Carrie Reed is next to Frankie, and she giggles behind one hand. “Sorry,” she whispers to them. “I just heard that last part.”
Jo clams up immediately.
"I'm serious," Frankie says. "Get things back on track. And do it quickly, because, well… you know." She shoots Jo a warning look.
Jo's head snaps in Frankie's direction. She realizes from the arched eyebrow that Frankie is referring to Jeanie Florence.
"What?" Frankie says defensively. "I'm just saying that you need to make sure things are good between you two."
Jo sighs because she knows Frankie is right. Leaving things the way they are between her and Bill while he spends his work days with Jeanie isn't a good idea. She’s about to say something back to Frankie when the men stand up behind the table and face the room full of attendees. They all stand erect and at attention, like the former military men they are.
“I think it’s time to put on our game faces, girls,” Barbie whispers to all of them, smoothing down the front of her dress and plastering on a smile as the men file off stage and out a side door. “We’ve got a meet-and-greet to get through.”
Jo wants to do anythingbutstand around the giant, open space at Cape Kennedy that serves as the event spot. They’ve had several photo ops there, as well as cocktail parties and other gatherings. She pulls herself together and holds her head high, following Frankie and the other women out of the room and into the open space with its high ceilings and to-scale replicas of different space capsules.
“Ladies,” Dave Huggins says, greeting them with his camera in hand. He’s about forty, with dark hair parted to one side, and thick-framed glasses that hide how handsome he really is.“Can I get a photo of you chatting?”
The women haven’t started to talk yet, and Jo eyes the servers circulating with champagne on trays. It’s about ten minutes to five, and though that is technically cocktail hour, it feels a little early to get tipsy on bubbly. Still, when the waiter passes by, Jo takes a flute.
“Jo, if you could stand next to Jude, that would be great,” Dave Huggins says, already squinting into his viewfinder. He waves with one hand to shoo Jo into position, and she obliges.
“Hi,” Jude says as they stand together, facing one another. Instead of champagne, Jude holds a glass of orange juice in one hand. “None of the bubbly stuff for me.” She looks a little sad about it, but also kind of pleased with herself, as she should be. Jo is well aware of the personal struggle Jude went through to get to where she is now, and she’s proud of her.
“Hi, yourself.” Jo clinks her flute against Jude’s glass. “Happy announcement day for our boys.”
Jude laughs and sips her juice. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“I have no idea.” Jo glances at her watch; it’s five o’clock now, and she tips her champagne glass and takes a solid drink. “I guess it’s something like that, right? Arvin North called them here and introduced them to the world as the newest crop of astronauts, so that’s a big deal, right?”
Jude frowns at her. “Well, it is a big deal… but, Jo? Are you okay?”
Jo folds one arm across her stomach and takes another drink as she looks around. Without realizing it, she’s scanned the room for Jeanie Florence. “Mmm,” she says with a nod, hoping it sounds noncommittal. “I’m great.”
“You don’t look great—and I mean that in the nicest way,” Jude says. “It’s just that the last couple of times I’ve seen you, you’ve seemed distracted.”
Jo’s attention returns to Jude full force. “I have?”
Jude nods, eyes wide. “Yes. And so I’m asking: are you really okay?”
A film of tears passes over Jo’s eyes like a flash flood. She blinks them back, forcing a smile and a nod for Jude. “I am,” she says, reaching out to take one of Jude’s hands in hers. “I’m just going through one of those phases where you don’t feel like a good mom, or a good wife, you know? When everything seems like it’s wrong, and it’s your fault, and you can’t fix it.” She takes a step closer to Jude, looking at her imploringly. “Have you ever felt like that?”
Jude nods. “I have,” she says in a quiet whisper. “I think we all have.”
They’re still holding one another’s hands and Jo is about to say more when Dave Huggins returns. “Hey, gals,” he says, snapping a photo of Frankie from an angle. “How about if you all stand in a line with your right foot in front, and, yeah—just like that,” he says, watching as the women rearrange themselves. “Right. And if you can hold your drinks in both hands in front of you, then you’ll look completely uniform. Kind of like a line of Rockettes,” he says, giving Frankie a knowing look and an eyebrow wiggle.
If any of them liked Dave Huggins less, they would have told him to take a long walk off a short pier, but he’s been a presence in their lives for the past few years, and he’s never been anything but professional, friendly, and a great champion of the wives, taking excellent photos of them, and always making their families look good in print.
So the women line up. They smile. They laugh and look at one another with bright eyes, hamming it up for Dave and for NASA. After all, this is their husbands' chosen profession, their families' livelihood. And there's an element of glamour to the whole thing that is undeniable. To be held up before all of America, and even the world, as families of excellence, as wives of the men who may soon walk on the moon--well, this does something to a woman's feelings of importance. Jo looks around at her fellow wives, seeing the gleam in their eyes as they tilt their heads to one side coquettishly, or twist their bodies just slightly to find a better angle for the camera. These are all signs to her that they know their places; they know what's expected of them as astronaut wives, and they understand what's at stake here.
Jo looks back at Dave, tossing her head just slightly to rearrange her hair and to loosen her shoulders. She forgets about Bill and his therapist, about Jeanie Florence, about her own inability to put her fingers to her typewriter and get something on paper at the moment. Instead, she feels the flare of determination behind her eyes as she turns her slim body at a three-quarter angle, glancing back at Frankie over one shoulder and laughing along with the other women.
It's time to get real here: only three men will be going to the moon when it finally happens. And none of them knows whether the impression that the families or the wives make will do anything to grow the cachet of their men in the eyes of the powers that be. So, without being told, each of the women attempts to fill the unspoken roles that have been laid out for her: perfect homemaker; adoring wife and mother; beautiful girl-next-door; and future wife of an astronaut.
Jo can't be sure whether her stories inTrue Romancewill help or hurt Bill in the long run, but it hits her right there, as Dave's flash bulb pops repeatedly, that she needs to step up her game.
So Jo smiles. She poses. She keeps her eyes on the prize. And the prize is presenting the world with the all-American family. Helping her husband to get a leg up in hopes of being chosen for the right missions. And, most importantly, keeping her marriage strong no matter what.
CHAPTER7