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.
I got to the restaurant first and was sitting there daydreaming when he slid into the other side of the booth, startling me.
“Gotcha,” he said, laughing.
“God, you scared me,” I said, my hand over my heart.
“I waved at you, but you were in a different world. I’m assuming you were just thinking about how excited you were to have lunch with me?”
I laughed weakly and nodded. “That’s it,” I said.
I couldn’t help but look at Jimmy differently after my conversation with Ellie. I studied him when we were out to dinner with the Dillons, like he was going to do or say something to the waitress that would reveal him as a philanderer, but he was just the same as always. He adored Ash (or seemed to, at least) and was always touching her, always giving her compliments, and I didn’t want to believe any of the things Ellie said.
Jimmy waved down the waiter and ordered a DC Brau, and I said I’d have one too, which made him raise his eyebrows at me and say, “Drinking on the job?”
“You are too,” I said, but this time I laughed for real.
“We’ll take a dozen oysters too,” he said, not bothering to ask me if I wanted any. We’d eaten so many dinners with the Dillons at that point that we all knew each other’s likes and dislikes.
We talked about random things for a few minutes before I said, “Okay, so tell me. Before you get called away on a presidential emergency. Tell me everything you do as the deputy director of political strategy.” I said his title with exaggerated awe.
“Everything?” he asked, raising his eyebrows.
“Everything.”
I let Jimmy talk for almost twenty minutes. I had some sort of idea about what he was doing, from things Matt had said to me or conversations we’d had when we were out — I knew he always traveled with the President, that whenever Obama was photographed, you almost always saw Jimmy standing just to the right of him. Sometimes you’d just see half of his face or one arm, but if you looked for him (which I always did) you could find him. It was like a presidential Where’s Waldo? game. But I didn’t completely understand what his responsibilities were, what it was he actually did.
“So, anytime the President goes anywhere,” he started, “he meets with different political people. If he’s going to Philly, then Ed Rendell will probably meet him at the airport. Things like that. So, I’m in charge of contacting those people, of figuring out who he should see in each city, and then setting it up. Does that make sense?”
I nodded, and he continued. “And then sometimes it’s not politicians, sometimes it’s celebrities that are coming to meet him in the photo line or attending an event. So I’m the contact for them, I facilitate that meeting.”
“And that’s why Scarlett Johansson sends you texts?” I asked. This had happened while we were out to dinner not long ago, and Jimmy had left his phone on the table, so that we could all see when the name Scarlett popped up on his screen.
“Exactly,” he said. “That, and because I’m charming company.”
“Of course,” I said.
Through Matt, I knew that because Jimmy was Jimmy, he befriended almost every celebrity he met, would have drinks with them if they came to DC, offered them private West Wing tours. He showed up on the Instagrams of actresses, as they posed for selfies in front of the Rose Garden. Behind his back, all the people at work made fun of him a little bit, rolled their eyes as he held his phone and pretended to complain that another beautiful actress was texting him, that he’d been out for drinks with Bobby De Niro. But underneath it all was always, I think, a little current of jealousy.
Jimmy was often a ridiculous person, but that didn’t stop us from wanting to hang out with him. He’d look at his reflection in the mirror, admire himself, striking dumb poses and saying, “Can you believe I’m this handsome?” When he walked into a party, he’d raise his hands and announce, “Hey-o! I’m here! The wait is over, everyone, Jimmy Dillon has arrived.” But to be fair, he also made everyone around him feel good — he was quick with compliments and conversation and (while I never would’ve said this to anyone because it sounded crazy) he had a nice energy about him.
He created a Wikipedia page for himself, complete with a head shot and a description of his career that made him sound incredibly successful, almost like he was just days away from running for president himself. His huge ego was made tolerable by his sense of humor, and even when you were rolling your eyes at him or in disbelief about something he said, it was hard to deny that there was something special about him. People wanted to be around him, I think, because it felt like he was going places.