22
I set the women’s luncheon for two weeks later. Stuart wanted to go in guns blazing and hold it immediately to prove me wrong, but I needed time both to gather women who would be amenable to listening to him (and moreover to voting) and to help him write a speech that would actually send them to the polls in a few months.
For the former, I recruited my mother, who proudly marched to the polls in November of 1942 to cast her first vote for my father and continued to do so every two years until he retired. She had voted for Sam six years earlier, but I doubted she would again at this rate.
She listened more or less attentively, puffing away on her cigarette as I explained my plan.
“What’s in it for the women?” she asked eventually. “Your father was an easy choice—I had to live with him, and I’d have never heard the end of it if he lost by one vote. Women who aren’t married to a politician need a reason to vote.”
That was the issue, wasn’t it? Michael wouldn’t promise the moon if he knew he couldn’t deliver it—though Kennedy was promising the literal moon.
I had voted for Sam entirely because Larry believed in him. But that was akin to my mother’s reasoning, not a real reason to vote.
“We need to explain to women how politics affect them,” I said, thinking aloud. I reached instinctively for my mother’s cigarette and took a pull before handing it back to her. “Sam wants the status quo. He doesn’t want things to change.”
“And your man does?”
I nodded slowly. “I think so. He wouldn’t have given me a chance as anything but a secretary if he didn’t. And that’s most of the work women can do these days. Teacher, secretary, or wife.”
“And what about the men who won’t want women taking their jobs? You were a kid when the war ended, but—”
“I remember Papa talking about it,” I said, mentally transported back to my parents’ dining room table as my father explained how women had stepped up, becoming Rosie the Riveter, until the men returned and wanted their jobs back. “Not every woman wants to work outside the home though,” I said, reaching for her cigarette again. I thought about Nancy, who could outearn Arnie if given half a chance. And about Larry’s derisive laughter over the idea that I could run a winning campaign.
“You’re talking about opportunity, not necessity,” she said, plucking the cigarette from my fingers. “Either light your own or stop smoking mine since you’re so sanctimonious about me smoking around the kids.”
“Opportunity,” I repeated, ignoring her jab about the cigarette. “But it’s about more than just working. I should be able to have my own charge card. My own accounts. You gave us the money for the down payment on this house—why does it belong to Larry and not me?” I was listed on the deed, but as my lawyer had explained to me, I wasn’t legally allowed to buy Larry out, as property couldn’t be transferred to me. If I wanted my own house, I would have to sell this one with Larry’s consent and buy my own, with my father as a cosigner.
“That benefits single and divorced women more than married women. I’m not sure the club is the right audience.”
I shook my head and reached for her cigarette, but she held it out of my reach, and I sighed, pulling a fresh one from the pack on the table, holding it to my lips and lighting it. “They should be. No one’s marriage is safe. Look at you.”
“I don’t need my own charge card. I want your father to see exactly how much I’m spending without him. Besides, most of that money came from me.”
“Mama, that’s petty. You need to talk to him.”
“I talked to him for thirty years, and he never heard me. I’m done talking. All those years of making sure he was taken care of, and even after he retired everything was all about him. He wouldn’t have won an election without me—how could he? He didn’t even wear matching socks when we met.”
“I doubt the men who voted for him were looking at his socks.”
“No, but the women sure would have. And you may think women will vote how their husbands do, but I’ll tell you this much: behind every good man is an even better woman.” She pointed her cigarette at me. “That’s how you win this thing. You get the women on board, and they’ll pester their husbands with everything wrong with Sam.”
I blinked at her. It hadn’t occurred to me that women would change their husbands’ minds in the election. I had viewed it as a battle of the sexes—but it wasn’t. There were a million things that I did to make Larry happy, but when something mattered enough, I didn’t rest until he came around to what I wanted. I never actually cared what color our bedroom was or that he wanted meatloaf every week, but when he had decided to name Robbie after his father, I launched a six-month campaign against the name Herbert until even Larry agreed it was a terrible name to bestow on such a defenseless child. If we could hit on what women wanted that Sam wasn’t willing to provide ... it was possible Michael could win in a landslide instead of the squeaked-by victory I had hoped for.
“Mama, you’re a genius.”
“Of course I am. You think your father became Speaker of the House on his own?”
“You’ll put the word out at the club?”
“I suppose. What’s a mother for? But you may need to watch your own children long enough for me to make some calls.”
I stood and wrapped my arms around her from behind her chair. “Thank you, Mama.”
She leaned into my hug for a moment. “Although if you dent my hat again, that’ll be the last thing of mine you borrow.”
My mouth dropped open.
“A mother always knows.”