Chapter 26
twenty-six
Cindy
I decided to give my speech in the morning, before legislative business begins. When I’m ready, I walk to the front row of seats on my side of the House floor and sit. A few other members are waiting today, and the short queue is good because it means the speeches won’t be cut off for too many people wanting to give one-minute remarks in the limited amount of time.
I’m wearing red. Red lipstick, red blazer, red skirt. The pin marking me as a member of this Congress is positioned on my lapel.
Standing at the right moment, I speak, clear and loud enough to be heard throughout the chamber. "Mr. Speaker, I ask unanimous consent to address the House for one minute.” A minute is not much time, but it’s enough to say what I want.
“Without objection, so ordered,” the day’s Speaker pro tempore answers. The chamber is silent. There are few people in the room and no one is paying much attention.
Walking up to the podium amid the silence, I wet my lips. I didn’t write out a full speech. I have a few note cards. I remind myself of the House rules that stipulate that, no matter how much I may be tempted, I’m not allowed to disparage anyone specific or direct my remarks at anyone but the Speaker.
Speak up. Own your voice. I’m not doing this for myself alone.
“Thank you, Mr. Speaker,” I say. My voice is crisp in the microphone. “This week, I’ve been the target of the type of harassment that thousands or more women face every day in our country. The reasons are not important. I am not here to discuss what motivates some people to call a woman a c-word on social media, or to speculate about who she is sleeping with and whether that is why she achieved success in her career.”
I take a beat to make sure my voice stays steady. Despite the fact the Speaker pro tempore is focused on something on his desk and the press gallery looks empty, I know the C-SPAN cameras are on me and people will watch this later if I do it right. My office sent out a press release announcing I’d be speaking today in response to all the other inquiries.
“This kind of public harassment is accepted not because it is acceptable but because it disproportionately impacts women.” My voice grows louder, stronger, ringing through the chamber. I want to make it clear this is unacceptable for all women. “When a woman, particularly one who is a public figure, speaks out about this harassment, she is criticized. Being a public figure does not make me less human. As a public figure who is a woman, I have been accused of sleeping my way to a position of power. As a public figure who is a woman, I have been threatened with rape. As a public figure who is a woman, I also have more access to security than the average woman who is subject to these kinds of threats for actions as simple as sending a tweet or speaking her mind. Living daily under this kind of threat destroys lives. Our lives are treated as more disposable than a man’s because we are women. This is not right. ”
My nerves are starting to tremble and it’s hard to focus on my notes. I know I need to bring it back to my personal story. To why this matters to me . “The idea that this kind of harassment could be triggered by dating a certain man should offend all of us. It is triggered by an age-old belief that a woman can be owned. No man should assume a woman can be owned through dating her. No man should assume that an interest in dating means a woman is less of a whole person on her own.”
I grew up hearing motherhood lauded as more important than working outside the home, and that led me to avoid serious relationships for fear of having to give up the career I wanted. I’d dated men who thought my career and my needs—in bed and out—should mean less than theirs.
“As a society, we should be eliminating reasons women fear speaking up or being on her own by teaching men to respect women as equals,” I add.
The Speaker pro tempore raises a hand to warn me that I’m out of time and I finish my next sentence quickly, “And we should be publicly exposing men who don’t. Thank you.”
Walking back to my seat, my legs are sturdy. I sit to wait for others to speak. Several female members come up to me and congratulate me quietly, with a hand on my arm or a nod of recognition. I said most of what I wanted to say, even if there wasn’t nearly enough time to address all the problems.
I hope it resonates.
Alex
I don’t fully understand what “trending” means or how much it matters, so I usually ask my staff for more details when a hashtag appears on my morning comms briefing.
“Wait,” I say. I can feel my forehead drawing in confusion, as I balance the cell phone between my shoulder and my face, holding Thor’s ball and my briefing papers in either hand. “Cindy called me a pig? On the House Floor? And I’m just hearing about it now?”
“She didn’t call you a pig, technically,” Deena assures me on the phone. “But that’s how people are taking it.”
“And #VicePigoftheUnitedStates is trending?” I pull my phone away from my face, trying to figure out what apps are on it so I can pull this up for myself. I put the phone back to my face. “How...trending is it?”
“It’s...pretty trending,” she says, deliberately vague.
“Terrific. My one job is to be non-controversial and not distract from the president’s message and here I am in the news again.” I put a hand to my forehead, realize I’m still holding Thor’s soggy ball and my dog is now up on two legs trying to reach it, and give it a toss. Thor runs for it, but the lackluster throw doesn’t go far. “Can you send me something with the context of this? I don’t understand where it’s coming from.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll send you the video of her speech.”
