The Hopefuls (16 page)

I don't know how long I stood there crying, but I do remember Matt coming over and taking my elbow. “Come on,” he said quietly, leading me away, probably not wanting the whole office to see his wife weeping.

When the President came, everyone cheered, and I cried some more, but so did everyone else. He talked about how everyone in that room inspired him, how he had so much hope for the world seeing all of these young people who cared so much, how they all made him proud.

Next to me, Matt's eyes filled with tears, and I realized that in the entire time I'd known him, the only two times I'd seen him cry were during the 2008 and 2012 elections.

I think about that day often—it was historic and amazing and I couldn't believe I got to witness it, sure. But it was also the one time I got it, the only time I came close to understanding why Matt did this, why he'd joined the campaign in 2008, why he regretted not doing it again, why he was willing to give up his vacation days to contribute to it this time. Standing there, I could feel it—the energy, the draw, the desire to be part of this great big thing, this movement that was more than any one person, this feeling that you could start to change the world.

Washington, DC
2013

Washington is a very easy city for you to forget where you came from and why you got there in the first place.

—HARRY TRUMAN

W
hen I tried on my dress for the Inaugural Ball, all Matt could say was “It's really shiny.” It was the kind of statement people try to pass off as a compliment: “That's bold.” “Your shirt is unusual.” “I've never seen a skirt look like that.”

“It looks like something Vanna White wore on
Wheel of Fortune,
” I said.

“It's not that bad.” But a little smile flickered on his lips and I knew he secretly agreed with me.

“Actually,” I said, looking at myself in the mirror, “I'm pretty sure she wore this exact dress. What am I going to do? It looked so much better online.”

“Why don't you just wear one of the other ones?” Matt said. I'd rented three different dresses from Rent the Runway, one for each of the balls we were going to—the Black Tie and Boots ball on Saturday (as guests of Jimmy and Ash, of course), the official Inaugural Ball on Monday, and the Staff Ball on Tuesday.

“I can't do that!” I said. “We're going to see all the same people at them.” Even Ash, who was almost nine months pregnant, had three different maternity gowns to wear. No one was messing around.

Matt just shrugged his shoulders, knowing that anything he suggested wasn't going to calm me down as I stood bedazzled in front of him. After a flurry of text exchanges with Ash, I decided my best bet was to head to Friendship Heights, where there were a million stores and had to be at least one suitable dress. But when I got there, every department store looked like it had been ransacked, like a looting had taken place. Who was I kidding? It was the Saturday before the inauguration and every female in DC was desperate for a gown. I tried on one dress that was a size double zero and got stuck as I attempted to pull it over my head, sweating in the dressing room for almost twenty minutes while I swore silently and prayed it wouldn't rip. There were a few other women there too, circling the store like hyenas, examining the leftover dresses, searching for anything salvageable. Somehow, among the scraps, I found one long black dress that wasn't horrible. I knew I'd never wear it again, but I bought it immediately. It would have to do.

I hadn't gone to any of the balls in 2009—Matt was working that night and I was still in New York anyway and wasn't all that interested. But this year, I was dying to go. I imagined all of us, in gowns and tuxes, sipping champagne and eating cheese while we watched the Obamas dance. It would be sort of like
Downton Abbey,
but with everyone taking selfies the whole time.

After all the excitement and stress of the election, things had been quiet. And while we were thrilled with the outcome, part of me almost missed how purposeful election season had been—all of our energy had been directed at that one thing. Now, without hours of MSNBC to watch and debates to discuss, we had time on our hands. We were lost. The balls were a reason to celebrate again, something to shake us out of our funk.

The Black Tie and Boots ball was crazy—it was less like a ball and more like a gathering of superdrunk Texans. Ash wore a red shiny dress and a cowboy hat and brought along another tiny cowboy hat that she perched on her stomach. Jimmy (of course) wore his cowboy boots. I'd gotten a blow-out that day and asked them to make it “big,” thinking that would be festive, but it looked tame compared to everyone else's. At one point, the band played “Deep in the Heart of Texas,” and Matt and I got caught in some sort of mosh pit. Our eyes met as we were tossed around by all the rowdy, singing Texans, and I thought for sure it would be the end of us. We had no choice but to join in and wound up drinking whiskey until morning.

