Fic: A Doormat or a Prostitute
Author: Ryo Sen
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: These righteous babes belong to Aaron. Not me.
Summary: CJ and Ainsley have a disagreement.
It really shouldn't surprise me anymore. I mean, I must have had the same conversation hundreds of times with hundreds of women. Call me naive (or idealistic?); it still shocks me every single time.
This particular conversation came about as the result of Danny. I should be used to his questions leading to situations that make me want to jump off of a tall building, but this one surprised me.
I was almost done with my briefing, having finally dispensed of the small Phree Pharmecuticals snafu (they protested current drug laws by staging a smoke-in on the sidewalk in front of the White House, at which point the D.C. police saw an opportunity to exceed their monthly drug-bust quotas, and Representative McCall flipped his wig over this latest demonstration of 'liberal excess at the White House' by calling a hellfire and brimstone press conference at the police precinct), when Danny asked the question.
"CJ, will the White House support VAWA3 even with Senator Douglas-Radford's rider attached?"
This is, of course, the first I've heard of a rider on VAWA3. I curb the urge to riffle through the papers before me and give my old standby: "I'll have more for you on that at the three o'clock briefing."
I ignore the chorus of groans and stalk out of the press room. Danny tags along, as always. I am not amused.
"Didn't know about the rider," he guesses.
"Astute deduction."
"CJ--"
"Danny, not now."
"Don't you want to know about--?"
"I'm serious, Danny."
"Okay," he says, and veers off to the right.
I continue to Toby's office. "Toby," I start. "Do you--"
"Phree Pharmecuticals?" he asks without looking up from his desk. "Phree with a P-H?"
"Toby, they staged a drug-in at the front door of the White House; you're criticizing their spelling?"
"Spelling free with a P-H is criminal."
"Toby."
Finally, he looks up. He must infer the way his afternoon is going to go from the scowl I'm wearing. "Not VAWA3," he says. "Please tell me Terrell didn't--"
"A rider," I say, moving forward to lean against the visitor's chair.
"A rider?"
"Yup."
"Who did it?"
"Douglas-Radford."
Toby gives one of his sighs. "What is it?"
"Don't know yet," I admit. "But knowing Douglas-Radford..."
"Right," Toby grimaces. "It'll be something completely irrational."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Toby, her thing about rape being a hate crime? She's got a damn good point."
Toby watches me for a moment. "I would not argue with you on that."
"Because you agree with me, or because you're afraid I'll beat you senseless with a dog-eared copy of Backlash?"
"Both?"
I roll my eyes at him. "Irrational?"
"What?"
"You said that knowing Douglas-Radford, it'll be something irrational. The rider."
"All sex is rape?" Toby offers.
"She didn't say that," I argue.
"It was on CNN, CJ."
"She was quoting Andrea Dworkin; she wasn't saying she agreed, Toby. It was taken completely out of context in order to set her up as a crazy feminazi."
There's a knock on the door behind me. I turn to find Ainsley Hayes in the doorway.
"Hi, CJ, Toby," she says.
"Hello, Ainsley," I answer with a smile. I'm trying to like her. I really am. I admire her for standing up for what she believes in, even if what she believes in is, you know, completely contrary to everything I believe in. You'll notice I haven't quite mastered the liking her part.
Toby just nods.
"Leo asked me to stop by." Ainsley takes one step into the office. "He thought you might have some questions about the rider."
Toby and I exchange a look.
"Douglas-Radford?" I ask.
"Yes, the pornography thing," she confirms.
Toby clears his throat, "Senator Douglas-Radford added a pornography rider to the Violence Against Women Act reauthorization?"
Ainsley nods. "The rider is, to be precise, a clause that would allow victims of violent sexual assaults wherein pornography was used as an inspiration or a..." she pauses and waves her hands around a bit while searching for a word, then shrugs, "...tool during the act in question to sue the producers and distributors of the pornographic material."
It takes Toby and I both a minute to untangle the clauses for comprehension.
"You mean," I venture, "that if I were raped and my rapist used a picture from a porn magazine while raping me, I could sue the magazine?"
"Yes," Ainsley nods.
"That's ridiculous," Toby says.
"I know," Ainsley agrees. "It'll never pass."
"Wait a second," I say. "The idea is not without merit."
