Authors: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247
Webpage: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com
Notes: This is the sequel to THE QUEST. Thanks to those of you who followed us from one series to the next.
Presidential Residence
Dec. 15, 9 p.m.
Bartlet sat in his private study and drummed his fingers on the desk. The TV in the corner was turned down, but he could see the replay of his press conference that had ended half and hour earlier in the East Room. News agencies were scouring the District to speak with congressmen to get their spin in the day's historic vote. Most of the staff had departed the White House not long after the press conference ended. The Chairman of the DNC had graciously gifted to them the use of his limousine for the evening and reserved a Georgetown pub for their private celebration--no press allowed. Top campaign staffers were now descending on F. Scott's Pub for the first evening of relaxation many had experience in a year.
Leo was under the care of Mallory, who refused to let him stay even a minute after the Press Conference stating he had spent too much time in the building that day already. That his resistance was short-lived spoke to how ill the man truly had been not long ago.
Bartlet sighed and placed his glasses on his nose. He read the number Charlie had retrieved for him. He could have had Debbie place the call--she was still downstairs--and patch it through for him as she requested, but he wanted no record of this call. His pride was fatally wounded and that was something he could never forget. He knew he should be speaking to someone else, but some part of him felt this call was the start of the absolution process.
The President dialed the number--his heart beating loudly in his ears. The trembles he felt in his hands had nothing to do with his disease and everything to do with his feelings of shame. After the third ring, the phone was answered.
"Hello," she answered, sounding as though she had received many phone calls that day and was expecting yet another--even at this hour.
"Ah, A…," the President began then paused.
He was not completely sure of the reasoning behind this call and had to remind himself the woman was not currently among his fans.
"Mrs. Lyman," Bartlet started again. "This is Jed Bartlet."
"Yes," Josh's mother replied in a guarded tone.
"I needed to speak with you," Bartlet said.
The President paused, considering how best to approach this conversation. In his silence, Anna Lyman's blood ran cold.
"Oh my god," Anna gasped. "Has something happened? Is Joshua all right?"
"What? No," Bartlet responded quickly. "I mean, yes, he's all right. Everything is fine. At least, as far as I know, and he just left the office a few minutes ago so I have no reason to think otherwise. I was just… I wanted to speak to you. I'm sorry if I alarmed you."
"I'm sure you didn't mean to," she said relieved. "I worry sometimes. He's all I have, and I worry. He says I don't need to, but I have ample evidence that says otherwise."
"You're a good mother," Bartlet said understandingly. "I get awakened at night from time-to-time with the business of state, but my first instinct is always the same: Where are my girls and are they all right? The parental curse, I suppose."
"Yes, I suppose," she agreed. "If Joshua is fine, then why are you calling? Is this because of what that newspaper printed?"
"Not precisely," Bartlet hedged. "Although, I was surprised to learn that I did not have your vote."
"No," she replied crisply. "You did not."
"May I ask why?"
"You may."
Bartlet suppressed a smirk. He reminded himself that this was a feisty woman who spent more than half of her life married to a fiery litigator. Her son's personality was surely not sculpted by just one of his parents.
"It doesn't matter," Bartlet retreated. "You are entitled to your vote. While I would have enjoyed your support, I see no need to invade your right to hold me in contempt. You're certainly not alone."
"I'm not surprised," she replied, though there was less edge in her voice, the President noted. "If you're not scolding me for my lack of support, may I ask why you are calling?"
"I wanted to ask you… about Josh," Bartlet said. "I've come to understand that maybe I don't know as much as I thought I did about my staff and about myself. It's been quite a rollercoaster around here for sometime and… I don't know. I feel like I'm at square one in some ways. I was thinking about that and the election—the House vote I mean—and I keep coming back to what Josh did as soon as we won."
"What was that?"
"He called you," Bartlet informed her. "You didn't know that? You were his first call. He didn't call those select media people who report his thoughts attributed to the secret and nebulous 'administration officials.' Didn't call the legislators who cast their votes; he didn't call the powerful forces I don't fully comprehend that made today's result possible. No, his first call was to you. I thought that was a very telling thing for him to do."
"Why?" Anna asked, feeling immensely flattered that her son had thought of her first in the midst of his greatest professional triumph.
"Because Josh until very recently I was sure that just was just a politician," Bartlet said. "I thought he was one first and foremost, but it turns out he's not. Oh, don't get me wrong. He's professional and dedicated--I've been reminded of that several times lately and chose to ignore it--but I think somewhere during this last year, I forgot he was a person as well--someone's son and a friend. I forgot that about several people on some level for a little while."
"That's understandable," Anna reasoned. "Your job is to look out for the country as a whole, not the welfare of specific individuals every moment. The captain looks out for the ship. The crew looks out for each other."
Bartlet paused and pondered her words. They were truer than she probably realized.
"It's funny you should offer a sea analogy," Bartlet chuckled, looking at the small plaque on the corner of his desk. "There's this saying, a small prayer if you will, that I need to remind myself of daily. If you'll permit me, 'Oh Lord, your sea is so great and my boat is so small.' I think that kind of says it all: Life is difficult; it's supposed to be. But we're not out there alone."
Anna chuckled softly.
"Did I miss something?" Bartlet asked, not seeing humor in his profound statement.
"No," she said mildly. "I just realized why Joshua says… Oh, never mind. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have."
"That's all right," the President said. "What does Joshua say? Do you know that's the only time I think I've called him by his actual name."
"So few do," Anna sighed. "He stuck his toes in around age three and demanded to be called Josh. I rarely oblige. Joshua is a beautiful name."
"You chose it?"
"Actually, no," Anna replied. "My husband, Noah, was determined that if we had a boy that his name would be Jacob. I opposed it. Jacob's become Jake's, and Jake is the name of a man who carries knives and hangs out in a bar. No, if I had a son his name was going to be David."
"So Joshua was a compromise?"
"Not exactly," Anna continued. "Noah wasn't much for compromising. He was more apt to beg for forgiveness than for permission. Two months before the baby was due, my parents had given us a gift for the baby: a silver bowl that had been my grandfather's. To cement his name choice, Noah took it without my permission and had it engraved with the initials 'JL' about a week before the baby was due."
"There was some discussion in the Lyman household about that, I presume," Bartlet surmised.
"I threw the bowl at him and he got a bump on his head," Anna recalled lovingly. "I was supposed to call a local jeweler about having it fixed the day I went into labor. Noah was in court and wasn't there when the baby was born. He came later with our daughter to the hospital visit us--a human shield."
"Smart man," Bartlet chuckled.
"That's one way to look at it," Anna replied recalling how angry she was at the time. "I was prepared to give Noah a tongue-lashing, but Joanie was there. She asked me what the baby's name was—she was a little disappointed; she wanted a sister. I told her that we didn't know the baby's name yet. I glared at Noah so he understood what I meant; he was about to plead his case when Joanie looked at the baby and said, 'I think his name is Joshua.' I looked at my little boy and decided she was right. It just seemed to fit. Oh, I'm sorry. I don't know why I rambled on like that."
"It's quite all right," Bartlet said warmly. "It's a wonderful story. Josh must appreciate it."
"He doesn't know," Anna informed him. "I don't think I've ever told anyone about that. Joshua certainly never asked."
"You'll have to tell him someday," Bartlet said. "When he has children, that would be something nice to pass on."
"I suppose," Anna said. "We don't speak of his sister often."
"I understand," Bartlet said then paused. "No, actually, I don't. Not really. I've never lost a child. I can't imagine it. I've lost my father and some friends. I've ordered men into harm's way that did not return, but I've never had to face that. I hope I never do. You, and people like you, amaze me that you are able to go on after such a loss. That's one thing that puzzles me about Josh. He has not had it very easy at times, but he never gives in. It seems as though he never seriously contemplates giving up on anything. I stand in awe of it from time to time."
"You do sound like his father," Anna said. "That's what I meant earlier when I laughed. Josh says that you are nothing like his father, yet you greatly remind him of Noah once in a while. His loyalty to Leo is something no one could ever shake because of who Leo is as well as Leo's relationship with Noah. But I'm sure you realize, Mr. President, that you are possibly the only other person on the planet to whom Joshua grants that level of loyalty. When he lost his father, I thought Joshua would be lost. But he had Leo and he had you--two pillars holding up the universe that his father once had. I'm sorry for the brusque way I spoke to you earlier. Joshua's professional life is not mine to judge. I am protective of my son, but I have no business venting my frustration on you about circumstances I do not understand. I apologize."
"Thank you, but none is needed," Bartlet said. "I should be the one to thank you for giving me this time. I appreciate it."
"You're most welcome, Mr. President," Anna said. "You may not have had my support during the election, but you have something much more valuable. You have my son and his support. I hope you realize that is more important than a tick mark on a ballot."
"Yes, I certainly do," Bartlet said solemnly.
*****************
F. Scott's
Georgetown
9:30 p.m.
The John Eagleston, the CNN talent, stood in the frosty air amid the crowd of photographers and other media types. They were barred from entering the establishment by the proprietor. The pub was officially closed for a private party. Eagleston squinted through the glare of street lights and camera lights as figures ducked into the brick building without saying a word. Most were able to do so without being recognized. However, a limousine that parked at the curb disgorged a group of individuals to his left. The first one out couldn't avoid the spotlight--even if she wanted to. Her statuesque figure was known to all in the news business in Washington. Eagleston cleared his throat, signaled his cameraman and keyed his mike hot so the producer would throw the live feed to him
"CJ," Eagleston said, latching onto her arm and tugging her into his pool of light. "I'm here with CJ Cregg, press secretary for President Bartlet. Good evening, CJ."
"John," she smiled widely. "So surprising to see you here."
"Well, I'm sure you realize that there is nothing bigger in this country right now than today's vote," the reporter began. "It was like the closing scene to a movie."
"With a damn good looking cast, I might add," CJ joked and straightened her shoulders.
"You'd certainly be nominated for a supporting role," Eagleston said. "Tell me what are the President's plans for this evening?"
"President Bartlet is home celebrating with his wife," CJ said. "They've had very little time to even talk about the weather in the last few weeks. I know that several of the President's daughters had dinner with them this evening. Now the First Family is looking forward to a nice, quiet evening without the staff invading their private space."
"I see," Eagleston nodded. "And what of the staff's plans?"
"Well, we're here for a while," she said gesturing to the building behind her. "We're going to unwind and those that have families who still speaking with them plan to go home and sleep in their own beds for a change. As you can see, there are quite a lot of us here. A few of our top tacticians for the vote just snuck in behind me. That would be Sam Seaborn and Josh Lyman. Their immediate plans are to sit down, relax and eat food that is bad for them and talk about talk about the World Series."
"The World Series was over two months ago," Eagleston pointed out.
