THE RAREST FAITH II: A MIGHTY THING
Classification: Post-Administration, Political. Second in a series beginning
with The Rarest Faith I: Spirits of Great Events.
Summary: 2007 "A mighty thing is eloquence...nothing so much rules the world."
--Pope Pius II (1405-1464)
***
Washington, D.C.
January, 2007
***
"Are we being lobbied by the cardboard industry, or do I just have too much
stuff?" Sam dropped a box on his desk, then wiped his forehead with the sleeve
of his sweatshirt.
"I'm taking the fifth on that," Josh said, leaning over with his hands on his
thighs as he caught his breath. "Some of this stuff looks like it hasn't been
unpacked since you left the White House."
Sam fidgeted with a roll of tape.
Surprised that his words were true, Josh stood up straight and raised his
eyebrows. "Really, Sam? You haven't unpacked since you left the White House?"
"Not as such, no." He turned away from Josh and looked out the window. "I didn't
really think I needed any of that when I went to work for the Torres campaign.
It was strictly local, you know."
"And you wanted to start fresh."
"That was the idea."
Josh looked around for a place to sit that wasn't covered in boxes or sharp
objects with which to open boxes. Finally he leaned against the door and shoved
his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You were that angry."
"No, it wasn't that. I was..." He made a sweeping gesture with both arms, nearly
colliding with a stack of file folders. "You know, there's burned out, then
there's incredibly burned out. I was past that. I was carbon, Josh. And before
you ask, it had started before the M.S. thing broke."
Josh grimaced, remembering the night Sam had finally been told, the night Sam
had appeared on his doorstep in the dead of night, drunk off his ass and waving
a beer-ring-stained letter of resignation. The night Sam had said he'd never be
able to trust Josh - or anyone in the administration, for that matter - again.
The wound had never healed, despite Toby's increased support, despite the
President's fatherly concern, despite every awkward, heartfelt attempt Josh had
made. Then one day, shortly after the second Inaugural, Sam had resigned for
real and gone home to California.
"I'm sorry," Josh said, not for the first time.
"Don't be." Sam walked over and patted Josh on the back. "You've apologized, and
Leo's apologized, and President Bartlet's apologized. I think the guy who
delivered Charlie's newspapers even apologized to me. It's done."
Sam's hair was graying at the temples and lines were finally beginning to appear
on his forehead, but his eyes were as clear and innocent as they'd been when
Josh first bumped into him on Capitol Hill nearly twenty years before. And in
those twenty years, Sam had never misled him.
"I'm...glad," Josh said hesitantly.
Sam started to say something, paused, shook his head, and walked quickly to the
other side of the room, taking a seat at his new desk. He moved a box aside and
motioned for Josh to empty the visitor's chair so he could sit down as well.
"I never expected to get into politics this fast," Sam said, "but I went to work
for Torres, and there was a shortage of people with ideas, and the next thing I
knew the Lieutenant Governor's wife got cancer and he resigned, and my phone was
ringing. Then the state DNC asked me to run against Sawyer, and I...won." He
sounded shocked, even though he'd begun meetings two weeks earlier and had been
- reluctantly - photographed with President Schiller.
"I knew you would," Josh whispered, almost as if he were talking to himself.
"That's more than I knew." Sam toyed with some of the boxes and files on his
desk for a moment. "But I did know one thing - that, even if I won without your
help, I'd never be able to serve without it."
Josh tipped his head back so he was looking at the ceiling. Anything so he
wouldn't have to look at his old friend, a friend of long-enough standing to
understand when Josh asked, "Have you counted the tiles yet?"
"Josh, I know you're not comfortable with things like this. Actual conversations
about, you know, how you feel. I just don't want us to start working together
again with any...leftover bitterness about what happened in 2003. I know you
were slated to be C.O.S. for Thorson. Even as the Minority Leader, he was going
to give you a lot of power, a lot of leverage. But as the Majority Leader--"
"Sam." Josh stopped him, leaning forward and catching Sam's attention with a
wave of his hand and the intensity of his eyes. "I accepted Thorson because I
didn't know if you'd want me working for you. But when I knew...when you called,
the night of the election..." He shook his head, lost for words. "I served at
the pleasure of President Bartlet because he was a good man. It's a feeling -
you know what that's like, because you felt it, too."
"I still do," Sam said softly. "That never changed."
Understand what I mean, Josh thought, looking imploringly at Sam. But don't make
me say it.
So Sam said it for him. "You wanted that feeling again?"
