Chapter Text
Nina Salazar-Roberts: activist, leftist icon, enemy to the status quo, and the face every conservative sees in all of their worst nightmares. She was once called W.E.B. Dubois, if he could pull off a bodycon dress. She has been arrested over twenty times for civil disobedience. She has gotten away from arrest several more times when she was less than civil. She has ripped elected officials from their throne, and crushed capitalist empires.
And today she sits in a chair across from a writer whose name she can’t recall.
“So, Nina, why are we here?” the writer—Nina wants to say her name is Jo —asks.
Jo looks a little younger than Nini. 33 or 34 if Nina had to guess. Her blonde hair is up in a messy bun, and she wears a smart blazer over a v-neck, jeans, Chuck Taylor All-Stars, and thick black rimmed glasses. Pretty standard journalist dress.
“Well, Jo, I think my team set this interview up?” Nina answers with a smirk. Her campaign manager said she has to sit for a long-form interview with Newsweek, but Nina is not going to be pleasant about it. And if the writer quits, Nina will just send Newsweek the editorial she wrote herself to be published.
“It’s Ann,” Jo—wait, no, Ann says.
“Sorry,” Nina says. She’s really not. She doesn’t care, to be honest. Nina long ago gave up on trying to make everyone like her. “My team set this up, Ann, but I told them I can write my own article to promote the campaign.”
“Jenn told me you turned in a draft of an editorial that was, and I quote, ‘250 pages of rambling about the Military Industrial Complex, and the inherent homophobia in capitalism that makes her sound completely unhinged.’ So, can you let me do my job so we can write a coherent feature?”
Of course Jenn would say that. She likes Jenn, honestly she does. Jenn’s a bit eccentric. Lots of big ideas, and likes thinking outside the box. And Nina trusts her to run the campaign, but her campaign manager has never truly understood Nina, the brand. That having been said, Nina knows she has to allow her people to do their jobs.
“Fine,” Nina concedes. “What do you want me to tell you?”
“Well, let’s start over with the first question. Why are we here? Why are you running for office?” Ann asks.
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Two weeks ago…
Nina walks into her office. It’s a small—just three rooms, including a lobby, a production room, and Nina’s office—but impeccably decorated space on the top floor of a Phoenix high rise. She doesn’t come in often. She usually has business elsewhere. But is had been a whirlwind two weeks during which she hosted a summit to bring together lobbyists for LGBTQIA+ organizations, women’s organizations, and labor causes; joined a picket line in New Jersey; protested the execution of a queer trans woman on Florida’s death row; and did a photoshoot in Napa (along with a stopover in L.A. to break up with her latest flame, you know, that one actress, from that show?). So, of course she was more than happy to spend a night in her own bed.
Her plans now are to spend a day in her Phoenix office, recoup another night in her Tempe condo, and hit the road again before the end of the week.
She sees the door to her corner office open, and as she approaches, sees her assistant Fabi standing and watching something on Nina’s television.
Fabiola, or Fabi as everyone calls her, started working with Nina while she was still in college. Nina hired her as a part-time editor for her online content when the demands on Nina’s time became too great. Fabi eventually became Nina’s full-time assistant, and honestly at this point, Nina doesn’t know how she would handle her day-to-day without Fabi.
“TV in the middle of the day, Fabs?” Nina says as she crosses into the office.
Fabi doesn’t flinch when she notices her, but turns an eye from what she was watching. “The DCCC choice for the open congressional seat is going to be doing a press conference to announce their candidacy,” Fabi answers. “I mean, not really a ‘candidate’ since they’re going to be running unopposed, but I guess they want to have the appearance of this process being democratic.”
Nina rolls her eyes in disgust. “Ugh, another corporate dem. Better than the guy we got rid of, granted. But we should be doing better. Did they say who it was?”
“They did, but the name didn’t sound familiar,” Fabi says.
Nina turns her focus completely to the television. It may not matter what neoliberal yes-person DCCC chose, but it’s part of her job to stay up-to-date on national politics.