"Yeah, but Josh never got the chance to properly crow about his Mets winning," CJ chuckled. "Normally, we'd put a gag order on him but after today he gets a few minutes to hear his own voice."
"It has been a protracted affair," Eagleston agreed. "How is the staff handling the knowledge that it's over?"
"We've been through a lot in the last six weeks or so," CJ continued. "But we recognize that we're not the only ones. Governor Ritchie's people were working hard for their candidate; the legislators who voted today put lots of thought and discussion into this vote and finally the American people--the real winners today--showed amazing patience and faith in their government to let the process take place. I think realizing that, we all feel pretty good right now... even if it is 20 degrees out here."
"It is cold," Eagleston agreed. "You just mentioned some of your colleagues, Sam Seaborn and Joshua Lyman. They have been called the principal architects of today's vote. Talk to me about that."
"Well, it was a team effort," CJ said. "Sam was the primary spokesperson for the campaign staff during the last seven days or so. Josh stepped into Leo McGarry's shoes after he was sidelined with walking pneumonia--he's home arguing with his daughter that he can return to work any hour now, by the way. This fell heavily on Josh's shoulders to orchestrate behind the scenes, but it's what he does."
"And from today's surprising results, it appears he does it well," Eagleston offered.
"He's the political equivalent of James Bond with a backpack," CJ said. "We've all worked so hard for so long and now that it's done, some part of us can't believe it. Josh is still in a fog about the vote."
"Josh is not known for being bashful," Eagleston continued, hoping to get a hook in the rumor that Josh was on his way out of the administration. "What should we infer from the fact that he hasn't stepped in front of a camera yet?"
"I'd infer that he can't be photographed," CJ quipped, sidestepping the question. "I've worked with the guy closely for years and I'm not sure he casts a reflection. He's a political myth. The only way to stop him is to cut off his head and drive a stake into his heart. Right now he's on phone talking to our congressional liaison folks about a commerce bill; we're going to try to explain to him what a night off means. It won't be easy."
Eagleston chuckled. His producer saw the ploy fail and asked him to change subjects.
"We have some tape we're going to roll here in a second," Eagleston said. "It's of the President as he entered the East Room a few hours ago. Just before taking the podium, he said something to you that you evidently found humorous. What was that?"
CJ thought back. She recalled the statement and decided it was innocuous enough.
"This was just after that deafening applause?"
Eagleston nodded.
"Yeah, he thanked me then because there was so much cheering, he said," CJ continued, " 'Not bad for a guy who's just been told he's out of a job in four years."
****************
The Moss Condo
Donna sat on the floor beside the sofa where her father lay. His breathing was labored still. The news from the doctors that morning was better. The respiratory infection that had delayed her father's surgery was abating. They were scheduled to operate on his blocked arteries on January 2, after he was finished with the antibiotics and the surgeon was convinced Artemis Moss had regained most of his strength.
They were watching CNN, as they had almost around the clock for the last week at Donna's insistence. She had explained the proceedings in the House to her parents in between getting her father lunch and making her mother sit down and eat as well. They were as gripped by the vote as Donna. Her father said for once he found politics entertaining.
"She's an awfully tall girl, isn't she," he remarked as CJ departed from her interview.
"Yes," Donna sighed. Leave it to my father to notice her height and not the way she handled the interview.
"She's a college woman," he nodded redeeming himself. "You can tell from the way she let that twerp think he was getting something out of her that he wasn't suppose to know. I like her."
"She's very smart," Donna said. "They all are."
"The grumpy one too?" he asked.
"Travis," Patricia, her mother, offered.
"Toby," Donna corrected.
Her mother had always an awful time keeping names straight. It was a wonder that she'd given her children such unconventional monikers--though there were times when Donna suspected she had done so in order to remember them.
"Is he grouchy or just grouchy looking?" her father asked. "That kind of scowling he does is either from being disappointed the world isn't as smart as he is or jealousy that he can't keep up."
"It's neither," Donna explained, scanning the replay of tapes for the person she wanted to see. "Toby just spends a lot of energy trying to make things better so he doesn't have the energy to smile all that often. He does sometimes."
"I'm sure Tommy has a nice smile," Patricia said.
"Toby," Donna corrected unconsciously as she stared closely at the screen.
"Is he one of those like your man Mr. Lyman," Artemis asked.
"One of what?"
"You know," Artemis said. "I knew one of them once..."
"Daddy," Donna cut him off. "Don't call him a Jew. I mean, yes, he's Jewish--so is Toby--but that doesn't mean..."
"I wasn't going to say that," her father scolded. "What's the matter with you, girl? I meant New England people. Josh there, your boss, he's from New England, right?"
"Yes," Donna said, embarrassed by her assumption.
"Well, now, I was going to say that I've known a few of them and they tend to be all squared away," Artemis said. "When I was in the Service, the smartest guy in my unit was from Massachusetts. And President Bartlet, he's from New Hampshire. Notre Dame man, right? Well, I read that Josh went to Harvard and Yale. That Seaburg..."
"Seaborn," Donna said. "Sam Seaborn. He's from California."
"California?" Art replied with raised eyebrows. "Yeah, he seemed kind of..... fluffy. Anyway, I was wondering where this Toby is from."
"New York," Donna said.
"Oh," her father scowled. "I knew some of them, too. Now that you mention it, he looks like he's from New York. But he's a good fella you say?"
"Very good," Donna smirked.
"I'm getting the mail," her mother sighed not wanting to her her husband's discourse on why those not from Wisconsin or Minnesota lacked something. "It just arrived. If I've won the publisher's sweepstakes, I'm not coming back."
"Good for you, woman," Artemis answered amicably. "I have to say that most politicians I've known are uptight and untrustworthy."
"Art," his wife scolded from the kitchen were she shorted the mail recently dropped through the slot. "These are Donnatella's friends. They take care of her and they're good people. I'm getting the mail. It just arrived. If I've won the publisher's sweepstakes, I'm not coming back."
"I voted for the man, didn't I?" he countered.
"You did?" Donna asked. "I thought you said...."
"I did say," her father replied in a taciturn manner. "I also had a chat with your man there, Josh. He looked me square in the eye when he spoke to me and let me know in no uncertain terms what he thought. I like that--even if he does have a college mouth."
"The President likes his staff to be frank with him," she said.
She noted her father's thin smile. He still wasn't entirely convinced that she knew the President--or rather that he knew her. Pat returned proclaiming there were more Christmas cards than bills for once. She also had a slim package addressed for her husband.
"What's this?" he asked reading the plain brown wrapper. "From The White House? For me? Donna?"
"I don't know anything about this," she said, eagerly peering at the box.
It was not more than two inches thick and roughly six inches square. The handwriting on the label looked familiar. Her father fumbled with the edges; Donna helped him as his fingers were not as nimble due to his medications. They pried open the box, which turned out to be more of a protective wrapping of cardboard pieces. Inside was a simple 5 x 7 picture frame; the picture was of two people sitting on a bench at a farm in New Hampshire. The man had his arm around the woman's shoulders and was smiling much like the woman.
"Donna," her father gasped. "That's you. And that's the President, isn't it?"
"Uh huh," Donna smiled, recalling the Fourth of July weekend when she joined the staff for the President's visit home. "That was taken the summer before last. That's the President's farm."
"Will you look at that," her father marveled staring at the picture. "What does say in your hands?"
"It's from Josh," Donna said, keeping her voice as level as possible. "He got this from the White House's official photographer. He wanted you to have it so.... So that.."
"Give that here if it's addressed to me," Artemis
said. Donna handed him the note.
Dear Mr. Moss,
Thought you might like this picture. Your daughter is an important part of the work we do here. We didn't want you to get the idea that she can leave us for ever and we'd never notice. Her place is with her family now, but let her know that she is still needed here.
Respectfully,
Josh Lyman
"Patricia," her father said, his voice husky as though he was suddenly choked up. "Put this in my bag."
"You don't want to put it on the mantel?" his wife asked.
"I'm taking it with me when I go to that damn hospital," Art said. "I want that with me. And I want those doctors and nurses to know that my little girl knows the President."
*****************
Georgetown
11 p.m.
CJ made her way from the bar to the back of the room. She shook as she mused on what she had seen of the coverage of the day's events on the TV over the bar.
She joined Josh at the table in the back; they had dined on the worlds worst quesadias and buffalo wings--with a side of stale pretzels. Ed was allegedly ordering Chinese food to make up for the dismal meal and was looking for someone to act as a bulldozer to push the press aside out front to clear a path for the deliver guy. CJ reported this as she took a seat with Josh, who was waiting for Toby to return with their beer.
Josh had finally been pried away from his cellphone and was now going to partake in the celebration--so long as he could keep his eyes open. The thought that he could sleep in the next day without worrying about 538 legislators was very alluring. Not that he wasn't thinking about other things that he wanted those same legislators to agree upon in the coming year; he had already begun drumming up some support for the prescription drug bill the White House was seeking when Sam had taken the battery out of his phone. He promised to give it back, but only after they finished the first round as a group. CJ and Sam had a head start on Josh and Toby and were ordering them to catch up quickly.
"I've been doing this job for more than four years now, and it is official," CJ said. "I do not understand the press. They're bringing up the MS thing and now its giving the President a martyr like quality. Tell me something, Oh Great One, what is news?"
Josh smirked at the title. She was half drunk; he could tell by the redness of her cheeks and the grin she wore when giving him the chiding compliment. He thought for a moment then answered.
"About eight years ago I was at the Four Seasons waiting for Sam," Josh said. "He was in town for something and was running late to meet me. So I'm there by myself when this guy on my right starts talking, rambling on. After a minute or so, I realized that he's speaking to me. So I start listening."
"What was he saying?" CJ asked.
Josh wasn't a storyteller by nature and practice. He often knew more than was wise and keeping his mouth shut was normally the most prudent course of action. CJ knew he didn't impart anecdotes often. She was intrigued.
"He said in July 1961 a White House correspondent came up to him right there in the Four Seasons and said: I have information that the President's got a mistress--maybe two," Josh explained. "My guy responds: The President works 15 hours a day, seven days a week; if he's got the energy to have an affair after that, who the hell cares?"
CJ guffawed and shook her head. She patted Josh on the arm grateful for the offering.
"Is that true?" she asked, wondering if he was telling her a tale. "Who was the guy?"
"One of your predecessors," Josh answered. "Pierre Salinger, Kennedy's Press Secretary. And he didn't stop there. He tells me that he gave the 1960s answer that night, but that it would never work again. He was wrong."
"How do you mean?"
"We just got the majority of the country to give that answer to the other half," Josh said. "The President works the most grueling job in the country; he does it every day. Oh, by the way, he's got MS, too. Who the hell cares? I was just thinking of the gall, the guile, it took for Salinger to say that back then. That's when I realized, nothing's ever changed in this town; not really. We got a few hundred million people--and 28 state delegations--to accept the answer "who the hell cares?' and pay the President's health no attention."