"What?" Toby scoffs.
"I'm not talking about Playboy, Toby," I say. "But violent pornography that shows women being beaten and tied up and mutilated and killed, maybe that encourages some men--"
"Such men would do things like these either way," Ainsley says. "And the First Amendment clearly states--"
"I'm familiar with the Bill of Rights, Ainsley," I note dryly. "I'm not saying there aren't problems with the idea, I just don't think you should dismiss it as ludicrous. There are studies--"
"CJ," Toby interrupts. "Do we have to--"
"There are studies," I say louder, "that show men who use violent pornography are, in effect, conditioning themselves to be sexually aroused by violence against women."
"Conditioning themselves?" Ainsley asks with a faint look of distaste.
"An orgasm is pretty strong positive reinforcment," I say.
"CJ," Toby tries again.
I ignore him. "Did you know that a majority of serial killers have testified to their use of pornography to get themselves worked up for the kill?"
"CJ," Toby all but shouts. "Can we table this?"
"No," I answer. "What about the big lawsuit against gun manufacturers for their culpability in gun violence?"
"That lawsuit should never have been brought," Ainsley states. "The Second Amendment--"
"Calls for a well-regulated militia," Toby interrupts sharply. "Not for arming small bands of paranoid bigots."
We're still a bit touchy on the subject of guns around here. Call us oversensitive, but living through a hail of bullets zinging the ground around you -- not to mention nearly losing one of your best friends to racial hatred -- will tend to alter your life permanently.
I steer the subject away from guns before Toby boots Ainsley out of his office. "I'm not saying pornography should be outlawed--"
"Thank God," Toby mutters sarcastically.
"I'm just saying maybe this should at least be part of the discussion."
"You see," Ainsley says. "That's the problem with feminism: Feminists go so far into the fringe that your average American woman couldn't possibly self-identify as a feminist."
I gape at her. I actually stand there, open-mouthed, and stare at her. This young woman who, a hundred years ago, would be unable to vote, unable to access reliable birth control, and unable to procure housing on her own. This woman who, a hundred years ago, would be considered the property of her father until she married, then be considered the property of her husband. Instead this woman, after attending Smith College and Harvard Law School, is standing in the West Wing of the White House working as an advisor to the President of the United States. Her audacity just astounds me.
"You're not a feminist?" I ask, attempting to keep my voice neutral. If Toby's amused expression is any indication, I have failed.
"No," Ainsley says. "I am most emphatically not a feminist."
I hesitate for a moment, not because I can't think of what to say, but because I can't decide which of my many, many questions I should ask first. "Ainsley, do you believe women should be able to vote?"
"Excuse me?" she gives me that condescending smile. "That's a ridiculous question."
"Is it?" I prompt. "Women couldn't vote in this country until 1920."
"I did take one or two history classes in college, CJ," Ainsley says.
"Did you miss the part that covered women -- feminists -- fighting against oppression and prejudice to gain what lopsided equality we have now?"
"CJ," Ainsley says. "I'm not disagreeing with you that there was a time for feminism in this country--"
"There is a time for feminism," I interrupt. "It's right now--"
"CJ," Toby interjects unsuccessfully.
"It's right now when women still make 75 cents on the male dollar. Now when all the violent crime statistics the FBI keeps track of are falling; all but rape. There is still not affordable child care, and single mothers are still blamed for neglecting their children by working two jobs to make ends meet. Domestic violence is an insidious and largely ignored problem--"
"CJ!" Toby shouts. "Could you two please take this discussion elsewhere?"
"CJ," Ainsley says, ignoring Toby's outburst. "I agree that women should make the same as men for the same job--"
"Which is a tenet of feminist thought," I point out helpfully.
"And I agree that rape and domestic violence and the availability of child care are issues that need to be addressed--"
"By cutting funding for shelters and another round of welfare deform?" I guess.
Ainsley glowers at me for a moment. "I am not a heartless person, CJ," she says. "I believe we both want what's best for people -- for women. We just have different ideas on how best to accomplish that goal."
"No," I shake my head. "You're just scared to be labeled a Republican feminist." I glance at Toby, who has dropped back into his seat in defeat, and ask, "Do Republican feminists even exist?"
"They're a rare and endangered species," he answers.