Josh let out a little sigh. He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth
and he let it blossom, cocking his head to one side as he saw a similar grin
spread across Sam's face.
"I serve," Josh said with affection, "at the pleasure of the Gentleman from
California." He leaned over and rummaged around in his backpack. "And I bear
libations for his ease," he added as he withdrew two bottles of beer and put
them on Sam's desk.
"You set me up," Sam said, narrowing his eyes. "You got beer, and you wanted to
drink it in the office, so you decided to make your little speech."
"Me? Never." Josh twisted the cap off his bottle and watched as Sam did the
same. "What should we drink to? Nina Fisher-Lennox?"
"Josh."
"It's in the Sunday magazine. Your picture at the A.S.O. fundraiser. 'Freshman
Senator and the Assistant Principal - of the American Symphony.'" Josh waved his
hands in the air like a conductor. "You're a sensation."
"I'm a punch line."
After the election, there had been plenty of articles about Sam in everything
from the most serious newspapers to the junkiest of tabloids. Serious
journalists shook their heads, saying that Sam certainly looked good but lacked
qualifications. The tabloids took in the bright blue eyes and thousand-watt
smile and made him their pinup.
"Not so much anymore. They got over the 'pretty boy' thing and they're moving on
to your actual record." Josh took a long sip of his beer. "The other papers, the
trash ones, who cares? People found out that you're seeing someone, but now the
curious onlookers are leaving you alone."
"The weird thing is, it's not happening." Sam pressed the damp bottle against
his cheek for a moment. "Like last night - I tried to get backstage after the
concert, but there were about, I don't know, two hundred women standing around
with cameras. They wanted a picture - not of me, but of me with Nina. It was
bizarre, Josh."
"I didn't know about that. How's Nina taking it?"
"She thought it was cute, at first, but it's wearing thin."
Josh couldn't quite suppress a rueful grin. He remembered all too well the heady
feeling of being adored by a crowd of strangers, how he tried to make Donna
count how many were shouting his name and how many were calling out to Sam.
Donna always managed to deflect Josh's egotism by saying that they were all, men
and women alike, trying to get C.J.'s attention.
"Amy and I get photographed sometimes. It's no big deal."
"It's not a big deal to you and Amy because you're used to it. Viola players
don't usually get followed by paparazzi. And don't you dare make a joke."
"Wouldn't dream of it, buddy," Josh said, quelling the dozen or so quips he'd
been saving in hopes of just this kind of straight line. "Listen, Amy's coming
tonight to watch C.J.'s premiere thing - I can ask her to have a talk with Nina,
if you think that'd help."
"Couldn't hurt, I suppose. Thanks. See you at about seven-thirty?"
"Got it." Josh stood up, feeling a twinge in his back and legs from too much
heavy lifting. He looked around the office. "This is a lot nicer than what you
had in the White House."
"Quieter, too. No rubber balls bouncing off the window. No construction going on
every six feet." Sam gave Josh a gentle smile. "It's not the same. It's never
going to be the same. But we're going to do good work here."
"That's true," Josh said as he headed for the door. Sam's voice stopped him as
he put his hand on the knob.
"Josh." A pause. "I'm glad you..."
Josh's heartbeat quickened. "Thank you, Senator."
And that felt good.
***
Boston
***
"This looks like a casting call for 'The Sunshine Boys.' Or 'Grumpy Old Men,'"
Mallory remarked as she handed Toby a scotch and gave a cup of coffee to her
father.
Leo smirked as he watched Toby twist his mouth into something approximating a
smile. "Toby and I are two old men, baby, but we're far from grumpy."
"Unless C.J. tanks," Toby mumbled.
"Toby!" Mallory and Leo cried in unison.
"I'm not saying that she will," Toby said, his voice getting louder and more
emphatic with each word. "I'm just saying that it's possible, given the lack of
talent on the writing staff at NBC, that she may be given something that no one
could save."
Mallory settled into a leather chair and put her feet up on the same ottoman as
Leo's. "Is it really that bad?"
"On a good day, she calls them moronic. On a bad one - well, I don't use that
sort of language," Toby said primly, his eyes twinkling.
"Well, hardly anyone is going to measure up to you and Sam," Leo said, his heart
full of fondness. "She got pretty spoiled, those nine years on the campaign and
in the White House." Leo cleared his throat, preparing himself to do Abbey's
bidding. "Speaking of the White House - you're going to Manchester in the
morning."
Toby leaned forward, staring. "Excuse me?"
