Cleo knocked on Senator Parsons’s door and entered when he said, “Come in.”

His office, actually a fairly posh suite, was much more impressive than hers, a perk of being not just the leader of the majority party but being one of the senior-most members of the Senate. Washington was a hierarchy, after all, even with office space. There were photos with all the living past presidents, more photos with global leaders at various world conferences. There were opulent vases and decorative gilded candlesticks and, naturally, a United States flag in the corner. Light bounced off the overhead chandelier; a velvet couch enticed a nap. On one wall, a flat-screen was set to mute and played CNBC. Cleo knew that before his rise in politics, the senator had made a fortune as an investment banker, and he liked to keep an eye on his portfolio.

Senator Parsons rose from behind his desk and embraced her.

Cleo for the life of her had no idea why she was here, but perhaps the senator had heard the whispers about reviving the free housing bill (she loved the sound of the Jackman-McDougal Bill—not least because it was the first policy she’d worked on all year that felt pure and honest and impactful, not laden down with compromise and favors—and kept saying it over and over to herself in her mind) and wanted on board. It would be surprising, what with his banking background and what Cleo assumed was his general distaste at the notion of giving something out for free, but every once in a while, politicians made morally correct choices, rather than politically expedient ones.

He sat, and so she sat. He cleared his throat, and she smiled. (Polling showed that men of his generation liked women much more when they smiled.)

He held the silence for a moment, so Cleo thought perhaps she was supposed to know why she was here and made an opening statement.

“You let your staff take lunch?” Cleo said. “I made mine order in.”

Parsons laughed. “No, no. They’re in a meeting down the hall. Getting their asses chewed out by my chief of staff. I like to do that every once in a while for no reason—just to put them on notice.” His smile dropped. “So, Cleo, let me be frank.”

“I would expect nothing less from you, William.” Cleo sat up straighter, ready to welcome his support for the free housing bill and get down to the nitty-gritty of how it could benefit his own constituents, how the road to its passage was going to be tough but not impossible, and how Cleo always rose up for a fight.

“There has been . . . quite a commotion about your . . . situation this weekend.”

“Oh.” Cleo felt a quiet clang of alarm in the quickening of her pulse.

Senator Parsons waved an age-spotted hand. “Before we go any further, let me say that I support women! I am here for you! I have a daughter about your age, you know.”

“I do know,” Cleo said, wondering why on earth she should give a shit that he had a daughter in her late thirties, much less what it had to do with her situation with Nobells.

“You know we are supposed to be taking a delegation to the Middle East next week,” he said.

“Of course, the CODEL. One of my favorite parts of the job. Getting on the ground and speaking with the troops.”

“Yes, well.” Parsons let his voice drift. “I worry that this situation . . . with the . . . ‘hashtag’”—he mimed air quotes—“I worry it has become a distraction. My office has been getting calls.”

“I’m sorry?” Cleo said. She wanted to retract that immediately, because she was not fucking sorry at all. She was confused how one thing was related to the other in the least.

“Right. My suggestion is that you sit this trip out,” he said.

Cleo’s already straight spine shot up even taller. “Sir, with respect, why would I sit this trip out?”

He leveled his eyes at her. “Senator,” he said. “I admire what you . . . what your generation is doing; I’m an ally, but—” He paused, perhaps due to the look on her face.

Cleo could feel the heat of her rage rising to her cheeks. She sensed that she was barely going to contain herself from screaming: You are on your third fucking wife! You think that you’re an ally, but your staff is 95 percent male! You are sitting here demoting me because I caused an outrage! That isn’t an ally; that’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

When Cleo said nothing, he continued. “As I said, I’m an ally, but I’ve conferred with the committee chair, and we both agree that you on this trip will be a distraction.”

“A distraction? William, I can walk and chew gum at the same time. I can speak with the troops and tell young women that they shouldn’t have to deal with lecherous older men at the same time.”

At this, Senator Parsons’s forehead rose, and he clicked his tongue loudly. A reprimand. As if Cleo were attacking him by attacking his peer group.

“I didn’t ask you here to debate me, Senator McDougal. I asked you here to inform you of . . . the discussion we’ve been having with the senior members of your committee.”

“So now you’re conferring with the committee without me?” Cleo was nearly on her feet, but then what? What was she actually going to do? Clock him? She settled back down.

“No, but there has been some talk that you violated this man’s right to a defense—that your actions framed him as guilty before he had a right to prove otherwise.”

“He was guilty. He is guilty.” Cleo steamed.

“Be that as it may, I fear this is going to escalate, take away your focus, distract the men and women we are there to support. Distract the embeds we’re flying over with us. I don’t want the journalists to be asking you questions about . . . this . . . when it has nothing to do with our mission.” He folded his hands in front of him on his desk. “I believe this is the best decision for everyone.”

Cleo wanted to point out that technically this wasn’t his decision to make. The entire Intelligence Committee and a few stragglers were going on the trip, and by benching her, he was placing her at a deficit. Which reduced her effectiveness as a senator and therefore impeded her duty to her constituents and her oath to the Constitution. But Cleo had scaled these mountains before, fighting the fight against men who weren’t going to be swayed, even when they were in the wrong. There was something remarkable about this arrogance, really. How easily they could plant their flags on the erroneous side of the facts and stare you straight in the eye and almost convince you that the world was flat. Cleo could surely still go on the trip if she insisted on escalating what Parsons wanted her to quell, if she released Nobells’s emails and texts, if she demonstrated a pattern of his retaliatory behavior. Or if she simply showed up with a packed bag on the tarmac. She knew he wouldn’t boot her in front of her peers. But politics was a bit like chess: you had to move with an eye on the whole board, with a 360-degree view of what would come next and the move after that. Both she and Senator Parsons knew that if she checked him now, he’d find a way to checkmate her later.

She stood, exhaled, tried to compose herself. He wasn’t the first asshole who would shove her down the steps while pretending to outstretch his hand. In fact, that was Alexander Nobells.

“Message received, Senator.”

“I hope you understand, Cleo,” he said to her back, because she was already headed out. “I’m only suggesting what I think is best.”

She almost turned and asked him: Best for whom? But why bother? She wasn’t going to change a privileged sixty-eight-year-old man. She’d rather save her breath for when she really needed to scream.

She closed the door behind her, then spun and flipped him the middle finger with both hands. When she saw Albie’s eyes widen in shock, she said, “Oh, fuck him.”

And he said, “Wow, that time of the month?”

And then she got right up close to his acne-riddled chin and said: “Fuck you too.”

And she didn’t regret that at all.