The next day, we ignored our hangovers and went to an Iowa reunion party at the Hilton across the street, where I tripped on my heels and fell forward, hitting my head on David Axelrod's back. He was nice about it, but I was mortified and Matt said later, “You just need to watch where you're going,” like I was a reckless child.

On Monday, Ash and I got our hair done in the afternoon and then went back to my place to hang out until it was time to get ready. She'd brought her stuff over so that we could get dressed together—we thought it would be more fun that way. “Like prom,” she said, and then pointed to her stomach. “Well, not exactly like prom.”

We sat on the couch and chatted, sitting upright so we wouldn't ruin our hair. I was already exhausted from the previous two nights and I could feel my eyes closing, and wished I could take a quick nap, but I felt like I couldn't complain in front of Ash, who was going to all the same parties as I was, but carrying an extra person around. She was so pregnant that crowds parted as they saw her stomach coming toward them, which was actually a really helpful way to navigate the parties. “I'm fine,” she kept saying. I think she was tired of everyone widening their eyes when they saw her and saying, “Whoa,” like they thought she was going to go into labor right then and there. And still, she insisted on wearing heels. Which almost seemed dangerous, but she assured me she could handle it.

Jimmy got dressed at home and then came over, so we could all ride together, and when Ash and I were done putting on our makeup, we found him and Matt sitting on the couch, each holding a beer and looking bleary.

“How are we doing?” I asked.

“I'm not sure,” Matt said. “This is like senior week, only now we're old.”

“You ladies look beautiful,” Jimmy said, standing up and stretching.

“Beth does, at least,” Ash said. “I look like a float in a parade.”

“But the most beautiful float I've ever seen,” Jimmy said, and Ash stuck her tongue out at him.

Jimmy went out to flag down a cab, which took about twenty minutes. We didn't talk much on the ride there, but I was still excited for the night. In 2009, there had been ten balls that Obama attended, but this year there were just two, and they were both in the Convention Center, on different floors. We were attending the “official” ball, but had gotten good tickets, and Jimmy somehow finagled us passes to a VIP area, where we sat on couches and had access to an open bar. We were in a raised loft that overlooked the room, and we watched as different performers took the stage, laughing and cheering when Alicia Keys sang, “Obama's on Fire.”

The ball itself wasn't exactly what I had expected. The Convention Center was huge, and we walked for what felt like miles once we were inside and had checked our coats. There was draping everywhere—to separate the different areas mostly, but also I think to try to make the place look nicer. The whole thing felt like a really big wedding in a warehouse that someone tried to disguise as a ballroom. As we walked to the VIP area, we passed tables of vegetables and dip, and long lines of people waiting for a drink from the bar.

I was afraid we'd all be too tired to enjoy it, but we woke up once we were there and had a few drinks. It helped that it felt like they were pumping oxygen into the cold room, like we were in Vegas. As the night went on, Jimmy was able to get more and more of our friends into our section, and soon it felt like we had our own personal area of the ball. Alan kept fidgeting in his tux, and Benji, with his bow tie already undone, looked so young that he really could have passed for someone going to prom. Lissy and Cameron were there, wearing matching dresses, both from Rent the Runway. “We didn't coordinate before we ordered,” Lissy told me with a strained smile, like she was trying her best to find it amusing. “That was our mistake.”

Cameron shrugged like she couldn't have cared less. “I've already seen three other women wearing this anyway,” she said. I think she was trying to make Lissy feel better, but instead, Lissy's eyes got wide.

“Well, that's just great,” she said. “The worst part is, we can't stand next to each other for the whole night.” And then she turned and walked away in a huff.

At one point, we started a little dance floor, Jimmy spinning Ash around until she laughed and said she was afraid she might tip over.

When the Obamas came out, we all stood at the edge of the balcony and clapped. The President gave a short speech and then they danced as Jennifer Hudson sang Al Green's “Let's Stay Together.”

“They are just the best couple,” Ash said, holding her hands to her heart, as if we really were at a wedding of our dear friends who just happened to invite about a million people and some really famous musicians to celebrate with them.

Toward the end of the night, I couldn't find Matt. At first I was worried and then annoyed as everyone started leaving and my feet started throbbing. He'd been gone for over an hour and wasn't answering his phone, but I stood with Ash and Jimmy and just kept calling him again and again.

“No one knows where he went,” Jimmy said, but he was sort of slurring and I had the feeling Matt could've walked right in front of him and he wouldn't have noticed.

