Chapter 32 The Gay Team #2
Garland had continued, “Now think about how galling it would be for them to rehire Debbie. Her very presence would be a daily reminder to everyone—students, staff, and faculty—that the administration is just a bunch of middle-aged white guys lording their power over everyone else.”
“That’s it?” Bradley had asked. “Where’s the Justice in that? No money for Debbie’s pain and suffering?”
“There are two kinds of Justice,” Garland had said.
“The legal kind requires that a crime be committed. And if there’s a conviction, someone goes to jail.
Firing an at-will employee is not a crime.
And even if it were and even if the dean went to jail, Debbie wouldn’t get her job back.
That’s not how it works. Lucky for us there’s the kind of Justice you get from the court of public opinion.
We can win that battle, force MCU to rescind Debbie’s termination, and feed them a turd sandwich on the side. ”
Bradley had crossed his arms. “Seems to me Debbie will be the one eating a turd sandwich.”
Garland and Bradley had started squawking.
Then Nicholas had joined the fracas.
Matt had raised his hand. Sat there waiting, until things finally quieted down and everyone looked at him.
“I can’t speak for Debbie,” he had said. “But I would be surprised if she gives a damn about Justice or collecting any damages or making anyone eat turd sandwiches. She doesn’t like the limelight—even though she dresses like she does.”
No one had laughed because only Matt really knew Debbie. Nicholas hadn’t spoken to her for thirteen years. Bradley’s connection to her was even more tenuous. Garland’s was nonexistent.
“I think Debbie just wants her job back,” Matt had said.
Garland had nodded. “She’s the client. At least, she will be, if she so chooses.”
“Fine,” Bradley had said. “Let’s assume she’s your client. What are you going to do?”
“We,” Garland had said. “What are ‘we’ going to do. Every one of us will have to pitch in. But the most important person in this room is Nicholas. The media is his area of expertise. And, if we’re going to win in the court of public opinion, we’ll need his help.”
Nicholas had smiled thoughtfully. “First things first. Can anyone tell me what a news cycle is? Anyone other than Bradley, that is.”
Bradley had groaned. “Heard all about it for years. Got the t-shirt.”
“Go ahead and fill us in,” Garland had said to Nicholas.
Nicholas had then explained that a news cycle was 24 hours max, that even if they got a compelling human interest segment on that evening’s local news, it would be stale by the next evening.
That MCU would not reverse course over one day’s bad press.
That their little group needed to map out at least a 10-day campaign with fresh angles for each news cycle.
Nicholas had said he would do his best to guide things behind the scenes. He felt certain he could manage two days of coverage. Anything beyond that would only come if the story captured the public’s attention.
Vince toasted Matt. “Here’s to you! I don’t know how you pulled it off, but that was amazing, turning that local story into national news!”
“It wasn’t just me,” Matt said. “There was a team of us. A lawyer and a media guy, for starters. All of us gay. So, we were more than the ‘A-Team.’ We were the ‘Gay Team.’”
Vince chuckled. “I might be able to work that ‘Gay Team’ gag into my act.”
Matt shrugged. “Or you could have that ‘Gay Team’ on your side. What would you say if I told you we could do for you what we did for Debbie?”
Vince just laughed. “Nobody’s gonna give a shit if a part-time drag queen gets fired! Least of all Katie Couric.”
Matt shook his head. “What I mean is, what if I had a plan that would get you national press? Huge national press. A story that would catch the attention of important people in New York or Los Angeles? The kind of people who could get you on the Tonight Show or The Late Show with David Letterman?”
Vince eyed Matt skeptically.
“You told me that was what you wanted,” Matt said. “The night we flip-fucked in this hotel. Remember? You said you wanted to be the next Dame Edna. Do you still?”
Vince nodded. “Okay, I’ll bite. What’s this story that will make me a star?”
Matt took the Solo cup and poured in a half shot, tossed it back. “First, I need to tell you about a cockroach named Colton Langley…”
Matt gave Vince the highlight reel of Colton’s reign of terror: Adam’s near suicide. Trying to get Paul expelled. Debbie’s firing…
Then, Matt explained his plan… Bella Bottoms would have the starring role in the scandal that would take down Colton and end his political dreams. The headlines would practically write themselves, involving, as they did, a U.S.
