Author's Note: Happy Thanksgiving, everybody! Here is your delightfully seasonal Thanksgiving story, prompted by a discussion where a reader and I thought about who would've done CJ's job during the administration's first year in office, and how that would've gone. On this day of counting blessings, I am very thankful for all of you who have been reading my stories this past three months and have sent me such lovely and encouraging feedback. You're all the best!
…...
Some days Leo found it hard to believe they'd been in office a full year already. Last Thanksgiving they hadn't even celebrated, being fully embroiled in Transition and without time to catch their breaths, much less take in a multi-course meal, a parade and a football game. Donna and Margaret had somehow managed to round up a half-dozen rotisserie chickens and a truly prodigious amount of mashed potatoes to serve the transition team for dinner that night, plus far too many pumpkin pies with whipped cream. Sam and Josh had gotten hold of the whipped cream canisters and started a fight in the bathroom that would doubtless be a chapter in some intern's tell-all book one day, but it had let off some steam for everyone. Leo, being a family man, had chiseled out three precious hours on Thanksgiving evening for dinner with his family, even if an urgent call about vetting the Secretary of the Treasury had taken him from the table for ninety of those minutes. He was lucky that Jenny was a far more understanding woman than he deserved.
This year was quite different, though. This year they were in office, this year President Bartlet would preside over the Thanksgiving blessings and festivities of the nation. Most of it was an absolute waste of time, but trying to tell Jed Bartlet that was absolutely fruitless. Leo had already gotten the condensed version of the story of the First Thanksgiving, he had no intention of opening his mouth and subjecting himself to the full version with slide projector. Once all the pageantry was taken care of, the senior staff would be allowed twenty-four full hours of time off for the holiday. Leo honestly had no idea what he would do with a full day and night of vacation.
"Leo," Margaret knocked on the door, peering in at him with wide eyes. "They turkeys are here."
He stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"
"Yes," she agreed, bobbing her head. "The pardon turkeys. The man from the farm is here with them."
Leo blinked. "Well what the hell does he plan on doing with them? The ceremony isn't until tomorrow."
"There are two contenders for the pardon turkey, but only one will actually be pardoned," Margaret explained. "The White House makes the final selection of which turkey is more photogenic and that's the one that get's the pardon. The other one..." Margaret made an expressive noise and hand motion.
"Why the hell isn't CJ dealing with this?" Leo demanded. "I somehow think choosing photogenic turkeys isn't exactly the job of the Chief of Staff."
"The First Lady sent CJ home two hours ago," Margaret reminded him. "She has a fever of 102 and nearly fainted in the morning gaggle. I passed you a message while you were on the phone with Shanahan."
"Obviously I didn't read it," Leo grumbled. "Who the hell is running the Thanksgiving stuff?"
"Henry's doing the singing with the children and Toby's briefing the press." Leo winced, and Margaret hastily continued, "The room's only a third full because so many people are on vacation, and the ones who are left probably won't listen. It was either Toby or Josh."
"What about Sam?" Leo demanded.
"Toby's making him write the proclamation," Margaret explained. "He's having a nutty down the basement."
"It's five sentences!" Leo exclaimed. Margaret just shrugged at him. "These turkeys, are they actually here in the White House?"
Margaret nodded. "They're in the Communications bullpen. Cathy's keeping an eye on them."
"They're in cages, right?" Leo thought to ask, giving Margaret a hard look.
"Yes," Margaret replied, sounding vaguely affronted that he even inquired. "Although they do seem very uncomfortable. I don't think those cages are big enough."
"Not nearly as uncomfortable as one of them will be tomorrow," Leo joked. Margaret made a hurt little squeaking noise and glared at him. Sensing that he was about to talk himself into an uncomfortable day, Leo relented a little bit. "Fine, let me take a look at the turkeys." Levering himself out of his chair, he followed Margaret down the hallway toward the bullpen.
"Their names are Victor and Michael," Margaret briefed him as they went, "and both were specially raised for the White House, culled from an initial field of forty birds. Male turkeys are naturally territorial, but these turkeys have been bred for lower aggression and higher quality of plumage-"
"Thank you, that's more than enough about turkeys," Leo interrupted her. "Contrary to popular belief, the business of the nation does not stop because half the country takes a day off to eat." He came to a halt in front of Cathy's desk, where an incongruous young man in overalls stood next to a pair of cages. Inside each cage was a very large, impressively-jowled tom turkey. One of them gobbled at him, giving him a baleful look with its beady eye.
Leo looked over the turkeys for five seconds. "Anything wrong with either of them?" he asked the turkey butler.
"Nossir," the young man replied, "those are the two best in the whole bunch. They've each got their own personality, though. Victor-"
"That one," Leo decided, pointing at the turkey in the top cage. "That one gets the pardon. Are we done here?"
Margaret and the turkey butler both goggled at him, looking to his mind not unlike the turkeys themselves. "Just like that?" the guy asked.
"This is the White House," Leo reminded him. "We make life and death decisions all the time. Margaret?"
"Just make sure Michael is delivered to the ceremony tomorrow morning on the South Lawn," Margaret told the young man. "Thanks for bringing them in." She trotted after Leo, catching up with him halfway back to the office. "Aren't you worried that there could be trouble with the turkey tomorrow?" she asked Leo. "It's a big responsibility, choosing the pardon turkey."
"It's really not," Leo assured her. "And if anything goes wrong, I'll just blame CJ. What do you think they do with the runner up?"
"I don't know," Margaret admitted. "Maybe there's a big market for the one that almost got away."
Leo considered that. "A little macabre for the Thanksgiving table."
"Holidays bring out the worst in people," Margaret told him wisely.
"Ain't that the truth," he agreed. "Speaking of which, is my schedule still cleared for tomorrow afternoon? I've promised my attendance to Jenny's extended family."
"You're clear," Margaret promised. "Do you want me diverting your calls for the afternoon?"
"God no," Leo told her. "You've met Jenny's family. Anything that saves me from the family holidays is good."
"She's not going to be happy," Margaret predicted dolefully.
"It'll be fine." Leo sat back down at his desk, happy to get back to work. "Go do a job, okay? We're still running the country on Thanksgiving." Margaret gave him a look, but went back to her desk, leaving Leo to wonder what almost-pardoned Thanksgiving turkey would taste like.