"That's not funny," Ainsley says. "Feminism is a radical concept--"
"What?" I interrupt. "Believing the men and women are equal and deserve equal protection under the law is a radical concept?"
"No," Ainsley frowns at me. "Declaring that women should denounce their femininity to compete with men--"
"Do I look like I've denounced my femininity? Shut up, Toby."
To his credit, Toby doesn't say a word.
Ainsley looks at me for a moment, in her tailored blue suit and her sensible heels that look remarkably like my tailored black suit and sensible (if lower) heels. "No," she says. "But that is the impression that people get from the feminist movement."
"That is the projection of virulently anti-feminist political operatives on the conservative right," I argue. "And, really, you'd prefer to believe Pat Robertson or Phyllis Schlafly or Rush Limbaugh and their incredibly uninformed opinions on the feminist movement? Why don't you thumb through some Susan Faludi or Molly Ivins or, hell, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and see if they don't make a little more sense."
"CJ--"
"I've got copies in my office," I say. "Feel free to borrow them."
"I am not going to borrow your books," Ainsley says. "Although I do thank you for the offer."
We stand there, staring at each other in the sudden silence.
Toby clears his throat. "Well--"
"Yes," Ainsley says. "I'd best be getting back to the basement. Let me know if you later have questions on the rider."
Toby blinks rapidly, then says, "Yeah, thanks."
I manage a nod.
Ainsley winds her way through the bullpen and disappears through the far door.
I turn to Toby, who is shaking his head at me. "Was that really necessary?"
"What?"
"That tongue-lashing just then."
"Yes," I say. "I believe it was. And if you so much as think the word catfight, I'll--"
"CJ," he interrupts. "You didn't convince her of anything."
"I know," I nod. "But now I know where she stands."
"And where is that?"
"On the opposite side of just about everything."
"You're just realizing this now?" Toby asks skeptically.
"No," I admit. "But I was hoping to find some common ground. You know, so I could like her."
"But instead?"
"I agree with Donna," I say. "I'm going to hate her now and avoid the rush."
THE END
11.07.00
"I have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is. I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat or a prostitute." -Rebecca West
Spoilers: None.
Disclaimer: These righteous babes belong to Aaron. Not me.
Summary: CJ and Ainsley have a disagreement.
It really shouldn't surprise me anymore. I mean, I must have had the same conversation hundreds of times with hundreds of women. Call me naive (or idealistic?); it still shocks me every single time.
This particular conversation came about as the result of Danny. I should be used to his questions leading to situations that make me want to jump off of a tall building, but this one surprised me.
I was almost done with my briefing, having finally dispensed of the small Phree Pharmecuticals snafu (they protested current drug laws by staging a smoke-in on the sidewalk in front of the White House, at which point the D.C. police saw an opportunity to exceed their monthly drug-bust quotas, and Representative McCall flipped his wig over this latest demonstration of 'liberal excess at the White House' by calling a hellfire and brimstone press conference at the police precinct), when Danny asked the question.
"CJ, will the White House support VAWA3 even with Senator Douglas-Radford's rider attached?"
This is, of course, the first I've heard of a rider on VAWA3. I curb the urge to riffle through the papers before me and give my old standby: "I'll have more for you on that at the three o'clock briefing."
I ignore the chorus of groans and stalk out of the press room. Danny tags along, as always. I am not amused.
"Didn't know about the rider," he guesses.
"Astute deduction."
"CJ--"
"Danny, not now."
"Don't you want to know about--?"
"I'm serious, Danny."
"Okay," he says, and veers off to the right.
I continue to Toby's office. "Toby," I start. "Do you--"
"Phree Pharmecuticals?" he asks without looking up from his desk. "Phree with a P-H?"
"Toby, they staged a drug-in at the front door of the White House; you're criticizing their spelling?"
"Spelling free with a P-H is criminal."
"Toby."
Finally, he looks up. He must infer the way his afternoon is going to go from the scowl I'm wearing. "Not VAWA3," he says. "Please tell me Terrell didn't--"
"A rider," I say, moving forward to lean against the visitor's chair.
"A rider?"
"Yup."
"Who did it?"
"Douglas-Radford."
Toby gives one of his sighs. "What is it?"
"Don't know yet," I admit. "But knowing Douglas-Radford..."
"Right," Toby grimaces. "It'll be something completely irrational."