"That's....," CJ paused and considered the offering. "I don't know what to say to that."
"Try nothing," Josh shrugged as he grabbed a handful of peanuts from the dish on the table. "It just popped into my head when you sat down. It means nothing. Besides, it was the right answer. The President's health isn't an issue. Even under anesthesia, I'd trust his judgment for the country compared to the competition."
"Okay, Campaign Boy," CJ said, putting her hand over his mouth to cease the rhetoric. "We already won, and I was on your side from the beginning to no more shop talk for the night."
Toby then returned with Sam and Larry in tow. The staff had decided this night the spotlight belonged to Congress. They had voted their conscience--some would be feeling heat from their party that night. The White House had issued a statement; the President had taken some questions in the east room just after 8 p.m. and then the party started. There was still press camped outside the private party, but the evening was a chance for the staff to finally relax after weeks spent walking on egg shells. There were close to 100 people in the dimly lit lounge.
"Everyone, listen up," CJ said, standing and stretching to her full height. "We've been too serious for too long. That ends now. So, now we come to the moment no one could have predicted or prepared for: The Toby Zielger impersonation contest. Who's first?"
Toby stood along the wall, holding his and Josh's beer bottles, and looked honestly stunned by the pronouncement. But that expression was soon eclipsed by his reaction to the first taker in the game.
"Oh, me! Me!" Larry shouted as he jumped from his seat and cleared his throat. He furrowed his brow, scowled then began. "That's it! All of you; on your knees, staring up at me; I want to see abject terror on your faces in light of your foolishly anticipating that we could be victorious. Premature celebration of victory is the leading cause of...."
Larry paused and the laughter around him swelled and over took his words.
"Damn," he shook his head as he relented. "I lost it. I had something. Honest."
"I've never said....," Toby began.
"It's what you look like, though," Larry laughed.
Josh left the table to join Toby sitting on the stools beside the wall. Josh shook his head and mumbled to Toby about taking the abuse graciously because it was ultimately a compliment.
"How do you figure that?" Toby asked. "They're not making fun of you."
"That's what I meant," Josh nodded. "It's a compliment to me. I've been in charge for two weeks, and they think you're the ogre."
"I bought you that beer," Toby said.
"With my money," Josh reminded him. "Sam! Your turn. End this stupid game so Toby can pick up his dignity off the floor."
Sam grinned anxiously. Sam did masterful impressions of most of the staff--including CJ. His astounding talent as a mimic served him well in writing speeches. He could crawl into the skin of the person and feel the words being spoken.
Sam thought for a moment then nodded to Toby respectfully before beginning.
"Sam!" Sam shouted, hitting the pitch and intonation of Toby's voice soundly. He added in the frustrated hand and arm gestures expertly as he continued. "Tell me! Tell me, because I'm at a loss here. Are you conscious when you type? I mean, are you actively controlling your fingers are do you just use The Force?"
"Oh, we have a winner," CJ grinned and applauded.
"Good," Toby barked. "Winner buys me a scotch. Go."
Sam nodded graciously and bowed to Toby as he accepted his applause.
"Better pace yourself," CJ warned Toby. "The Missus might not like you staggering home in a shameful state."
"Well, she need not worry," Toby said, draining his bottle. "I never stagger."
"Shut up," Josh shook his head. "I was told upon leaving the office that the ego capacity in this place was to stay as low as possible this evening. That means everyone needs to..."
Josh paused to yawn then searched his memory for his train of thought and came up empty.
"What the hell was I talking about?" he asked. "Oh man, I didn't think it was possible to be this tired and this awake at the same time."
Josh yawned again and stretched the muscles through his shoulders. It didn't feel possible that it was over. That night in November when there was no result had lasted six weeks and it was finally over. He could go home, to his apartment, to his bed. He looked across the room and caught Amy's eye. She nodded to him and raised her glass in salute. Josh nodded back and shook his head. Toby caught the interaction.
"Josh, what are you doing?" he asked. "This thing with Amy. What is it?"
"Hell if I know," Josh shrugged and took a pull on his beer.
"That's not an answer," Toby said. "I think, by now, we can talk. You and me. We've been through quite a bit and I would hope you know you can trust me. You have some choices to make, my friend. Now is not the time for...."
"Toby," Josh cut him off. "I'm allowed to have a life. What I do with it is my choice."
"So I'm saying make one," Toby explained. "Partaking in what is convenient is not a choice."
"That's close to the line," Josh told him, his tone getting serious.
"I don't mean to insult," Toby said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I like Amy. I know you have a thing about her, but there are things and there are things. Amy Gardner is the kind of person everyone in this room would probably guess you should end up with; and maybe you will. I just... A lot has just happened and I think you'd be a fool getting wrapped up in something that in another week or three you realize was just euphoria over a political coup; you are equals, but I suspect there is some part of you that.... She'd never be able to get close to it because you'd never let her. The running battle between the two of you would always be there in between. It's a question of agendas, priorities and trust. Take that as you like and feel free to factor in the knowledge that I still wear my wedding ring though I have been divorced nearly as long as I've held my current job."
Josh nodded. He wasn't sure what Toby was talking about specifically or why. Amy and he were a good match, Josh felt. They had similar interests and comparable educational achievements; they had history and were attracted to each other. Did anything else matter?
"Trust me, Toby," Josh said, trying to end the discussion. "I know what I'm doing."
"I hope to god that's true," Toby said. "Sometimes choices and burdens are placed on us that remove our choices--or at least seem to."
"What are you talking about now?" Josh asked. "I feel like we've switched subjects."
"Maybe we have," Toby said. "Or maybe its jealousy--but I'll deny it if you repeat it. You've got a gift, Josh. Whether you were born with it or you earned it, I don't know. I have abilities and talents; there are things I can do very well. But you... Somehow, it seems different. You have what my grandfather called a touch of destiny."
"My fate is nothing to envy," Josh grumbled taking another sip of beer.
"I didn't mean it like that," Toby said. "In the big picture of your life, there is a path. I've read your bio in a few magazines lately. It's quite remarkable when I forget that I know you--which is something I'd like to do from time to time, just so you know. I gotta say, it's as though everything beyond your control in your life somehow has opened a door or given you something that brought you to that next place for the next big thing. I don't mean to take away from your accomplishments. It's just remarkable. I think the same thing of the President; you're very different people and I suppose in a sane world you'd never have crossed paths. But that's off topic. You have done things that.... I can do many, many things well--things that you could never do--and yet I watch you and I find myself wondering.... I don't know if I could do the things that you do."
"Want to know a secret?" Josh said. "I have no idea what I did. I think most of what you're talking about is just dumb luck. Honestly, Toby, I have no idea why some of these things come together. I'd like to say its skill, but I know it's not. It's hard work and the law of averages. Nothing more."
Toby chuckled and shook his head. He didn't believe that entirely; at least, he knew it was not completely true.
"I've got a secret for you then," Toby said, grabbing a pretzel from the basket beside his elbow. "We all know that. That's why it's your gift and that's the touch of destiny. You do a lot of little things along the way--stuff happens around you--and that comes together in the end as a good thing probably more often than it should. That's either by design--subconscious or otherwise--or some kind of unfathomable luck."
Toby then paused and lit his cigar. It looked and tasted Cuban; the band on it didn't say Cuban, but only Fidel himself would know the truth. He puffed on it for a moment before continuing.
"Either way, I like being in the aura of it, and you, my friend, are the center of it," Toby said. "But I don't think it's just luck. It can't be. By the virtue of what luck is, one regular kind of person can't have it this much. It might not make sense to you; you probably don't even think about it. But I'd lay my next year of pay checks that what happened today could happen again so long as you were on the team. It's a combination: the right team, the right tools. You're one of those natural catalysts and stuff comes together around you. Because of that, there is probably very little--politically--that you can't do."
Josh said nothing. He wasn't sure how this had anything to do with Amy--if anything at all--and he wasn't sure he wanted to know if it did. Toby's thoughts were likely as hazy as the smoke coming from his cigar. It had been a long campaign for all of them. Toby was no exception.
"I mean it," Toby said again. "We couldn't have done this without you. I told the President that, too."
"Toby," Josh sighed. He did not want to have this discussion.
"I don't know anything about what is going on between the both of you," Toby said. "But whatever it is, it's small and unimportant. Know how I know that? Because no one can figure out what it is, least of all you. I would hate to see you go because of it--and if you repeat that to anyone, I will sue you for defamation of character."
"We're suing someone already?" Sam said anxiously as he placed Toby's scotch on the table. "Who? Why?"
"No one," Josh said, closing the subject. "Nothing. You wouldn't believe it."
"Sure I would," Sam said.
"Toby likes having me around," Josh replied.
"Since when?" Sam asked.
"Never," Toby waved them both away. "Now leave me. You're ruining my cigar."
*****************
1:30 a.m.
Josh's apartment
"You're my hero," CJ said as she laughed and threw her arms around Josh's neck as he open unlocked the door to his apartment--impressively on one try.
"You said that in the car," he informed her. "You're also drunk so I'm not taking it as a huge compliment."
"As well you shouldn't, compadre," she said through an inebriated grin as she turned her attention to Sam, reaching her arm around his shoulders. "Sam, you can be my hero, too. Josh is my first hero, but you can be his sidekick."
"Like Batman and Robin," Sam said as they shuffled into Josh's apartment. "I'd look good in tights--better than Josh."
Josh shrugged. Neither he nor Sam was in any condition to debate something as vital to the national interest as which of them would look better in tights. And, more to the point, Josh couldn't care. Not at that moment. His mind was locked in the same euphoric and alcohol induced haze as his two visitors, though he would have proudly pointed out that he had managed the stairs without tripping, unlike his two guests who were rubbing their shins and knees.
"Did we lose Toby?" Josh asked.
He counted the people in the room and divided the result by three to allow for altered vision. There appeared to be one fewer person than when their entourage left the the bar 15 minutes earlier.
"I think we left him in the limo," Sam remarked.
"Where did we leave that?" CJ cackled as she stretched out on the couch. "Josh, find it. I have faith in you; you can do no wrong."
"Until the sun comes up," Sam said, lifting his feet and propping them up on the coffee table. "Then he turns into a pumpkin if his shoes don't fit."
Josh patted down his jacket and found his phone. He hit the setting for Toby's number. After four rings, the speech writer's voice carried through the ether carefully.
"Yeah?"
"Toby," Josh said relieved. "Where did we lose you?"
"I'm not sure," he said. "I see upholstery and windows and doors and a man in a hat."
"You're in the car," Josh informed him.
"That sounds logical," Toby replied. "Since you have all the answers, where is the car?"
