The Hopefuls(33)
“Right,” I said. “I’ll ask him about it today.”
My heart sank a little as she walked away and I realized I’d have to tell Matt we were interviewing Jimmy again. His first profile had been superinteresting. He’d told me about what went into planning an overseas trip for the President, and even though I’d never cared all that much before, I couldn’t help but be impressed as he described how thirty staffers would charter one of the “Blue and Whites” (the fleet of planes equipped to transport the President) to the countries that the President would be visiting.
“You mean, like Air Force One?” I asked, and Jimmy laughed.
“It’s only Air Force One if the Boss is on board,” he said. “Otherwise it’s just a regular plane.” He paused then and said, “And we take a smaller plane, not the 747s. Just so you don’t get the wrong idea about how awesome my job is.”
Jimmy told me how when the President went anywhere, a military team took over a whole floor of the hotel, set it up for secure communication. When they were overseas, the advance team had daily calls with the office in DC through videoconferencing, but to make sure it was completely secure, they had to do it in a tent that was constructed in one of the rooms, with white noise or loud music playing outside so no one could hear.
“You’re lying,” I told him. “You’re making that up so that I write about it and look like an idiot.” Jimmy was known for pulling pranks, but this time he held up his right hand and put his left on his heart.
“Hand to God,” he said. “It’s all true.”
“It sounds like a spy novel,” I told him.
He grinned at me. “That’s me. Jimmy Dillon, International Man of Mystery.”
That night, Matt picked up Chinese food on his way home and he seemed to be in a great mood as he unpacked the brown bag, taking the lids off the sesame chicken and lo mein, popping a dumpling in his mouth. His tie was loose and he whistled as he went into the kitchen, returning with two plates, silverware, and a beer for each of us. I was pretty sure that most people were appalled at how little we cooked, but Matt never seemed to mind, and whenever I was apologetic about it, he just shrugged and said, “I don’t like to cook either, so why would I expect you to?”
He opened my beer and handed it to me, then opened his own and held it up. “Cheers, Buzz,” he said, taking a long sip and finally sitting down. “I’m starving,” he said. We didn’t talk as we piled our plates high with food and took our first bites, but finally Matt put his fork down and picked up his beer.
“So, how was work?” he asked.
I’d been dreading having to tell him about the interview with Jimmy—after he’d read the last one, he’d said, “You should profile me…only no one would ever want to read about someone doing background checks for prospective hires.” And then he’d tried to laugh, but it was clear he didn’t think it was funny.
I decided instead to tell him first about my strange conversation with Ellie, where she implied that Jimmy was having affairs all over town. He listened as I went on and on, his eyebrows wrinkled as he chewed.
“It’s not true, right?” I asked when I was done. “I mean, we’d know if it was happening, wouldn’t we?”
“DC is full of rumors,” Matt said. “You know that.” I couldn’t tell if he was avoiding my question because he didn’t like to gossip or if there was another reason he didn’t want to discuss it.
“Yeah, but do you think it’s true? Have you ever heard anyone else talk about it?”
“I’ve heard people joke about some things,” he said. “But I have no idea if any of it’s true. I’ve never asked him about it.”
“But you must have an opinion. I mean, really, what do you think?”
He sighed. “Does it matter what I think?”
“They’re our friends,” I said. “It’s just weird. What if he really did cheat on Ash or he does it again? Don’t you think we have some sort of responsibility to her?”
Matt dunked one of his dumplings into the dish of soy sauce and then chewed thoughtfully for what seemed like a long time before swallowing and saying, “I think no matter what, it’s not really any of our business.”
—
I told Matt about the interview later that night, as we were brushing our teeth. He’d had two more beers after dinner and still seemed to be in a cheery mood, so it seemed silly to delay it any longer.
“That’ll be good,” he said. “His new job is sort of crazy. It’ll be an interesting interview.”
“Yeah,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I don’t think anyone ever reads that section.”
Matt wiped his mouth on a hand towel and then rolled it up and aimed it at my butt, making me jump in the air and laugh as it hit me. “With you writing it, Buzzy,” he said, “I’m sure it will win awards.”
—
It took us a while to actually schedule the interview, since Jimmy was now always traveling alongside the President. Finally, almost two months after he started his new job, we found a time to meet for lunch. I made reservations at Old Ebbitt, which was a restaurant right by the White House that was known for being the city’s oldest bar and serving good oysters. It was always noisy and crowded, which was part of the reason I picked it, so that it wouldn’t feel like people were listening in on our conversation. Plus, Jimmy loved oysters.