When the candidate steps to the podium, Nina feels like she’s seen a ghost. Specifically a ghost who she’s done her best to avoid for almost two decades. Nina barely hears the ghost make her announcement.
“I’m Genevieve Porter, and I’m running for Congress.”
Nina feels sick to her stomach. If there’s one person in the world Nina doesn’t want as her congressional representative, it’s the woman on television. And now, Genevieve fucking Porter is running unopposed to fill that roll. She has to do—well, something to stop this from happening.
“Fabi,” Nina says, trying to keep her voice even. “I need you to get in touch with someone from PCCC, Justice Democrats, or Our Revolution— or all three, I don’t care, but get someone on the phone.”
“Why boss?” Fabi asks.
Well, it was bound to happen some time.
“I have to run for Congress,” Nini answers.
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
Present day…
“So, yeah, I got up with Justice Democrats. They’ve been begging me to run for years. Since the 2018 congressional cycle. And we quickly got my petition to run completed, and kicked off my campaign,” Nina tells her interviewer.
“O-kay, so they’ve been asking you to run for years, and you had no interest. But you see Genevieve Porter running, and you immediately toss your hat in the ring?” Ann asks.
“Pretty much,” Nina responds.
“That’s a very spontaneous decision,” Ann observes.
“That’s pretty much a part of my brand at this point,” Nina says.
“But why this time? What about Genevieve Porter running made you make this spontaneous decision?” Ann asks.
There are so many reasons. But Nina lands on the stock answer that she prepared for this very question.
“She’s ex-military. We don’t need more pawns of the Military Industrial Complex involved in legislation. The GOP already has that market cornered. The Democratic Party doesn’t need to join in on that,” Nina answers.
Ann sighs, and puts down her notepad. She takes her glasses off, and stares at Nina for a moment. Damn, look at this reporter and her bullshit detector.
“Look, Nina, this is your article. We’re writing it as a favor to some pretty powerful friends of yours, so we can make it about whatever you want, I don’t care, but if you want it to be any good, you have to be honest with me.”
Nina chews on the side of her lip. She really doesn’t want to open up to this woman. A stranger. But she also knows Ann is right. This article is supposed to be her personal introduction to the voters of Arizona’s fourth congressional district. A way to pull the moderate voter. Progressives know her and love her. The younger crowd will recognize her name right away. But the older demographic votes, and they read publications like Newsweek, and it’s important to let them get to know her, too. And hopefully get them to trust her.
“So, you know I was expelled from The United States Military Academy, and discharged from the Army for being gay, right?” Nina asks.
It’s a rhetorical question, of course. If someone is writing a feature article about her, she would hope that they knew that. Nina has never made it a secret that she was a victim of the bigoted Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell rule. Pressuring politicians to overturn that law was one of her first pet causes. And the day it was overturned, December 18, 2010, Nina considered it a huge personal victory.
“I do know that,” Ann answers. “Is that where we’re starting?”
“Might as well,” Nina says. “That’s where everything began.”
Nina takes a moment to decide exactly how much she will disclose before continuing.
“Genevieve Porter and I met my plebe year at West Point. We were roommates the entire time I was still there. We were really close. I got really close to her , anyway. She was my best friend. We spent breaks together. Went on roadtrips. My moms thought of her like she was another daughter. I trusted her more than anyone else in the world,” Nina says.
Ann stays quiet and waits for Nina to continue. Nina thinks about how to explain her outing, and discharge in a way that won’t out her ex-girlfriend. Terrible person or not, Nina will never out someone, and as far as Nina knows, Gina — no, Genevieve has never publicly acknowledged her queerness.
“I was dating a fellow cadet,” Nina says, measuring her words as she says them. She decides it’s best to tell the story and make it sound like the cadet she was romantically involved with, and Genevieve are two different people. “A girl, obviously. And there was this other cadet—her name’s not important—but she had it out for me. And she had figured out I was probably gay, and probably involved with my girlfriend, so she made it her mission to out me and get me kicked out of school.”
