A Special Place for Women, Laura Hankin [brene brown rising strong .txt] 📗

TWENTY-NINE

I was standing in the bathroom, redoing my lipstick in the mirror, when Caroline emerged from behind the floor-to-ceiling door of her stall.

“Oh, hey, girl!” I said, too enthusiastically. I reined myself in. “Great gala so far.”

“Thank you,” she said, pulling an oil-removing wipe out of her purse and dabbing at her face with small, sharp movements. “Yes, it’s a fun night, but it’s really all about the funds we can raise to help female candidates.”

“Of course,” I said. The New York Times was the best chance I had of impressing her. “God, you must have been so busy today. Did you even have a chance to look at the news?”

“Hardly,” she said, and threw the wipe away. She gave her cheeks a little slap, for energy or for color, maybe, and then looked toward the door. “Well, once more unto the breach!”

“The Times picked up my thread on Judge Melton!” I blurted as she began to leave. Caroline froze, then turned around and stared at me as I continued, in a lower voice, “So it’s a good day for women in general—” In another stall, the toilet flushed. I froze too.

Caroline grabbed my arm, her tiny fingers digging in, her manicured nails sharp against my skin. “Come here,” she hissed, and dragged me out of the bathroom to a small alcove down the hall leading to the kitchen. A few members of the waitstaff passed by us, but Caroline didn’t care about them as she rounded on me.

“Why the hell would you bring that up like that?”

“I am so sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was in there—”

“That was careless, Jillian,” she said, pointing her finger at me. “Don’t do it again.” She tossed her head, finished with the conversation, and I knew it was my final chance.

“I won’t,” I said. “I did something stupid, because I was trying to impress you.” Caroline was a negotiator, so I threw my shoulders back, praying I was making the right move. “I should have just asked you straight out for what I want, like we’ve said that women should do.” I lowered my voice and looked her straight in the eye. “I know that you’re picking someone new for the inner circle.” Caroline stiffened, pursing her lips, as I went on. “I could be helpful to you in it. I’m asking you to choose me.”

Caroline let my words hang in the air for a moment. Then she sighed. “I appreciate your candor, Jillian.” She shook her head. “But the inner circle is serious. I’ve made my decision. I need someone I can trust. Someone steady who puts the group ahead of themselves, like I do, or like Libby.”

“Like Libby,” I repeated, a roaring noise beginning in my ears. They were going to pick Libby, who would weep with gratitude for it.

“Yes. She’s so dedicated to us. For her, we’re her family.”

The words bubbled up and overflowed before I could stop them. “Are you sure of that?”

Caroline furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”

An image appeared in my mind: Libby, with her bright and trusting eyes, in her lonely apartment modeled after TV shows, cradling her sweet rat dog in her arms. She was so close to getting what she’d wanted, to knowing there was a place where she belonged. And she deserved that. She was a good person, who’d been nothing but generous since the moment we met, who’d snuck her way into my heart and invited me, with no hesitation, to fucking Thanksgiving. Libby would fight for me if they ever had another opening, but when would another opening arise? Sometime long after the women of Nevertheless had inflicted more damage on their enemies, long after Miles’s performance review, after I’d ruined my chance to write for the Standard or anywhere else of repute. I could keep up with the lies only so much longer. Soon, I’d have to leave the club and the apartment it had given me. Libby would put in a good word for me after the ax had fallen on my neck, and that good word would be useless.

Libby was only one person. The information I would find in the back room could help so many more. I didn’t have a choice, but I would make it up to her. I’d make sure that she got in too, eventually. I just needed it first. “Just that . . .” As if in a dream, I watched myself say, “Well, she’s going home for Thanksgiving.”

Caroline’s nose twitched. “No. Sadly, she’s had to reject her family. Their actions and beliefs—particularly about women—are toxic. We’ve talked all about it.”

I hung my head and said, quietly, “She reached back out to them the other day. She just told me. She even invited me to come along.”

“Well, that’s . . .” Caroline said, and then trailed off, leaning against the wall.

“I love Libby. I do. And yes, she is so passionate about everything you represent,” I continued, as the roaring in my ears got louder. “She’s also going through a rebellious phase. And sometimes those phases last. But sometimes they don’t, and if she goes back to them . . . I don’t want to betray her trust. But I also don’t want you all to open yourselves up to something that could hurt you if, after you let her see all the inner workings, she decides that her true place is with the people fighting against you.”

“This is all a very interesting story, Jillian, but why should I believe you?” Caroline asked, straightening back up and blinking rapidly. Were her eyes turning just the slightest bit red?

“Here,” I said. My stomach starting to churn, I pulled out my phone and typed up a text to Libby. Thanks for inviting me to Thanksgiving. In case it wasn’t clear, I’m really excited for you, and I hope you and your dad get to make some peace.

I sent the text and we waited, silent, our heads bowed over