"I'm throwing you out and you're going to Manchester. Make sure you take
everything with you, because you'll be there for a while."
"And I don't get, you know, consulted or anything?" Toby waved his hands in the
air, nearly spilling his drink on the Persian rug.
"We thought it best if I made the arrangements for you. There was concern - I
can't imagine how it came to be - that, if left to your own devices, there might
be some delay."
"I do not believe this."
"Toby, you've sold the book, you're not writing anything, and Jed wants to do
his memoirs." Leo needed to catch his breath - something that was happening far
too often nowadays. "Who better to ask than you?"
Toby scowled. "Why couldn't he ask me himself?" he demanded.
"It's a byzantine relationship, this thing that you and Jed have," Leo said. "I
think he may be scared of you."
"Scared."
"Yeah."
"Of me."
"Yeah."
"Leo, that's crazy. He's the...former President of the United States. I think he
may have fired me about sixteen times. What's he got to be afraid of?"
"That you'd say no." Mallory's voice was unexpectedly gentle. "Abbey's afraid
that you'd turn them down. That you'd think it was, I don't know, a handout or
something. But I've seen what he's done with his memoirs, and the only thing in
the world that they need is the touch of Toby Ziegler."
"I'd go myself," Leo said, "but..."
He hadn't intended to make Toby feel guilty, but self-flagellation was almost a
default for Toby. "How could I say no to you?"
Hey, if it works, Leo thought. To Toby he said, "I didn't think you could."
"So what's next? You're bringing Josh for a visit when I leave?" Toby asked.
Leo knew he couldn't bear that, couldn't endure the look on Josh's face when he
realized...
"No. Just you. And don't tell Josh anything, okay?"
"I'm sorry," Toby whispered.
"Don't tell him."
"I won't." A pause. "Do the Bartlets...?"
Leo nodded once. "So, anyway," he continued after clearing his throat, "I've got
reservations for tomorrow afternoon. We'll have breakfast, we'll talk a bit
more, you'll go, Mallory will have her old Dad to herself, and everyone will be
happy." He paused, deciding to go for broke. "Except maybe C.J."
"Have you gone to see her?" Mallory inquired.
Toby's face darkened. "No. Not yet."
Leo rolled his eyes at Mallory. Damn Toby and his pride. Even though his book
had been bought for a nice sum, Toby still felt "unemployed" and couldn't bring
himself to go to C.J.'s Park Avenue apartment. Not yet.
It had taken all Leo's considerable powers of persuasion to get Toby up to
Boston for a few days, Before that, Toby had stayed with Josh and Amy for a
while, then with Sam until the thing with that girl started to get serious. He
was talking about California again, sounding restless and embarrassed, when Leo
had finally said, "If you're too chicken to go to New York for C.J.'s premiere,
then you'd better have your ass in my house instead."
"She sent pictures of the apartment," Mallory said, not picking up on Toby's
discomfort. "It's gorgeous. You should visit her. You're not getting any
younger."
"Mal," Leo said, more snippishly than he'd intended, but there was pain in his
life now and his patience - which had never been his long suit - was easily
tried. "Toby'll go to New York when he's ready."
"I'm sorry," she said, contrite.
"It's okay. You're not the only person needling me to get there. Including C.J."
Toby fidgeted, looking at his watch. "Twenty minutes to go," he said to no one
in particular.
Mallory raised her eyebrows and handed Toby the phone. He blinked at her, then
smiled grimly as he began to dial C.J.'s cell phone number.
"Put it on speaker," Leo demanded just as C.J. answered.
"It's me," Toby said quickly. Leo wondered if Toby ever said anything else when
he called C.J.
"Where are you? Are you here in town?" She sounded tense, Leo thought. Toby
should be with her. Or maybe not.
"No, I'm at Leo's. Mallory's here with us."
"Hey, C.J., break a leg," Mallory called out.
"Same for me," added Leo. "How ya doin', C.J.?"
She laughed then, the slightly goofy, slightly sexy chortle that used to make
everyone in the West Wing weak in the knees. "I'm up to my elbows in makeup
artists, roses, e-mails, and a particularly scary ficus plant that I think came
from my brother. The teleprompters are getting changed again because those
fucking morons - oh, sorry, Leo - couldn't write a sentence if their lives
depended on it." Her voice began to take on a desperate note. "The Department of
Redundancy Department is having a meeting in the form of reporters outside
wanting to talk to me about reporting. My left contact won't stay in, the
director sends me notes like 'try not to look too old,' and, oh, Toby, why
aren't you here?"