“Was that cadet Genevieve Porter?” Ann asks.
“That was trying to out me?” Nina asks, before she can think about the implication of the question. That it’s possible Genevieve was actually the girlfriend.
Fortunately, Ann doesn’t engage, and only nods.
“No,” Nina says. “Genevieve played her part, but she wasn’t the driving force behind my being outed.”
“Well what role did she play?” Ann asks.
Nina stays silent for a moment. Part of her wants to spill the whole truth. Because, honestly, there’s no way to properly tell the story without actually explaining who Genevieve was to her, and just how much Nina was betrayed. But she can’t. A big part of it is not her story to tell.
“Ask another question,” Nina says instead.
“No answer to the last one?”
“There’s an answer,” Nina says. “But I can’t give it to you right now. Not even trying to be difficult, I promise. But I can't answer it. So ask another question.”
Ann shifts in her seat, and adjusts her glasses. “Well, okay then, I guess. But Genevieve Porter played some role in you being outed and discharged?”
Nina feels those old emotions bubbling up, and without further thought, lets them go.
“In actually making it happen? She played a role, but not the main role. She knew there were people coming for me, though, and she lied to me, over and over, and didn’t tell me about it. Which, I’m sensitive about that—about people not telling me things to try to spare my feelings or whatever, I know, but she was my best friend. So we had a huge fight about that. But even after that, I was going to forgive her!”
Nina feels tears welling in her eyes, and just no, she’s not going to cry about this. Again. In front of a fucking reporter. She breathes slowly. In through her nose. Out through her mouth. She shuts her eyes briefly, and then does her best to let it go.
“I was going to forgive her,” Nina starts back, controlling her tone and her breathing. “But then an Army officer who was one of the people coming for me got what she needed to prove I’m a lesbian. And Genevieve was involved in that. Or maybe she was involved? I don’t know, but after everything went down, she never contacted me again. I reached out a couple of months after my court martial, but nothing. Completely ghosted me.”
“So she didn’t support you when you needed her?” Ann asks.
“Yeah, pretty much,” Nina answers. “And there’s a lot of other stuff, but that happened later. I just don’t think she’s a trustworthy person.”
“Okay, okay, well we’re making progress. So, after you were discharged from the Army, how did you become what you are today?” Ann asks.
Nina laughs a little. “What I am today? The globetrotting, mysterious, sapphic heartthrob human rights advocate?”
Ann shrugs.
“Timing, mostly,” Nina admits. “And a lot of heartbreak.”
⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅
April, 2006…
Nini sits alone in her childhood bedroom. It’s the company she’s largely kept, in the location she’s generally been since returning to Utah in late February. She holds a book—though she would have to look at the cover to remember which book, because she’s not reading it. Holding the book open is just something to do to occupy her hands.
She hears a knock at her open door.
“Nini, sweetie, have you started packing?” one of her moms—Carol—asks. Her voice is softer—far softer than usual. At least softer than Nini was used to before the world collapsed on Nini. And sad. And concerned. It’s the only way her moms communicate with her anymore. It would irritate Nini if she didn’t feel so guilty for the pain she’s caused her family.
Nini sets her book down.
“Not yet, mom,” Nini answers, not quite looking at Carol as she speaks. Another part of the guilt: she can’t look her parents in the eye. Not when her moms made a life for themselves in Salt Lake City for over twenty years, and found a way to avoid the homophobic attacks that would come their way so that they could have a happy family, and Nini goes away to college, and in less than three full years, the entire family has to pack up and move out of state.
She can’t ignore the guilt she feels because, every time Nini ventures out of her home, Salt Lake City—a metropolitan area of almost a million people—turns into the smallest of small towns, and she hears the whispers about her—about the local girl who got kicked out of West Point for being a lesbian. And because of that, she and her moms are having to start over in a small Arizona bordertown.
