“The weather!” Embeth said, with a laugh.
“The weather!” Ruby repeated, and then she threw her hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” Ruby said. “The way you guys were describing that day, I almost felt as if I had been there, too.”
Alumna Jeanne looked over at Ruby. “And who are you?”
“She’s my mentee in . . .” Embeth tried to remember it.
“Future Girls’ Leadership Initiative,” Ruby filled in.
“The FUGLI,” Embeth added.
“Does that spell fugly?” Alumna Jeanne asked. “That seems unfortunate.”
“Well, we don’t say it that way. Technically, it’s the FGLI,” Ruby explained. “But at FGLI, our motto is ‘Embrace the fugly.’ For too long, the threat of being called ugly has been used to silence and disempower women. By embracing the fugly, we say we don’t care if you think we’re attractive. We’re powerful and we’re smart and that’s what matters.”
Ruby stuck out her hand, like a pro, and Alumna Jeanne shook it.
“This is a very impressive young woman,” Alumna Jeanne said.
WHAT AN HONOR to be here with you this afternoon . . .
With few alterations, Embeth’s speech was the same one she had given for the last fifteen years. She could do it without notes. She could do it in downward-facing dog. She could do it while making love to her husband, though that happened pretty rarely. She was called upon to give the speech far more often than she was called upon to make love to Aaron.
. . . never occurred to me not to work. My father was the Sturgeon King of Millburn, New Jersey. My mother built bridges. Literally. She was a civil engineer.
[Pause for laughter.]
She savored the quiet time alone at the podium. Alone, but with people. She looked into the audience, a sea of soft, shapeless neutrals, and she wondered how many of those women loved their husbands as much as she loved Aaron. Yes, the irony to end all ironies! Embeth loved Aaron.
. . . I am proud that I was a working mother. It’s interesting, that term, “working mother.” Working becomes the adjective; mother, the noun. We don’t say “worker-mother,” and we certain don’t say “mothering worker” . . . People expect you to put the emphasis on the mother part at the expense of the worker part. I was proud of my children, but I was equally proud of my work . . .
How many people had called it a “political marriage” over the years? Yes, it was a political marriage, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She wondered how many of them had been cheated on. She wondered how many of them had forgiven their husbands after they were cheated on.
. . . the first topic that comes to mind is often a woman’s right to choose or sexual assault, but I believe the most important women’s issue is the wage gap. I believe this is the root issue from which all other inequalities stem . . .
The truth was, being cheated on was not that bad. It was being cheated on in public that was hard. It was wearing the ill-fitting shroud of the wronged woman. It was standing next to him, meekly, when he apologized. It was figuring out where to cast your gaze, and choosing the right suit jacket. What suit jacket would say “supportive,” “feminist,” “unbroken,” “optimistic”? What one effing suit jacket could possibly accomplish that? She still, fifteen years later, wondered if they judged her for staying with him after Avivagate.
. . . But you all know the statistics . . .
She wondered if the summer-weight cashmere sweater she had been eyeing at J.Crew was still on sale.
She wondered if her eyebrows were sweating off.
She wondered what to do about Ruby.
. . . proud we have sons. And they are exceptional, strapping young men in every way. Not that I’m biased. [Pause for laughter.] But do I think they deserve twenty percent more money than a comparably qualified young woman? I do not!
She liked the girl, but she knew that she could not have Ruby meet Aaron today, or this week, or this month. Aaron needed to keep his head in the game. The best thing to do would be to dispatch the girl to her grandmother’s, that idiot Rachel Grossman. With any luck, Tasha would have found her number by now.
. . . True conviction is believing something to be right even after it becomes disadvantageous to you. This is what I tell my sons. This is what . . .
Also, Aviva Grossman was running for mayor? In a way, Embeth had to admire the girl’s chutzpah. She hadn’t thought about her in years, not in a future way.
. . . as a mother, my greatest accomplishment will be to have raised sons who are feminists . . .
When she did think of her, Aviva was locked in a perpetual 2001. Twenty-two years old and slutty and needy forever. She had not conceived of her as a mother, let alone as a candidate for public office.
