound to say something stupid.”

      Hensler, a wealthy private citizen who made his millions the old fashioned way (by inheriting it), has the classic look of a good ole boy politician; bloated, bulbous nose, grey hair styled in a helmet. He starts off rambling about cutting foreign aid completely. “If third world countries like England can’t get by without help, well, that’s not America’s problem.”

      “Go!” says Frank.

       @TwitterGirl #IowaDebates

       Please give to the United Kingdom indoor plumbing fund, Hensler has designated the UK as a third world country.

      “You’re on a roll tonight,” says Frank.

      “Honey, I’m just gettin’ started.

      ***

      The phone rings just as I hit my hotel room at midnight. I’m tired but exhilarated, and when I see it’s Ripley I take the call. “You’ve reached Twitter Girl. For sarcasm, press one—”

      Beep. “Damn, Cassidy, you were hilarious tonight.”

      “I guess a few days off from being snarky will pay dividends.”

      “It must have built up while you were out of a job. God, that tweet about the moderator… I couldn’t stop laughing.”

      “Well, the campaign people were very pleased.”

      “Okay, enough about your new job. You turned Becker’s head yet?”

      “It might already be spoken for.”

      “You’re kidding me! Say it aint so! Who is it?”

      “The drop dead gorgeous twenty year old flight attendant on our plane. She disappeared into his office for twenty minutes then came out needing lip gloss. Don’t think she was inflating his life jacket for use as a flotation device.”

      “Well, shit, Cassidy. So I’m out before I even get there.”

      “I wouldn’t say that. There’s a huge age difference between her and the Senator. What could they have in common?”

      “Duh-uh. You’re seriously asking what might attract a middle-aged guy to a hot younger woman? Earth to Cassidy…”

      “Sorry, it’s late. But anyway—”

      “You said something in your text about runner-ups?”

      “No shortage of seriously attractive guys in this campaign. Between the adorable strategy guy in New York, the hunky advance man and the hotties on the plane, it’s like a cute guy buffet.”

      “Okay, see you when you get back. At least now I know who the competition for Becker is. I’ll have to go to DEFCON 1.”

      And where Ripley is concerned, that means seriously dressing up for her volunteer job. Her “A” game will turn mine into an “F”.

      ***

      I’m already buckled in for the flight home and watching through the window as the Senator gives a last minute interview on the tarmac to a TV crew with Frank standing at his side. Becker wraps it up and shakes hands with the reporter and photographer before heading toward the plane. Frank enters first and walks toward the seat next to me.

      But I’m laser locked on the front of the cabin. Senator Becker steps into the center aisle and hands Jessica his coat. She hangs it up, turns around and gives him a big hug.

      He hugs her back with a big smile on his face, then kisses her on the cheek as Frank plops down next to me.

      “They’re not terribly discreet, are they?” he says, shaking his head as he stares at them. “Someone should say something.”

      “No kidding.” I’m still looking at the front of the plane where they’ve broken the embrace but Becker is now holding her hands. “Frank, I realize I’m new and this is probably not my place to say this, but don’t you think you should be the one to do something about it?”

      “Yeah, I know.”

      “I mean, it’s only a matter of time before we have reporters on the plane and they see it. Aren’t you worried about his image? How old is she?”

      “Nineteen.”

      “Good God, Frank, people can’t see the next President running around with a teenager.”

      “What can I say, he likes ’em young.” Frank leans over and lowers his voice as the Senator heads toward the back of the plane. “No one’s had the guts to talk to him about it. Including me.”

      Becker smiles at me as he passes. “Great job last night, Cassidy.”

      “Thank you, Senator,” I say. He opens the door behind me and disappears into the meeting room. (Or should we call it the multi-purpose room?)

      “You know,” says Frank, “I think we’d all consider it a personal favor if you’d say something.”

      “Me? Are you out of your mind? I’m not going to tell the Senator he’s looking like a cradle robber. I hardly know the guy.”

      “I meant say something to her. Maybe coming from a woman she doesn’t really know it might sink in. Go on, you’re not shy about saying anything. Go talk to her.”

      I’m not wild about the idea, but I know how reporters think. And if a member of the media sees that kind of behavior with a woman that young, Becker is done. Besides, we need to keep the dream alive for American women that he’s available. I get up and walk toward Jessica, who is busy locking things away for takeoff.

      She turns to face me and smiles. “If you want something to drink, I’ll bring it to you as soon