Nic Tatano - Twitter Girl

“Why couldn’t we have gone to a Broadway show?” she asks. “At least there’d be heat.”

“You can go home if you like, I’ll tell him you weren’t feeling well.”

“Hell no, dear friend. I’ll freeze my ass off for a shot at Becker’s.”

“Thought so. We’ll get you some hot chocolate when we get to our seats.”

“I think I’ll need a stronger antifreeze,” she says, pulling her suede coat tighter around her. “Couple of dirty martinis should warm me up.”

I stop and turn to face her. “Oh, would you like some paté to go with it?”

“Great idea—”

“You’re at a friggin’ football game in New Jersey! You can have a hot dog and a beer!”

She face tightens. “Really? There’s no place serving hot hors d’oeurves?”

I roll my eyes and continue toward our section, which is around the forty yard line. I pull the tickets out of my pocket and see we’re both in odd numbered seats. “Hey, we’re not sitting together. We’ve got seats nine and eleven.”

She shoves her hands in her pockets and adjusts her hat. “Let’s just get there.”

We turn into the tunnel and I hand my tickets to an usher who points to our row. We head down the steps and I see the seat between nine and eleven is occupied.

By the Senator.

I stop, grab Ripley’s arm and lean over to whisper in her ear. “Becker’s sitting between us.”

“Really? Hmmm, interesting. You think he planned it or that’s just the tickets we got?”

“Guess we’ll find out.”

“Maybe he wants a three-way with the hottest members of his staff.”

“Yeah, that will get him elected.”

We head down the steps to our row. The Senator spots us as we arrive and stands up. “Hey, you made it. Hope it wasn’t too much of a hassle getting here.”

“Nah, no big deal,” I say, as I slide past him and grab seat number nine as Ripley plops down in number eleven. I turn to face Becker and take in his outfit. Jeans, Giants ski jacket, stocking cap, wire-rimmed glasses. “You dress down really well.”

“I can blend when I have to. If I sat in a private box people would bend my ear for three hours and I’d never get to watch the game.”

“I never would have recognized you,” says Ripley.

“By the way, we’ll have a limo to get you guys home.”

We’re interrupted by two new arrivals, Andrew and another hot guy I haven’t seen. Ripley hasn’t met either one, and when she looks at me I gather by her “tell” (according to my brother) that she’s not at all disappointed by the runner-ups.

The Senator introduces them. The new contestant in hot guy roulette is a political consultant named Vinnie Franco and looks as Italian as his name. Tall with black hair, deep-set dark brown eyes, a rugged face. One of those guys with a heavy beard who always looks like he has a five o’clock shadow. The jury’s out on the rest of him until I see what’s under the goose down parka. Vinnie grabs the seat next to Ripley while Andrew slides by and sits next to me.

This is one helluva hot guy sandwich for two gals from Staten Island.

Ripley no longer looks cold.

***

The Giants are up by ten as we get close to halftime. I don’t think Ripley’s watched one single play (not that I expected her to) as she’s bounced her conversation between Becker and Vinnie. She’s also managed to hide her lack of football knowledge by jumping up and cheering whenever everyone else does. I’ve been talking football with the Senator and Andrew as the game hits the two minute warning.

“Okay,” says Becker, eyes riveted on the field, “if they can just avoid a mistake in the last two minutes.” He’s obviously a true fan as he hasn’t mentioned politics once.

“Wow, the game is going fast,” says Ripley.

“Not too much passing in this wind,” says Vinnie. “Ground game eats up the clock.”

“True,” says Ripley. She looks at me and shrugs.

I give her an eye roll and she shoots back a Cheshire cat grin. She’s actually pulling it off. As we say in television news, if you can fake sincerity you’ve got it made.

“Oh, we’re going out to eat after the game,” says Becker. “A friend of mine has a restaurant with a private back room. Hope you girls like Italian.”

“Who doesn’t?” I say.

“Cassidy, you want a snack during halftime?” asks Andrew.

“Hey, I’m a growing girl. I’ll have whatever you’re having. Long as it’s something hot.”

The Giants are stuck deep in their own territory as the game resumes and decide to run out the clock for the first half with three straight runs. The gun sounds and the crowd cheers as they head into the locker room with a ten point lead.

And then Ripley blows her cover as she jumps up and yells, “Yay, they won!”

The guys start laughing and I’m biting my lip. “Ripley, it’s just halftime,” says Vinnie.

She sits down. “Oh, right. I knew that.”

But the men aren’t buying it.

“Ripley,” says Becker, turning to face her as he tries to hold back a grin. “Look at me.”

She turns to face him and smiles.

“Who are the Giants playing? And don’t look at the scoreboard.” He puts up his hand to block her view.

Her smile slowly fades. “They’re… obviously playing a team that isn’t worth a damn.”

“Who are they playing? Name the team.”

“Thuuhhhhhh… Red Sox?”

We all double over in laughter as her face turns red. “Sweetie, the Red Sox play baseball,” I say.

“Oh.”

“You’ve never watched a football game?” asks Becker.

She thrusts out her lower lip in a pout and extends her arms like she’s waiting to be handcuffed. “Guilty as charged.” (Of course, when she uses this bad little girl look it turns men into quivering globs of flesh.)

“Not a problem,” says Becker, now smiling at her, obviously charmed by this.

Another eye roll from me.

“Thought I’d try something new and get to know everyone a little better,” she says, doing some damage control. (The girl is in advertising, after all.)

“I think this might be a good time for a trip to the ladies room,” I say as I squeeze by Becker, grab Ripley’s hand and lead her up the stairs. When we’re out of earshot I stop and turn to face her. “I thought you were gonna read that book?”

“I did, but it was confusing. I mean, a fly pattern is in a Simplicity catalog, what’s it doing in football?”

“What’s even more bizarre is the guys think it’s so cute.”

“Part of my charm, as you like to say.”

***

Ten minutes later we return to our seats and find two of the guys have played musical chairs. Andrew and Vinnie have switched seats.

“Excuse me, Sir, may I see your ticket stub,” I say to Vinnie as I sit down.

“Hey, not fair for Andrew to hog you the whole game. Besides, he needed to get to know Ripley and I wanted to spend some time with you.” He locks those dark eyes with me and my heart flutters.

Day-umm.

I glance over at Ripley and she’s beaming. And after being her best friend for so long, I know what she’s thinking.

Can this get any better?

And after the game, it does.

***

We’re in good spirits after the Giants win, and need some real spirits because we’re all frozen. A limo is waiting outside the stadium, exhaust coming out of the tailpipe and a chauffeur standing by the door. He smiles and holds the door as Ripley and I quickly get inside. We take seats on opposite sides as the guys slide in next to us. Thankfully the thing is toasty warm with the heat blowing full blast and we both whip off our gloves and hold our hands next to the vents while I eye the fully stocked bar. Becker and Andrew are on my side with the Senator next to me while Vinnie grabs a seat next to Ripley.