She begged her moms to let her go alone. To find somewhere off the beaten path to start over on her own. But they insisted they knew she didn’t need to be alone. And they were right.
“I hate this,” Nini says, still not looking up. “I hate that I ruined your lives.”
Carol comes and sits down on the bed beside Nini and pats her leg. “Nini, sweetie, you didn’t ruin anything.”
“But I did!” Nini responds. “You and Mama D told me—begged me not to go to West Point because of exactly what happened. And I was so arrogant, and I said it wouldn’t matter that I’m gay, because I’m there to accomplish a goal, not to date. And what do I do anyway? I fall in love and date, and I get caught—like you knew I would, and now we have to move away from all of your friends, and your jobs, and this house.”
Carol sighs. Nini knows her moms have to be getting tired of her making this argument, which they always shoot down out of hand.
“Nina Simone, none of that is your fault. Not one part of it. And our friends will stay in touch. This isn’t the 1940s when we would have to write letters that would take days to be delivered. And we already have jobs lined up in Bisbee. And the house—it’s just a house, Nini. We will move into a new one, in our new town, and we’ll make it a home.”
“I just feel—”
What does she feel? Sad? Angry? Abandoned? Lonely? All of the above?
“I know you do,” Carol says without Nini even having to choose one of those feelings. “Have you heard from any of your friends from West Point?”
“Just Emily,” Nini says. “She sends me an email every week to check in. I haven’t responded to the last two, because nothing has changed, and I don’t know what else to tell her.”
“Not Gina?” Carol asks.
Nini narrows her eyes at the mention of that name. Truth be told, when everything went down, she was ready to absolve Gina of any guilt. The powers that wanted Nini out were beyond Gina’s control, and she knows her ex-girlfriend was scared. Nini could forgive that. Was totally ready to forgive that. But Gina hasn’t reached out once. And Nini thinks, if she were in Gina’s shoes and someone she claimed to love was suffering, Nini certainly would have found some way to check on them.
“Not a peep,” Nini says, trying to only sound angry, and not sad, when she probably feels the latter emotion more.
“I’m sorry,” Carol says. “I hope she reaches out one day.”
“It’s fine,” Nini says. It’s not, but she’ll say it is.
“I know you’re not fine with that,” Carol says. “And it’s okay not to be fine. Have you tried reaching out to her yet?”
While Nini was ready to forgive Gina for a long time, the one thing she has promised herself all along is that she would not be the one to make contact first. Nini was the wronged party. Gina should be the one to make amends. But maybe her mom had a point. If nothing else, she could vent her anger and frustration.
“I’ll send her an email,” Nini says.
“I think that’s a great idea,” Carol says. “Please tell her, even after everything, that we still love her.”
That rankles Nini a bit, to be honest. That her moms could still have such a favorable opinion of Gina after what happened. But again, her guilt won’t let Nini protest anything they say.
“I will,” Nini says, despite her ill feelings.
Carol excuses herself from Nini’s room, and Nini sits down at her laptop to start working on her email to Gina’s private, safe email address that only Nini and a few other people know about.
Gina,
I’m hurt and confused. Not about what you did or didn’t do to protect me, but because it’s been more than two months, and I haven’t heard from you. You said you loved me, and now it’s like I mean nothing to you. I know we broke up, but I thought you would still care enough about me to ask how I was doing. But you haven’t. I won’t bore you with the details, because it’s so clear you don’t care, but I’m not doing great. I’ve ruined my moms’ lives by getting kicked out of West Point. They will say I haven’t, but I have. And I’m so alone. I wish you hadn’t abandoned me. I wish I could still depend on you holding me, and telling me everything will be alright. But you did. You abandoned me, Gina. When I needed you most, when I need you most, which is right now, you’re nowhere to be found. I didn’t think you were part of the conspiracy against me. I couldn’t think that. But after everything, and after how you discarded me like I am worthless, it’s hard to imagine you didn’t play some part.
