“I thought maybe you guys would take the day off,” I said to Matt, and he looked so serious as he answered. “We can’t afford to waste a day,” he said. “We can’t afford to waste a minute.”
—
Jimmy slept until almost noon, and when he woke up, Ash and I were in the TV room, each lying on a couch while Viv played on the floor. What I really wanted to do was to go back to bed, but it seemed unfair (and downright mean) to leave Ash by herself, so I stayed.
When Jimmy finally appeared in the doorway, he was shirtless, wearing an old pair of sweatpants, and his hair was sticking straight up off his head. It was also possible he was still a little drunk. “Holy Moses,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “I really did a number on myself last night.”
Viv made a little squealing noise and then said, “Hi! Hi hi!”
“Hi, baby girl,” Jimmy said, looking down at her and waving. Then Viv looked at him and said, “Uh-oh,” which she said about fifty times a day, but Jimmy laughed and said, “Yep, uh-oh is right.”
“Good Lord, Jimmy. You didn’t want to make yourself decent?” Ash closed her eyes like she was annoyed, but really I think she was just tired.
“It’s just Beth,” Jimmy said, grinning at me. He flopped himself down on the couch where Ash’s feet were, making her rearrange herself so her legs were in his lap.
“Oh, Jimmy, you stink!” Ash said, covering her nose. “You smell like you just took a bath in whiskey.”
“Who’s to say I didn’t?” Jimmy asked.
We all turned as Matt came into the room then and stood in front of us. “I thought I heard you,” he said, looking at Jimmy. “How does it feel to wake up as the Democratic nominee?”
“It feels great,” Jimmy said. “I mean, I feel like a pile of shit, but the rest of it feels great.”
“I have some things we should go over,” Matt said. “I came to see if I could get lunch for everyone.”
“Oh my goodness, you’re a savior,” Ash said. “Please bring French fries. Anything with French fries on the side.”
“Is that okay with everyone?” Matt asked, and Jimmy and I nodded. “Great, I’ll be back in a few.”
We were all quiet as he left the room and we listened to him start the car and pull out of the driveway. Finally Jimmy said, “How on earth is he not as wrecked as the rest of us?” I just shrugged and said, “I have absolutely no idea.”
—
Over cheeseburgers and fries, Matt talked about how now was the time to focus on money. The Republicans were headed to a runoff election, so Jimmy’s opponent wouldn’t be decided until the end of May. Matt felt that the next three months were crucial, that Jimmy needed to use this time to try to get ahead. Jimmy had mostly relied on his parents’ network up to this point, and could probably count on them for some more money, but Matt emphasized that he needed to reach further, to find new people to donate. The rest of us chewed as he spoke. “We really need to ramp up our fund-raising,” he said. “This is push time.”
“Isn’t that what you have been doing?” I asked, and Matt gave me a look.
“I think we need to get you on the phone,” Matt said. “Calling people, telling them about yourself, asking for donations.”
Jimmy still looked so tired, like he wasn’t even sure what day it was, and I felt like he would’ve agreed to anything at that point just to end the conversation. He nodded at Matt and said, “Whatever you say, boss.”
—
The very next morning, Matt set up Jimmy in the office with a list of contacts and gave him a pep talk about fund-raising. “You can do this,” Matt said. “You’ll be great. Just remember — this is about money. If we want to compete in any real way, we need to raise money.”
Matt sounded so energized that I half expected him to start jumping around, like a coach trying to psyche his team up before a big game.
For about a week, Jimmy did as Matt said and spent hours calling people and asking for their money, saying the same thing over and over again. And then one day, he started to complain. “I don’t come across well on the phone,” Jimmy said. “I’m better in front of people. I need to get out there.”
“You also need money,” Matt said.
“So set up some fund-raisers where I can meet people face to face. I’m going crazy spending all this time on the phone.”
To Jimmy, Matt said, “Look, I know this is frustrating. But it’s hard to raise money for a down-ballot race — you know that. We just need to keep plugging away at it. I promise I’ll think of some ways to get you out there.” And then later, to me, he said, “Who does he think is going to come to these fund-raisers? He thinks we have hundreds of people ready to come to a black-tie dinner and drop thousands of dollars? Most people don’t even know his name. I don’t know who he thinks he is.”
This was the first disagreement that Matt and Jimmy had during the campaign. (Or at least the first serious one, that wasn’t about what time to leave for a trip or what radio station to listen to in the car.) And it never got resolved — they continued to argue about how much time Jimmy should spend on the phone, every day, both of them repeating themselves, the conversation going in circles. Their fights were so predictable — like a rerun you’ve seen a million times before, except it wasn’t the least bit funny. And I started to notice how it changed things, how it made the air around us unpleasant, always.
—
When he wasn’t trying to raise money, Jimmy was traveling to south Texas to talk to people suffering from air pollution and to north Texas to talk about earthquakes. The traveling wasn’t just happening on the weekends now, it was all the time. “We need to reach as many people as we can,” Matt said. “We want them to feel heard.”
Ash and I went on these trips, for moral support and to help out, and Viv came along so Jimmy could hold her and look like a family man. We traveled so many places in the eight months before the election that I often woke up not knowing where we were. We were always packing and unpacking, taking the clothes out of our bags just to wash them and put them right back in. Every day was another city, sometimes two. Just when I was sure that I’d seen all of Texas, Matt would announce a new place we’d be going to — Azle, Reno, Arlington, Denton. There were times we drove four hours for a two-hour event and came back that same day.
Because Viv’s car seat was in the second row, I usually sat in the way back by myself. But I didn’t mind. It was sort of peaceful there, and I usually just stared out the window and let my mind wander, watching all of Texas go right past me.
—
At the end of May, Candace Elroy won the Republican nomination for railroad commissioner, narrowly beating out the Tea Party candidate in the runoff. Elroy had spent the past twenty years as a consultant for the oil industry, and they were willing to give her gobs of money to get her onto the Railroad Commission. When we found out she won, Matt closed his eyes and said softly, “Fuck,” which was somehow more disturbing than if he’d screamed or hit something.
Right away, she started out-fund-raising Jimmy, almost to a laughable degree, and while it was probably impossible to even think about catching up with her, Matt was determined to try. One day, after reading about a fund-raiser she’d held, Matt looked like he was going to cry. “Strangers are giving her money without her even having to ask for it,” he said, and I imagined Candace Elroy walking down the street while random people threw cash at her.
Matt was haunted by Candace Elroy. He thought about her more than he thought about anything or anyone else, all day, every day. Once, I swore he said her name while he was sleeping.