THIS IS TINDER FOR NERDS
Reagan picked up on the first ring without even looking.
“Reagan, darling, it’s Birdie, and you will never believe where I am,” Birdie launched right in. She paused for dramatic effect, expecting Reagan to take a stab, apparently.
“Umm, I would guess the convention.” Reagan stifled a yawn. It was nearly eleven, but her rapidly growing bump—what was it now? The size of a cantaloupe? She had stopped reading those weekly baby emails—kept her awake. For some reason this pregnancy seemed harder than carrying the twins, but maybe it was just because she was also chasing after the girls while cooking up this new creature. She was fucking tired. And the evening’s Air Force Two drama had further exhausted her.
“Oh, darling, no one who’s anyone is even seen there until Tuesday night. My event isn’t till Wednesday. No.”
She sounded a little tipsy, but with Birdie it could be hard to tell.
“So! I am at the one and only Madison Goodfellow’s stunning pied-à-terre.”
Ohhh boy. Reagan felt nauseous—and not from the baby. She hadn’t spoken much about Ted to anyone. They had heard and seen his clip with Grant, which made the rounds, but they had all been respectful enough not to ask her about it and instead just let it run its course through the news cycle, passing like a kidney stone. Birdie had texted her simply: Ted has done us all a great public service. Jay had come over with a bottle of sparkling cider, feeling terrible that he’d slept through Reagan’s text that night of Ted’s arrest and feeling even worse that she couldn’t actually drink at a time like this.
“It must be beautiful there,” Reagan said, not sure where this was going.
“Of course it is, but I didn’t call to brag. What are you doing right now?”
“You know, typical Monday night rager.”
“Excellent, hop in a cab and come over.”
Reagan looked at the other end of the sofa: her mother snuggled in a blanket, snoring softly. She had come in from San Francisco the day before Ted left, ostensibly to help out while he was away at the convention. But really, Reagan suspected, her mother felt that the full iciness of her glares at Ted couldn’t be adequately communicated over FaceTime. Mama was not happy.
It was the last thing Reagan felt like doing. But the idea of Birdie and Madison potentially discussing her—and her family—while she wasn’t there proved a powerful motivator. She had to be there to defend Ted’s actions, to set things right. He wasn’t perfect, but he was passionate about his job, about this country, about Arnold’s vision. And though sometimes that kind of intensity could boil over, it came from a good place. “Sure,” Reagan said, trying her best to sound like she wasn’t heading into a firing squad.
The second they hung up, she called Jay.
“Ohmagod! Is Ted in jail again? I’m there!” Jay started in as soon as he picked up.
Reagan sighed. “No. Not this time. Put on something cute and be ready in twenty minutes. Details forthcoming.” She didn’t have time to answer all the inevitable questions. But she sure as hell wasn’t going in there alone.
She threw on a tank dress and flats, woke her mom gently. “You said I should have more fun, and the girls want to take me out for a late drink, nonalcoholic of course,” she said.
Mama gave her a look, eyebrow cocked, not entirely believing it. But then she nodded anyway, giving Reagan a kiss on the cheek and taking the baby monitor from the coffee table and setting it beside her.
On the way to Jay’s, Reagan called the Ritz and arranged to have two bottles of champagne and a plate of cookies for her and Jay to bring up. She was not arriving to this thing empty-handed.
Jay was waiting curbside and hopped in. “You are so mysterious lately,” he said.
“Birdie called. We’re going to Madison Goodfellow’s place.”
“Ohhhhgod,” Jay said. “For real?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What? How? I feel like some Real Housewives shit is gonna go down. In which case—” He threw his hands against the window, pretended to try to escape.
“We’ll see!” she said faux perkily. This had, obviously, occurred to Reagan. She certainly hoped she wasn’t facing a reality-TV-style ambush. Much as she enjoyed those shows, she didn’t want to be in one. But she trusted Birdie, felt that she wouldn’t lure her over there just to have Madison Goodfellow wipe the floor with her for Ted’s fisticuffs with that press secretary.