That last was a plaintive cry that made Leo's eyes sting with tears. Toby rubbed
his forehead with his fingertips. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
"No, no, it's okay, I'm just a little overwound. And now I have to go out for a
lighting check. I'm turning off the cell now. Call me later?"
"Of course." Toby cut the call off before Leo or Mallory could say anything
else. Leo doubted that C.J. would have heard them, anyway.
He had enough sense to be quiet. He held Mallory's hand and waited, watching
Toby's face change from guilt to admiration when C.J.'s face appeared in the
opening credits.
It was all good, Leo reflected as he watched C.J.'s opening segment. C.J. was
where she belonged. They all were. His estate would be enough to take care of
Mallory for the rest of her life and let her go back to teaching the
underprivileged children she adored. He had gotten Margaret a job as a
researcher at the Library of Congress. Sam had a career in government that was
going places at a hundred miles an hour, Josh had a wife and maybe someday, God
willing, a family that wouldn't die young, and oh, what a team Josh and Sam had
always made.
And now, he had someone to take care of Jed for him.
***
Washington, D.C.
***
Sam had corralled everyone he could find for a premiere party. Ed and Larry,
Carol and Bonnie. Ginger, who was now his assistant. Margaret, who had agreed
with regret to accept a research job at the Library of Congress instead of
traveling to Boston with Leo. Matt. Donna. Josh and Amy. Some former interns now
working in various offices in D.C. Everyone who had worked with C.J. and who
wished her well. Nina, who wasn't playing that night, was curled up on the sofa
next to Sam, watching the interplay among the people Sam loved so dearly, and
keeping her fingers crossed that C.J. would do well.
C.J. did better than well. By the first commercial break, she owned the
airwaves. Her delivery of the news was sure, and her first interview was nothing
short of masterful. Everyone in Sam's overcrowded living room cheered. Ed began
pouring champagne.
Donna passed glasses to Amy and Josh, then took one for herself. "Did you send
anything?"
"To...whom?" Josh asked, looking confused.
"To C.J. For the premiere. I sent flowers from Matt, and a basket of bath gels
from me. I can send something from you tomorrow, since you're without an
assistant. Again."
Josh had been turning over assistants at an alarming rate. His nickname at the
O.E.O.B. was "Murphy Brown."
"C.J. didn't send me flowers when I started working for Sam."
"C.J. sent flowers to Sam when you started working for Sam," Donna said.
Amy saluted Donna with her glass, then slipped her arm around Josh's waist. "We
sent flowers to C.J. Well, I sent them. But I put your name on the card, too,"
she told her husband. "Toby's not here - did he grow some balls and go to New
York?"
"He went to Boston, actually." Josh's face fell, and he took a large sip of
champagne. "Leo invited him. Actually, Leo commanded him."
"How's Leo doing?" Donna asked. She'd never gotten over being a little afraid of
Leo, but she loved him and it grieved her to know that he was ill.
Josh pressed his lips together as if unable to speak, which alarmed Donna. She
looked at Amy, who tried to smile as she answered the question. "He says he's
doing okay, that he's feeling pretty good."
"He won't let me see him." Josh's voice was low and tremulous. "He keeps telling
me to stay here, to keep my head in the game."
"He's right," Donna said smoothly. She reached out and put her hand on Josh's
arm. He flinched a little at the contact, and Donna felt a blush creeping across
her face. Before she had a chance to react, Larry said that the commercial break
was over and for everyone to get quiet.
Margaret tugged at Donna's hand. "Sit with me," she whispered, "and tell me at
the next break when Gary Tennenburg will be visiting you again. 'Cause I'm
taller than you, and I hear he loves dressing tall women."
Thank you, Margaret, Donna thought, then she looked up at the screen to see C.J.
laying into a journalist who had falsified an entire story. And go get 'em,
C.J., she added to as she let herself be swept up in awe of her friend's
prowess.
***
Washington, D.C.
March
***
Amy held the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she sorted through the
mass of paperwork on her desk. "Sounds like you should really be talking to Sam,
or Matt, not me. My organization lobbies lawmakers. I don't exactly have a lot
of pull in Judicial."
"It's just that they don't take me seriously." C.J. sounded agitated. Amy could
imagine her pacing the floor of her office, waving one hand in the air in a
gesture she'd surely learned from Toby. "I'm getting all this information--"
"From 'unnamed sources?' That's not going to get you much of anywhere."
