The reality was that I was a hardworking and not beautiful middle-class Midwestern girl with a mean father. I had never believed the world existed for my enjoyment.

His apparent talent for deceit—it was so disturbing, so insulting.

Dear Hillary! And actual punctuation! And a sign-off! In a text! What a charming man he was. Dear Albert, I texted back immediately, I had a wonderful time, too. I can’t thank you enough. I hope all goes well with your travel. Let me know when you arrive east this afternoon? —H

Albert Boyd was supposed to arrive at my apartment at seven for a glass of wine; at seven-thirty, we’d be driven to the restaurant; at nine o’clock, we’d leave the restaurant. I barely remembered what one did to get in the mood for a date, but certainly analyzing Donald Trump’s tweets wasn’t it.

I often secretly experienced my own good fortune as slightly shameful and my impulses toward activism as a form of contrition,

She was blinking back tears as she said, “I’ve never wanted children. I’m sure of it. Being the oldest sister, by the time I was in first grade, I was changing diapers and getting other people’s sandwiches ready and tying their shoes. Everyone always thinks not wanting kids is a temporary phase, which is so condescending. I don’t dislike them, but

“Yeah, but if you could spend your days sitting on a gold-plated shitter, fucking hookers, and getting paid millions to appear on TV for a few minutes, would you run for president?

Was it possible they could mitigate each other? Could some unholy alchemy of testosterone occur, a destabilizing blaze that incinerated Bill but left my own campaign intact? Because, really, weren’t they two sides of the same coin, wasn’t Donald simply a far less palatable version of Bill? Rich and narcissistic and verbose, charismatic, and

But you could always feel Bill’s impending, increasing charisma, how if he wasn’t the smartest and most charming man in a room, he would be soon.