Post ep: The Constituency of One
CJ liked vodka.
Or, rather, there was nothing she didn't like about it.
She liked the cold flavor; she liked the burn in the back of her throat when she waited too long to chase it. She liked the name, because it felt fascinating and foreign, especially in staid Dayton.
It reminded her of the summer after her senior year in high school, when she'd gone out and gotten wasted at least twice a week for eight weeks. Those were the days when all her friends had fake ids, and they always remembered the vodka, but never the chasers. So they ended up mixing Safeway brand, or Gray Goose when they could afford it (they never could), with Diet Coke, or something equally disgusting, until they almost couldn't breathe any more.
She liked vodka at Berkeley, too. But it wasn't religion anymore. Liquor companies were evil, according to the anticorporate liberals at Berkeley, so she smoked pot. When she went home, though, it was always back to vodka; they took pulls out of a paper-wrapped bottle and called it contentment.
It was the summer of her sophomore year when she got alcohol poisoning. Her best friend took the night off work and they laughed together for hours. They had an entire handle to themselves. Somewhere after the fourteenth shot CJ's memory turned fuzzy; a police officer found her on the lawn in front of her house, blue and barely breathing. He took her to the hospital where they fed her serum of ipecac and called her parents.
When Isobel fired her, her first thought was the bottle in her liquor cabinet she hadn't touched in two months. Toby fouled that up, as he usually did; CJ didn't like drinking with him because he laughed when she ordered shots.
She resolved to quit drinking vodka when he offered her a job. She drank grasshoppers instead, because they were sickly-sweet and because she didn't like them. They were enough to give her a buzz, to keep her from seeming impolite in a gathering of friends or coworkers, but she was never in danger of getting drunk on them.
She never drank vodka again until the ink on her resignation was dry. She left a copy on Leo's desk and a copy with Debbie Fiderer, and went to a bar. Numbness had taken hold where bitterness had been before, and she regretted the tenor of her letter.
"'I will not serve in Leo McGarry's White House. I hereby give my two weeks notice.' What the fuck, CJ?"
"Go away, Josh."
"No, CJ. I think you owe me an explanation -"
"I don't owe you shit." Her tone was monotonous as she lit a cigarette. She gestured to the bartender for two more shots.
"It's four o'clock, CJ, I can't -"
"It isn't for you."
Josh stared at her for a long second. "This is the way you want to go? On bad terms with Leo, without speaking to the President?"
"The President ran out of lies to tell me a long time ago."
"What happened?"
CJ took a shot, then shook her head. "I don't want to have this conversation with you. Leo exhausted my patience."
"He exhausted your patience?" Josh boggled at her. "I thought this was about the love of your country! I thought this was about patriotism, and...and a higher calling!"
"I'm sure it is."
"Then what's changed?"
"I don't serve Leo."
"CJ..."
"All those things are well and good. Those are all admirable things, Josh."
"But?"
"But at the end of the day, I'm a drunk girl with a three book deal and a lifetime gig on CNN. And a chance at my own happiness."
"So it's about selfishness?"
"No. No. You don't understand."
"Explain it to me."
"It's about all the things I've given up." CJ drew in the rings of condensation on the bar. "It's about vodka."
CJ liked vodka.
Or, rather, there was nothing she didn't like about it.
She liked the cold flavor; she liked the burn in the back of her throat when she waited too long to chase it. She liked the name, because it felt fascinating and foreign, especially in staid Dayton.
It reminded her of the summer after her senior year in high school, when she'd gone out and gotten wasted at least twice a week for eight weeks. Those were the days when all her friends had fake ids, and they always remembered the vodka, but never the chasers. So they ended up mixing Safeway brand, or Gray Goose when they could afford it (they never could), with Diet Coke, or something equally disgusting, until they almost couldn't breathe any more.
She liked vodka at Berkeley, too. But it wasn't religion anymore. Liquor companies were evil, according to the anticorporate liberals at Berkeley, so she smoked pot. When she went home, though, it was always back to vodka; they took pulls out of a paper-wrapped bottle and called it contentment.
It was the summer of her sophomore year when she got alcohol poisoning. Her best friend took the night off work and they laughed together for hours. They had an entire handle to themselves. Somewhere after the fourteenth shot CJ's memory turned fuzzy; a police officer found her on the lawn in front of her house, blue and barely breathing. He took her to the hospital where they fed her serum of ipecac and called her parents.
When Isobel fired her, her first thought was the bottle in her liquor cabinet she hadn't touched in two months. Toby fouled that up, as he usually did; CJ didn't like drinking with him because he laughed when she ordered shots.
She resolved to quit drinking vodka when he offered her a job. She drank grasshoppers instead, because they were sickly-sweet and because she didn't like them. They were enough to give her a buzz, to keep her from seeming impolite in a gathering of friends or coworkers, but she was never in danger of getting drunk on them.
She never drank vodka again until the ink on her resignation was dry. She left a copy on Leo's desk and a copy with Debbie Fiderer, and went to a bar. Numbness had taken hold where bitterness had been before, and she regretted the tenor of her letter.
"'I will not serve in Leo McGarry's White House. I hereby give my two weeks notice.' What the fuck, CJ?"
"Go away, Josh."
"No, CJ. I think you owe me an explanation -"
"I don't owe you shit." Her tone was monotonous as she lit a cigarette. She gestured to the bartender for two more shots.
"It's four o'clock, CJ, I can't -"
"It isn't for you."
Josh stared at her for a long second. "This is the way you want to go? On bad terms with Leo, without speaking to the President?"
"The President ran out of lies to tell me a long time ago."
"What happened?"
CJ took a shot, then shook her head. "I don't want to have this conversation with you. Leo exhausted my patience."
"He exhausted your patience?" Josh boggled at her. "I thought this was about the love of your country! I thought this was about patriotism, and...and a higher calling!"
"I'm sure it is."
"Then what's changed?"
"I don't serve Leo."
"CJ..."
"All those things are well and good. Those are all admirable things, Josh."
"But?"
"But at the end of the day, I'm a drunk girl with a three book deal and a lifetime gig on CNN. And a chance at my own happiness."
"So it's about selfishness?"
"No. No. You don't understand."
"Explain it to me."
"It's about all the things I've given up." CJ drew in the rings of condensation on the bar. "It's about vodka."