I narrow my eyes at him. "Toby, her thing about rape being a hate crime? She's got a damn good point."
Toby watches me for a moment. "I would not argue with you on that."
"Because you agree with me, or because you're afraid I'll beat you senseless with a dog-eared copy of Backlash?"
"Both?"
I roll my eyes at him. "Irrational?"
"What?"
"You said that knowing Douglas-Radford, it'll be something irrational. The rider."
"All sex is rape?" Toby offers.
"She didn't say that," I argue.
"It was on CNN, CJ."
"She was quoting Andrea Dworkin; she wasn't saying she agreed, Toby. It was taken completely out of context in order to set her up as a crazy feminazi."
There's a knock on the door behind me. I turn to find Ainsley Hayes in the doorway.
"Hi, CJ, Toby," she says.
"Hello, Ainsley," I answer with a smile. I'm trying to like her. I really am. I admire her for standing up for what she believes in, even if what she believes in is, you know, completely contrary to everything I believe in. You'll notice I haven't quite mastered the liking her part.
Toby just nods.
"Leo asked me to stop by." Ainsley takes one step into the office. "He thought you might have some questions about the rider."
Toby and I exchange a look.
"Douglas-Radford?" I ask.
"Yes, the pornography thing," she confirms.
Toby clears his throat, "Senator Douglas-Radford added a pornography rider to the Violence Against Women Act reauthorization?"
Ainsley nods. "The rider is, to be precise, a clause that would allow victims of violent sexual assaults wherein pornography was used as an inspiration or a..." she pauses and waves her hands around a bit while searching for a word, then shrugs, "...tool during the act in question to sue the producers and distributors of the pornographic material."
It takes Toby and I both a minute to untangle the clauses for comprehension.
"You mean," I venture, "that if I were raped and my rapist used a picture from a porn magazine while raping me, I could sue the magazine?"
"Yes," Ainsley nods.
"That's ridiculous," Toby says.
"I know," Ainsley agrees. "It'll never pass."
"Wait a second," I say. "The idea is not without merit."
"What?" Toby scoffs.
"I'm not talking about Playboy, Toby," I say. "But violent pornography that shows women being beaten and tied up and mutilated and killed, maybe that encourages some men--"
"Such men would do things like these either way," Ainsley says. "And the First Amendment clearly states--"
"I'm familiar with the Bill of Rights, Ainsley," I note dryly. "I'm not saying there aren't problems with the idea, I just don't think you should dismiss it as ludicrous. There are studies--"
"CJ," Toby interrupts. "Do we have to--"
"There are studies," I say louder, "that show men who use violent pornography are, in effect, conditioning themselves to be sexually aroused by violence against women."
"Conditioning themselves?" Ainsley asks with a faint look of distaste.
"An orgasm is pretty strong positive reinforcment," I say.
"CJ," Toby tries again.
I ignore him. "Did you know that a majority of serial killers have testified to their use of pornography to get themselves worked up for the kill?"
"CJ," Toby all but shouts. "Can we table this?"
"No," I answer. "What about the big lawsuit against gun manufacturers for their culpability in gun violence?"
"That lawsuit should never have been brought," Ainsley states. "The Second Amendment--"
"Calls for a well-regulated militia," Toby interrupts sharply. "Not for arming small bands of paranoid bigots."
We're still a bit touchy on the subject of guns around here. Call us oversensitive, but living through a hail of bullets zinging the ground around you -- not to mention nearly losing one of your best friends to racial hatred -- will tend to alter your life permanently.
I steer the subject away from guns before Toby boots Ainsley out of his office. "I'm not saying pornography should be outlawed--"
"Thank God," Toby mutters sarcastically.
"I'm just saying maybe this should at least be part of the discussion."
"You see," Ainsley says. "That's the problem with feminism: Feminists go so far into the fringe that your average American woman couldn't possibly self-identify as a feminist."
I gape at her. I actually stand there, open-mouthed, and stare at her. This young woman who, a hundred years ago, would be unable to vote, unable to access reliable birth control, and unable to procure housing on her own. This woman who, a hundred years ago, would be considered the property of her father until she married, then be considered the property of her husband. Instead this woman, after attending Smith College and Harvard Law School, is standing in the West Wing of the White House working as an advisor to the President of the United States. Her audacity just astounds me.