I’m the worst boyfriend ever. I didn’t have a chance to call Cindy last night to ask how it went. Ted found me a clip—more of a gif—in which Cindy was as poised and articulate as I expected.
Thor brings the ball back to me and I bend to take it, dropping half of my papers in the process. “Deena, can you send that to me before I see the president, please. And is this big enough that Kaylee’s going to take questions about it?”
“Um...yes?” Deena, I can tell, is cringing. White House daily briefings are usually full of policy questions; it’s never a good thing when someone’s personal life becomes a subject. “I’ll have Kaylee call you.”
“Great. Thanks.” I hang up so I can rescue the papers from my dog’s tiny mouth. “You want to go to the White House today, buddy?” I ask. If people are pissed, Thor calms them down. “I have a feeling I’m going to be there awhile today.”
I watch the video of Cindy’s floor speech on a phone on the way to work, Thor curled up in my lap in the back of the black SUV.
She’s fired up, direct and personal. I frown as she speaks about harassment, frustrated that she’s been facing this kind of shit without sharing the burden with me. I’m sheltered from these kinds of threats in my position, due to my Secret Service detail. And the threats I receive are clearly different from those that would be directed at me if I were a woman.
“And we should be publicly exposing men who don’t,” she concludes on the video, and I suspect she got cut off before finishing the thought, but I understand now why the internet took it as a dig against the person she’s reportedly dating. It took another small step to jump to the conclusion it was directed at me. Too bad people aren’t calling out Ryder.
Kaylee meets me as I'm walking through the West Wing toward the Oval Office. “It’s a problem,” she says.
“Let’s ride it out,” I suggest, tightening my tie as I walk with her. Thor is on his leash at my side. “She’s not going to confirm it was about me. We’re not going to confirm it was about me. People will get tired of drawing their own conclusions.”
“We can try that for now,” she says. “But frankly, if she keeps talking, that strategy is going to work less and less.”
I can feel the pressure piling up on my shoulders, but I’m not going to unfairly shift it to Cindy to escape the hot seat. “She’s taking a lot of heat. I’m not going to tell her to shut up about it.”
“Mr. Vice President, all due respect, but at some point we’re not going to be able to shut up about it, either.” Kaylee leaves me at the outer lobby to the Oval Office.
“Like sand through the hourglass…” Tim jokes when I wa lk in, quoting the theme from a soap opera. He’s sitting at the desk, his chief of staff standing in front of it. “Here’s our daytime drama in the flesh.”
“Ha, ha,” I say, then adds, more seriously: “I apologize for the distraction, sir.”
Tim waves me off. “Anita and I didn’t need to watch our stories last night, we just opened up social media.”
Tim is joking—the president doesn’t have time to keep up with soap operas—but I suspect he’s also annoyed. Tim was supposed to spend the week talking about infrastructure.
“How’s my favorite nephew,” Tim says, patting his lap for Thor to hop into it. Thor happily curls up into a ball of fluff on the president’s lap. “Somebody needs a good grooming.” He raises his eyebrows at me. “Letting a few things slip, Alex?”
I straighten my tie and run a hand through my hair to hide a flare of irritation. Tim is being unusually sharp for 7:30 in the morning. “Having a personal life and doing this job at the same time isn’t easy,” I say, in what I hope is a neutral tone.
“Especially not if you do it all alone,” Tim agrees, turning his gaze down to Thor. “Is it, buddy?” He ruffles the dog’s fur and Thor pants adoringly back up at him. Tim might not be great at kissing babies, but give him a room full of dogs and he’ll win all their votes.
“If we need to take some things off your plate, let us know,” says the White House chief of staff. I glare at him, because I can’t glare at the president.
“No, thank you,” I bite out. “Give me a minute to make some adjustments.”
Tim stands, holding Thor up to his chest like he’s burping a baby. He moves toward the couches and chairs positioned over the seal in the carpet. “It’s not an insult, Alex, and it’s not permanent. If you need some time right now to deal with things, we can help arrange that. ”
“I’m fine, thank you,” I maintain, sitting once the president does. The outer door opens and intelligence officials enter to go over the daily briefing.
“If you say so,” Tim says. His gaze loudly speaks doubt. Then he looks up at the men entering. “Gentlemen, I have conferred upon our guest the highest level of security clearance. You can speak freely in front of him,” he says, holding up Thor in both hands. Thor gives them the full force of his big brown eyes and floppy ears and the two men pause to take it in.
“Certainly, Mr. President,” they murmur before they sit.