"Worked for Woodward and Bernstein," C.J. grumbled. "But then, they were men."
"And reporters." Amy stuffed some papers into a green folder and put it in her
outbox. "Yes, some of the same legislators who tried to pass the rather
thinly-veiled 'Christian nation' bill are now suddenly outspoken supporters of
Israel. It's weird, but it's not impossible. What's Toby's take on this?"
"He says he's not keen to get into bed with these people."
"I think he's got a good point. I'll talk to Josh tonight, and we're seeing Sam
and Matt this weekend so I'll bring it up then. I'll talk to Josh tonight."
"Amy?"
"Yeah?"
"You said that twice. 'I'll talk to Josh tonight.' You just said that twice."
Oh, great.
"Look, I'm a little tired, and I've got a lot of stuff on my plate this week.
You know my assistant, Naima?"
"Right. Taller than me. That doesn't happen much."
"She's the one. She has a daughter. Angela. Three years old. Naima wants her
daughter to be an American. But her husband went back to Kenya, and he's
demanding that the girl be sent to him."
"For a visit, or for keeps?"
"Long enough to circumsize her. Just like Naima's family did to her." Amy felt
gorge rising at how Naima had described her own mutilation. "Anyway, Josh is
trying to get someone at State to give Angela refugee status, but we're having
trouble because her father's got an immaculate record."
"Plus, it doesn't matter so much if it's happening to a girl and it's part of a
culture," C.J. said. "God, Amy, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do from
this end?"
"Well, a segment on your show wouldn't hurt." She felt a crushing, guilty weight
on her chest at the idea of asking C.J. for a favor. Josh. Oh, God, Josh.
"Have your people contact me, and I'll get something put together for next week.
Our highest ratings are on Tuesdays, so I'll put it in then." As if reading
Amy's mind, C.J. paused and took a deep breath. "Amy? Is Josh okay?"
"He's fine," she said quickly.
"Amy. Seriously. Talk to me."
She had to tell someone. Had to tell someone who knew Josh, who loved him, who
might be able to predict what was going to happen.
"C.J., I'm--I'm going to Canada."
An instant of silence. "I don't understand. Josh has a problem with Canada?"
"Josh doesn't know." Amy sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Amy? Just what are you going to do in Canada?"
"I'm taking Naima and Angela to a friend's place in Saskatchewan. We're giving
Angela a safe place."
"Josh would be thrilled that you're doing something like that, he'd be...oh, my
God. Amy. You're going to stay there, aren't you?"
She nodded, then realized that C.J. wouldn't be able to see her doing that.
"Yes," she whispered. "We're...we've..."
"Oh, holy hell."
"C.J., please, you can't tell anyone. Please."
"How long has this been--no, wait, I don't want to know. I need to maintain
plausible deniability when the shit hits the fan. God, Amy, you've only been
married for a few months! Was this going on, you know, before?"
"I had an inkling." Her heart sank as the silence between the two women grew.
"C.J., I swear to God, I didn't think it would happen like this. I didn't think
what I felt for Naima had any more meaning than what Josh felt for--" She cut
herself off. "Anyway. I was going to talk to him tonight, but I'll do your thing
instead."
"I don't know what to say."
"I'll tell him soon, C.J. Very soon. Tomorrow." She began to cry. "I didn't want
this. You have to believe me. I love him so, so much."
"So do I," C.J. answered, her voice brittle and frustrated. "So do I."
The line went dead, and Amy dropped the receiver in its cradle as she continued
to weep.
***
Part Two
Classification: Post-Administration, Political. Second in a series beginning
with The Rarest Faith I: Spirits of Great Events.
Summary: 2007 "A mighty thing is eloquence...nothing so much rules the world."
--Pope Pius II (1405-1464)
***
Washington, D.C.
January, 2007
***
"Are we being lobbied by the cardboard industry, or do I just have too much
stuff?" Sam dropped a box on his desk, then wiped his forehead with the sleeve
of his sweatshirt.
"I'm taking the fifth on that," Josh said, leaning over with his hands on his
thighs as he caught his breath. "Some of this stuff looks like it hasn't been
unpacked since you left the White House."
Sam fidgeted with a roll of tape.
Surprised that his words were true, Josh stood up straight and raised his
eyebrows. "Really, Sam? You haven't unpacked since you left the White House?"
"Not as such, no." He turned away from Josh and looked out the window. "I didn't
really think I needed any of that when I went to work for the Torres campaign.
It was strictly local, you know."
"And you wanted to start fresh."
"That was the idea."
