her head, ached with a dull throb. She reached into her bag, pulled out the Seattle Post-Intelligencer, and splayed it on her desk.
MaryAnne’s ad had been an echo of her op-ed. A large-font headline about Cleo’s marred character, some lines about her ethics and her judgment and how she was a cheater. How cheaters shouldn’t run our government, how cheaters shouldn’t be our collective moral voice. (Cleo knew that MaryAnne walked it right up to the slander line, probably consulted with lawyers, probably could back it up with facts. MaryAnne was smart enough not to risk a lawsuit, and so was the Seattle Post-Intelligencer.) Cleo ran her fingers over all the cheaters, then pressed her palms against the paper, its grit chalky on her fingertips.
The plan came together in her mind quickly, and she moved ahead, without consulting Gaby, without second-guessing herself. These were usually her best decisions—the ones that came from her gut. She knew this next step, hell, this next regret—undoing what she thought to be impossible—had to be big, to be a real reckoning, and she knew exactly the person who could help her.
She sat in her chair and cracked her knuckles. Grabbed her phone.
Cleo: Going to New York this weekend for something kind of top secret. Want to tag along? No questions until I say so.
He wrote her back within seconds.
Bowen: Mysterious. I’m in.
TWELVE
Cleo had been set to return to New York for the weekend for a few events with her constituents; thus it wasn’t even all that hard to slip away from Gaby, who was distracted by Oliver Patel’s arrival. He was landing Thursday night, so though she and Cleo and Cleo’s five legislative assistants were ostensibly set to prep for a meeting with Senator Jackman on the free housing deal, Gaby left the office early to “beautify,” and Cleo could make her New York plan in peace.
“This whole thing,” Gaby had said earlier that morning, swooping her hand from the top of her head to as far as it could drop. “I’m cleaning up this whole thing.”
Arianna happened to be in Cleo’s office at the time and piped in unprompted.
“Natural is back, by the way,” she said, and Cleo and Gaby both tilted their heads and stared. Arianna’s cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry? Should I not have said that? Oh God, oh God, I’m sorry! You’re a senator. I mentioned pubic hair in front of a senator.”
“Well, for one,” Gaby replied, “you didn’t mention pubic hair until now. But for two, OK, thank you. Noted.”
“We’re tired of putting our bodies through pain for men,” Arianna said, and for the first time, Cleo thought she had potential. Not because she wasn’t interested in having hot wax near her vagina (because when you thought about it, Arianna was much saner than Gaby), but rather because it was a strident notion that shouldn’t have been strident at all: that these things we do for beauty cause us pain, and who ever said that pain should be a requirement?
“I like that.” Cleo nodded. “I like the point your generation is making.” She herself had recently been considering Botox, not for a man but because youthfulness mattered to public perception. She gazed at Arianna for a beat. Actually, maybe that was for men too. Men had for so long dictated what was and wasn’t beautiful, what was and wasn’t youthful, and let it not be forgotten that youthfulness was more coveted than age. She resolved right then, with Arianna sorting through her files and Gaby rethinking her bikini wax, to skip the Botox. Unless, of course, it was for her. How she could even determine that, though, was unclear. The notions of beauty and power were all very messy. She thought of Veronica Kaye. Maybe she should ask her. She seemed like she might have the answers.
“I will think about all of this during my appointments,” Gaby said. “Extremely illuminating.”
Arianna seemed a little embarrassed but for once not apologetic.
“These are our bodies.” Arianna shrugged. “Men should be grateful to be seeing them at all.”
She finished with the files and left, and both Cleo and Gaby made “well that was a surprise” faces at each other, their eyebrows reaching toward the top of their foreheads, their chins pressing toward their necks.
“Kids these days,” Gaby said, shaking her head.
“Did not see that coming,” Cleo replied.
Cleo didn’t know whether they were referring to Arianna’s bravado or the newest trends in bikini waxing, but it didn’t really matter either way.