Even if we don't know their names, she thinks. She wishes Henry would focus on somebody else in this story, rather than the stratonaut; anybody else. The future itself. There is a thing in her son she doesn't understand, that has to do with love of men. What Lillian thinks of as dick worship, this idea that the man in the story is the point of the story. But for Gini it's not Major Simons in a balloon: It's a balloon that happens to contain Major Simons. He's not a hero, he's a protagonist.
Libby: "Well I, for one, am stuffed. Since we made dinner for twenty people and there's nobody here but us. Hey, just out of curiosity, who is that masturbating lady?"
Masters: "I don't see how that's relevant."
Libby: "When I watch people masturbate, I like to know a little bit about 'em."
Masters: "I feel like you're saying it was a bad idea."
Libby: "I'm saying I understand why you don't understand what was bad about it, which is why I'm a good teammate for you. Because if you had told me you were planning on doing that, I would have tricked you into not doing it."
Masters: "Doctors see naked bodies every day."
Libby: "Not fucking they don't. And listen, you can argue about this all day but in the real world, nobody is at this dinner party we threw. From which I deduce that you are wrong, and I am right. So the question is, Do you want to function in actual reality? Or do you want to fail in your fantasy, so you can feel justified and put-upon? Because that's a loser way to be, bro. That is a clown way to be."
Libby: "And again, I'm gonna ask who it was at the end. The docs next to me said it was Virginia."
Masters: "Preposterous. Can you imagine?"
Libby: "I think you'd have to be pretty far into a fantasy that you're Winter, before that kind of thing would seem normal. You would have to move the goalposts pretty far."
Masters: "Like I'm a sexual harasser?"
"We don't have the vocab for that because it's 1957, but yes. You would have had to wear down her resistance, intuit her feelings about you and about her tenuous employment, you would have to hit every button and flip every switch inside yourself to be that aware of her. You would have been electrified, prickles running up your neck the first time you saw her, in the typing pool. You would have felt the continent shift beneath you, bringing you together. You would have to trust her enough to even bring it up. That she wouldn't say no, and that she couldn't say no. You would have to put up fences around her; throw money at it when you got scared. You would have been the definition of an abuser. And of anyone who ever loved."