“We'll wait with you until you find him,” Ash said.

“No, that's crazy. You need to get home. I'll be fine. He couldn't have left without me, right?” I forced a laugh, but it came out sounding kind of angry. “Really, go,” I said, giving her a hug. “I don't know how you're still standing.”

“All right,” she said. “I should get this man home. But text as soon as you find him, okay?”

I promised that I would and, after they left, went to sit on a couch along the wall. Now that Jimmy and Ash (and most of the people we knew) were gone, I felt like an impostor in the VIP section, like someone might come along and kick me out. I sipped my drink, which was mostly melted ice, just to have something to do and sent Matt a string of angry texts:
Where are you?! Call me! WTF?

After thirty minutes, I'd just decided that I was going to leave when I saw Matt bounding up the stairs to me. His face was flushed and he was smiling.

“Where have you been?” I asked. I was so mad my hands were shaking. “I've been calling and texting you for almost two hours,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “Sorry. But listen, Beth. Something great just happened.”

“You know? Did you hear it ringing? Why didn't you tell me where you were?”

“Just listen,” he said. “Billy took me to another area downstairs, a different VIP room.”

“Well, great,” I said, sarcastically. “I'm so glad you were having fun.”

Matt continued talking like he hadn't heard me. “The executive director of the Maryland Democratic Party was there, and he told Billy he wanted to talk to me.”

“Why?” I asked, my curiosity overriding my anger for a moment. “Do you know him?”

“I've met him once before.”

“So, why did he want to see you?”

“I'm not really sure, but we talked for a long time. He asked about my job and my time on the campaign and then about running for office.”

“How did he know about that?”

“I don't exactly keep it a secret,” Matt said. “Anyway, he asked a ton of questions and then asked if he could take me for a drink next week. Said he had something he wanted to talk to me about.”

“Really? What do you think it is?”

“I don't know,” he said. He was so excited and fidgety that he was almost bouncing. “But I think it's something good.”

When I got up the next morning, everything hurt—my feet, my hair, my head. I was still cranky about the night before. Matt and I had bickered on the way home, and I mentioned it again as soon as we woke up. I kept insisting that he should've told me he was leaving or at least answered my text. “What did you want me to do?” he asked. “Interrupt the guy and say, ‘Sorry, let me just text my wife'?”

“Yes,” I said, and he laughed. He was still giddy, so much so that he wasn't bothered at all by my anger. We were working from home that day, which meant that I stayed in bed until noon and wrote a shitty first-person account of attending the ball. We both had bags under our eyes, but Matt didn't seem tired at all. He whistled as he checked his e-mail.

When he said we should be ready to leave by 7:00, I sighed and said, “I'm so sick of going to balls.” Matt just stared at me, and I said crossly, “I know that sounded ridiculous.”

The Staff Ball was also at the Convention Center, so we took a cab there again. It was just like the night before, except my feet were more swollen. Ash texted me right after we arrived to let me know that they were standing in the coat-check line. This ball was much smaller, contained in one room, but it was still crowded, and maybe I was imagining it, but everyone seemed just as cranky as I was; we all looked a little rumpled, a little warmed over.

When Jimmy realized it wasn't open bar, he said, “Are you fucking kidding? We didn't have to pay for drinks in '09.”

Ash rolled her eyes behind him and then whispered to me, “I woke up at three a.m. to find him eating a jumbo slice in bed, so I don't think he needs unlimited whiskey tonight.”

Benji had four friends from college staying with him, sleeping on his couch and floor. They'd all come in from out of town for the inauguration and he'd gotten them tickets to all the events. But when we saw him that night, he was alone. “Are your friends here?” I asked him, and he shrugged.

“They're around here somewhere,” he said, like he didn't care at all. “Those fuckers were up all night drinking. I didn't sleep.”

Lady Gaga's performance cheered everyone up a little bit, but we all left right after Obama spoke. I was so happy as I crawled into bed that night. I felt like I could sleep for a year.

“We survived,” Matt said. His voice was hoarse. “What did you think? Was it everything you imagined?”

“It was great,” I said, my eyes already closed. “And I'm so glad it's over.”

The next week, Matt went to go meet the executive director at a bar in Annapolis. “Call me as soon as you're done,” I said. “Before you even start the car.” I waited with my phone next to me all night, and finally got a text that said,
Heading home now. All good news! But I'll tell you in person. Love you!