"Outside my apartment," Josh said.
"So we're still in the general vicinity of Washington," Toby said.
"Georgetown, to be precise."
"Good," Toby replied. "I thought we heading to Vegas."
"Sam wanted to," Josh said. "He's got some idea to make us all rich."
"Yeah, we go to Vegas," Sam crowed from his seat. "We're at the top of our game. We are in our prime. Nothing can stop us. Wait! Where are my glasses?"
"You're wearing them," CJ said.
"Oh yeah," Sam said, feeling his face and locating the spectacles.
"We've found Sam's glasses," Josh told Toby.
"Good. Am I in the car still?"
"I think so," Josh said. "You going home or coming up here?"
"Unless the car can drive up there, I'm going home," Toby replied.
"Okay, see you when the sun comes up," Josh said.
"Sure," Toby replied. "Do me a favor."
"What?"
"Tell Josh I said he did good," Toby said then disconnected.
Josh smirked as he turned off his phone. He turned to speak to his companions and found that both were now oblivious to the world. Sam had dropped off while sitting up--his glasses pushed onto the top of his head. CJ lay sprawled on the couch in a diva pose with her mouth open as she stared to snore softly.
Josh shook his head and went to his bedroom. He gratefully collapsed on his bed and stared at the ceiling.
This might be the greatest day of my life, he thought, not caring that it technically was already another day. It was just about perfect.
Just about.
He peered at the clock as an idea struck. It was 1:20 a.m. on the east coast.
"That makes it," he paused to think how many time zones away Wisconsin was and settled on the simplest answer. "Earlier out there."
He still held his phone in his palm. He again hit a memory button, this one for the only cell phone not on the east coast at the moment. It was answered almost before the first ring ended.
"Josh?" Donna answered anxiously.
"You're fired," he said instantly. "No more impervious. No more Mr. Nice Josh. You are so fired that I can't even say how fired you are."
"Are you drunk?" she asked flatly.
"Definitely," he said. "Sam and CJ are passed out in the other room."
"Where are you?"
"My bedroom," he said happily. "Now ask me where Toby is?"
"Where is Toby?"
"In the limo," Josh laughed. "Don't ask me where the limo is. The driver took off, but Sam has his glasses. They're on his head."
"The driver's?"
"No, Sam's," Josh replied. "And you're fired, Donnatella Moss."
"Why?" she asked.
"How could you not call?" Josh demanded. "Didn't you hear? What planet have you been visiting?"
"I heard," she said warmly. "I watched it on TV. I called. Didn't Ginger tell you?"
"No," he said. "I waited, and you didn't call, Donna. You owe me an apology."
"For what?"
"Because you didn't call," he said again.
"I did call, Josh," she said.
"You did not call Josh," he countered quickly. "I know because I am Josh, and I did not get a call from you, Donnatella Moss, the woman who I just fired. Do you know what I need?"
"A handful of aspirin and about six hours of sleep?"
"A letter and a cape."
"Pardon me?"
"No, the President, that would be Josiah Bartlet for the next four years--thank you very much--is the one who issues the pardons," he said. "And even a pardon won't get you unfired for not calling."
"What do you need a letter and a cape for?" she asked refraining from pleading her case further.
"For what do I need a letter and a cape?" he corrected her. "Notice how I didn't end that with a preposition."
"Josh..."
"At Harvard, they do not end questions with prepositions," he continued. "I mean, I never saw that rule in writing, but I've heard it oft quoted. Oft? Quoted often? Which one sounds better?"
Donna suppressed a laugh as she pictured him, with his eyes scrunched while he was deep in thought. Her heart ached. She wanted to be there to celebrate with all of them. With him.
Tonight could have been the greatest night of my life, she thought.
"Donna?"
She shook her head and returned her focus to the call and caller.
"So why do you need a letter and a cape?" she asked.
"All super heroes have them," he scoffed as thought the answer was obvious. "That's what I am. Give me a big J for Super Josh. I am amazing. Did you know that?"
"Actually, I did," she said earnestly.
"You did?" he asked, sounding surprised. "When did you think that?"
"Today," she said. "And other times. Sometimes, you can be marginally amazing."
"And I was," he said sounding humbled despite the proclamation. "Everything else in my life is going to pale in comparison to this. It is the pinnacle of my existence. I mean it. I did this, Donna. I did it. I think history will eventually show that President Bartlet did actually win the election itself, but I won this battle. We all played a big part, but I like scored the last point in sudden death overtime. I have officially, and forever, justified my ranking as a master politician. I am officially a footnote to history."
"Was there actually any doubt in your mind?" she asked.
"A little," he said surprised at his own honestly. "I didn't believe I... I just... I wasn't sure."
"You should have more faith in yourself," Donna said. "I never doubted you."
"You didn't?"
"Josh, I've seen you do things I just can't believe," she said.
This was the side of Josh so few ever saw, and most likely none other than his closest friends would ever suspect even existed. His swagger and confidence carried so well in sound bites and countless magazine features that it seemed incomprehensible that there could be room for any other facet to his personality. Yet Donna knew well that there was. She knew the less sure side of him, the one that was never seen publicly. While the politician persona that earned him the adulation of Washington's power brokers (and scads females who comprised his fan club) was intoxicating for his intelligence and political savvy, it was the warm, sweet, bashful side of him that he hid so well which she found most endearing.
"I saw you on Meet the Press last week," she said. "You told Tim Russert the President would win, and I believed you. You did it, Joshua. I'm so proud of you."
"You are?"
"Uh huh," she said giggling at the shock in his voice. "You did good, Josh. You are da man."
She braced herself for another on onslaught of his boasting and self-congratulatory oration. She was determined to let him have several unhindered moments of unmitigated self-worship without comments from the peanut gallery. It would be difficult, particularly if he kept firing her in the process, but she felt he had earned it this time. Therefore, she was stunned when he spoke.
"When are you coming home?" he asked solemnly.
Donna's throat tightened and the sting of tears burned in the corners of her eyes and a tug at her heart. She could picture him with that beseeching expression, the one he wore in those rare moments when he stopped being Josh Lyman, master politician, and became just Josh, the guy from Connecticut who worshiped the memory of his father and still called his mother so she wouldn't worry about him so much; the man who gave her a chance when no one in their right mind should have; the man who didn't believe in the myth of his own personality and preferred to see his friends succeed. As Donna listened, she noted he sounded lonely, and it was the honesty and sincerity in his tone that nearly brought her to a shower of grateful tears.
"I don't know," she answered finally. "No until after the holidays at the earliest. The doctors said Dad needs surgery and they think he's strong enough. I want to be here to help my mother; she's not handling this very well.. She needs me right now."
"That's very selfless of you," he said. "When my father was sick, I... I didn't get to see him much and my mom had to take care if things on her own."
"You didn't have a boss who was as understanding as mine is," she said warmly.
"Normally flattery might get you some place," he said. "But today, I was showered with praise and accolades to the point that even I was getting a little bored with it."
"Really?"
"No," he chuckled. "I was working on my humbleness right there--rather convincing wasn't I? But you're right, your boss is a truly phenomenal human being compared to most."
"Considering you were working for Hoynes when your father first got sick, it's not hard to look good in comparison," Donna said flatly. "At least you talked to your father; I still have a hard time speaking to my dad without getting into some pointless debate."
"So you're saying you treat all the men in your life the way you treat me," Josh ventured.
Donna bit her lip and felt her face get warm as Josh referred to himself in that way.
The men in my life?
In other circumstances, she would have considered it a good and hopeful sign that he was coming around to acknowledging their non-relationship was something more than casual sex. But she knew better than to read anything into what he said while he was in such a state. He was high on his accomplishments, his evening and life in general. In fact, in her recollection, she could not recall ever hearing Josh sound so pleased over all. The arrogance so often present in his victories was there, but there was something else in his words as well. Something deeper and more satisfactory than simple pride. It was a sense of peace.
"So, you are the darling of DC and you didn't have a date for the evening?" Donna remarked.
"Darling?" he repeated. "You sound like my mother; I think she forgets my real name and does that darling thing to just...."
"I meant...."
"I know what you meant," he cut her off. "Now that you mention it, I think I was supposed to have a date. Wow, I think I'm in some serious trouble with what's her name."
"Amy?" Donna ventured.
"That would be the one," Josh agreed. "She can be mad a C.J. She's the one who said we all had to leave together so she could keep an eye on us. We dropped Ed off at Larry's girlfriend's house--to see if she knows the difference."
"Josh, that's not funny," Donna chuckled.
"It was Larry's idea.... or was it Ed's?" he wondered. "Doesn't matter."
"So long as the professionals who counsel the President are mature," Donna said.
"Hey, I'll give you mature; I'm going to Cambridge to give a lecture," he said. "The first part of January. They invited me to speak at the JFK School of government, Suzzy Q. Top that!"
"Harvard is going to let you loose on their students?"
"Scary world, isn' it?" he replied. "There's this Dean--Dean Tischler--who tried to expel me once."
"Because of the fish?"
"Could we talk about me and not Rosemary?" Josh interjected. "I was saying that Tischler was the one who called to invite me. That was sweet victory as well. Add to that unfettered access to young minds and..."
"We're straying into the realm of things that scare me, Josh," she chided him.
"Yeah, me, too," he chuckled dryly. "Then Leo's sending me away for a while. It's.... well, it's a thing. I'm going to the Northwest and Texas; he wants to use the trip as a chance to mend a few bridges."
"Then why is he sending you?"
"I'm the darling of the Party right now, which you would know if you had called," he said making another stab at his original point. "I'm also going to see my mother; it's like Chanukah and Christmas together for her."
"It is Chanukah and Christmas , Josh," Donna informed him.
"Right, well.... you know what I mean."
"She'll be very happy to see you, yes," Donna replied. "Do you have your flight booked yet?"
"As a matter of fact I do," he said testily. "You don't think I can do anything without you."
"That's because you really can't," she charged.
"I won an election," he said. "You weren't here. So there!"
"Okay," she sighed. He was right, and that annoyed her as much as what he said.
"Ginger booked it for me," he continued. "See, I'm capable of functioning without you on occasion."
"On occasion?" she ventured.
Josh's compliments to her were usually obtuse and could be extrapolated through what he didn't say as much as what he did. It was not that he was stingy doling out praise, but Donna understood that he asked a lot of her and the mere fact she was able to perform without incessant intervention or direction from him was the highest accolade he could pay her. He trusted her and for someone whose life was politics, trust was the rarest gift of all to bestow.
"It's just better when you're here," he said. "I understand why you aren't here, but don't make it a habit. Temps are no good and the other assistants, frankly, have less than cooperative attitudes some days."
"So you're saying its difficult to find good help," Donna quipped but she felt the sting of her own comment all the same.