“If I’m your backup, you’re in trouble—that lady can work a fire baton like nobody’s business,” Jay joked.
* * *
The door to the penthouse opened: Madison, wearing the perfect casual separates, wide-legged embellished denim pants and a short-sleeve lacy top, which Reagan was fairly certain were both Chanel. Her photographic memory placed it in Vogue, a resort-wear pictorial, from her pre-Iowa-party reading frenzy.
Madison didn’t say a word, so Reagan introduced Jay and said, uncomfortably, “We come bearing gifts?”
The woman looked into Reagan’s eyes, expressionless for a long, painful moment, and Reagan braced herself, prepared to defend her husband despite his Neanderthal-like behavior that night. In the background, she could hear Birdie singing along to a Rocky Haze song.
Madison finally spoke. “I was just talking to Birdie about this terrible thing that happened and how I needed to talk to you. And she said she could just call you right now so we could get this out of the way.”
Reagan tensed up, preparing possible responses in her mind to what might come next. But before she could say anything, Madison nodded once and hugged Reagan, squeezing her tight in her strong, slender arms. When Madison let go, she still held Reagan’s hand in hers.
“I am so glad, so very glad, to meet you,” she said in her drawl. “And I am so sorry I didn’t send a car to take your husband home that night.”
“Excuse me?” Reagan said, confused.
Birdie came to the door, a small plate crowded with sushi. She nodded and pointed to Madison as if to say, Get a load of what this one’s about to lay on you.
Madison guided her inside, still holding her hand. “I was with Hank when he got the call from Mike,” Madison explained, “our press guy, about what had happened. So Mike says he ran into a man from the other campaign and thought it would be fun to get him all worked up. And he did and then got the man to hit him so he could tell the press how crazy the other campaign—the Arnold people—are.”
Reagan couldn’t believe what she was hearing, and who she was hearing it from. Ted still shouldn’t’ve taken the bait, but she felt for him now.
“I grabbed the phone from Hank, yelled at Mike—I never liked that guy.” Her drawl flared up now, her eyes teary. “I’m sure they all thought I was just madder than a wet hen, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t right, and it’s not right. A lot of the things Hank’s been doing and saying… I’ve had about enough. So I went over there and bailed him out, your husband. And I’m just so sorry about this all.”
The landline rang, and Birdie answered, making herself at home. “Cady Davenport is here?” she asked, pleasantly puzzled.
Reagan had forgotten to mention that. “Oh! I invited her,” she said. It had been selfish—not to mention a flagrant etiquette breach—but Reagan had wanted to have as many people as possible there on her side.
“She’s having kind of a rough night,” Jay came to the rescue, offering an explanation. “Her engagement is, like, over.”
Birdie shook her head knowingly. “Send her up.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you all brought more of this.” Madison grabbed one of the champagne bottles and a towel and set to work.
* * *
Madison answered the door and without a word gave Cady a bear hug. “They’re all terrible in their own way,” she said comfortingly.
Then came Birdie, champagne flute in hand. “Come, self-medicate, darling.” She handed Cady the drink and threw her arm around her. “Reagan filled us in. We’re all up to speed.”
Cady absorbed the scene. Reagan and Jay, deep in conversation while typing on their phones, sat perched on Madison’s sleek white sofa by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Rocky Haze music played; an impressive array of sushi was laid out on the kitchen island. Cady still couldn’t believe she had taken Reagan up on the offer and come over here straight from the train. She just couldn’t bear the thought of the apartment.
“Aww, sweetie, you look so pretty,” Jay said.
“This was supposed to be my ‘I’m-so-glad-you’re-alive look,’” she said, pained.
“Well, your heart was in the right place,” Jay said.
“A million guys would love to get a surprise convention booty call from you,” Reagan said with sweet sympathy.
“Just apparently not this fucker,” Birdie said. “But you do have options.”
