The Hopefuls(30)

Alan tilted his head at me and then said, as though he just remembered, “Oh, that website?”

“That’s the one,” I said.

“She’s their star writer,” Ash said, leaning over to pat my leg. “You should be careful, Alan. She may write an exposé on you!”

The two of us laughed, but Alan just looked uncomfortable and scooted away, which made us laugh even more.

Ash had spent the last weekend of January in Puerto Rico with her high school girlfriends for a bachelorette party. “I am telling you, it’s nice to just be home,” she said. “I’m exhausted from all the sun I’ve gotten this winter!” That Ash could say these things to me with complete seriousness was maybe the greatest proof—along with the album that held the pictures of her as a debutante at her coming-out party, which I often pulled off the shelf to look at when we were there—that she was a true southern belle.

Matt was in a great mood, and I was happy to see him enjoying himself, laughing loudly and gesturing to Megan, the President’s personal aide, about something. I wondered how many Frostbites he’d had—he came over at one point to say hi to me and smelled minty as he leaned down for a kiss. I thought maybe I should get him a glass of water, suggest he slow down, but then I looked around at everyone else, and decided there was no reason to worry. Everyone was getting a little sloppy. In the corner, I could see Benji making out with Lissy, and it was clear that the two of them were so drunk they believed themselves to be invisible. Every so often, someone raised a glass and yelled, “Snowmageddon,” and the rest of the party would cheer and raise their own glasses in response, echoing back, “Snowmageddon!” and then drink.

When I was at parties like this, I’d often take a minute and sit back and think, These people all work at the White House. It happened to me a lot during those eight years. And I don’t mean that I sat back and was impressed by this. (Although of course it was impressive to work at the White House.) It was more that it was shocking to think that these normal, often overserved, people were important to the country. It was strange to think that they had the same relationship problems everyone else did, beyond weird to watch one of the speechwriters drink fifteen eggnogs at the White House Christmas party and then throw up on the sidewalk outside.

—

As the night went on, I was aware of people congratulating Jimmy, who was holding court by the bar. (This was another thing I started to notice about Jimmy—how when we were out or at a party, he didn’t have to move around the room. He stayed in one place and let people come over to him, which they always did.) At first I thought maybe I’d imagined it, but then I heard Alan say, “This is such a great opportunity for you,” and I turned to Ash and asked her what he was talking about.

“Oh, Jimmy got a new job,” she said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head like it wasn’t even worth talking about. “Still in the White House, just doing some different things.” Jimmy’s new title was Deputy Director of the White House Office of Political Strategy and Outreach, which Ash told me only after I asked specifically. We’d been talking for hours and she hadn’t so much as mentioned it.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“Who knows?” she answered.

—

Matt seemed to sober up on our walk home. We weren’t the last to leave the party, but we were pretty close. It was just so cold and dark outside, so we kept having one more drink, and I started to think we were going to have to spend the night until finally, a little after 1:00 a.m., we put our coats on and left.

“I can’t believe Jimmy got that job,” Matt said. “He didn’t mention anything about it before tonight.”

The air was frigid and damp, and I moved my fingers around in my gloves to try to warm them up. “We haven’t seen them much,” I said. “Maybe he just didn’t get a chance.” But from Ash’s evasiveness, I had a feeling there was more to it.

“Yeah, but I mean, you think he would’ve e-mailed me or something. It’s a huge job. It’s like he was keeping it from me.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe not.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Matt said again, but this time he sounded irritated. “I mean, to be honest, it’s a job I would’ve loved. One that I’m probably better suited for than he is. And he knows I’m looking for a new position—I’ve been asking him for advice. I didn’t even know David was leaving or I might have pursued it.”

“He probably didn’t know that,” I said.

“Maybe. Probably not,” Matt said, although he didn’t sound sure.

We walked the rest of the way home without talking, just watching our breath become little white puffs in the air. It was quiet, like the city was empty or everyone was already asleep. This wasn’t the case—later, when DCLOVE did a special post on all of the couples who met during the blizzard, I realized that there must have been parties in every apartment we passed. We weren’t the only ones celebrating the snow. But that night, it felt like we were the only people left in DC.

—

That was the only time Matt acknowledged that he was upset about what happened with Jimmy’s job. Maybe he was embarrassed that he’d accused Jimmy of being sneaky or maybe he figured it just wasn’t worth it. Whatever it was, from that point on he went out of his way to be enthusiastic about Jimmy’s new position.