. . . I was a woman before I was a mother. I was a feminist before I was a politician’s wife. I was . . .
She had known that girl was trouble from the first time she had laid eyes on her. The first thing Embeth remembered was her mouth. The big mouth, with the slight pout. The red punch of lipstick. She was holding a can of Diet Coke, lipstick traces around the tab. The way those curves taxed the seams of that good-quality, sales-rack suit. Many of the interns dressed like that, though. Their professional wardrobes came from big sisters, mothers, friends, neighbors, and the fit betrayed these origins.
That couldn’t have been the first time she saw her, though. They’d been neighbors.
Applause.
Applause indicated the speech was over. Alumna Jeanne thanked Embeth and announced the start of a Q&A. Why had Embeth agreed to a Q&A? All she wanted was a nap.
A gray-haired woman in a shapeless gray cardigan and shapeless gray pants stood up. These clothes, Embeth thought. These women look like they are dressed for a funeral at an insane asylum. In fact, Embeth dressed this way, too.
The gray woman asked, “Listening to you talk, you’re so intelligent. When are you going to run for office? Can’t there be two politicians in a family?”
Embeth laughed her public laugh. Inside, a private joke: There may already be two politicians in this family.
Once upon a time, a question like that might have flattered her. A long time ago, she had harbored such ambitions. She burned with them. She had pushed Aaron forward and then resented him when he actually succeeded. As a politician’s wife, though, she had had her fill of politics. But then, there was no worse job in politics than politician’s wife. Literally, there was no job that paid less—which is to say, nada—and demanded more. At the peak of Avivagate, she’d once attended a women in politics panel on human trafficking, and they’d had a PowerPoint presentation with screening questions to determine if a person was being trafficked. The questions were: (1) Are you paid for your work? (2) Are you never alone? (3) Do other people answer questions for you? (4) Can you leave your house when you want? Et cetera. Based on her answers, Embeth had determined that she was a likely victim of human trafficking.
“I’m not Hillary Clinton,” she told the crowd. “I don’t have the stomach for another election. I don’t have the desire to travel. These days, my interests don’t extend much past leaving my house. I’ll be voting for her, by the way. Who else would I be voting for?”
THE LIBRARY DIDN’T have a green room, so they had stowed Embeth’s belongings in someone’s dumpy office. As soon as Embeth turned her phone back on, Jorge was calling.
“How was the speech, beautiful?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said. “The vote?”
“Still happening,” Jorge said. “He’ll be back late—only an hour or so.”
“Shocking. Remind me why we’re having this party again.”
“He’ll have to go straight from the airport to the hotel, so if you could bring his tuxedo. I’ll be on the originally scheduled flight,” Jorge said.
“Why?” Embeth asked. Jorge and Aaron usually flew together.
“Why pay two change fees? And I don’t want to miss the start of the party,” Jorge said. “Also, I wouldn’t mi
nd a word with you alone, if you have a moment.”
Embeth knew what this was about. The election was next week, and Jorge wanted to leave them. Embeth knew it was time—he had been with them for almost twenty years; no one had served Aaron more loyally—but still, she feared a post-Jorge world. She knew there would be a new Jorge, but she dreaded the opening of her inner circle to a stranger.
“Is the girl with you?” Jorge asked in a low voice.
“Yes, she’s having lunch,” Embeth said.
“What’s she like?” Jorge asked.
“She’s thirteen. She’s a girl. She has curly hair and light eyes. She talks a lot,” she said. “She doesn’t seem like a liar and she doesn’t remind me of Aviva.”
“Thank you, Em. You’re a trooper to take her, and on your anniversary, no less. I can’t imagine what that’s like.”
“Yes, I am a trooper,” she said wearily.
“Trooper! Trooper!” said El Meté.
“I don’t mind the company, actually. Did you tell Aaron?” Embeth said.
“Not yet. Do you want me to?”
“No. Let’s wait and see what this is first. Why upset him if this is nothing?”
