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Chris and Senator Kennedy, I quickly learned, could be snatched from us at any moment, summoned back to the Senate floor for a vote, so we were united in this limbo between food and drink and the potential pressing call to attend to the running of our country. I was impressed. So with the shadow of “the floor” looming over our little gathering, the two senators held forth, fifth, sixth, and beyond, while sipping red wine and consuming appetizers.

Senator Kennedy was particularly eloquent. I don’t recall his subject matter, but I do remember it was of a topical, political nature. Shocking, I know. It occurs to me that Nicaragua had something to do with it—that was the country Americans argued about at the time—but I can’t be certain. (Of pretty much anything lately, when it comes to memory. But there’s the swap: out goes the depression, propelled by friendly electricity, and with it go all manner of recollections that at one time might have stayed put.) But I do remember marveling at him, if that’s an appropriate expression.

What I’m trying to say is, this was surely a remarkable human. I mean, obviously you don’t get to his position in the world by accident or without merit. (At least this is what I believed before the arrival on the scene of alarming creatures such as George W. Bush.) Well-spoken, extraordinarily intelligent, poised, thought-provoking—he was a statesman in every sense of the word. I was intimidated by him, in awe of him, overwhelmed. He had something, for want of a better word, heroic about him.

Not that Chris Dodd lacked these qualities. On the contrary, you could see why they were such good friends. In effect, these men were as close as you might get to royalty in America. And there I was, a few cards short of a royal flush, as the senators held forth on all manner of important issues of national and international consequence, dominating the table. The rest of us were witnesses to these compatible political gladiators. But as the meal wore on, the dynamic began slowly shifting. Not dramatically, just ever so slightly.

Having recently entered the wide world of recovery, I was in a feisty sort of mood. I used to call my drug-taking “putting the monster in the box.” It would reduce the spectacle of my personality to something a little more socially appropriate. But now that drugs were out, so was the monster.

It’s not as if I didn’t know my place, or thereabouts. But just because I knew it didn’t mean I could be counted on to stay in it. I meant to be this respectful, newly sober girl in her late twenties, but, sadly, these intentions weren’t meant to be realized. This night, while I wasn’t looking, my cute little monster tiptoed out of her box and waited to see who would have the nuts—or be nuts enough—to take her on.

Wine continued to be served—I drank Coca-Cola—and meals were ordered. I sat quietly and listened, hoping perhaps to learn something, but more importantly to remain as charmingly unobtrusive as possible. Knowing very little of current, and not-so-current, events—“So, how many senators are there, actually?”—I wasn’t eager to further embarrass myself. I remember Kennedy’s date being rather quiet as well. Along with Ethel Kennedy’s charming neighbors, we were kind of innocent bystanders to this happy accident.

Then suddenly, their pagers went off! A series of beeps was followed by a cryptic exchange, which was most likely a secretary (as they were still referred to in those days) informing them that they would not be returning to the floor that evening. All right, then! Relax and let fly. And fly they did! The red wine was replaced by vodka tonics—they went from the grape to hard liquor, the type that softens any sharp edges that might still be standing guard. Now that they were officially off duty, they let their elder statesmen graying hair down.

As I said, at the start of the evening I had been in awe of them. Who was I to contribute to a conversation being conducted by such lofty, learned men? Men who ran things. Men who talked the talk. Men who not only knew the law, but wrote it! Surely I was as out of my depth as I ever would be. It wasn’t even my depth, it was theirs! I was sinking to the bottom of this erudite, senatorial swamp as they rose higher and higher with each cocktail. These were important men who could argue with the president if they wanted! And who was I but some dumb girl who had never graduated from high school? Not only that, but an actress currently filming some movie. Not even a real movie, a TV movie. Something that would eventually fade into that void where all the streams of images eventually flow, a stagnant pool of all unremarkable entertainment.

Oh, sure, I’d been in plenty of movies, but the films were important, not me. Even with Star Wars, the character I played was famous. We just happened to have similar faces. Still, I wasn’t thirty yet and I’d had quite a colorful life, if viewed from a generous, all-American slant. But perhaps it was best to keep my mouth shut, lest my lack of education and breeding blow my cover. There was also the business of my sobriety. Having abused my access to the altered state, I was consigned to sip my Coke and watch these amazingly educated and entitled men—now temporarily relieved of their senatorial responsibilities—indulge in Washington’s brand of hard-core happy hour.

And who could blame them? Who could blame anyone who’d put in a hard day’s work keeping our nation’s government working? It was only natural to want to take leave of at least some of your senses, and these men had so much sense to start with. Surely, they could easily afford to take leave of an ample store of it without causing too much notice.

So, in the darkened private dining room, we all sat around our white-clothed, silver-set table and listened as these once-noble voices now laughed and, accompanied by a soundtrack of clinking and swirling ice, devolved into bawdier tones. Suddenly, Senator Kennedy, seated directly across from me, looked at me with his alert, aristocratic eyes and asked me a most surprising question.

“So,” he said, clearly amused, “do you think you’ll be having sex with Chris at the end of your date?”

Wow. How did we get here from… well, essentially anywhere? What had I done to provoke his eloquent scorn? To my left, Chris Dodd looked at me with an unusual grin hanging on his very flushed face. To my right, the really nice couple said nothing, trying to pretend they hadn’t heard what we all so clearly did hear. Senator Kennedy’s blond girlfriend, sitting to his right, nonreacted accordingly.

What was he doing? Why had he asked me that? Could it be that he meant to cause me an untold amount of embarrassment? What other explanation was there? Why ask someone a shocking, taunting question like that unless it was your intent to make that someone look and feel like a fool?

No!

This would not do. Seriously. There was no other way to look at this than completely not okay. Even if this man’s brother had been a hero. Even if two of his brothers had been heroes. Even if he, in his legislation-passing, cause-confronting way, was a hero. I was not just going to lie down and let this man moonwalk all over me.

“Funnily enough, I won’t be having sex with Chris tonight,” I said, my face composed and calm. “No, that probably won’t happen.” People blinked. “Thanks for asking, though.” A fork clinked on a plate.