Josh looked around for a place to sit that wasn't covered in boxes or sharp
objects with which to open boxes. Finally he leaned against the door and shoved
his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "You were that angry."
"No, it wasn't that. I was..." He made a sweeping gesture with both arms, nearly
colliding with a stack of file folders. "You know, there's burned out, then
there's incredibly burned out. I was past that. I was carbon, Josh. And before
you ask, it had started before the M.S. thing broke."
Josh grimaced, remembering the night Sam had finally been told, the night Sam
had appeared on his doorstep in the dead of night, drunk off his ass and waving
a beer-ring-stained letter of resignation. The night Sam had said he'd never be
able to trust Josh - or anyone in the administration, for that matter - again.
The wound had never healed, despite Toby's increased support, despite the
President's fatherly concern, despite every awkward, heartfelt attempt Josh had
made. Then one day, shortly after the second Inaugural, Sam had resigned for
real and gone home to California.
"I'm sorry," Josh said, not for the first time.
"Don't be." Sam walked over and patted Josh on the back. "You've apologized, and
Leo's apologized, and President Bartlet's apologized. I think the guy who
delivered Charlie's newspapers even apologized to me. It's done."
Sam's hair was graying at the temples and lines were finally beginning to appear
on his forehead, but his eyes were as clear and innocent as they'd been when
Josh first bumped into him on Capitol Hill nearly twenty years before. And in
those twenty years, Sam had never misled him.
"I'm...glad," Josh said hesitantly.
Sam started to say something, paused, shook his head, and walked quickly to the
other side of the room, taking a seat at his new desk. He moved a box aside and
motioned for Josh to empty the visitor's chair so he could sit down as well.
"I never expected to get into politics this fast," Sam said, "but I went to work
for Torres, and there was a shortage of people with ideas, and the next thing I
knew the Lieutenant Governor's wife got cancer and he resigned, and my phone was
ringing. Then the state DNC asked me to run against Sawyer, and I...won." He
sounded shocked, even though he'd begun meetings two weeks earlier and had been
- reluctantly - photographed with President Schiller.
"I knew you would," Josh whispered, almost as if he were talking to himself.
"That's more than I knew." Sam toyed with some of the boxes and files on his
desk for a moment. "But I did know one thing - that, even if I won without your
help, I'd never be able to serve without it."
Josh tipped his head back so he was looking at the ceiling. Anything so he
wouldn't have to look at his old friend, a friend of long-enough standing to
understand when Josh asked, "Have you counted the tiles yet?"
"Josh, I know you're not comfortable with things like this. Actual conversations
about, you know, how you feel. I just don't want us to start working together
again with any...leftover bitterness about what happened in 2003. I know you
were slated to be C.O.S. for Thorson. Even as the Minority Leader, he was going
to give you a lot of power, a lot of leverage. But as the Majority Leader--"
"Sam." Josh stopped him, leaning forward and catching Sam's attention with a
wave of his hand and the intensity of his eyes. "I accepted Thorson because I
didn't know if you'd want me working for you. But when I knew...when you called,
the night of the election..." He shook his head, lost for words. "I served at
the pleasure of President Bartlet because he was a good man. It's a feeling -
you know what that's like, because you felt it, too."
"I still do," Sam said softly. "That never changed."
Understand what I mean, Josh thought, looking imploringly at Sam. But don't make
me say it.
So Sam said it for him. "You wanted that feeling again?"
Josh let out a little sigh. He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth
and he let it blossom, cocking his head to one side as he saw a similar grin
spread across Sam's face.
"I serve," Josh said with affection, "at the pleasure of the Gentleman from
California." He leaned over and rummaged around in his backpack. "And I bear
libations for his ease," he added as he withdrew two bottles of beer and put
them on Sam's desk.
"You set me up," Sam said, narrowing his eyes. "You got beer, and you wanted to
drink it in the office, so you decided to make your little speech."
"Me? Never." Josh twisted the cap off his bottle and watched as Sam did the
same. "What should we drink to? Nina Fisher-Lennox?"
"Josh."
"It's in the Sunday magazine. Your picture at the A.S.O. fundraiser. 'Freshman
Senator and the Assistant Principal - of the American Symphony.'" Josh waved his
hands in the air like a conductor. "You're a sensation."
"I'm a punch line."
After the election, there had been plenty of articles about Sam in everything
from the most serious newspapers to the junkiest of tabloids. Serious
journalists shook their heads, saying that Sam certainly looked good but lacked
qualifications. The tabloids took in the bright blue eyes and thousand-watt
smile and made him their pinup.
