Chapter Text
Hillary Rodham was enjoying a moment of silence, something it seemed she’d been missing for quite some time. With her husband and seventeen year-old son gone out of state, the only pressing items on Hillary’s agenda for the next few days were a city council meeting, a scheduled stop at Langer’s, the local cafe, and an interview with some backwoods reporter from Arkansas that her campaign chair had granted in a fit of lunacy.
Having recently thrown her hat in the ring of Park Ridge’s Mayoral race, Hillary was beginning to understand that she needed to be more accessible to the public, but she was at a loss as to why anyone from more than 5 miles away from Park Ridge in any direction would be interested in her as the subject of a news story.
She’d dabbled in local government on the periphery for years, beginning as deputy city clerk twelve years ago, then Alderwoman of Park Ridge’s 3rd Ward eight years after that, all while maintaining a position with the local chapter of the ACLU. When Mayor Greg Abbott had announced his intention to retire at the end of his term, he had strongly encouraged Hillary to run for his spot, citing her life-long ties to Park Ridge as well as her dogged determination to help those around her. She had almost reluctantly agreed, and Greg had hooked her up with his old campaign chair and policy advisor to help craft a platform with a focus on social initiatives that benefitted the community as a whole. It was something near an dear to her heart, and to be able to have a hand in creating it was exciting to Hillary. She only hoped she could beat her opponent so she’d have a chance to enact it.
A knock on her front door started her from her thoughts and she scrambled up from the sofa to answer it.
“Mrs. Rodham?” he asked hesitantly. She felt something twist in her stomach but she couldn’t identify it. He was not what she had expected. He was young - well as young as she was - and he had a smile that was boyish, an aura about him that was welcoming, friendly. She supposed that was a good quality in a reporter, it made it easier to get people to tell you what you wanted to know.
“It’s Ms.” she said absentmindedly, finally realizing he’d been looking at her expectantly for the last minute while she went over his virtues in her head.
“Ms. Rodham, excuse me,” he said with a smirk. “I thought I had heard you were married.”
Her hand went to her hip reflexively. “You heard correctly. I go by my maiden name.”
He pulled out a small notebook and pencil and jotted something down, then stuck his hand out in greeting.
“Bill Clinton, Northwest Arkansas Times.”
He had a soft yet confident handshake. There was that twisting feeling again.
“Hillary Rodham, nice to meet you. Did you want to come in, or did you have some other location in mind to conduct your interview?”
He picked up a shoulder bag that had gone unnoticed at his feet and started to inch his way inside.
“Here’s fine. I thought I could just ask you some basic questions regarding your background and your candidacy and then I understand you have a campaign stop and a city council meeting I thought I’d tag along to if you don’t mind.”
The thought of this man observing her had her on edge and she had no idea why.
“By all means,” she said, stepping out of the way to allow him in, then leading him to the left. “We can sit in the den. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink?”
He shook his head no, barely listening as he plopped down in one of the wing-back chairs and scribbled more notes in his notebook. She wondered what he was writing. He looked up a moment later to find her eyes on him.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I was just making some notes about your home. It’s very nice. How long have you lived here?”
Hillary took a seat on the couch opposite him and tucked one leg underneath her. “Let’s see...Henry’s 17 and we moved here just before his birth, so about 17 years.”
Bill nodded with interest. “And how long have you lived in Park Ridge?”
She started to speak but he held up a hand while the other pulled out a small tape recorder. “Do you mind? It’s easier for me to go back and listen later.” She shook her head no.
“Go on,” he implored. “You’ve lived in Park Ridge since...?”
She eyed the tape recorder with trepidation. “I was born and raised here. Went all through the public school system. I left to go to college and then stayed in Boston after law school, but returned in ‘77 and have been here ever since. “
“Wow, Boston huh? I guess the pull of Illinois was just too strong for you?” he chuckled.
Hillary smiled sadly. “My mother got sick and I came home to take care of her. She passed away about 2 years later, a couple of months after Henry was born.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said with genuine sincerity.