Senator, a drag queen, Midwest Christian University, and Colton Langley: poster boy for wholesome heterosexuality.
Bella—or another drag queen, if Bella didn’t step up—would almost certainly make the talk show circuit, milking the story for weeks. If that didn’t open up career possibilities, nothing would.
“A lot of things could go wrong with your plan,” Vince said. “For starters, I could go to jail. I’d almost certainly get roughed up by Oklahoma City’s finest.”
Matt nodded. Both of those were real possibilities, and he wasn’t going to minimize them. “A lot of things could also go spectacularly right. Only you can decide if it is worth the risk.”
Vince went silent, turned his attention to the vanity mirror, and touched up some eyeliner.
Matt waited him out, letting Bryant Gumbel and Katie Couric make his case.
Day 1 had involved a human-interest story about the lady who got fired by MCU just days before Christmas.
No mention was made of the reason for the termination.
Just a brief interview with Debbie and her spokesman, Garland Stone-Dancer.
Debbie’s modest Christmas tree twinkled in the background. Cleopatra napped on her lap.
Garland had talked about the true meaning of Christmas, Goodwill, Peace on Earth, the whole bit—wondering aloud about the heartlessness of Debbie’s firing. It was an intentionally soft opening salvo, one that wouldn’t have been aired were it not for the efforts of a certain assistant producer.
MCU had no comment, as had been expected. They were following their standard playbook.
Day 2 had added the “breaking news” that MCU’s reason for terminating Debbie’s employment was a 14-year-old divorce. Excerpts from the termination letter filled the screen. (Debbie’s married surname—Covington—had been blotted by Garland out of “privacy concerns.”)
MCU, again, had no comment.
The story had grown legs. By the next morning, people at cafes across the state sipped their coffee and wondered aloud at what that college (seldom a good word in such settings) was hiding. Something smelled fishy and it wasn’t the biscuits and gravy on their plates.
Debbie’s firing had been the topic of a short rant by a local talk radio host.
Day 3 had introduced the viewers to “Mom Debbie.” Several soccer players were interviewed, including Idabel (real name Tony), Roger (the “fag”-slinging asshole with whom Matt had tousled), and Caleb (he of Kraken fame, who had no idea the GM fantasized about his dick).
They explained how the season had started out badly with two losses in a row.
Morale had been “in the crapper,” Idabel said, then asked the reporter if that was okay to say on TV. He then rephrased it. Morale was “in the commode.” Was that better?
The story had continued, as related in snippets from Roger and Caleb. Debbie started as an unofficial cheerleader, then morphed into Den Mother. They talked about the parties she had hosted, how morale changed, and the team ended with a winning season.
Cue Debbie and Garland, seated on Debbie’s couch, cats beside them, listening as the reporter had relayed that the players called her “Mom Debbie.”
Debbie had sniffed and worried aloud about crying on TV and looking like Phylis Diller. (She wasn’t acting, had no clue, in fact, of Nicholas’ involvement, or of the broader media plan. To her, the story was unfolding organically, hence her modesty at all the attention.)
Garland had then produced the Trespass Notice. Midwest Christian University was threatening to arrest ‘Mom Debbie’ for trespassing if she even attended a soccer game to support the team.
MCU had no comment, perhaps because they were busy chewing that turd sandwich.
The next morning’s Daily Oklahoman had included a letter to the editor from an fCOC pastor in Weleetka:
“I see those NIMRODS running MCU are as thick-headed as they were when I was a student! Anyone who reads the Bible knows that a divorced man cannot serve as a pastor or an elder in the church. That’s as far as it goes.
I’m ashamed, and I think Jesus is too, that my alma mater fired this lady registrar just for being divorced. ”
Day 4 had played out as a spontaneous outpouring of public support for Debbie’s cause.
A local Chevy dealership had contacted Nicholas’s TV station with news that they wanted to give Debbie a new car.
A camera crew and reporter had been dispatched to Debbie’s house to capture the moment the dealership’s general manager—wearing a Team Debbie t-shirt—handed her the keys to a Chevy Malibu.
The manager had explained to the reporter that he was just doing his Christian duty, and if anyone else wanted a t-shirt, just come by the dealership and he’d give them one for free.
Just walk in the door, ask for a t-shirt, get it, and leave—if you wanted.