Another call came in.
“I should take this,” she said. “It’s Aaron.”
“How’s your day going?” Aaron asked.
“Fine,” she said.
“Any good stories for me?”
“Someone sent us an angel,” Embeth said. “Like an effeminate, incredibly tacky Jewish angel boy. I guess it’s an anniversary present, but I don’t know who it’s from.”
“How weird,” Aaron said.
Yet another call came in. Tasha.
“I should take this,” Embeth said to Aaron.
“I need to get back to it anyway. I just wanted to hear your voice. Love you, Em.”
“Love you.”
Embeth flipped to Tasha.
Tasha said she had found Rachel Grossman’s number. “She’s Rachel Shapiro now.”
Embeth hung up and dialed Rachel Shapiro’s number, but she did not press call. She put the phone in her bag, and she went out to find Ruby.
Ruby was speaking to Alumna Jeanne.
“Oh my, Embeth, the FGLI program sounds marvelous!” said Alumna Jeanne. “Ruby was telling me about it. I have a niece who would be perfect for it.”
“They’re not doing it next year,” Ruby said.
“Funding,” Embeth said with an exaggerated sad face.
“Maybe I could help with that?” Alumna Jeanne said. “My expertise is not-for-profits.”
“Definitely send me an e-mail,” Embeth said.
The women thanked her for her speech, and Embeth “you’re welcome”-ed until her throat was hoarse and her face hurt from smiling. If a speech had gone well, it always took longer to leave an event than she thought it would. Someone wanted a picture. Someone wanted to tell a story about her own mother. Someone cried. Someone invited her to dinner. Someone pressed a business card into her hand. Someone wondered if her sons were married. The distance from the hall to the parking lot could be a few hundred feet that lasted an hour. Embeth couldn’t be brusque because she needed these women to vote for Aaron, after all.
By the time Embeth and Ruby arrived at the car, Embeth was exhausted. She was not shy, but she was not a natural extrovert either.
“I’ve been thinking, Ruby,” Embeth said. “What if we both played hooky today? I mean, it’s your first time in Miami. Let’s do something. Do you like the beach?”
“No,” said Ruby.
“Me neither,” said Embeth. “I only said it because it’s something people like to do when they come to Florida.”
“I’m kind of a nerd,” Ruby said.
“Me, too,” said Embeth. “What would you like to do?”
“Well, I’d like to meet your parrot,” Ruby said. “I’ve never met a talking bird before.”
“El Meté’s shy. He/she doesn’t always like to come out.”
“Okay . . . then, what if we went to the movies?” Ruby said.
“Don’t say that because you think it’s something I want to do,” Embeth said.
“That is why it occurred to me,” Ruby admitted. “But it is also something I want to do. Mrs. Morgan says, ‘A woman should never please other people at the expense of pleasing herself.’ ”
“Mrs. Morgan is correct,” Embeth said. She started the car.
The only movie that was playing at a convenient time was a superhero movie. They bought the largest size of popcorn and the largest drink. Embeth fell asleep before the trailers were even over. She had a strange dream. She was an enormous tree with many branches, perhaps an oak, and woodsmen were trying to cut her down. She should have been in a panic about being cut down, but she wasn’t. It was almost pleasant. It was almost like a massage. The feeling of being hacked into with tiny axes. The feeling of being felled.
Ruby nudged Embeth when the movie was over. “What did I miss?” Embeth said.
“They saved the world,” said Ruby.
“I thought it might turn out that way,” said Embeth.
As they left the movie theater, a policeman in tight shorts with tanned legs and a carpet of black curly leg hair stood in the lobby. Ruby observed discreetly, but with Christmas morning glee, “Police officers in Florida wear shorts!”
“They do,” Embeth said.
The police officer was showing the manager a photograph on a phone. The manager pointed toward Ruby. “That’s her!”
Ruby began to back away.
“Are you Ruby Young?” the police officer said.
“I thought your last name was Grossman,” Embeth said.
“It is,” Ruby said. “My mom changed it.”
