The Hopefuls(27)
The stories went on and on for the rest of the night: The President made fun of Jimmy’s golf shirt! He wore flip-flops the whole time! (This really seemed to excite everyone, but I guess it is rare to say you saw the President’s toes.) They went snorkeling at Hanauma Bay! Everyone bought surfboards to take home! Obama gave the shaka sign to locals!
The waiter came over to ask if we wanted anything else and I shook my head no, started to say we were probably just ready for the check, but before I could get the words out, everyone else said dessert sounded great. (So it seemed I was the only one who wanted to end our dinner early.) Ash ordered ice cream and Jimmy and Matt both got tiramisu and I ordered nothing because I thought it would seem weird after I’d already said I didn’t want anything.
Jimmy was still talking as the waiter brought over the desserts. “His best friend there is the greatest guy,” he said. “I mean all of his friends that came with were great—like a family really. And you can just tell what a solid person he is that he has this amazing group of friends, and that he’s had them for years.”
I had to look away as Jimmy said this, because it was hard to sit there and listen to Jimmy dissect the President’s character, like his opinion was important. The man had won the presidency, for Christ’s sake. He didn’t need the approval of some random guy in his advance office.
“But this guy, his friend that still lives in Hawaii,” Jimmy continued, “he has this amazing place on the North Shore and he threw this luau and invited the whole staff and we just, like, hung out. We played volleyball against the President and his friends, and after I made a great save, he started chanting my name.” Jimmy paused to smile here and tried his best to look embarrassed, but didn’t even come close.
Ash joined in then, telling me about Michelle’s swimsuit and how lovely she was. This maybe bothered me more than anything because it was the one thing that made me jealous. I’d always had the feeling that Michelle and I would’ve gotten along. I secretly thought of her like a pretend celebrity friend, which may have been a little pathetic, but still—she would definitely like me more than she liked Ash. We had way more in common.
This was the first time we’d hung out with the Dillons when I couldn’t wait for the night to end. I could see Matt thinking about how he’d spent Christmas listening to my crazy aunt Bit and popping Benadryl because he was extremely allergic to Snickers, while Jimmy and Ash had been holding hands with Obama and all running into the ocean together to bodysurf as a happy group. (Or at least that’s what they were making it sound like.)
“He was so relaxed there,” Jimmy said. “Which was just really great to see.” He sighed like he was one of Obama’s besties and had been worried deeply about his stress levels.
Finally (finally!) we paid the check and left the restaurant. As soon as Jimmy and Ash jumped in a cab and we were alone on the sidewalk, I said to Matt, “You know, Jimmy makes it sound like they were all just hanging out in Hawaii together, like they were on a group vacation instead of being there to work.”
“It did sound pretty fun,” Matt said. He looked miserable. We started walking the few blocks back to our apartment, not talking much. I was worried that Jimmy was turning into Alan, that he was soon going to be incapable of having a discussion that didn’t revolve around the President. And if that was the case, it was going to be a long winter.
—
It wasn’t a coincidence that right after our dinner with the Dillons, Matt decided his New Year’s resolution would be to start looking for a new job. The counsel’s office wasn’t what he’d thought it would be and he told me he was mostly worried that he wasn’t visible enough. “What does that mean?” I asked.
“I just don’t think this is setting me up for any sort of run. It feels like I could still be working for the firm in New York, just sitting in a room and doing busywork.”
“Well, what do you think you want to do?” I asked. I felt for Matt in these moments. He was so clearly frustrated at how slowly things were moving in his career and I wanted him to succeed—not because I especially cared about it, but because I knew that’s what would make him happy.
“I don’t really know,” he said. “It’s not just about my résumé. I mean, part of it is. I just don’t feel like I’m getting the right experience. But that’s not all. Jimmy meets so many people, he gets face time with the President and the senior staff. Everyone knows him, everyone likes him. When he decides to run for office, he’s going to have that support, people to ask for advice to help him out. No one even knows who I am.”
“That’s not true,” I said, but my heart hurt just a little because I could tell he believed what he said.
—
In February, Snowmageddon (or Snowpocalypse, if you preferred) hit the East Coast. DC was in a panic and you couldn’t turn on the news without hearing the weather people screaming about the snow that was coming. I was pretty sure everyone was overreacting (even Obama had publicly mocked DC for its wimpy attitude toward snow after it shut down schools for a light flurry earlier that winter), but I also thought it was better to be safe than sorry, so I went to gather some supplies the day before the storm. Of course, I went to the Soviet Safeway and found that the shelves were empty and people were waiting ten deep at the registers with overflowing carts. I walked up and down the aisles, just to make sure I wasn’t missing anything, and finally grabbed the last bag of cheddar Goldfish and a package of Oreos that were haphazardly shoved on a shelf with paper towels and figured we’d have to make do.