Or stick around and test drive a new Chevy.
Debbie had squealed in genuine surprise at sight of the Malibu.
She had been completely unaware of the Gay Team’s behind-the-scenes machinations.
She had hugged the manager. Cried. Hugged him again.
It had made for great television AND got the dealership more goodwill than any paid commercial would have done.
Plus, they later reported they had given away almost 1,000 t-shirts.
The whole thing—from the car to the t-shirts had been anything but spontaneous and anything but free.
Bradley, Nicholas’s partner, who carried his own guilt for the breakup of Debbie’s marriage, had negotiated with the dealership that he would pay half the car’s purchase price and supply the t-shirts, and the dealership could take all the credit.
Nicholas had ensured that the story aired.
Day 5 had cranked up the heat on MCU. Garland had called a press conference to announce his “shocking findings.” Background checks into the 11 members of MCU’s Board of Trustees revealed that one of them had a long-ago divorce of his own.
A reporter from Nicholas’ station had asked the obvious question. “Why is it acceptable that a trustee could be divorced, but a registrar gets fired for it?”
MCU had responded to the furor with their usual tone-deafness. They had shoved some poor dope in front of a camera to announce that the divorced trustee had just resigned his position due to unrelated concerns. As if that fixed anything.
Team Debbie t-shirts had been spotted across the metropolitan Oklahoma City area. One bank had changed its programmable message board, adding “Team Debbie” to the time and temperature.
Two more letters to the editor had appeared in the Daily Oklahoman.
Day 6 had been the turning point Nicholas had hoped for.
Until then the story had been local, which might still have been enough to cause MCU to capitulate.
But when Don Imus interviewed Debbie and Garland on his Imus in the Morning syndicated radio show, well, as Garland later put it, they were “shitting in tall cotton now.” Imus’ listening audience was in the millions.
It was only a hop, skip, and a jump from there to the Today show with Katie Couric and Bryant Gumbel.
By Day 8 MCU had caved. Garland negotiated Debbie’s rehire, back pay retroactive to December 13th, and $10,000.
Debbie donated $5,000 to a cat rescue organization and $5,000 to a women’s shelter.
Garland did not charge for his services. As he had explained to the Gay Team when they had met for the first time, he hoped the publicity would bring him new clients.
MCU had released a press statement that Debbie’s firing had been a clerical error. No comment was made to the question of why it had taken 7 days and Katie Couric before that error had been corrected.
Vince turned to Matt. “If I did commit to this scheme of yours, when would it happen?”
“Friday, March 22nd,” Matt said. He had memorized the date. He had only twelve weeks to iron out the details. He would need every minute.
Vince fished a planner from a bag on the floor. Thumbed through it. “I’m free on that date. I’ll pencil you in as a ‘maybe.’ I’m not ready to fully commit. For starters, I can think of three conditions.”
Matt tried to hide his excitement. He had prepared himself for a hard “No.” “What’s the first one?”
Vince eyed the vodka but didn’t reach for it.
“For this story to help my career, there must be a killer photo, the whole ‘picture is worth a thousand words’ thing. This will be a highly dynamic situation, with all of us in motion. There won’t be posing.
No one’s going to say ‘Cheese.’ There’s going to be 20…
, 30 seconds tops where this Colton guy and I are in the same frame.
In poor lighting. I need to know that you’ve got a quality photographer, not some amateur with his Polaroid. ”
“First condition: good photographer,” Matt repeated. “Already got one. She’s great.” He was thinking of Molly, obviously. He hadn’t talked to her about this yet, but surely, she would jump at the opportunity.
“I’m serious,” Vince said. “I want to see the camera and lenses. I want to see examples of this person’s work before I commit.”
“Got it. Second condition?”
“Hold on.” Vince poured himself a splash of vodka, tossed it back.
“The second condition is related to the photographer as well. If the photo is as good as I’m hoping, it will be valuable.
Any decent photographer will copyright that thing.
That’s fine. But I also need to be able to use the photo for publicity. See where this is heading?”
Matt shook his head.
“I’m going to need a license allowing me to use the photo for at least 3-5 years,” Vince said. “You’ll need a lawyer for that.”
“Lawyer. Got a good one already,” Matt said. “I’ll get back with you on the license, copyright thing. What’s the third condition?”