"Not so much anymore. They got over the 'pretty boy' thing and they're moving on
to your actual record." Josh took a long sip of his beer. "The other papers, the
trash ones, who cares? People found out that you're seeing someone, but now the
curious onlookers are leaving you alone."
"The weird thing is, it's not happening." Sam pressed the damp bottle against
his cheek for a moment. "Like last night - I tried to get backstage after the
concert, but there were about, I don't know, two hundred women standing around
with cameras. They wanted a picture - not of me, but of me with Nina. It was
bizarre, Josh."
"I didn't know about that. How's Nina taking it?"
"She thought it was cute, at first, but it's wearing thin."
Josh couldn't quite suppress a rueful grin. He remembered all too well the heady
feeling of being adored by a crowd of strangers, how he tried to make Donna
count how many were shouting his name and how many were calling out to Sam.
Donna always managed to deflect Josh's egotism by saying that they were all, men
and women alike, trying to get C.J.'s attention.
"Amy and I get photographed sometimes. It's no big deal."
"It's not a big deal to you and Amy because you're used to it. Viola players
don't usually get followed by paparazzi. And don't you dare make a joke."
"Wouldn't dream of it, buddy," Josh said, quelling the dozen or so quips he'd
been saving in hopes of just this kind of straight line. "Listen, Amy's coming
tonight to watch C.J.'s premiere thing - I can ask her to have a talk with Nina,
if you think that'd help."
"Couldn't hurt, I suppose. Thanks. See you at about seven-thirty?"
"Got it." Josh stood up, feeling a twinge in his back and legs from too much
heavy lifting. He looked around the office. "This is a lot nicer than what you
had in the White House."
"Quieter, too. No rubber balls bouncing off the window. No construction going on
every six feet." Sam gave Josh a gentle smile. "It's not the same. It's never
going to be the same. But we're going to do good work here."
"That's true," Josh said as he headed for the door. Sam's voice stopped him as
he put his hand on the knob.
"Josh." A pause. "I'm glad you..."
Josh's heartbeat quickened. "Thank you, Senator."
And that felt good.
***
Boston
***
"This looks like a casting call for 'The Sunshine Boys.' Or 'Grumpy Old Men,'"
Mallory remarked as she handed Toby a scotch and gave a cup of coffee to her
father.
Leo smirked as he watched Toby twist his mouth into something approximating a
smile. "Toby and I are two old men, baby, but we're far from grumpy."
"Unless C.J. tanks," Toby mumbled.
"Toby!" Mallory and Leo cried in unison.
"I'm not saying that she will," Toby said, his voice getting louder and more
emphatic with each word. "I'm just saying that it's possible, given the lack of
talent on the writing staff at NBC, that she may be given something that no one
could save."
Mallory settled into a leather chair and put her feet up on the same ottoman as
Leo's. "Is it really that bad?"
"On a good day, she calls them moronic. On a bad one - well, I don't use that
sort of language," Toby said primly, his eyes twinkling.
"Well, hardly anyone is going to measure up to you and Sam," Leo said, his heart
full of fondness. "She got pretty spoiled, those nine years on the campaign and
in the White House." Leo cleared his throat, preparing himself to do Abbey's
bidding. "Speaking of the White House - you're going to Manchester in the
morning."
Toby leaned forward, staring. "Excuse me?"
"I'm throwing you out and you're going to Manchester. Make sure you take
everything with you, because you'll be there for a while."
"And I don't get, you know, consulted or anything?" Toby waved his hands in the
air, nearly spilling his drink on the Persian rug.
"We thought it best if I made the arrangements for you. There was concern - I
can't imagine how it came to be - that, if left to your own devices, there might
be some delay."
"I do not believe this."
"Toby, you've sold the book, you're not writing anything, and Jed wants to do
his memoirs." Leo needed to catch his breath - something that was happening far
too often nowadays. "Who better to ask than you?"
Toby scowled. "Why couldn't he ask me himself?" he demanded.
"It's a byzantine relationship, this thing that you and Jed have," Leo said. "I
think he may be scared of you."
"Scared."
"Yeah."
"Of me."
"Yeah."
"Leo, that's crazy. He's the...former President of the United States. I think he
may have fired me about sixteen times. What's he got to be afraid of?"
"That you'd say no." Mallory's voice was unexpectedly gentle. "Abbey's afraid
that you'd turn them down. That you'd think it was, I don't know, a handout or
something. But I've seen what he's done with his memoirs, and the only thing in
the world that they need is the touch of Toby Ziegler."