“Thank you. I still miss her sometimes.” She couldn’t understand why it was so easy to impart these details of her life to a stranger, but it was a tad unnerving.
“Can I ask you a question Mr. Clinton?”
“Ask away,” he said.
“You’re a long way from Arkansas, why the interest in Park Ridge politics?”
Bill chuckled. “I have an old buddy, Dale Burrows from journalism school and he hails from Skokie. When I spoke to him a couple of weeks ago we were discussing the fact that Arkansas city governments are almost exclusively male. I said I wondered why that was and he mentioned maybe I could gain some perspective from the ‘lady candidate’ running for Mayor in Park Ridge. He got me in touch with your campaign person and the rest is history.” His eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.
Hillary scoffed. “Lady Candidate?”
Bill couldn’t help but grin at her consternation. “His term not mine.”
“Yeah, well terms like ‘Lady Candidate’ don’t really help women feel like they have equal footing in a race when they’re being singled out solely by their gender. Why not highlight the differences between me and my opponent in ideology and policy instead of anatomy?” she asked, annoyed.
He was riling her up. But why?
“Ok, so let’s focus on some of your policies then,” Bill said, digging through his bag to pull out different notepad with more notes scrawled on it. “I was looking at your platform and it looks very heavily slanted toward women and children, much more so than your opponent. Do you think there’s a correlation between a female-focused agenda and the fact that you’re female?
Hillary was incredulous. “I think...” she began, choosing her words as carefully as she could. “...that without the women and the children of a community having access to social programs, food, healthcare and basic essentials, the community as a whole suffers. I consider that human decency.”
“Do you think your proposed platform will hurt your position with men?”
Now she was convinced he was trying to get a rise out of her.
She rolled her eyes. “I think if men can’t see the value in making sure everyone is equally cared for - if they don’t have a vested interest in seeing their mothers, sisters, wives and daughters thrive - then they don’t have to vote for me.”
“That’s a pretty dangerous thing to say during a campaign, Ms. Rodham,” he said. He was enjoying this and she was most definitely not.
“No, Mr. Clinton, dangerous is implying that I think only with my vagina.” She looked pointedly at him and he squirmed. Good.
She barreled on. “Also, what we’ve put forth for children, for example more after school programs for youth and opportunities for teens to intern at local business as a part of their high school curriculum, are not, quote, female-focused, but aim to serve everyone.”
“Your opponent believes cutting social spending will allow more room in the budget to expand the business and retail footprint in Park Ridge. What are your thoughts?”
Hillary sighed. “I think cutting social programs is cruel. Citizens who feel valued and safe are empowered to pay it forward, to become integral parts of the community. And turning our backs on them when they might need a little extra help is not who I want to be as a Mayor, or as a person for that matter.”
“What does your husband think?” He grinned, knowing his question was completely out of line.
That was it. ‘Deep breath Hillary,’ she chanted in her head to keep her from reaching over and punching that smug look off his face.
“My husband is not running for Mayor, I am,” she said tersely. “Are you being deliberately sexist or are you just trying to piss me off on purpose?”
“What do you think Ms. Rodham?”
“I don’t know Mr. Clinton, but if you’re trying to gain perspective on what a female candidate goes through, perhaps you should take a good look at your line of questioning and you might get a clue.”
He started to speak but she cut him off. “I have to be at a campaign stop in an hour and I’ve got to get ready, I’m assuming I’ll see you there?”
“I’ll be there,” he said as he stuffed his notebooks haphazardly back in his satchel and stood.
“Thank you for your time Ms. Rodham,” he said on his way to the door.
“Pleasure,” she replied sarcastically, almost pushing him through the door onto the porch, then closing it in his face.
Hillary stood with her back to the door for a moment. She had no idea why she was letting this person aggravate her so much, but she needed to pull it together before she saw him again. She needed to be on her best behavior, show him that people’s ridiculous assumptions about women being too emotional to handle things like politics were utter garbage. ‘Put your armor on Hillary,’ she thought.