This Will Only Hurt a Little(78)
One day, in SoulCycle, as I was sitting on my bike, my favorite trainer Angela started in about being grateful in the waiting room. “I’m not saying you haven’t been in the waiting room before!” she yelled at us as we peddled away, “I’m not saying that you don’t deserve to skip the waiting room altogether. But here you are! And you need to be GRATEFUL in that WAITING ROOM! BECAUSE THAT DOOR IS ABOUT TO OPEN AND IF YOU ARE NOT SITTING THERE IN GRACE, YOUR NAME WILL NOT BE CALLED! BE GRATEFUL IN THAT WAITING ROOM!!!”
Not long after that, I got a call from my agent about a new show called Vice Principals. Even though I was “offer only” for television at this point, I told them of course I’d audition for those guys. I had no idea what the part was or how big it would be. But I went in, and I thanked them for seeing me and told them how excited I was to be there, how grateful I was for the opportunity.
And then I read the part.
And of course I fucking got it.
SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER
(Sufjan Stevens)
About a month before the 2016 presidential election, we had some friends over for dinner.
“I bet you ten thousand dollars he wins,” said my friend’s husband. “You know why? Because people are fucking idiots, that’s why. He’s going to win, guys. Sorry.”
I shook my head. He didn’t know anything. He just liked to agitate people, that’s all.
“There’s no fucking way, Ben! You don’t know what you’re talking about. You aren’t even from here.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but I know people, man. And you don’t know how many people hate her. You live in your bubble and think there’s no way, but I bet you more people hate her than him. And also, I think you’re underestimating how many people just hate women in general.” He sat back in his chair with a grim look. “He’s winning. I’m telling you. Watch.”
I shook my head and glanced at Marc as he stood up to clear the plates. No. There was no way. No way. I didn’t live in such a bubble. I’m from Arizona, after all. My sister is married to a Republican. I knew people didn’t like Hillary. I knew what they thought about the dynasty or oligarchy or whatever the fuck word they used when they talked about the Clintons. Plus, a lot of my friends were hard-core Berners. But surely they would turn out for Hillary. If for no other reason than to keep this other man—this horrible, dishonest, unqualified bully—out of the White House. It was insane to even consider the possibility that he might end up winning. After all, the Billy Bush tapes had just been released: moved on her like a bitch; when you’re famous you can do anything; grab ’em by the pussy.
No one in their right mind would vote for someone who bragged about sexually assaulting women . . . right?
Since I had done surrogate work for Hillary, we were invited to the Javits Center for election night. Hillary’s party. I thought we should go. I wanted to be there when that glass ceiling shattered. I wanted to be in the room when history was made.
While writing my stump speech for the campaign, I’d talked to my mom about what it was like for her as a young woman in order to draw a comparison, to get a sense of how far we’ve come.
“Well, honey, let’s see,” she said. “Obviously before Roe v. Wade it was just awful. You young people will never understand what that was like for a woman. Oh, and here’s something! You know I couldn’t open my own credit card account, right? Your dad had to be a cosigner on it. That was for years. Also, after my mom and dad didn’t let me go to New York to act, I thought maybe I wanted to work in advertising. So when I graduated from college, my dad set me up on a job interview with some man he was friends with who ran an agency in Chicago, and I was so excited! I wore my favorite tweed two-piece outfit. Oh, I wish I would’ve kept it; you would’ve loved it. I looked really sharp. Anyway, after I told this man why I wanted to work there and how I thought it would be the right fit for me, he came around the desk and put his hand on my knee and said, ‘A pretty girl like you would be wasted at a desk. Don’t you think you should focus on getting married and starting a family?’ And I was just so . . .”
She paused, her voice cracking,
“. . . HUMILIATED. Mostly that I had even thought it was a real interview.”
“Oh, Jesus, Mom. That’s so awful. I’m sorry.”
“Well, thank you, it was sort of awful, Busy. But that’s what it was like. And you know, then I married your dad and well, I don’t know, life kind of happened. But it all worked out because I had you guys! And now you’re doing this work for Hillary and I am just so proud of you, honey. Of both my girls! I don’t know how I got so lucky.”
“Thanks, Mama,” I said. “I love you.”
? ? ?
Marc and I flew to New York separately, not because we’re superstitious about flying together without the kids, but because we were using miles to go, since money was getting tight again. We were only going for the night, less than twenty-four hours. We met friends for dinner and then all headed over to the Javits Center together. The Comey letter had been a fucking bummer the week before, but it wasn’t going to change the fact that Hillary Clinton was about to become the first woman president!
The energy (and security) getting into Javits was overwhelming. People were already celebrating. We were escorted up to a room where other celebrity surrogates for Hillary were hanging out. The level of star power in that room was insane, and we immediately felt out of place. I took a seat on one of the couches and started to watch as the results came in. Marc tried to sit next to me but the woman on the end of the sofa put her hand down.