“Traitor,” I grumble, watching my dog trade up for the most powerful lap in the world while I sit abandoned and comfortless across from him. I open the daily brief and try to put everything else out of my mind.
Cindy
Alex finally calls the day after my speech. I’ve put off calling him, because every time I do, he’s unavailable and I have to have an awkward conversation with his staff.
“Hello, this is the Vice Pig speaking,” he says when I answer the phone.
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I hope you know I didn’t mean it like that.”
I might be angry with him, but I’m not mean.
“Your speech was amazing,” he replies, ignoring that. “I’m sorry I didn’t have a chance to tell you before.”
“Thank you.” I’ve been surprised by the delayed response to the speech. It went viral on social media hours later, amplified by fellow female members of Congress in both parties. Over the last day, I’ve had meetings with female members I hadn’t thought to prod on voting for the cannabis legislation before. Suddenly, my bill is trendy.
“They want to present a united front under the social justice umbrella,” Martin had mansplained to me earlier that day. “They’re with you on sexism and they want to support you on minorities, too. It’s inter-sectional.”
I don’t let Martin talk to any media for a reason. Still, whatever the cause, I’ve got momentum on my side and I plan to capitalize on it.
“Listen, we need to talk about this clean bill they’re discussing in the Senate,” I tell Alex, standing alone in my kitchen asking myself whether a glass of wine every night this week is too much. It’s been a roller coaster and I’ve needed the chance to slow down in the evenings. “I still believe we can pass my version in the House.”
“Ah, right,” he says, sounding distracted. Increasingly common when I talk to him lately. “Sorry, I’m not up to date on that since the Senate Majority Leader mentioned it. Where are we at on that?”
“You spoke to the Majority Leader about it?” What else has he failed to mention?
“Yes, just a couple times. I didn’t think it had progressed very far. I tried to shut it down.”
“It’s progressed far enough that I’ve got chairmen telling me my bill won’t make it to the Floor without being stripped down. My little squad of five is now warning me they’ll vote present if they don’t get to vote on both provisions. They aren’t interested in a bite instead of the whole apple.”
“That’s nearsighted.”
I ignore that. “If we can only do one provision, I think I’ve managed to replace them, though. I’m popular all of the sudden around here.” I would hate to pass the bill without the full Freshman Six. But I’d rather have a bill become law than keep all my ideals pristine.
“Because of the speech?” he asks.
I try not to read into his tone, but it’s as if he’s surprised other people thought my speech significant. “Yes,” I say. He doesn’t say anything immediately, so I continue: “It’s not a small issue. What I talked about. It resonated well beyond the House floor.”
“I’m sure it did,” he says. Like he’s placating me. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around to hear about what’s going on. The press keeps asking me if you’re going to be my first lady. I haven’t even announced I’m running yet.”
All at once, I’m impatient with this conversation, which we’ve danced around for months and now are finally going to have, damnit. “But you are. And you do need a first lady. Right?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Right,” he says.
“That’s what the polls say?”
“That’s what the polls say.”
“Is that why you haven’t announced yet? Because you don’t have a wife?” This just dawned on me. Of course. Has our whole relationship been a rehearsal to find out if I’m good enough to be a first lady of the United States? Just a prop. That’s all he needs.
I can almost hear him running his hand through his hair. “Sort of. The polls say a bachelor can’t be elected president and I just…haven’t felt ready. I feel like something’s missing.”
“Why would you let a poll keep you from doing what you want? Or at least trying? Do you know what the press is asking me ? They want to know when I’m quitting Congress to be your full-time girlfriend. They want to know if I ran for Congress in the first place to become your first lady.”
He’s frowning, I can tell. “I’m sorry they’re asking you that. That’s insulting and I wish I could do something about it. Your speech was great but I’m sorry you had to give it. And I’m also sorry some people are turning it into a referendum on me because it’s causing some problems for the White House.”
“It’s more than insulting, Alex. It’s becoming the narrative and it will be the narrative forever if…” I catch myself. He hasn’t asked me to be his first lady. We’ve only been dating a few months. And his polling would reject me, according to what he said at the state dinner. I hate that it hurts a little that America doesn’t think I’m “first lady material,” although that’s never been my goal.
“It’s not just because of you, you know,” I say. I can’t stop poking at the issue. “That’s not the only reason people are interested in me or the bill. There’s more to my career than you. My career is about doing what’s right , not just what will keep me in office.”
I’ve gotten threats since before I became a policy-maker, since I dared stand up in front of people and imply “my thoughts are as valuable as a man’s.” Unlike Alex, I don’t let what other people think run my life.
“No, of course. But I put a bigger target on your back,” he says. “I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry if you’ve felt alone in that.”