If you weren’t, let me know. Please! Tell me I’m wrong, and you didn’t play a part in hurting me. But I know you won’t. You were not who I thought you were, and maybe that’s what hurts most of all.
-Nini
Nini looks at what she wrote. She broke her promise to Mama C. She didn’t include anything about how much her moms still love Gina. But Nini doesn’t care. Gina doesn’t deserve their grace.
She debates what subject to attach to the email, but finally settles on, “How could you?”
And before she can talk herself out of it, Nini hits send.
Three months later, Nini and her moms have settled into their new home in Bisbee, Arizona. And Nini doesn’t hate it as much as she feared? The small town is filled with artists, and musicians, and people who are just on the fringes of societal norms. And none of them give a shit that the new family in town consists of two lesbian moms and their adult lesbian daughter, who was kicked out of the Army. In fact, Nini has met three other people who were discharged from military service for being gay.
But as much as Nini digs the vibe in Bisbee, she also knows she can’t stay there forever. It’s a nowhere town, and nowhere is exactly where she’s going if she doesn’t find a way out.
Applying to colleges has proven to be more difficult than Nini would have anticipated, considering her high school resume. But she’s applying as a transfer student and West Point is holding her transcripts hostage, because of her discharge. Every time Nini has called—at least when she can actually get someone on the phone—they’ve told her it’s still in process. But she knows that’s a lie. And unfortunately there’s nothing she can do about it.
After two months, she gives up on the idea of transferring, and resigns herself to starting over academically. But even then, the fact that she went to college and can’t provide transcripts scares away pretty much every decent university.
Fortunately, the state of Arizona is home to one of the most in decent universities in the country. And Nini is admitted to start classes as a freshman for Arizona State University’s spring semester.
Tempe feels closer to what Nini knew growing up than Bisbee. It’s a suburb of Phoenix, and gives the bigger city vibe. And that’s fine with Nini, because she can get lost in a crowd in a big city. Especially one where no one knows her history.
She doesn’t make many friends right away, which she excuses by saying that she’s just so much older than other freshmen, and she’s coming in second semester, and it’s hard to fit into a friend group when everyone already knows each other. But she knows the real reason is she’s not putting herself out there. She’s not trying to make friends.
When she talks to her moms, they strongly encourage her to open up.
“Nini, I know how much you care about other people, and how much you need that social energy,” her mom, Dana, says on one call. “So just be the bright, kind person we know you are, and you’ll make plenty of friends.”
Nini doesn’t have the heart to tell her mom that she doesn’t want friends. That she is scared to get close to someone else that can hurt her, like Gina. Or that Nini could hurt, like her moms. And she doesn’t have the heart to tell her moms that bright, happy Nini is dead and buried.
“I’ll try, mom,” Nini lies.
She doesn’t. Try, that is. But she does join the LGBT Student Union, because despite her newly minted guarded nature, she still cares deeply for the rights of fellow queer people. And she wants to fight for their rights, even if the world chewed her up and spit her out for her sexuality. Or maybe exactly because that happened to her.
Nini is friendly with some of the people she meets in the organization. But she wouldn’t go so far as to call them her friends. She always makes sure to keep a comfortable distance from getting to know anyone too well. Even when she dates a couple of the girls she meets in the group, Nini makes sure to keep it casual. And it never feels quite right, so those relationships typically end as quickly as they started.
She keeps her head down, and in just three years is able to earn a bachelor of arts in city/urban, community and regional planning. She was inspired when she began her coursework at Arizona State by the young senator from Illinois who worked as a community planner, and who would be elected president during her last fall semester in school.
After graduation, finding work proves more difficult than Nini would have hoped. While her dishonorable discharge didn’t prevent her from getting into school at Arizona State, it does in fact prevent her from even getting interviews in her chosen field of employment. And while she feels confident she could explain away that strike on her record if she was only allowed a foot in the door for an interview, the doors remain tightly shut.