"No one is you," he replied then quickly diverted the conversation back to an earlier topic. "After the holidays, I'm going to Texas."
"You said that," she informed him.
"So I'll be back for the Inaugural stuff. You'll be back?"
"I don't know," she said. "It's kind of complicated."
"Oh," Josh sighed, as the sinking feeling returned to his chest. "It's just that this is our last one together--I mean this administration. It would be nice if you were there--at least for the speech and the Ball. I can't remember; were you at the first one?"
"Briefly," she said. "I had a lot of work to do. I walked in the door at the Ball; you handed me a cellphone and gave me about seven thousand things you wanted done before noon the next day. I didn't even get in one dance."
"Sorry," he said regretfully.
"Josh..."
"It's late," he said.
"Yeah," she said disappointed the conversation was over. "Am I still fired?"
"I'm thinking about it," he said haughtily.
"I did call," she said. "I left a message for you to call me. That's why I answered the phone so quickly. I've been waiting for you, but you were celebrating. I was getting worried. I'm glad you made it home."
"Hey, me too," he said. "I think the limo guy kidnapped Toby."
"To what end?"
"Good point," Josh said. "Well, you probably want to sleep and I know I need to. I've got to meet Leo at 8 a.m."
"You'll be up and in the office by seven," she observed.
"Maybe 7:30," he yawned.
"Yeah, you've earned the right to sleep in," she said. "You've had quite a day. I wish I could have been there with you."
"I wish you were, too," he said. He waited a moment as silence filled the line. "Donna?"
"Good night, Josh," she said softly.
"Good night, Donnatella," he said as he disconnected.
He stared at the phone in its cradle for a moment. "I miss you."
*****************
Dec. 16, 10 a.m.
"Charlie," Bartlet called to his aide.
"Mr. President?" Charlie arrived.
"Yeah, did anyone come to work today besides you and me?" Bartlet asked. "It's been quiet next door so I was wondering if we have had the room sound proofed some more or if it was empty."
Charlie grinned. The tension that strangled the atmosphere of the office for the previous weeks had disappeared over night. He was grateful.
"Mr. McGarry will be in shortly," Charlie said.
"Mallory relented?"
"More like a tactical surrender," Charlie said. "He gave most of the staff the day off. They're available by phone if you need them."
"Josh is back where he belongs?" Bartlet asked. "I mean, he's doing business out of his office full time now?"
"No, sir," Charlie shook his head. "I mean, he's not working out of Mr. McGarry's office any longer. He's gone, sir. Or will be soon."
"Gone?"
"Yes," Charlie said.
"Where?"
"I'm not sure," Charlie said.
"Florida," Leo said entering the room. "Good morning, Mr. President. Josh is taking leave for a while; he's doing post-game stuff with the networks this afternoon then he flies out tonight. He'll be on leave until after the holidays. He needed it so I ordered him. After that, I'm sending him to go mend some bridges and allow some folks to make up with the White House."
"I see," Bartlet nodded. "What's really going on, Leo? I heard Albie Duncan was asking about him and some position over at State."
"That's Earl Brennan doing," Leo said. "He started that. He's an old Irish politician. He's just looking after his people."
"Josh needs looking after?"
"Sir, even if these walls kept secrets, enough things were said and observed outside of this room," Leo informed him. "Every one of our people is a commodity. This is the second term. We're going to start losing people to better offers sooner or later. People see an opening and they step in and take the guy."
"Yeah, but aren't the takers usually in the private sector?" Bartlet asked. "Josh has my own State Department stealing from me."
"They came to him, sir," Leo reminded him.
"That wasn't said in anger, Leo," Bartlet assured him. "I was just noting it."
"For what it's worth, he's not interested," Leo responded. "Not in that job at least; I talked with him this morning. The only thing Josh wants right now is sleep and a good round of golf."
"That's all?"
"He'd like it if we controlled the Senate, too," Leo added for good measure. "Sir, they all get offers from the private sector. CJ has to beat them off with a stick. Josh doesn't want to go, but it's been long campaign and the world is not what is used to be. We should face the facts that there may be a better place for him. I've sent him to do some work for me so he has the space to think about where would be best for him. I think it would behoove us to do the same."
*****************
Dec. 22, 11:23 a.m.
The air was seductively warm and the sun astonishingly bright as Josh pulled the rented car into the driveway of his mother's home. It had taken nearly two years, but he had learned to accept and remember that she no longer lived in Connecticut. He wasn't entirely pleased when she uprooted, but looking across the tidy, tree lined street, Josh could see why she enjoyed it here. He waved to Marvin Gladstone--the neighbor across the street--he (like half a dozen others in this area) had lived within walking distance to the house in Connecticut. All his mother had really left behind of her New England life was the weather and the house.
Josh thought it puzzling that his mother hadn't come to the door as soon as he pulled in to greet him. He left his bags in the car and made his way along the flagstone path that led to the lanai in the back of the house. What he saw when he got there was a vision of chaos not all that different from the office he left behind in Washington.
"What the hell is this?" he asked, removing his sun glasses as he surveyed half a dozen boxes spilling their innards along the floor of the patio and two folding table erected there.
"Joshua?" Anna asked, looking up at him in surprise. "Darling!"
"What is all this?" he asked again as she navigated around the boxes to draw close enough to hug him.
"What a nice surprise," she cried as she kissed him on the cheek. "It's so wonderful to see you."
"I told you I was coming," he replied. CJ's father was grappling with Alzheimer's. Josh wasn't prepared to do the same. "Don't you remember?"
"Of course, I remember," Anna replied. "I just didn't believe you. You said you'd visit. You've said that a dozen times in the last two years. I've seen you three times--and twice was because I traveled to see you."
"Well, that's really not.....," Josh shook his head and returned his attention to the mess. "What is this? Are you being audited?"
"What?" she said turning to see what was capturing his attention. "Oh, no. This is your father's."
"Then he's made a huge mess," Josh pointed out.
She lovingly slapped his wrist and guided him toward the back of the array of papers to an empty bench. She explained that had moved the boxes from the house in Connecticut with her to Florida. They had been collecting dust in New England and were merely getting musty in Florida. She thought it was time to clean them out. Most was unnecessary papers: warrantees for appliances she no longer owned; cards and invitations for various gatherings attended over the years.
"These six and the eight more still in the garage are all that is left," she nodded proudly. "From what I've seen so far, all this belongs to your father's office. I called Harmon."
"Why?" Josh asked. Harmon Dubois was the son of the original Dubois who founded the law firm where Josh's father had been a partner.
"Most of this pertains to your father's work," Anna said. "I suspect the cases are now all closed, but I wanted to be sure. Harmon said anything that I wondered about, I could just ship to him."
"Like hell you will," Josh said, reaching into a box. "These are the boxes Janice packed after..."
"Yes," Anna told him. "But, Joshua, Janice had been your father's paralegal for 25 years. She was very loyal and might not have cared about the firm or your father's cases when she packed his office. She seems to have packed everything he ever touched."
"That's why she was with Dad for 25 years," Josh said, looking at the documents. "She was the best, Mom. Whatever Jan sent you was his. Screw Harmon."
"Joshua."
"I'm just saying...."
"Fine," she said rubbing her hands on gardening pants she wore to tackle this chore. "I'm getting some lemonade, would you like some?"
"Sure," Josh said, reading the paperwork and sorting it onto the table. Much of it was nothing of interest, though he did get a little charge out of seeing his father's handwriting in the margin's of briefs.
"I just want to get rid of it if it's no longer needed," Anna said. "I suppose I should just call my lawyer to look at it."
"I'm sorry?" Josh said, turning to look at her.
"My lawyer," Anna repeated then shook her head and chuckled. "Oh, wait. You know a little bit about the law."
"Just a little," Josh nodded.
"Could you maybe....."
"I'll find a way to struggle through," Josh replied, offering her an expression that said if she wasn't his mother and someone he care for deeply, she wouldn't get such a mild response.
"Thank you, Darling," she smiled as she breezed toward the kitchen. "The guest room is all made up for you."
"I thought you said you didn't think I was coming," Josh remarked then looked at the boxes on the ground again.
Only his father's legal papers were left; conveniently they ended up on the lawn the very day he was to arrive? He shook his head as he realized he'd been hustled by his own mother. Quite nicely done, he thought.
"You know, I do assist when asked," he said, letting her know he was wise to the game. "The rouse wasn't necessary."
"But how else am I to have fun with you, Darling?" his mother called from inside the house.
"I guess this is better than you flirting with Leo," he muttered in response.
"What was that?"
"Nothing."
*****************
January 4, 10:48 p.m.
Josh was packing his bags and his mother was doing her best not to repack them for him. It wasn't working well. No sooner did he put his things in the bag than she took them out and readjusted them. He gave up arguing with her. She was right, he conceded. Her way did work better. Still, on principle, he refused to let her do the initial packing.
All the while he gathered his things, he spoke freely. It had been a good visit. They had not finished going through all of his father's work files. Two boxes remained in the garage. Josh suspected that was bate to be used by his mother in the future should she feel he was neglecting his visitation duties as her son. He had enjoyed looking through his father's papers. It had a calming effect on him and helped him gain some distance from the office.
Not that that was entirely possible. He had done some work--spending two days in Tallahassee then traveling to Miami to meet with the party faithful before returning to partake in an actual vacation or sorts. A friend from high school, Isaac Miller, was in the area vacationing with his family--which meant he needed to get away from them for golf at least one day. Josh was also not free from contact with the White House. Toby and Sam had each called him a dozen times--half of them to settle or vent disputes between them regarding sections of the Inaugural address which was allegedly finished before the election was over. He was now looking forward to his lecture at his alma mater the next day then a week and a half traveling to various districts and states across the country on behalf of the administration and DNC to bolster support for the new term. It was an unnecessary task, but he was grateful Leo gave it to him. Josh wasn't sure what he was going to face when he returned to Washington. Insiders he could not identify or refute were still whispering to the press and others than Josh's office would have a new face in it after the Inauguration.
So, rather than worry openly, Josh let his mind and mouth wander to baseball and grumbled about the weather that would greet him in Boston.
"Twenty-seven degrees for a high," he shook his head as he disconnected from the internet and stowed his laptop computer in his carry-on bag. "I'll give this to Florida. They do weather in the winter better than we do up north. Have I mentioned that the weather this time of year is the one thing I like about Florida?"
"And the electoral votes," Anna added as she readjusted his computer in the bag. "You've mentioned it once or twice since I moved here."
"I think I need a new job," Josh said.
"Darling?" Anna questioned him.
He had mumbled something like that several times during the visit. At first she thought he was merely teasing her, but now she wasn't so sure. For being a man the magazines and news agencies were touting as a political champion, he certainly did not act like one who was pleased with his job.