“Your mom is very worried about you,” the police officer said.
“How did she find me? I had my phone off.”
“She tracked you down using Find My iPad.”
“There’s a Find My iPad? That’s . . .” Ruby threw what was left of her popcorn toward the police officer, and then she began to run. But instead of running outside, she ran toward the bathroom.
Embeth and the police officer both headed toward the bathroom. The policeman brushed popcorn from his hair. “What’s your role in all of this?”
“I’m no one,” Embeth said. “I’m irrelevant.”
“You’re the adult who is with the child who was reported missing,” the cop said. “I would say that seems somewhat relevant.”
“I’m not some pervert,” Embeth said. “My name is Embeth Bart Levin. I’m an attorney and I’m Congressman Levin’s wife. This young woman came to my husband’s office, wanting to meet him, and he’s in D.C. until tonight.”
“So you took a thirteen-year-old girl to the movies?” the police officer said. “Is that how you treat every random child who shows up at your husband’s office?”
“You’re making it sound tawdry, but it isn’t like that. She’s a friend of the family,” said Embeth.
“You didn’t say that before.”
“We’ve only just begun talking,” said Embeth. “Ruby’s the granddaughter of an old neighbor of mine. Rachel Shapiro. Call her and ask, if you’d like.”
“I’ll do that,” the police officer said.
They had reached the movie theater bathroom. “I’m going in,” said the police officer. “You wait out here.”
“You’re going into the women’s room?” Embeth asked.
The police officer paused. “It’s not illegal, and this is an active crime scene.”
Embeth rolled her eyes. “Let me go in first,” she said. “Seriously, the kid likes me. I’ll get her to turn herself over. Why have a big scene?”
Embeth went into the bathroom. She didn’t see legs under any of the stalls.
“Come on, Ruby. Just come out. The jig is up,” said Embeth. “I know you’re on a toilet seat. Don’t make me touch all the doors. Public bathrooms are basically the dirtiest places on earth, and I’m i
mmune compromised.”
“I can’t come out. I haven’t met the congressman yet,” said Ruby.
“Well . . . you’ve met me. We’re friends now, and that means you can meet the congressman later. I can make that happen for you. But you have to go with the police officer.”
“How do you know I’m on a toilet seat?” Ruby said.
“Because I’ve spent a good portion of my life hiding from people in bathrooms, okay? Squatting on the toilet is the way it’s done.”
“Who do you hide from?” Ruby asked.
“Oh, Christ. Everyone. Donors. My husband’s staff. Even my husband sometimes. Everyone. I literally hate everyone.”
The door swung open. Ruby’s face was sticky with tears. “I haven’t even met El Meté yet,” she said.
“Ruby, if I let you in on a secret about El Meté will you do something for me?” Embeth said.
“Maybe,” Ruby said.
“Good girl,” said Embeth. “You should never agree to something before you know what it is.”
“HOW’S IT GOING IN THERE?” the police officer yelled.
“ONE SECOND,” Embeth yelled back.
“I’ll tell you what I need you to do, and then I’ll tell you the secret about El Meté, okay?” Embeth said quickly. “It’s not something I’ve ever told anyone.”
Ruby nodded.
“You know how that election is next week? I need you to not tell the police officer that the congressman might be your father. We don’t know for sure if he is yet. Your mom hasn’t said for sure that he is. And if it got out that you were here, it could be a lot of trouble for him and for me. Can you do that? It would be an enormous favor to me.”
Ruby nodded again. “I understand,” she said. “What should I say instead?”
“Say you came to Florida to meet your grandmother, Rachel Shapiro.”
“Okay, enough time! Come on, Ruby.” The police officer came through the door and put his hand on Ruby’s shoulder. Ruby wrested herself away.
“What’s the secret about El Meté?” Ruby asked.
“I’m almost ninety-three percent sure that he’s not real,” Embeth said.
“It’s okay,” Ruby said. “I used to have a friend that was a lamp.”
The police officer turned to Embeth. “I’m not done with you. Let’s all take a ride to the police station, shall we?”