“You know, when Hank did this, it was after Henry was born, and I was miserable,” Madison said, sipping her champagne, perched on the sofa arm. “I mean, we were high school sweethearts, college sweethearts, I loved that man. We split up and married other folks, this is all, you know, pretty much common knowledge by now, but we still loved each other, and when he divorced that gold digger that was his second wife, I set out to make him sooo jealous. It worked, because honestly, men are pretty easily manipulated when you set your mind to it. And then we got together again, and this time it worked.” She spoke in the open way of someone with a healthy amount of confidence but few female friends. “We’ve been going strong ever since.” She tilted her head back, draining her champagne. “Until now, I mean. But this time he’s just in love with power, which oughtta be an easier problem to fix than an affair, but who knows.”
“Wow,” Jay said softly, sitting on the edge of his seat.
“The question,” Birdie began, “is whether you want to stay or go and how you want to go about that.”
Cady could barely formulate a response. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Not here—” she gestured to the apartment, adding “—this is lovely.”
“Aww, thank you.” Madison squeezed her hand.
“But I mean, here, in this city. What am I doing? I’m thirty years old and my life is self-destructing. How did this happen to me? This isn’t how I…operate. I just, I don’t know.” She held her head in her hands, speaking as if the only one in the room.
“Listen.” Birdie knelt on the floor in front of her. “You can start over. Everything changes in this city every eight years, sometimes every four. Everything shakes up and rebuilds and starts over. So you can do it too.” She said it so easily, shrugging, as though it were no big deal at all, just something that needed to be done, like brunch on Sunday afternoons. “Now’s when we find out what kind of woman you are.”
Cady looked away a moment and then back at Birdie, holding back tears. “Maybe I don’t know who I am,” she whispered, defeated.
The others remained silent, not even breathing, it seemed. Madison smoothed Cady’s hair like she was a lap dog.
“Ugh. Please,” Birdie said, not having it. “Yes, you do. You did the minute you set foot on the set of that crappy show and turned the whole damn thing around. So just be that ballbuster in your personal life. Okay?” Birdie said, looking in Cady’s eyes.
Cady nodded, exhaled. They expected her to man up and seemed sure that she could move on, restitch her rapidly unraveling life. So she would have to, pure and simple.
“Okay then.” Birdie nodded too. Then continued, “So, onward—your options. Inciting jealousy is always a fine way to go, in my book. These two have been doing some oppo.” She gestured to Reagan and Jay.
“Oppo?” Cady asked, pulling herself together now.
“Opposition research,” Reagan clarified. “On Willa Sedgwick.”
“It appears that this was her debut on the The Hill’s Annual Hottest in DC list. She’s with a rag called Capitol Report,” Jay said, scrolling through his phone. “But she appears to be really a terrible reporter—a staggering number of corrections have been issued and the stories she does write, well, look like they may have been largely borrowed—”
Reagan coughed, “Plagiarized.” Cough.
“From other sources,” Jay continued.
Cady didn’t feel better though. “She’s not our problem,” she said. “The fact that he let this happen is our problem.”
“Very well. I admire that we’re not pointing fingers,” Birdie agreed, taking a different tack. “Drink, drink, and let’s look for our candidate, someone to inspire jealousy and also deliver some…instant gratification. That’s a win-win.” She grabbed the remote to Madison’s enormous TV and dimmed the lights as though they were about to screen a movie.
Madison served the cookies Reagan had brought—on a gold-rimmed platter that probably cost more than a month of Cady’s salary. She smiled as Cady took one.
“These also go well with silk scarves.” Madison winked at her.
Birdie clicked through the channels, reaching her destination: “Bingo,” she said. On-screen a panel of lawmakers sat behind microphones looking serious, while equally stone-faced staffers sat against the wall behind them.
“Are we seriously watching C-SPAN right now?” Jay asked quietly.
“We’re going to find Cady a rebound,” Birdie said, matter-of-fact. “We’re going to hit Jackson where it hurts—”
“All right, get him in the—” Jay started.
“Legislative branch,” Birdie said.
“Right,” Jay said under his breath. “Not where I was going but okay.”
“So this is C-SPAN?” Madison asked, watching excitedly.