"I mean, I've done this one for four years," he mused as he continued tossing things into his bag. "What's left? The same thing. It's politics, after all. Nothing really changes. I did my thing. Now... Maybe I should try something else, you know? Something that travels in nicer weather and has more excitement, perhaps."
"Meteorology?"
"Too dull," he scoffed.
"If you even joke about becoming one of those idiots that chase tornadoes, I'm going out and buying my casket first thing in the morning," Anna warned. "I will then put cyanide in my ice tea to save you the trouble of worrying me to death finally, Joshua."
"I said nice weather," he assured her. "You know, it's become apparent to me lately that I missed my true calling."
Anna shook her head. She knew were this was going.
"Professional baseball player?" she offered. She hadn't held this discussion with him since he was 13 when he decided that school was secondary to baseball practice during April and May.
"You think so too, huh?" he nodded. "With my background in negotiation, I could have been my own agent. Spend the winters in Arizona or Florida. Spring and summer in New York."
"You'd have played for the Mets?" she ventured keeping a straight face.
"Naturally," he continued oblivious to her mirth. "Retire from the game after a few pennants and at least one World Series ring were mine. Then the choice would be going into coaching or be an agent."
"I would think coaching," she offered, straightening his packing job as he turned his back to gather more things. "You're a natural leader."
"I really am," he nodded. "Do that for a little while. After the statue of limitations is up, I get inducted into the Hall of Fame then be made the Commissioner."
"Darling, what's wrong?"
"Well, I after high school I went to Harvard rather
than a farm league in North Carolina for one thing," he said.
"Something that your father and I regretted deeply,"
she said.
"What was that?" he asked, finally listening. "Are you making fun of me?"
"Of course, Darling," Anna said, shaking her head as the phone rang.
It was late, nearing 11 p.m. She normally would be going to sleep at this hour, but Josh was there. He kept different hours than she did normally and she wanted to spend as much time as possible with him. She could tell from his demeanor and his continuing threats to run off and play major league baseball that all was not well at the office. She had convinced him that she should be a guest of his at the Inauguration in two weeks time. She wouldn't relish a trip to Washington in January, but she had some bridges of her own to mend.
"Hello," she answered the phone skeptically. "Why, yes he is. Hold on one moment. Joshua, it's for you."
"Me?" he asked puzzled. "Who is it?"
"I'm not your secretary," Anna said holding the phone for him and suppressing a smirk. "However, it is a lady."
"Give me that," he said snatching the phone from her and feeling like he was in seventh grade. "Josh Lyman.... Oh, hi Margaret..... What, no we were just talking. What's going on?..... What? What are you talking about?.... When?..... No, I hadn't heard.... Uh huh.... No.... No, that's fine.... All right.... Tomorrow? My flight is for six tomorrow morning.... Yeah, the thing at Harvard... Right I have to be in Tennessee tomorrow night.... What?..... No.... Uh.... Thank you for calling."
Josh hung up the phone then sat down in a daze.
"Darling?" his mother asked taking a seat beside him. "What is it? You look like it was bad news."
"It was," he said distantly. "He's dead."
"Who?" she asked quickly.
"Donna's father," Josh replied. "He was supposed to go in for surgery, but he had a stroke."
"Oh no," Anna said softly. "When?"
"He died a few days ago," Josh said. "Margaret just called to tell me she took care of the office sending flowers. She... She thought I knew."
"Why would you know, Darling?"
"Charlie thought Donna had called me so no one thought to tell me," Josh said. "She didn't call me, though."
"She's probably not thinking about work right now, Darling," Anna replied, lifting the phone. "I should send some flowers. The poor dear."
Josh said nothing. He looked at his half-packed bags and shook his head. She had no reason at all to call him except that he thought she would. He shook his head and sighed. He needed to finish packing and secure his travel arrangements. He had a flight to catch in the morning.
*****************
11:47 a.m.
Madison, Wisconsin
The sky was bleak. The steel gray of the clouds seemed to shroud the entire landscape. Donna stood with her mother and brother at the edge of the grave. The coffin was heaped with flowers freezing in the frigid air. Donna knew it was cold but had chosen not to wear her coat from the limousine to the graveside. She was feeling a little faint--the result of too much stress, not enough sleep and no food since lunch the day before. The crisp prickle of the air revived her.
A razor sharp breeze flitted among the headstones. It was a dry cold that helped Donna hold back the tears. She hadn't let herself cry for real yet. She had watched how bitterly her mother wept and felt the need to be strong for her. Donna's brother, Ralph, was nursing a crushing hangover from the night before. He had done his grieving with his uncles on the back deck at the condo. Donna wasn't sure he was going to make it through the funeral, but some how he had. Their sister, Frannie, was back at the condo watching the grandchildren (Ralph's four kids and Frannie's one) as well as preparing for the after service gathering and nursing the tail end of the flu. Frannie had said she couldn't bear the funeral; she had lost too much in recent years (five miscarriages in six years and a college roommate in the last six weeks). She said she was leaving it to Donna to keep the family together until they returned home.
So breaking down was not an option for Donna. She needed to be strong and she would be. She was surprised at how well she was coping. She didn't feel the wave of grief she was expecting. She was handling this with a cool, controlled and professional demeanor.
Finally, I learned something from Josh that's usable outside Washington, she thought.
The minister finished his final prayer and the crowd began to drift back toward the cars waiting with engines running. Donna left her brother to guide their mother back to a car. She wanted a few moments alone at the grave, to say a private good bye. Ralph nodded and helped his mother as much as she helped him, make their way back to the caravan of cars. Donna turned her back to the departing mass; she did not see the newcomer speak to her mother and brother prior to their departing. Nor did Donna notice that all the cars but one left. She was too focused on the beautiful flowers on the coffin. They were so radiant and would be preserved quite well in this temperature, she kept thinking.
"Donna."
She heard her name spoken and then a hand softly touched her shoulder. She picked her head up and turned around slowly. Josh was there behind her wearing his dark overcoat and fixing her with a concerned expression.
"I'm sorry about your father," he said.
The composure that Donna had marveled at displaying was torn to shreds in that instant. The suppressed tears came spilling over her lids and painful sobs suddenly wracked her body. She also began to feel the bone chilling cold of the frozen air.
As the outburst subsided, she realized that he was holding her and stroking her hair, telling her she would be all right. As her crying ebbed, Donna rested her head on his chest, convinced this was a dream. The whole thing had to be a dream; her father couldn't be dead and Josh certainly couldn't be there consoling her.
"You still with me?" he asked after her breathing returned more to normal. He wasn't sure if she had fainted as she became so still.
"I'm sorry," she sniffled as she stepped back and realized this was not a dream. "I just... I hadn't.... I didn't...."
"You look cold," he said, taking off his coat and draping it over her shoulders. "Let me drive you home."
Donna nodded and walked with him, her back ramrod straight as they crossed the frozen ground to the rented sedan waiting for them. He said nothing and she did not feel compelled to ask him anything. She just wanted to sit; her knees felt weak and her head was swimming.
They entered the car; the heater was still warm and generously thawed her fingers. They drove the 20 minutes back to the condo in silence. Josh parked in the street just outside the complex.
"I just heard late last night," Josh said apologetically. "I would have.... I meant to call you to see how things were, but I... I'm sorry."
"That's all right," Donna said gratefully. "I only called Margaret at the last minute. She was the only one I spoke to. I didn't want to bother you. I know you were on vacation and then traveling for Leo."
"Yeah," Josh said. "Everyone at the office wanted me to say.... you know."
"Yeah," Donna nodded. "They sent some beautiful flowers. The President sent a very nice note. My mother appreciated it and so did I. I... I just can't believe this."
"I know how you feel," Josh said. "Numb but not entirely."
Donna nodded. Josh did know how this felt. He had been through it himself. She was starting to feel very tired and drained. The preceding weeks were catching up to her at break-neck speed.
"Take whatever time you need," Josh said. "You had more Comp. Time than the finance office knew what to do with; you still have a ton; you'd better take it before they nullify it. I mean, there's really no need to rush back. I'm going to be gone and after that.... Well, everything is up in the air. Don't think about the office. Do what you need to do for yourself and your family."
"Thank you," she said gratefully. "Are you staying here in Madison?"
"No," Josh said quickly as he looked at his watch. "This was just a stop in my tour. I've got to go."
"Oh," Donna said softly. "Well, at least come inside and have something to eat."
"I can't," he shook his head. "I only had an hour. I have to be in Tennessee to meet with the governor tonight. I need to head out now to catch my flight."
Donna nodded. He got out of the car and opened her door. She stood on wobbly legs and started to walk away when she realized she was still wearing his coat. She turned around and gave it back to him. She thanked him again--offering him a handshake--then watched as he pulled away, disappearing down the street. Donna returned to the condo and the commotion of the friends and family gathered in the confined space.
Donna spoke briefly to several people then felt the walls closing in. She wandered upstairs to the room that she had once shared with her sister. She sat on the bed and listened to the hum of the conversations downstairs. She felt dizzy as her head swam in the static and murmurs as she lay down for a moment. She did not even hear her mother enter the room to speak to her.
"Donna?" Patricia Moss asked as she sat on the edge of the bed.
"Mom," Donna said startled as she opened her eyes.
"I'm sorry," Pat said easily. "Did I wake you?."
"No, I just got up here," Donna said.
"Donnatella," her mother shook her head. "You've been up here for two hours. You fell asleep."
"I'm sorry," Donna replied, sitting up quickly.
"No, don't be," Pat said, patting her hand. "You needed the rest. You've been up for the last two days taking care of everything but yourself."
"I'm fine," Donna said, amazed at the two hours of lost time. "Do you need anything?"
"No, dear," Pat assured her. "Frannie has the house under control. I was just worried about you. I wanted to speak to you when you got in, but you slipped upstairs so quickly. Mr. Lyman didn't want to come inside for a moment?"
"He couldn't," Donna said. "He had to rush to catch his flight. This was just a stop over for him. He had to go to Tennessee for work."
"I see," Pat nodded. "Oh, Donnatella. What can I do to make this easier for you?"
"Nothing," Donna said, offering her a weak smile. "I'm fine, Mom. I'll be just fine. Don't worry about me."
Pat sighed. She considered her next words carefully.
"You miss him already," she said matter-of-factly.
"Of course," Donna said. "I can't believe Dad's gone."
"No, sweetheart," Pat shook her head and chuckled softly. "I know you miss your father, sweetheart. I meant you miss your Joshua. You were surprised to see him?"
"Well, it's not like he lives just 20 miles away," Donna said. "He was on vacation the last two weeks or so. I wasn't aware he knew about Dad."
"Thoughtful of him to come to see you," Pat continued. "Very thoughtful."
