The Phoenix Candidate(34)
“You’re going to love this. Ready? Lauren Kennedy Darrow … and the keynote is Oprah.”
I nearly drop the phone as Trey says Oprah. Because, yeah. Sharing a stage with that woman would be insane. It could make headlines. Given her broad appeal, it could be an amazing photo op.
“Grace? You still there?” Trey’s voice is a distant echo; I’m already in motion.
“Still here! Packing!”
“I’ll pick you up when you land.”
***
I don’t catch more than a catnap on the flight, though Trey blessed me with a business-class upgrade. I spend the entire flight doing research on women’s leadership and equality issues, and on my fellow panelists.
God help me if Oprah asks if I’ve read her latest book-club recommendation and I haven’t. I digest the blurb dutifully.
Then I turn my attention to Lauren Kennedy Darrow. Born Laura Harmignes, she attended Florida State on a cheerleading scholarship, majored in broadcast journalism, and then moved around the country as television news reporter Lauren Kennedy.
It’s unclear why Lauren changed her name—maybe Kennedy was just better than Harmignes on television? Maybe Lauren seemed more sophisticated than Laura?
Laura/Lauren’s final reporting gig was in Sacramento, where she met then-state representative Aaron Darrow. His family money in agriculture, paired with her media savvy, propelled him into the state spotlight. They married and the first of three incredibly photogenic children was born the day before Darrow announced his intention to run for governor of California.
Three years later, he delivered another photo-op showing off his new twin daughters, accompanied by son Aaron Junior. AJ sported an outfit remarkably similar to John F. Kennedy, Jr. It’s clear that the Darrow family intends to create the next Camelot.
***
“Grace.” Trey frowns as he picks me up at Reagan National. “You were supposed to sleep.”
“I can sleep when I’m dead,” I answer lightly, inhaling the rich smell of the coffee he offers me. I’m not dead anymore. I’m living. I’m going to do this.
He navigates angry Beltway traffic on the way to the event, the horn on his decade-old Corolla working overtime.
“What have people got to be pissed about on a Saturday morning?” He huffs in frustration.
“Maybe that they’re up this early?”
I listen to Trey’s instructions on how to get to the green room, the earlier speakers and events, and what he managed to glean off participants’ tweets so far. There are two thousand women and probably a few hundred men attending Women to the Helm.
I’d better get used to a stage this big.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“Grace. I’m thrilled you’re here.” Lauren snags me immediately when I walk in the green room door. Her honey-blond highlights are radiant against an ivory jacket and navy sheath dress. Oxblood heels complete her look.
Red, white, and blue. She is so first lady material.
I struggled into my pantsuit in the microscopic airplane bathroom shortly before landing, did my makeup in the passenger seat of Trey’s car, and my dark curls are already frizzing thanks to D.C.’s late-July humidity.
“Why don’t you come over here and get freshened up?” Lauren asks. She oozes warmth and poise, but I can’t help but feel it’s a judgment against me. I sit in one of the tall director’s chairs and then realize the woman seated next to me is Oprah.
She gives me a little wave but doesn’t speak, just points to her phone. She’s listening to someone on the other line.
Oh. My. God. It’s Oprah. I try not to stare at her in the mirror opposite us.
A makeup artist attacks me and Lauren stands by, watching the woman wipe all the makeup I just applied off my face and start fresh.
“This is unexpected.”
Lauren waves her hand, as if we do Hollywood-style hair and makeup at every political event. As if. “It’s just part of the conference organization. We’ve got a couple of cable channels here, so I thought it would be wise.”
“You’re one of the conference chairs,” I say, simply to fill the silence.
“Honorary co-chair, of course.” Lauren smiles, indicating that her minions do the real work. “I appreciate you joining us on such late notice, Grace. I admit I was disappointed when you declined the first invitation, but frankly this panel is a better position than the slot we offered last spring.”
“I’m doing more speaking now,” I confirm. “I’m ready to be more visible, beyond my couple of issues.”
“Good. You’re becoming a very interesting public figure, Grace.” Lauren’s smile is calculating, and I’m not sure what to make of it. “At some point, you’re going to want to think about what’s next.”