HER ARTICLE ABOUT asking for a raise was due by the end of the week, and Liz still hadn’t succeeded in interviewing Kathy de Bourgh, the famous feminist. To Kathy de Bourgh’s publicist, Liz had sent emails that were, in various iterations, lighthearted and casual, stern, obsequious, and desperate. She’d been rereading Revolutions and Rebellions, the classic work in which Kathy de Bourgh chronicled her time in the women’s movement from the early sixties on: the marches and sit-ins and arrests, her testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee on behalf of the Equal Rights Amendment, which had occurred (this detail had titillated Liz when she’d first read the book as a college freshman) on the same day that Kathy de Bourgh called off her wedding to the smolderingly handsome attorney general of New York. However, as much as Liz was enjoying Revolutions and Rebellions this time around, she knew that her editor wouldn’t be pleased if she used decades-old book quotations in lieu of fresh remarks from an interview.
So cognizant of Ms. de Bourgh’s jam-packed schedule, Liz wrote in her latest email to the publicist, but if I could get her on the phone for even five minutes, I know our readers would be thrilled to hear her perspective. And just as a reminder, we at Mascara still proudly consider Ms. de Bourgh “family.” Prior to becoming a professional activist, Kathy de Bourgh had herself been a reporter and had worked for two years at Mascara; it had been Liz’s employer that in 1961 published the still-legendary article about the week Kathy de Bourgh had gone undercover as a dancer at a Times Square nightclub.
Liz had just hit Send when her mother entered the room. Mrs. Bennet glanced around, as if for spies, before whispering, “Is Lydia dating a bodybuilder?”
Uncertainly, Liz said, “Do you mean that guy Ham?”
Mrs. Bennet appeared distressed. “Gyms can be very dirty places. There are lots of germs on the equipment.”
“Kitty and Lydia seem pretty healthy to me.”
Mrs. Bennet took a step forward. “Can you find the bodybuilder on the computer?”
Liz looked at her watch. “I’m leaving in a minute to take Willie on his tour.”
“Just quickly,” Mrs. Bennet said. “It won’t take long.”
Liz sighed and pulled up the same webpage with the photo of Ham she’d found before. Her mother bent toward the screen.
“Oh, he’s very handsome.” Mrs. Bennet sounded surprised and pleased. “And look, he did go to college.”
So that had been the source of concern. “How do you even know about him?” Liz asked.
“I just heard some talk. Oh, dear.” Mrs. Bennet was again reading from the computer screen. “Does ROTC mean his family couldn’t afford tuition?”
“Either way, CrossFit is very popular,” Liz said. “I bet he’s financially stable now.”
“I hope he doesn’t take steroids. They shrink the testes, you know.”
Trying to ignore the unappealing sound of her mother using the word testes, Liz said, “I don’t think steroids are a CrossFit thing.”
“Your friend Jasper,” Mrs. Bennet said. “Is he married or not married?”
Liz tensed. Had she been lured into a trap with this talk of gym germs and Ham’s testicles? Looking straight ahead, not at her mother, Liz said, “He’s married.”
“I was trying to remember,” Mrs. Bennet said, and Liz thought, Yeah, right.
She put her computer to sleep and closed it. “Want to come on the tour with Willie and me?”
“Oh, I’d just be a third wheel,” Mrs. Bennet said confidently. “I’m sure the two of you have loads to catch up on.”
IT WAS COUSIN Willie who kept Liz waiting; still apparently on Pacific time, he had slept in, and at noon, their agreed-upon hour of departure, he was in the shower.
Even though it was hot, Liz went outside, sat on the Tudor’s front steps, and pulled out her smartphone; checking it only worsened her mood as she saw an email from Kathy de Bourgh’s publicist saying that Kathy de Bourgh would be available for the next ten minutes. Which wasn’t completely impossible to take advantage of, though Liz would have preferred that it were—she wished she hadn’t known about the publicist’s message until it was too late. Because although she could dash upstairs, turn on her digital recorder, and ask earnest questions while hoping Kathy de Bourgh couldn’t hear her panting, Liz didn’t, in this moment, possess the will. She didn’t feel like a grown-up professional journalist; sitting in the heat in a T-shirt, not-so-stylish shorts, and flip-flops, waiting for her dorky cousin, she felt instead like a sweaty, grumpy teenager. So sorry but about to enter a meeting, she typed on her phone to the publicist. VERY disappointed and really appreciative that Ms. de Bourgh has made time for our conversation. Any way to reschedule for late this afternoon?