"He's a good boss," Donna said simply. "Josh lost his father unexpectedly a few years ago. He... He was being considerate."
"I think it's more than that," Pat confessed. "I don't mean to pry into your private affairs..."
"Mother," Donna gasped.
"Donnatella, please," Pat smiled. "We're both adults. I'm not saying I disapprove. He's a very intelligent, kind and handsome man. He obviously thinks a lot of you as well."
"Josh is my boss," Donna insisted. "That's all. He and I are.... friends, but it's not like we're... or that we... This is just what friends and colleagues do when one of them loses a close family member."
Pat shook her head and sighed.
"A colleague would send a card; a good boss would send flowers; a good friend would call," Pat surmised. "Donnatella, this man flew half-way across the country to see if you were all right. That, my child, makes him something else entirely."
"Mother, it's not like...."
"Did he enjoy the little talk he gave at his college?" Pat asked, knowing the answer. She had asked him herself at the cemetery.
"I'm sorry?"
"You told me he was invited to speak at his college this week," Pat said again in a calculated tone.
"Harvard," Donna gasped. "Oh no! He was supposed to do that this morning; he got here by noon.... So he must not have...."
"Evidently, he had something more important to do," Pat said nodded and smiled as she stood to leave the room. "Come down stairs, dear. You should get something to eat."
*****************
White House Press Room
January 5th
6 p.m.
"Good evening, my little chickees," CJ said as she stood behind her podium. "I hope we had a nice dinner."
"CJ! CJ!" the reporters clamored, hands waving in the air.
"And here I thought it was going to be uneventful," she sighed. "Katie."
"CJ, do you have advanced draft of the President's inaugural address?" the reporter asked. "We heard that someone got a copy."
"What inaugural address?" the Press Secretary smirked. "Oh, that inaugural address. No. Toby and Sam have written, rewritten and rewritten the rewrites. There is no speech as of yet."
"CJ," Katie continued. "So you're saying there isn't anything anyone has gotten their hands on so this whole thing about a leaked copy is not true."
"You know," she sighed. "When I said I don't have anything, I obviously meant that I do have something but I choose not to tell you because I don't like your shirt."
Steve waved his pencil in the air. "So someone does have it?."
CJ flipped a couple pages in her briefing book and then looked up. "Well, Steve, as soon as Toby and Sam decide to unearth themselves from Toby's office to breathe, then I'm sure they'll hand me a synopsis of the actually draft speech and you'll all get an advance copy about two hours before the President decides to wing it on the podium himself. Danny?"
"So how are they holding up?" Danny Concannon asked. "I hear that Sam and Toby in the same clothes that they were wearing the night the President was declared the winner and that Toby has thrown Sam out of his office at least four times in the last seven hours."
"They're doing fine," she responded. "And its six times in four hours; you need to get better sources inside this administration if you want to keep up, Danny."
"CJ."
"Yes Danny?"
"How are they holding up?" Danny continued. "I mean the staff as a whole. Is everyone playing nice again?"
"We've got fifteen days to go, Danny," CJ said. "Rest assured the speech will knock your socks off and any staffing changes that will happen will be news to me because no one is updating their resume this week."
"So Josh is still on vacation?" Danny asked.
"As a matter of fact, he is," CJ said. "He took time out of his time off to represent the staff at a funeral for one of the assistants--his senior assistant, actually, Donnatella Moss. Her father, Artemis Moss, passed away three days ago after a brief illness. Josh was in Wisconsin this morning. For the rest of this week and next he will be making the rounds to various congressional districts."
"So he's not making the trip to England with the President?" Danny prodded.
"He was never scheduled to make the trip," CJ said truthfully. No one on staff was actually scheduled as the trip was not going to occur if they lost the vote in December.
"He's one of the President's top domestic policy advisors, and he wasn't scheduled to accompany him on a trip to discuss the European Union and trade markets?" Steve asked, picking up the scent. "Why?"
"The President is a Nobel Laureate in Economics," CJ chastised them, spinning the story out of her briefing room. "How soon we all forget. Tisk, tisk. I think it should be obvious that the President can handle a talk with the EU about the effect of the Euro on US markets without a lawyer."
"So Josh is non-essential personnel now?" Danny jabbed.
"The guy's face is on every politician news magazine in the country right now," CJ said, sidestepping the question. "I wanted a break from him so I arranged for a tornado to drop him in Texas for a while. Okay, anybody want to hear about, you know, real news? Anything about how the fourth quarter unemployment rates went down? How the crime rate dropped four percent? Anybody?"
Mark raised his hand. "CJ, what is the White House's reaction to the ongoing strike out west with the port workers?"
CJ smiled. "Good boy."
****************
January 12th
1:15 p.m.
"Do you remember the last time we had a break like this?" Ed asked as he hurled a foam football across the park.
"Uh, give me a minute," Larry responded at he caught the football. "Wait. I've got it. November 15, 1997."
"I was going for something more recent," Ed replied.
Larry returned the football to his colleague. "That doesn't count."
"Why not?"
"We're not going to get in trouble," Larry pointed out. "You weren't the one who almost broke a 19th century chair while trying to catch Sam's sidearm pitch."
"That's true," Ed laughed. "The look on Leo's face when he turned the corner… I thought he was going to bore a hole through you with his eyes."
"Yeah, well, that's the last time I agree to catch for Sam," Larry said. "He may have won that softball game for us, but I think the pitcher lofted him a soft one."
"How so?" Ed asked.
"She had the hots for him," Larry smirked. "Thought he reminded her of a movie star she had a crush on when she was in high school."
"Why is it that nearly every woman thinks that?" Ed questioned. "He looks like no one."
Larry shrugged as he caught Ed's pass. The two men continued to toss the football back and forth before their pagers chirped simultaneously.
"Time to go back," Larry said as he stopped his pager's noise. "Toby's needs pie again."
"How can you tell?" Ed asked.
"My pager reads 'Get in here now or I'll bury you under the rose garden.'"
****************
White House Communications Office
January 14th
7:30 p.m.
"GINGER!" Sam yelled.
Ginger stuck her head inside Toby's office; a place to which she had quietly told Bonnie was more like sticking her head in the lion's mouth.
"Yeah?"
"I need…" he said as he shuffled the piles of paper on the coffee table. "I need… the thing I asked for half an hour ago."
"I gave it to you," she told him.
"No you didn't," he responded. "I would have remembered you handing it to me."
Ginger picked up the red folder by Sam's feet and placed it atop the file. "Here it is. Sam, you barely remember what day it is."
"Sure I do," he countered. "It's Wednesday afternoon."
"It's Saturday evening."
"Oh. Well, I was already at Wednesday in my head."
Ginger nodded. "You need a muffin? I'm going to Poppytwist."
"Please," Sam said graciously. "And a double Latte"
****************
Oval Office
January 15th
11:45 a.m.
"Charlie," the President smiled as his aide entered the Oval. "Come see what Annie gave me."
Charlie walked over to the desk to gaze at the object. "It looks like a calendar."
"It's not just any calendar, Charlie," the Commander-in-Chief disagreed. "It's a calendar on waterfalls. Waterfalls from around the world."
"It looks very nice sir," Charlie said as he placed a folder on the desk. He turned to leave.
"Take a look at this one," Bartlet opened the calendar. "Look at the waterfall in June."
"Yes, sir," Charlie sighed. "It's very… watery."
"This waterfall is located in Washington State," Bartlet began. "Says here that it takes a 90-degree angle and spills into a narrow gorge in three powerful arcs, which engulf the base in vapor clouds."
"Yes, sir," Charlie replied.
"And don't think I didn't notice that sigh of yours earlier," the President pointed out. "This is the wonder of nature here, Charlie."
"I understand, sir," Charlie answered. "And while I believe that waterfalls are very nice to look at, you have a meeting with the Treasury Secretary in four minutes; Larry will be staffing it since Josh is...."
"Right," Bartlet nodded. "Send him in."
"Yes sir."
"Charlie."
"Yes, Mr. President?"
Bartlet placed the calendar in his desk drawer. "The people of Zambia call their waterfall 'Mosi-Oa-Tunga' which means 'smoke that thunders.'"
"February?" he asked.
"October," Bartlet said.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Sent: 15JAN2003, 6:14 PM. EST
Sub: Almost there
Hi Dad,
I have a little break here before I go home to finish packing. Off to merry old England with the President and Press Corps tonight. I've never been clear on why they call it merry old England. I mean, I get the old part, but merry? It always seems to rain and no one over there seems to smile all that much.
Anyway, I wanted to keep you up to date as to what's been going on
since you won't be here for the Inauguration this time. Everyone here has
been working around the clock finalizing things for the second Inauguration.
Sam and Toby are on their eighteenth draft of the Inaugural Address, which
is actually a conglomerate of the first seventeen drafts.
I have never seen anything like this. I mean, our first time around
we were scrambling and trying to get our feet on solid ground during the
transition phase. Now, we're old pros. Granted I can' t say that nothing's
gone wrong because I'd be lying to you. The new Congress isn't even in
session yet and already people are clamoring for new committee assignments.
I voted to have them all thrown in the Potomac, but it got voted down [by
a slim margin, I might add. Toby agreed with me].
I really wish you could be here for the festivities next week. I want you to know that you will be here in spirit, at least. Pay close attention to the part of the speech about education. I think you'll like it. Take care of yourself.
Love you daughter,
Claudia
****************
Toby Ziegler's Office
January 15, 10:35 p.m.
Toby bounced the ball against the wall as Sam read through the latest draft of the address. He glanced at his deputy from time to time while continuing to toss the rubber sphere.
"Are you done?" Toby grumbled. "You've been reading that for ten minutes."
"It's a fifteen minute speech," Sam answered. "I'm allowing for applause."
"Allowing for applause?"
"Well …in my head," he said, returning to his reading.
A knock on the door interrupted the writers.
"What do you want?!" Toby yelled.
Bonnie and Ginger stuck their heads in. "How's it coming?"
"Fine," Toby answered shortly. "Do you need something?"
"We just wanted to know if you needed anything," Ginger said. "You know, food, water…"
Toby glared at the assistants. "No. Ed ordered Chinese. We're fine."
"Okay," Ginger said, raising her hands in defeat. "We'll be at our desks."
"Go home," Toby replied. "There's nothing more for you two to do here."
"We can hang around for a while," Bonnie countered. "You might need some more research done."
Sam shook his head. "No. We're researched out. Have a good night. See you at 8 tomorrow."
The two assistants nodded and closed the door, leaving Toby and Sam alone again. Sam rubbed his eyes and resumed his reading while Toby now stood and began pacing. He then stopped and picked up his rubber ball and began bouncing it against the wall next to Sam. Without stopping his reading, Sam reached out and snatched the object in mid-air.
"You need to calm down," Sam said. "The part I've read is fantastic. I don't think we've crafted a better speech."
