“What about those who say that such a law actually depresses opportunities for women, by discouraging employers from hiring because of the potential exposure to employee leave?” The moderator’s playing devil’s advocate, but I appreciate that she’s done her homework.
“You mean the Republicans?” I get a nice little bubble of laughter from the crowd. “It seems to me that if you’re going to preach family values, you ought to actually value family. Which is what a parental leave bill does.”
Zing. That’s a hell of a soundbite.
“Mrs. Darrow? What’s your opinion of paid parental leave?”
“My husband’s always been a populist, and family values are near and dear to his heart, his administration, and our family,” she says. “I don’t think it’s impossible to pass a maternity leave bill, so long as we find a way to make it palatable to small businesses, which would take the brunt of the effect of such a law.”
More applause for this, but again, she hasn’t answered the question. I’m irritated, but I can hardly pounce on her for that. I’m her guest here.
After more back-and-forth that doesn’t get us anywhere—and certainly doesn’t indicate that Darrow would be a strong advocate—the moderator shifts focus to violence against women, equal pay, Title 9 funding, and industries where women are underrepresented, especially in leadership roles.
And then comes the question Jared warned me about. “How would you characterize family values in America now, and how do family values apply to women in leadership?” the moderator asks.
The question is such a softball. I catch it easily and I’m first to answer.
“Americans are redefining what family means to them,” I say. “Whether that’s the gender of couples, blended families, or adoption, what really needs to be at the forefront of legislators’ minds is how our laws serve all families equally, regardless of their makeup.”
I’m about to add more about how family values affect women in leadership roles when Lauren butts in: “Family values are part of the American dream. When we have strong families, we have stronger communities. I think women in leadership shouldn’t shy away from embracing these values.”
“Are you saying they do?” the moderator challenges her.
“I’m just saying that when women come to positions of leadership, they need to be prepared to uphold family values in their private lives and public service.”
I hold back a snort, and redirect the question. “You asked us how family values apply to women in leadership, and I’d like to point to the fact that there’s a raging double standard in Washington.”
The moderator nods at me to continue.
“The men can swear, but female legislators like me are swiftly rebuked for it. The men can have D.C.-based mistresses and girlfriends while their wives and children are back home, but the women most certainly may not.”
“Are you saying you’d like to … do those things?” Lauren’s looking at me like I’ve grown another head.
“I’m saying that I’d like expectations to be equal for women and men,” I answer. “Because the truth is, it’s not. The Washington Post reported a study that shows coverage of a candidate’s appearance hurts her chances for election, even if it’s positive. But I’m sure you can remember the acres of coverage for Sarah Palin’s wardrobe and Hillary’s hairstyles.”
The moderator chuckles. “When she was first lady, Hillary Clinton said, ‘If we ever want to get Bosnia off the front page, all I have to do is change my hair.’”
***
“Grace. You did a wonderful job.” Lauren beams at me and again I’m caught in her gravitational pull. I’m honestly surprised she looks so serene, so pleased with our performance, when I don’t feel like we agreed on practically anything.
Maybe we’re just from different planets.
Lauren and her husband are the poster children for good-looking America: tanned and perfectly groomed, teeth straight and blindingly white, wardrobes by Ralph Lauren and Donna Karan.
“Will you join us for dinner?” she asks.
“You and—?”
“Oh, Oprah’s got other plans. But Aaron’s flying in tonight, and we’d love it if you could join us.”
I try not to gape.
I think of Mama Bea’s biscuits, but also of this opportunity. Darrow’s the frontrunner. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of people in this town who’d like to have dinner with the likely future president. Or drinks. Or share an elevator.
“Thank you. Tell me when and where.” I give Lauren my phone and she types the restaurant’s directions into it. I snag a water from the refreshment table while she’s typing. Finally, she hands my phone back.