“We just need a good hearing. Reagan, darling, what do you say?”
“I’m with you.” Reagan leaned in, considering. “What’s on C-SPAN 2 and 3? Let’s see the options.”
“‘House ways and means. Senate intelligence. POTUS immigration speech from the rose garden,’” Birdie read.
“Hank tried watching this once, months ago,” Madison said to Cady, sipping her champagne. “But he turned it off immediately. He said it was like soccer, not enough scoring. I didn’t mind it, but I just prefer shows with more women. Then I can relate better.”
Cady smiled. Madison wasn’t wrong on that last count.
“My gut tells me, Senate. It’s more intimidating since it isn’t Jackson’s world,” Reagan reasoned.
“Brilliant, and intelligence committee is sexy,” Birdie agreed, tuning in. “They know all the secrets. Okay. Cady, love, gather round. I’d like to draw your attention to that row of staffers sitting behind the senators.” She pointed. “They are young, passionate, smart. And, this is a small town. Between the four of us, we can probably get to any of them. Start browsing! This is just what you need—”
“This is Tinder for nerds,” Reagan said.
“This is Tinder for nerds, yes,” Birdie repeated.
Cady sighed. She wasn’t much in the mood. She would’ve been fine just drinking until she passed out, but she didn’t want to be a bad sport. “Okay, um—” she guzzled her glass of champagne, then looked again “—that guy. Blond. Seated behind—who is it?” She squinted to read the name placard. “Behind Senator Tallon.”
“Nice!” Jay said in approval.
“Yeah, yeah, we wrote a speech for Tallon once,” Reagan said, snapping her fingers, then called out like on a game show. “Bryce Smithson! Engaged. Sorry.”
“Figures,” Cady said, her glass magically refilled as Madison topped everyone off.
“Oooh, him!” Jay called out, pointing. “I know him.”
“Talking to McAfee?” Birdie asked of a brunette whispering in the senator’s ear. “Cute.”
“Matt Gorbanski!” Jay blurted. “Sky’s friend from school dated him. I think he’s single now.”
“On it,” Reagan said, focused on her phone.
“What about that one? He looks sweet and smart.” Madison pointed to a man with glasses, a serious expression, with a huge stack of papers in his arms. “He looks like he would be so nice.”
“Madison, darling, yes, but we can do better,” Birdie said gently. “This isn’t a charity hookup situation.”
“Cady isn’t a 501(c)(3),” Reagan joked.
“Cady is a gorgeous, whip-smart woman who just happened to have been wronged,” Birdie said, speaking as though Cady wasn’t actually in the room.
“No, oh, I know, I’m sorry.” Madison grabbed Cady’s hand. “I was just looking for someone real nice for you since it sounds like you haven’t had someone real nice.”
“You guys are great to do this, but maybe this isn’t the right time. Or…hearing,” Cady said, appreciating the effort. She was beginning to feel woozy.
“I wasn’t going to tell you this but that Willa hussy posted an Insta of her, Jackson and a couple other people next to Air Force Two,” Reagan said, waving her phone at Cady.
She grabbed Reagan’s hand, getting a closer look. It felt like another kick in the gut. “Is it getting hot in here, do those windows open?” Cady pushed the hand and phone away, tossed back her champagne, then curled up on the buttery leather sofa, fanning herself. She felt shaky again—and livid. “Fine, so what do we know about that Matt guy?” she asked.
“Might be in a relationship,” Jay said, scrolling on his phone.
“Let’s also check that ‘hottest list,’ just to be sure we’re covering all the bases,” Birdie said.
“On it,” Jay said.
“Does party affiliation matter?” Birdie asked.
“I don’t know, no,” Cady said, unsure.
“Good. You can kick this Carville-Matalin style, that’s sexy,” Reagan said.
“Ohhhkay,” Cady said, not sounding very optimistic.
“Wait, wait, wait.” Reagan hit the sofa, perking up. “You know who’s cute and used to be on the Hill? Emo guy, from the bar?!”
“Yesss!” Jay said.