"I am calm," Toby argued. "Look at me Sam. I'm the pillar of calmness."
Before Sam could answer, there was another knock on the door.
"Yeah?"
"Hey guys," Larry said, poking his head in. "I just wanted to see how the speech was coming along."
"It's coming along fine," Toby answered quickly. "And… thanks for all your hard work."
Larry smiled. "Sure thing. See you guys tomorrow."
Larry shut the door and the guys returned to their activities. Twenty minutes later, a third knock on the door occurred.
"For the love of God," Toby screamed. "This better be the food or so help me I will hurt whoever is outside!!"
"I didn't know that food was a prerequisite for entering your office," the President said as he opened the door. He turned to his agent. "I think I'll be fine, but keep your ears open."
The agent nodded and stood to the right of the threshold.
"Mr. President," Toby said slowly. "I'm sorry… sir. I didn't think you were still working."
"I was just wandering the halls," Bartlet answered. "Hey Sam."
"Good evening, sir," Sam stood. "Or shall I say good morning."
"Yes it is," the President agreed. "And you two should be home in bed. Is it done?"
Sam swallowed hard. "T.. the speech?"
"No, the Magna Carta," Bartlet smirked. "Of course the speech. May I see it?"
Sam handed the document to the President. "It may need another rewrite, sir."
The President removed his reading glasses out of his breast pocket and put them on. He took a seat on Toby's couch and began reading. Sam and Toby looked at each other, anxious to hear what the President thought of their work. The President continued to flip the pages and read the last Inaugural address of his career. He came to the last page and stopped.
"Mr. President?" Toby asked.
"Yeah?"
Toby pointed to the paper. "You… you didn't read the last page."
"I don't need to," Bartlet proclaimed. "This is fantastic work, gentlemen. You're done. Once DaVinci was done with the Mona Lisa, he didn't go back and paint a better smile on her; Shakespeare didn't amend Romeo & Juliet to have them live. Masters of their craft are always their worst critics. They fail to see what the average person sees – a masterpiece. Go home, fellas. That's an order."
"Thank you, Mr. President," both men answered.
Bartlet smiled and nodded.
"Let's go Coop," he said to his agent. "England calls."
*****************
January 18th
4:30 p.m.
"I've failed," Debbie sighed into the phone. "None of these will work."
"You're still looking for a dress?" Charlie asked from the car as it sped to the US Airbase.
The President's trip to Europe was now over. They would be heading home within the hour. He had called to check in to see how the secretary had done in marshaling the final details for the inauguration. She was left with one problem: her own attire.
Debbie noisily flipped through a catalogue on her desk as she responded.
"Looking for a dress for the Ball is a difficult and draining task, Charlie," she explained. "One must have an elegant and appropriate gown for the Inaugural Ball. None of this low back, high slit stuff for me."
Charlie smirked. "They have those type of gowns?"
"Funny boy," she replied. "And don't think I won't be watching you and the President's daughter. You need to behave yourself."
"I will," Charlie nodded. "I'll still be working. As long as the President's there, I'll be working. Now, maybe I'm missing something here, but aren't you a little late in getting your gown? I mean, you've only got two days--not even that considering what time it is."
"I have nearly 48 hours," Debbie said as though it signaled eternity.
"I don't think that you can get a dress through the catalogue and have it in two days."
"They have Express delivery," Debbie countered. "And I have a back up, but really, I look at it and it just says 'back up.'"
"Your dress talks to you?" Charlie asked.
"You'll be seeing little birdies and stars if you keep being impertinent," Debbie growled. "I am the President's Secretary. I need to look worthy of the title."
"Carry a dictation pad," Charlie offered.
"Spoken like someone whose sex is required to all dress alike," Debbie moaned. "Men have it easy. One black jacket; a pair of black pants; black tie and white shirt. Where's the creativity in it?"
"We dress blandly to make the ladies stand out," Charlie said, echoing the comment he overheard Ed make to his girlfriend recently.
"That doesn't help me when the gown in my closet is black," Debbie said. "It's so... funereal."
"Sorry," Charlie apologized. "But think of this. If you order from a catalogue, don't you run the risk of what I am sure would be a really smoking gown being the wrong size? That happened to my sister Deanna for her senior prom. She ordered this dress and it looked like a tent on her."
"Charlie!"
"It did," he defended. "I suppose it was better than it looking like a banana skin. I'd have had to put my food down on that."
"What did she do?"
"Raced to Pentagon City the morning of the prom to get a new dress," Charlie said. "But she didn't have the money to cover it, so she was stuck with the tent. She rigged something with duct tape and safety pins; CJ helped her. No one knew the difference."
"I'm not that handy and CJ and I aren't that close," Debbie said.
"Then I would suggest buying some bright spray paint to dress up your black gown," Charlie said before disconnecting. "We'll be getting in around midnight your time. See you tomorrow."
****************
January 19, 7 a.m.
CJ had arrived back from her trip across the Atlantic with one worry: her gown. She had received an odd phone call after landing from Debbie who spent a fair amount of time bemoaning the problem with wearing black and the chance of not having a dress that fit. With that anxiety now planted firmly in her head, CJ woke Carol and ordered her to bring the garment bag, that had been delivered to her assistant as a favor, to the office for a before hours fitting.
"What do you think?" CJ asked her assistant as she unzipped the long garment bag. "Should I try it or am I just doing a loony thing about it?"
"Both, I think," Carol nodded. "No one's here. Might as well try it."
CJ nodded then closed her door. She slipped into the silk and brocade garment and smoothed it down with a well trained eye.
No worries, she thought.
"Carol," she called. Her assistant entered the office and nodded.
Carol let out a low whistle. "Wow.'
"It works?"
"You've got it going on," Carol nodded. "Who's it by?"
"Alicia Gaylton," CJ grinned as she pulled out the forest green, strapless chiffon garment. "Just look at how it flows. There's no way I'm going to trip in this. I'm not repeating the last Inaugural Ball."
Another voice soon joined the discussion.
"Wow, to see you in that even I'd stumble right in front of Tim Russert," Danny Concannon offered.
"What are you doing here?" CJ asked hotly.
"Admiring the show," Danny nodded.
"And?"
"Flagrantly breaking the rules," he offered. "But there was no one out there or in the press room so..."
"That's because it's 6 a.m.," CJ seethed.
"You're here and doing a fashion show," he pointed out. "I actually did have a point, though I'd rather just look at you in that."
"Danny."
"The House is going to vote on stem cell research funding," he said. "I got it from Cleeland last night. They think they have the votes to kick it out of committee."
"I see," CJ said.
Some of the government research grants were to go to Alzheimer's research where experts were predicting extensive breakthroughs within two years with the proper funding. Though she knew it was not her place to push for such things, she harbored a hope that something could be done to help her father before the man he was was lost entirely.
"Thank you," she nodded after a moment.
"Yeah, I was wondering if maybe you could see if the administration is going to get into this one," Danny continued. "Josh is due back today. If he's going to be making any trips to the Hill before the big dance, a heads up would be nice."
"Sure thing," she promised.
"By the way," Danny said as he turned to leave. "I'd have been gracious too if you tripped and fell into my arms at the Inauguration. I wouldn't be as selfish as Russert and ask for an exclusive with the President in return."
"You don't want an exclusive?"
"I didn't say that," he argued. "I just said I wouldn't ask for it. Dinner, I'd ask for."
"You want dinner with the President?"
"With you," Danny smiled. "Wearing that dress."
"Sorry," she smiled. "I won't be tripping tomorrow."
"You might, if I arrange it just right," he smirked as he left whistling.
****************
January 19, 9 a.m.
"Next stop, Farragut West," the Metro driver announced. Josh leaned his head against the window of the Metro and sighed. He had been on a working vacation per Leo's orders and after several days, his mission was complete.
But the entire trip was not enjoyable. Attending the last few moments of Art Moss' graveside service and seeing the entire family, especially Donna, in pain was uncomfortable. It brought back visions of five years ago that he didn't want to relive.
Josh rifled through his backpack and removed a folder. He was reading the notes that Margaret had faxed him when he heard a familiar voice.
"The Golden Boy has returned," Amy Gardner said. "Or did you ruffle enough feather to tarnish that image?"
"Hey," Josh said surprised. "I didn't see you. I'm sorry."
"Don't be," she smiled. "You just didn't notice that the Metro stopped."
"Oh. Wait, did I…"
She shook her head. "You didn't miss Federal Triangle. We're just now leaving Metro Center."
Josh rubbed his eyes. "It's… been a long trip."
"I heard about Donna's father," Amy said softly, gently touching his arm. "Did you know him?"
"I met him once," Josh answered. "He was a decent man."
"It was nice of you to be there," Amy said. "How's she doing?"
"Fine, I guess," Josh said. "Haven't spoken to her since I saw her."
The two rode in silence for several seconds.
"So, are you asking me to the Inaugural Ball or not?" Amy said.
"You don't have an invite of your own?"
"I do, but I thought you might do the chivalrous thing and ask me," Amy said.
"I don't understand feminists like you," Josh shook his head as the train shuddered on. "You knock yourselves out publicly showing the world that you can do everything yourself, but you still want a guy to ask you to the prom."
"I didn't say I wanted you to ask me," Amy said. "I asked if you were going to ask me, Jay. Are you taking someone?"
"As a matter of fact, I am," Josh said. Amy offered him a raised eyebrow expression. "My mother asked to go. She's turned into my father I think with this bragging thing she's got going. I'd put a stop to it, but I see no need to disagree when she says I'm amazing."
"The blindness of mothers," Amy nodded. "I understand."
"She's getting in the day after tomorrow," Josh said, ignoring the comment. "She probably won't stay for the whole evening, but she asked to go so..."
"Yeah," Amy nodded. "She wants to make sure you behave."
"Something like that," Josh said as the train slowed. "So where are you headed?"
"Breakfast," Amy smiled. "I'm meeting a friend at L'Enfant Plaza."
"Ah," Josh smirked. "And this friend is…?"
"Just a friend," she grinned. "Amanda and I go way back."
"Federal Triangle. Doors opening on the right," the driver announced.
Josh stood, threw his backpack over his shoulder and grabbed onto the pole. "That's my stop."
"Hey, when is Donna coming back?" Amy asked as the Metro slowed to a halt.
"I don't know," Josh said. "I'm.... I'm not sure she's coming back at all."
"Oh," Amy nodded. "Is that okay with you?"
"I have a choice?" he asked then shook his head. "I gotta run. I just got in and I should see if...."
"If you still have a job?" Amy ventured.
"Something like that," Josh said as he stepped out of the car.
"I'll see you at the thing," Amy called. "Save a dance for me."
"You bet," he nodded.
Up Next, Chapter Two: The Inauguration