But not ready to give up and move back in with her moms, Nini finds work as a bartender. All those nights as a teen with her friends, and with her cousins pays off, as she knows how to make basically any cocktail from memory. And yeah, she knows it helps that she’s cute. But it’s steady work, and a way to pay rent while she looks for her opportunity to plan some damn communities. And it keeps her in Tempe.
But while in wait, something weird happens. While on the way home from her shift at the bar, Nini hears a segment on NPR about republicans who are opposing President Obama’s proposed healthcare reforms. And maybe she’s just tired from pulling a double, but she loses her shit.
She gets home, and because of the late hour, she can’t call her moms to vent. So she creates a YouTube channel. She names it “Lesbianism and Political Dissidence” and she uploads an eight minute video in which she goes off on politicians who claim to be pro-life, and yet do nothing to promote and protect a healthy life for their constituents. She goes off on politicians that claim to be the party of “family values” but do nothing to promote a strong family.
And with her ranting out of her system, Nini goes to bed.
The next morning—or more accurately the next afternoon, when she wakes up—Nini discovers her rant garnered some attention. A lot of attention in fact. She has almost 50,000 views. And she has gained 8,000 subscribers. And her video has hundreds of comments. And sure, some of them are men saying gross things about what they want to do with her. And some of them are from angry Ayn Rand devotees calling her a communist (and?) and espousing the moral superiority of the free market. But there are plenty of comments that thank her for her perspective. And that say she’s saying the things they always wanted to say. And asking for more content.
So Nini plans more content. And she uses her largely neglected Twitter account (she had one tweet, and one follower: her friend Kourtney) to promote her videos, and to interact with like-minded (and different-minded) people. And she rebrands herself as “Nina.” And her following grows. Quickly.
Within six months, she’s gained over 500,000 subscribers. Many of her videos receive over a million views within the first day of upload. She researches how to sell ad space on her videos, and starts making money, but only from companies that operate ethically.
Within a year, she’s able to make enough from her videos to quit her bartending job.
She uses her sizable online presence to speak out about LGBTQ issues. Her first target: Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. Nina details her own personal experience in being run out of the military for daring to love a woman (no names, of course). And maybe she was a small influence, in the end, but when Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is overturned, Nina celebrates it on her channel as a huge victory.
Then Occupy Wall Street happens, and Nina jumps in with both feet to support the protests. And if Nina was popular before, she becomes famous for her coverage of that movement.
Instagram comes into existence, and Nina’s presence only grows. She uses her added fame to speak out in support of gay marriage. And because of her stature, people in Washington will actually take her calls. In some cases, they’re the ones calling her!
And when gay marriage is legalized nationwide in 2014, Nina records a video at her moms’ legal wedding. The most personal video she has ever (or will ever) make.
Nina becomes a celebrity. And becomes acquaintances with other celebrities. And her causes get bigger, and the support for whatever causes she supports grows greater.
It’s a lonely life. Everyone knows who she is, but no one really knows her. But Nina decides it’s better that way. If the entire world is at an arm’s length, they can’t hurt her. She can’t hurt them. And she can still do good in the world.
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Present day…
“So that’s it?” Ann asks.
“That’s my story,” Nina says.
“So you just do your advocacy, and grow your celebrity, your brand, and you’re close to no one?” Ann asks.
“I’m close to my work,” Nina answers. Her work is all she needs, after all. People would only confuse things.
“So all of the actresses, the musicians, the other influencers you’ve dated—”
“They know what they’re getting with me,” Nina says, cutting Ann off. “It’s fun. It’s casual. And sometimes we do good work together. Any time I’m involved with someone for more than a month, it’s usually because we’re working on a cause together. But it’s never meant to last. I’m not that kind of girl.”
“And you’re okay with that?” Ann asks.
“I’m close to my work,” Nina repeats. “That’s what’s important to me. I care so much about the issues I fight for. I care so much for humanity, as a whole. And I just want everyone to be free to be able to pursue whatever makes them happy. I just—I don’t know if I’m meant to, or worthy of participating in that happiness. I’ve made my peace with that.”