I pace back and forth in my kitchen, not sure what about his words or his tone is bothering me. The way he’s talking—it makes me think the end isn’t just coming, it’s now . Better to rip the bandage off. “Is that why you called?”
“No,” he sounds frustrated. “I called because I haven’t talked to you in awhile. I’m sorry about that, too. Look, do you need me to keep apologizing? Because I will, but you’re going to have to tell me what I did that irritated you.”
Gritting my teeth, I stop at the fridge and pull the bottle of red off the top of it. I don’t understand what Alex expects—for me to stand by, nothing changing, waiting for his calls? Time is passing in the meantime and we aren’t moving anywhere and I didn’t realize how much that frustrated me. “Stop putting it on me, like I’m the one tasked with the emotional labor of sorting out our problems.”
“We have problems now?” He sounds confused. Good.
“I’m not sure what you want , Alex.” I pour a healthy glass of wine and take a drink.
He takes a deep breath. “OK. OK.” Then it all comes rushing out. “I want to become president. I want a first lady. I don’t want to be alone in the White House running the country and surrounded by people who call me sir . I want a partner.”
“Which means someone who polls well.”
“That’s not fair,” he protests.
“But the support you want would help get you into the White House. So that person has to be popular with your voters.” He’s not asking me because it’s what he wants, damn the polls, or even because it’s right. He wants a prop. Something I refuse to be. For anyone, ever.
He breathes out slowly over the phone. “I thought we were on the same page on this. We need to present a united front.”
I huff. “A united front? To who? As far as anyone knows, we’re not together. Meanwhile, you’ve been distracting me from my job and looking for a different way to pass the legislation this whole time!”
“I meant on the bill but I...I thought we agreed on the relationship, also? That we’re keeping it under wraps.” His voice is hesitant, but there’s something else there. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe understanding. We’re not in California anymore and he knows the pressure of being back in Washington is fracturing us.
“I’m not sure we even have a relationship, Alex. I haven’t spoken to you in days.” I slap my hand down on my countertop by the glass of wine. “You call me when it’s convenient. You can’t use your job as an excuse for everything. I’m a person, not a…” I cast around for the right metaphor. “A piece of legislation. ”
“OK,” he says, dragging the word out like I’m being unreasonable. I hate that. “I don’t think you’re a piece of legislation. I didn’t call to argue.”
I didn’t plan on arguing, either, but here we are and I’m not sure how to back out of this corner we’re in. “Maybe we shouldn’t talk at all, then,” I say.
“Fine,” he says. He doesn’t hang up.
“Fine,” I repeat, and end the call. Instantly, I regret it. If I try to call him back now, will his staff answer and make me explain the whole thing to them? I groan and say aloud, “What is wrong with you?” Every time I think I have my temper in check, I do something like this without thinking first. Slamming up a shield when I need to be vulnerable. I slump onto a stool at my counter.
My impulses sometimes flare quickly and die out, like this one, but there’s usually a strong instinct behind them. I’ve relied on my instincts my whole life. Alex and I have been trying to coast on attraction alone, avoiding honest conversations about whether there’s more between us. I know it’s my fault as much as his. And I should have said that the lack of clarity bothered me, rather than picked a fight with him.
Taking another drink of my wine, I look at my phone, silent on the counter. He’s always been certain in the past, constantly stable and reassuring. But tonight I’d pushed him into telling the truth about what he wanted. We want different things. He wants to be liked and I want to make a difference. The end was coming no matter what. I just confronted it. Finally and yet too soon.
A future of being condemned to see him regularly and never touch him again is devastating. I’ll be close to him, yet so far, for the rest of my life.
I finish the wine, tapping my other hand on the counter in time with my fast-moving mind. Then I call Sara.
“What if I frame the book around this speech,” I ask. “It would be about the harassment I’ve faced my whole life, and how dating someone high-profile made other people pay attention to it. And about how harassment, and fear of it, is the background noise of every woman’s life and can shape our decisions whether we want it to or not.”
There’s no pause. “That would sell,” Sara replies.
After hanging up, I sit down with a glass of water and write. I write about being prepared to face harassment as a young girl and never not being afraid of walking alone at night. I write about having a management strategy for harassment in my office, about creating a compartment for it in my mind and how that imaginary box can still get so heavy it feels like it’s crushing me into a small, scared little girl.
I leave my cell phone on the counter in front of my computer, and then on my bedside table when I take the computer to bed. I almost send it flying across the room in my hurry to pick it up when Kari texts me that my speech even went viral where she is, in Nevada.
But it doesn’t ring. Alex never calls me back.