Jennifer Close - The Hopefuls

—

After we were done golfing, we all went to the locker rooms to change into our suits and claimed four lounge chairs farther back on the deck, away from the children who were running and jumping into the pool over and over again. I’d brought a book with me, but I was happy to just lie in the sun for a while. Matt and Jimmy went to put our order in for lunch at the snack bar — chicken Caesar salads for me and Ash and burgers for them — and I watched them across the deck, talking to each other and laughing.

“This day is perfect,” I said.

“I know,” Ash said. “It’s amazing. Aren’t we just so lucky to be here?” I knew from Ash’s tone that she didn’t just mean she felt lucky to be near a pool on such a hot day, but that she meant it in a larger sense. Ash often commented on the things she was grateful for — our friendship, our privilege, our place in life. It made me a little uncomfortable the way she said it, like she thought we were being rewarded by God for being good people, instead of it being completely random. Sometimes I wanted to point out that some truly shitty and evil people were filthy rich and led happy lives. But that day, I just said, “We are lucky.”

She sighed and closed her eyes to the sun, stretched out like a cat and smiled. “We’re blessed,” she said.

—

We didn’t eat dinner until almost 8:00 that night, and when we gathered at the table, we were all a little sun drunk and sleepy, our cheeks and foreheads pink and tight. Because I was sure at this point that Ash had no intention of getting a job, I thought I’d misheard her when she announced to the table that she’d just been hired.

“What?” I asked, looking up from the menu.

“I got a job,” she said. “I’m a working girl now!”

“Congratulations,” Matt said. He held up his glass and clinked it against hers, and then Jimmy and I raised ours and did the same.

“That’s great,” I finally said. “I didn’t even know you were looking.” I was trying not to sound too surprised, but Ash had been in DC for over a year now and hadn’t talked about working in months. Matt and I sometimes speculated about what she did all day and what her plans were (or I speculated, and Matt listened), but we’d just accepted that she was happy not working and that apparently she didn’t have to.

“I wasn’t looking exactly,” Ash said. “I mean, I had my eyes open in case the right thing came along. And then one of my old sorority sisters contacted me when she started working with this great company, thinking that I’d be a good fit.”

“What will you be doing?” Matt asked.

“Well, it’s sort of an entrepreneurial opportunity. It’s a fun accessories company — their stuff is supercute — and I’m going to be starting as a stylist, hosting and organizing some trunk shows and recruiting new people.”

My heart sank as I heard the description. “That sounds great,” I said. “What’s the name of the company?”

“Stella and Dot,” she said, and I nodded. “I’ve heard of it,” I told her.

I’d seen the company name pop up all over Facebook in the past couple of years, mostly from my friends who’d had babies and were looking for part-time jobs. I’d even been invited to some of the trunk shows, which were really just new versions of Tupperware parties. And once I’d been contacted about “joining the team” by this girl Janie Jenkins, who grew up next door to me in Madison and babysat for me as a teenager. “You seem like the perfect fit,” she said to me. “I’m working on growing my team and I thought of you immediately. I’m so excited to be a part of the Stella and Dot family.”

Janie had been part of a cult for a few months after college, so I politely declined. I wasn’t going to be convinced to join anything by a former cult member, thank you very much. (Apparently, the cult was quite peaceful and mostly just focused on organic farming, but I mean, still.)

At worst, this jewelry company seemed like a pyramid scheme and at best it was a reason to drink wine with a group of women and buy costume jewelry that you’d never wear. But if Ash had any idea that this was anything less than a great opportunity, she didn’t show it. She was enthusiastic and excited as she talked about it. “It’s flexible hours and it just really seems like the perfect thing for me,” she said. (What she needed flexible hours for, she didn’t say.) She was smiling widely, and in that moment I felt very protective of her.

“It sounds great,” I told her, and she immediately asked if I’d host her first party for her.

“Of course,” I answered. Because really, what else could I say?

—

The morning of July 4, Matt got a phone call. It was the person he’d interviewed with at the Presidential Personnel Office, telling him that he’d gotten the liaison job, that he’d be receiving a formal offer on Tuesday.

“Why did they call you today?” I asked.

“He said he knew I was anxious to hear,” Matt said. “That he thought it would be nice for me to know so I could enjoy the Fourth. Now I don’t have to worry about it, don’t have to spend the day thinking about it.”

And talking about it, I thought. But I just gave him a huge hug and said, “That’s so great.” Matt was beaming as he hugged me back and said, “I know.”

—

We got to the South Lawn around 4:00 and set up a large quilt that the Dillons had brought, and it wasn’t long before we were surrounded by Matt and Jimmy’s co-workers, spreading out their own blankets to claim a spot. The Fourth was a great event at the White House, my favorite event actually — they served wine and beer and cotton candy and popcorn, and kids got their faces painted and ran around with ice cream sandwiches, while everyone posed for selfies in front of the White House.

Ash and I walked around a little bit, then sat and shared a bag of popcorn. Matt and Jimmy stood at the end of the quilt, talking to everyone who walked by. The current White House liaison at DOE came over to say congratulations to Matt (while it was still unofficial, it seemed that everyone knew about his job), and I could hear Matt asking him a few questions. I noticed that Jimmy stood there proudly, truly happy for Matt, smiling like he was the one who’d gotten a new job, which made me feel silly for ever doubting the basis of their friendship.

When it finally started to get dark, Matt and Jimmy sat down on the blanket with us. I could feel Matt’s good mood radiating from him, and I leaned back against him as the Killers started to play on a stage to the right of us. I felt all at once lucky to be there and surprised to feel that way. It was possible that Ash was rubbing off on me. There wasn’t one thing about the day that I would have changed. It was perfect. The Killers played their final song just as the fireworks started, and Matt leaned forward and whispered into my ear, “You have to admit, this is pretty great.”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s not bad at all.”

The first time I dreamt about Mitt Romney was in June, not long after he’d clinched the nomination. It wasn’t a particularly scary dream — he was riding a bike around me in circles, demanding that I help him make spaghetti for dinner — but I woke up with a start and, in the process, woke up Matt too.

“Are you okay?” he said groggily. My right arm had hit the mattress next to him as I shot up.

“Yeah, I think so,” I said. My heart was racing and I waited a moment for my mind to wake up before telling him about my dream.

“No more falling asleep to MSNBC,” he said, patting my arm, his eyes already closing.