Read Online The Hopefuls by Jennifer Close - Free Book Online

it? I can’t dress up as a Starbucks worker on the day I got fired. I’ll probably be working there for real in a couple of weeks.”
    “Beth, that won’t happen. I promise.”
    “Well, I’m not dressing up.”
    “I think that’s fair,” Matt said. “I’m sure none of the other girls will either.” But he was wrong. When I showed up at the bar, I was the only one in regular clothes. I spent my night getting drunk with three Starbucks workers and woke up the next morning on the couch, sharing a pillow with a half-eaten piece of pizza.
    —
    On election day, I flew to Chicago to be with Matt. Grant Park was swarmed that night—waves of people just kept coming. The weather was unseasonably warm (we didn’t even need jackets), which somehow made it all feel a little eerie, a little surreal.
    Matt was working at a cocktail party for the major donors, and he snuck me into the tent. I stood with a vodka and soda in a corner and watched everyone around me. I tried to concentrate on what I was experiencing—this is history, I kept thinking, this is important. But I was also feeling slightly sorry for my unemployed self, sipping my drink, wondering what I was going to do next.
    When the election was called, all of the donors were rushed out of the tent to a roped-off area right in front of the stage to watch the speech. I was right in front, so close to the next president that it was disconcerting. But I was also aware that Oprah was standing a couple of rows behind me, and part of me wanted to move and wave her forward to take my spot, because it was clearly a huge mistake for me to be closer to the stage than she was.
    During the speech, Matt and I both cried—everyone did. “This is it, Beth,” Matt said. “This is it.” I wanted to ask him what was it, but instead just held his hand. Back in the finance tent, all of the workers started drinking, tossing back vodkas and beer, and hugging, hard, throwing their arms around each other and burying their faces in necks. “We did it, man,” Matt said, whenever he hugged anyone. He kept gripping my shoulders and squeezing them like he couldn’t contain himself.
    Obama came back to the tent to thank the donors for their help, and also took the time to thank all of the workers. He shook Matt’s hand and called him by name, which impressed me and made Matt start crying again. “Thank you, sir,” he said, about five times.
    We went with a huge group of campaign staff to a bar, then another, and then another. I kept waiting for everyone to calm down, but if anything they got more energy as the night went on. Everyone was still screaming and crying and hugging and laughing when we finally left. At some point in the night, Matt turned to me. “I know you’re upset about your job,” he said. “But maybe this is for the best. Imagine I got a job in the administration—we could move to DC, start a whole new adventure.”
    I didn’t get a chance to answer him because he was swept into a new conversation, a new round of hugs with other campaign people, and I stood there as they celebrated, just slightly off to the side. I had the feeling that you get when you find yourself at home after a day at work, but have no memory of the commute, no real idea how you arrived there.
    When we stumbled back to our hotel room sometime in the early morning, I was too drunk and tired to be offended when I heard Matt say as he fell into bed, “This is the best night of my life.”
    —
    So, yeah, Matt told me about his aspirations right after we met. But my high school boyfriend wanted to be a rapper, and turned out to be an accountant, so I don’t think I can be blamed for not taking it all too seriously.

Chapter 5
    W hen Matt asked if I wanted to go to Alan Chu’s birthday party, my first instinct was to say no. After a month or so of constant socializing with White House people, I felt like I needed a break. Could I really spend another night at a bar listening as Alan told me how