George and the closest advisers followed Bobby through the living room and into one of the bedrooms. As always, Bobby mixed partying with hard political talk. Today, as well as California, he had won a low-profile primary in South Dakota, birthplace of Hubert Humphrey. After California he felt confident of winning New York, where he had the advantage of being one of the state’s senators. “We’re beating McCarthy, damn it,” he said exultantly, sitting on the floor in a corner of the room, keeping an eye on the TV.

George was beginning to worry about the convention. How could he make sure that Bobby’s popularity was reflected in the votes of delegates from states where there were no primaries? “Humphrey is working hard on states such as Illinois, where Mayor Daley controls the delegate votes.”

“Yeah,” said Bobby. “But in the end men like Daley can’t ignore popular feeling. They want to win. Hubert can’t beat Dick Nixon, and I can.”

“It’s true, but do the Democratic power brokers know that?”

“They will by August.”

George shared Bobby’s sense that they were riding a wave, but he saw the dangers ahead all too clearly. “We need McCarthy to withdraw so that we can concentrate on beating Humphrey. We have to make a deal with McCarthy.”

Bobby shook his head. “I can’t offer him the vice presidency. He’s a Catholic. Protestants might vote for one Catholic, but not two.”

“You could offer him the top job in cabinet.”

“Secretary of state?”

“If he pulls out now.”

Bobby frowned. “It’s hard to imagine working with him in the White House.”

“If you don’t win, you won’t be in the White House. Should I put out feelers?”

“Let me think about it some more.”

“Of course.”

“You know something else, George?” Bobby said. “For the first time I don’t feel I’m here as Jack’s brother.”

George smiled. That was a big step.

George went into the main room to talk to reporters, but he did not get a drink. When he was with Bobby he preferred to stay sharp. Bobby himself liked bourbon. But incompetence on his team infuriated him, and he could lacerate someone who let him down. George felt comfortable drinking alcohol only when Bobby was far away.

He was still stone-cold sober a few minutes before midnight when he accompanied Bobby down to the ballroom to give his victory speech. Bobby’s wife, Ethel, looked groovy in an orange-and-white minidress with white tights, despite being pregnant with their eleventh child.

The crowd went wild, as always. The boys all wore Kennedy straw hats. The girls had a uniform: blue skirt, white blouse, and red Kennedy sash. A band blared a campaign song. Powerful television lights added to the heat in the room. Led by bodyguard Bill Barry, Bobby and Ethel pushed through the crowd, their young supporters reaching out to touch them and pull their clothes, until they reached a small platform. Jostling photographers added to the chaos.

The crowd hysteria was a problem for George and others, but it was Bobby’s strength. His ability to get this emotional reaction from people was going to take him to the White House.