“Emo guy?” Cady asked.
“Broken heart, broken arm, you know, the one who’s always talking about his feelings—”
“That’s cute,” Jay said, encouraging.
“What’s his name, Parker,” Reagan said. “And he’s super into you.”
“I think he’s just friendly,” Cady said.
“Good enough,” Birdie said, switching among the news networks, all rerunning footage from the convention.
“No, it’s more than friendly. I’m good at this stuff,” Reagan said.
“We can go there tomorrow night,” Jay proposed.
“If nothing else, stake your claim to that bar so Jackson doesn’t get it in the breakup.” Reagan shrugged.
“It did seem like a fun place,” Madison said. “Hank and I never go to places like that anymore. Reminded me of the greasy spoon we worked at in college.”
“Really? I can’t even picture that. You two,” Birdie said.
“I know. I keep telling you, the Hank out there now isn’t the guy I married.”
Cady was barely listening. “I’m suuuuper sleepy,” she yawned. She tried to sip the rest of her champagne—was it her third or fourth glass? Who could say? But she was still lying down and only half got in her mouth, the rest splashing onto Madison’s immaculate couch.
Birdie gasped “Roche Bobois!” and yanked Cady upright.
“Fuuuck, I’m sorry. Don’t know what’s with me tonight,” Cady slurred.
“It’s fine, sweetheart,” Madison said, hand on Cady’s shoulder. “You’ve had a night. And this’ll come right out.”
“This is some crazy champers,” Cady said, holding up her empty glass. She shook her head, but only very slowly. She never referred to champagne as “champers.” Her jaw felt slack like she’d been shot with Novocain. Her brain seemed to be working at normal speed but her body in slow motion. She tried to say, “Either my defenses are down and this is a psychosomatic response to the emotional annihilation of my day, or there’s something else going on here.” But to her ears all that came out was a low, moaning demon voice, “Psychooooemotionannnihilationnnnn.”
“Fuck! Birdie, what did you do?” Reagan asked, kneeling in front of a flopsy Cady. She could hear them, it was just taking some time to lift her head. She tried to give a thumbs-up.
“It’s just a little something I thought would be helpful. A pick-me-up. It’s like ecstasy but legal…ish, legal-ish. It was supposed to make her happy. Huh. CADY,” Birdie said loudly. “YOU’RE GOING TO FEEL AMAZING. VERY SOON.”
“I’m fiiiine,” Cady mumbled, face flat down against the sofa. “Justtiredbuthappy.”
“See?” Birdie said, vindicated.
* * *
By the time they put Cady in an Uber home, with many hugs and kisses, she had begun to feel a surge in energy. When she protested that she was fine, she could stay, they all packed her into the cab anyway. Jay and Reagan both fought to accompany her home but she wouldn’t allow it. “No, no, I’m fine,” Cady said, feeling at ease. So they waved goodbye from the curb, the party over. She felt her heart rev back up, a jolt coursing through her veins. She felt free—sloppy, as though she couldn’t totally control her limbs, which wanted to flail and dance to the music playing in the cab—but free. Her phone displayed a string of texts from Jackson that she refused to read and at least four missed calls.
She rolled down the window to let the warm night air whip through her hair.
“Sir!” she called to the driver, as though he were miles, not feet, away. “I have a crisp—” She went through her wallet, found only one twenty-dollar bill. It made her sick. “A Jackson, of course, that fucker.”
She tried again. “I’ve got twenty bucks extra if you take me somewhere else.”
Anxious to purge all Jacksons from her life, she flung the bill into the front seat with a flourish.
The cabdriver just looked over his shoulder, confused. “I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go, that’s my job. But I don’t need this, it all goes on your Uber account, you know? Are you new here?”
Of course, she still wasn’t quite thinking clearly. Well, Jay or Reagan, whoever had called the cab for her, would be paying. She would reimburse them whenever, but right now, she had more pressing matters. “Take it anyway, sir! You’re so nice and isn’t it just a magical night?!” Feeling winningly loopy, she gave him the new address.