"You're not a feminist?" I ask, attempting to keep my voice neutral. If Toby's amused expression is any indication, I have failed.
"No," Ainsley says. "I am most emphatically not a feminist."
I hesitate for a moment, not because I can't think of what to say, but because I can't decide which of my many, many questions I should ask first. "Ainsley, do you believe women should be able to vote?"
"Excuse me?" she gives me that condescending smile. "That's a ridiculous question."
"Is it?" I prompt. "Women couldn't vote in this country until 1920."
"I did take one or two history classes in college, CJ," Ainsley says.
"Did you miss the part that covered women -- feminists -- fighting against oppression and prejudice to gain what lopsided equality we have now?"
"CJ," Ainsley says. "I'm not disagreeing with you that there was a time for feminism in this country--"
"There is a time for feminism," I interrupt. "It's right now--"
"CJ," Toby interjects unsuccessfully.
"It's right now when women still make 75 cents on the male dollar. Now when all the violent crime statistics the FBI keeps track of are falling; all but rape. There is still not affordable child care, and single mothers are still blamed for neglecting their children by working two jobs to make ends meet. Domestic violence is an insidious and largely ignored problem--"
"CJ!" Toby shouts. "Could you two please take this discussion elsewhere?"
"CJ," Ainsley says, ignoring Toby's outburst. "I agree that women should make the same as men for the same job--"
"Which is a tenet of feminist thought," I point out helpfully.
"And I agree that rape and domestic violence and the availability of child care are issues that need to be addressed--"
"By cutting funding for shelters and another round of welfare deform?" I guess.
Ainsley glowers at me for a moment. "I am not a heartless person, CJ," she says. "I believe we both want what's best for people -- for women. We just have different ideas on how best to accomplish that goal."
"No," I shake my head. "You're just scared to be labeled a Republican feminist." I glance at Toby, who has dropped back into his seat in defeat, and ask, "Do Republican feminists even exist?"
"They're a rare and endangered species," he answers.
"That's not funny," Ainsley says. "Feminism is a radical concept--"
"What?" I interrupt. "Believing the men and women are equal and deserve equal protection under the law is a radical concept?"
"No," Ainsley frowns at me. "Declaring that women should denounce their femininity to compete with men--"
"Do I look like I've denounced my femininity? Shut up, Toby."
To his credit, Toby doesn't say a word.
Ainsley looks at me for a moment, in her tailored blue suit and her sensible heels that look remarkably like my tailored black suit and sensible (if lower) heels. "No," she says. "But that is the impression that people get from the feminist movement."
"That is the projection of virulently anti-feminist political operatives on the conservative right," I argue. "And, really, you'd prefer to believe Pat Robertson or Phyllis Schlafly or Rush Limbaugh and their incredibly uninformed opinions on the feminist movement? Why don't you thumb through some Susan Faludi or Molly Ivins or, hell, Elizabeth Cady Stanton and see if they don't make a little more sense."
"CJ--"
"I've got copies in my office," I say. "Feel free to borrow them."
"I am not going to borrow your books," Ainsley says. "Although I do thank you for the offer."
We stand there, staring at each other in the sudden silence.
Toby clears his throat. "Well--"
"Yes," Ainsley says. "I'd best be getting back to the basement. Let me know if you later have questions on the rider."
Toby blinks rapidly, then says, "Yeah, thanks."
I manage a nod.
Ainsley winds her way through the bullpen and disappears through the far door.
I turn to Toby, who is shaking his head at me. "Was that really necessary?"
"What?"
"That tongue-lashing just then."
"Yes," I say. "I believe it was. And if you so much as think the word catfight, I'll--"
"CJ," he interrupts. "You didn't convince her of anything."
"I know," I nod. "But now I know where she stands."
"And where is that?"
"On the opposite side of just about everything."
"You're just realizing this now?" Toby asks skeptically.
"No," I admit. "But I was hoping to find some common ground. You know, so I could like her."
"But instead?"
"I agree with Donna," I say. "I'm going to hate her now and avoid the rush."
THE END
11.07.00
"I have never been able to find out precisely what feminism is. I only know that people call me a feminist whenever I express sentiments that differentiate me from a doormat or a prostitute." -Rebecca West