A polite collapse
Phyllis Schlafly awoke at exactly 5:00 a.m., as she always did. The sky outside was still dark, only the faintest hint of blue edging the horizon. She slipped out of bed in practiced silence, smoothing her nightgown and adjusting her robe. Her hair was already neatly pinned, having been secured the night before with a silk scarf to preserve its shape. She checked her reflection in the mirror briefly, then turned toward the other bed.
Rita was still asleep, limbs sprawled carelessly across the mattress, the sheets tangled around her waist. She looked peaceful, in the way only the very young, or very oblivious, could. Phyllis pursed her lips slightly. There was a time she too had slept without a care. Those days were long gone.
Without hesitation, Phyllis crossed the room and flicked on the light.
Rita groaned, burying her face in her pillow. “Jesus Christ,” she mumbled, voice muffled. “What time is it?”
“Five,” Phyllis answered crisply. “We need to get ready for breakfast. They open at six, and I like to be punctual.”
Rita rolled over, squinting against the light, her curls an unkempt halo around her head. “Are you serious?”
Phyllis opened the closet, selecting a tailored skirt suit in a sensible shade of navy. “Of course I’m serious. Discipline begins with routine.” She said with a hum to her tune.
Rita let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back on the bed. “You’re gonna kill me before ERA does.”
Phyllis ignored her, already laying out her accessories on the dresser. “Ten minutes, please. We don’t want to be late.”
By the time Rita had made herself somewhat presentable, a knock came at the door. Three sharp strong knocks.
Phyllis moved toward the door to answer, smoothing out her blazer and STOP-ERA pin before doing so.
“Phyllis! I thought I'd walk down with you for breakfast.” said a tall, suited man, seemingly in his early fifties. His smile faltered slightly when his eyes came across Rita in the room behind Phyllis, adjusting the long sleeves of her black square-neck top.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you had company,” he added, his gaze lingering just a second too long on Rita’s exposed collarbone before dragging up to meet her eyes. “You must be...?”
Rita arched a brow before curtly replying, “Rita, Mrs. Schlafly’s roommate.”
Phyllis stepped forward, an edge in her voice. “This is Mr. Carpenter, one of our earliest STOP ERA supporters. He’s married.”
Rita smirked slightly. “Is that supposed to be relevant?”
Phyllis shot her a glare, but Mr. Carpenter laughed, clearly amused, and still visibly eyeing Rita as though he hadn’t heard a word.
“I’ll meet you downstairs, Phyllis,” he said, still smiling, though his attention remained on Rita. “Pleasure to meet you.”
He left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Phyllis’s jaw was tight. “Some people have no sense of propriety.”
Rita grabbed her bag, tossing it over her shoulder. “You mean me, or your married friend?”
Phyllis didn’t answer, already moving toward the door. She didn’t like the way he had looked at Rita. It was... inappropriate. Disrespectful. And, though she’d never admit it, something else. Something she didn’t care to name.
At breakfast, the dining hall was divided. Two very distinct sides of the room, one side the young ERA women, and the other the older STOP-ERA women. There is a very clear difference in the way both sides dressed, the ERA women obviously opting for comfort or personal expression, the older STOP-ERA women obviously leaning more toward tradition and modesty.
Phyllis took her seat at her table, her back straight, hands folded politely in her lap. Across the room, Rita was already seated with her friends, laughing at something, her voice carrying over the clatter of plates.
She didn’t look at Phyllis once.
But Phyllis looked. Stole glances when no one was watching, her expression unreadable. She didn’t know what she was looking for.. confirmation that Rita didn’t care? That she did? It was irritating.
Infuriating, even. Though Phyllis didn’t know why she was letting this 20 year old crazy feminist occupy her thoughts so much.
By midday, the debate hall had already had multiple different women with multiple different views go up to the mic. Finally, it was Phyllis’ turn to speak. Phyllis started off strong, according to herself and the other STOP-ERA women at least. She still couldn’t help but steal glances in Rita’s direction, noticing how bored and annoyed the young woman looked at everything Phyllis was saying. Rita, bored out of her mind and silently enraged by Phyllis’ very ignorant anti-feminist views, still couldn’t help but let her eyes wander over the older woman's figure as she was on stage. She’s certainly very beautiful for an older woman, it’s a shame she’s fallen such a victim to the patriarchy. Rita also couldn’t help but remember the brief moment of vulnerability shared between the two women the night before.
“...and if we allow the ERA to pass,” Phyllis intoned, voice steady, “we risk dismantling the very foundation of the family unit. Our homes, our values, our children…”
Her words faltered slightly. She blinked. The room spun for just a moment.
Rita, seated in the audience with the ERA women, narrowed her eyes.
Phyllis’s face had gone pale, a sheen of sweat glistening at her temple. She clutched the podium with white knuckles, her voice wobbling.
Rita couldn’t help but feel sympathy for the older woman, was it the lights? Heat? God forbid… Phyllis Schlafly was nervous? Not entirely sure what was happening, Rita decided to whisper to her fellow ERA friend beside her. “She’s not looking so good..” She said, her friend simply replying, “serves her right.”
Rita wanted to scold her friend for saying such a thing, but instead she got up and made her way to the front, toward the STOP-ERA section, walking toward a woman she recognized as having sat beside Phyllis during the breakfast, Alice.
“She looks like she’s about to collapse.” Rita whispered to Alice, who looked up, alarmed. Phyllis was still trying to continue her speech, but her knees were shaking, and she was clearly slightly swaying.
Alice stood. Rita was already moving, both of them pushing toward the stage as politely as possible. As Alice stepped in to take the microphone, Phyllis’s grip faltered. She still tried to speak, even as her body betrayed her.
“Phyllis, let’s go,” Rita said firmly, stepping in and taking her by the arm. Alice taking over speaking for her.
Phyllis tried to resist, tried to stand tall, but her vision blurred, her limbs weak.
“No,” she hissed, voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” Rita said, already leading her off the stage, her hand steady against Phyllis’s back. “Don’t be stupid.”
Rita lead the older woman toward a single bathroom, the woman trembling. Rita leaned Phyllis against the washroom wall, as to keep her standing up straight while she removed the blazer from above Phyllis’ blouse.
She laid the blouse on the floor to act as a barrier between Phyllis and the nasty ground. Rita placed one arm around the older woman's waist, her other hand supporting her arm, helping her lay on top of the blazer as she said “Mrs. Schlafly, I think you are going to faint. It’s alright, just let it happen.” she said while lowering her.
“I will not-” Phyllis began, but Rita cut her off.
“You will. There’s no other way. You’re already halfway there. Just get it over with.”
Phyllis wavered, her legs giving out. Rita caught her, guiding her down so Phyllis’s head rested in her lap. Her hand went to Phyllis’s forehead, fanning gently.
“I don’t need this,” Phyllis murmured, barely conscious. “Not from you...”
“Too bad,” Rita said coldly, though her touch remained gentle.
Despite her embarrassed efforts, Phyllis’s eyes fluttered closed.