"I'd go myself," Leo said, "but..."
He hadn't intended to make Toby feel guilty, but self-flagellation was almost a
default for Toby. "How could I say no to you?"
Hey, if it works, Leo thought. To Toby he said, "I didn't think you could."
"So what's next? You're bringing Josh for a visit when I leave?" Toby asked.
Leo knew he couldn't bear that, couldn't endure the look on Josh's face when he
realized...
"No. Just you. And don't tell Josh anything, okay?"
"I'm sorry," Toby whispered.
"Don't tell him."
"I won't." A pause. "Do the Bartlets...?"
Leo nodded once. "So, anyway," he continued after clearing his throat, "I've got
reservations for tomorrow afternoon. We'll have breakfast, we'll talk a bit
more, you'll go, Mallory will have her old Dad to herself, and everyone will be
happy." He paused, deciding to go for broke. "Except maybe C.J."
"Have you gone to see her?" Mallory inquired.
Toby's face darkened. "No. Not yet."
Leo rolled his eyes at Mallory. Damn Toby and his pride. Even though his book
had been bought for a nice sum, Toby still felt "unemployed" and couldn't bring
himself to go to C.J.'s Park Avenue apartment. Not yet.
It had taken all Leo's considerable powers of persuasion to get Toby up to
Boston for a few days, Before that, Toby had stayed with Josh and Amy for a
while, then with Sam until the thing with that girl started to get serious. He
was talking about California again, sounding restless and embarrassed, when Leo
had finally said, "If you're too chicken to go to New York for C.J.'s premiere,
then you'd better have your ass in my house instead."
"She sent pictures of the apartment," Mallory said, not picking up on Toby's
discomfort. "It's gorgeous. You should visit her. You're not getting any
younger."
"Mal," Leo said, more snippishly than he'd intended, but there was pain in his
life now and his patience - which had never been his long suit - was easily
tried. "Toby'll go to New York when he's ready."
"I'm sorry," she said, contrite.
"It's okay. You're not the only person needling me to get there. Including C.J."
Toby fidgeted, looking at his watch. "Twenty minutes to go," he said to no one
in particular.
Mallory raised her eyebrows and handed Toby the phone. He blinked at her, then
smiled grimly as he began to dial C.J.'s cell phone number.
"Put it on speaker," Leo demanded just as C.J. answered.
"It's me," Toby said quickly. Leo wondered if Toby ever said anything else when
he called C.J.
"Where are you? Are you here in town?" She sounded tense, Leo thought. Toby
should be with her. Or maybe not.
"No, I'm at Leo's. Mallory's here with us."
"Hey, C.J., break a leg," Mallory called out.
"Same for me," added Leo. "How ya doin', C.J.?"
She laughed then, the slightly goofy, slightly sexy chortle that used to make
everyone in the West Wing weak in the knees. "I'm up to my elbows in makeup
artists, roses, e-mails, and a particularly scary ficus plant that I think came
from my brother. The teleprompters are getting changed again because those
fucking morons - oh, sorry, Leo - couldn't write a sentence if their lives
depended on it." Her voice began to take on a desperate note. "The Department of
Redundancy Department is having a meeting in the form of reporters outside
wanting to talk to me about reporting. My left contact won't stay in, the
director sends me notes like 'try not to look too old,' and, oh, Toby, why
aren't you here?"
That last was a plaintive cry that made Leo's eyes sting with tears. Toby rubbed
his forehead with his fingertips. "I'm sorry," he said softly.
"No, no, it's okay, I'm just a little overwound. And now I have to go out for a
lighting check. I'm turning off the cell now. Call me later?"
"Of course." Toby cut the call off before Leo or Mallory could say anything
else. Leo doubted that C.J. would have heard them, anyway.
He had enough sense to be quiet. He held Mallory's hand and waited, watching
Toby's face change from guilt to admiration when C.J.'s face appeared in the
opening credits.
It was all good, Leo reflected as he watched C.J.'s opening segment. C.J. was
where she belonged. They all were. His estate would be enough to take care of
Mallory for the rest of her life and let her go back to teaching the
underprivileged children she adored. He had gotten Margaret a job as a
researcher at the Library of Congress. Sam had a career in government that was
going places at a hundred miles an hour, Josh had a wife and maybe someday, God
willing, a family that wouldn't die young, and oh, what a team Josh and Sam had
always made.
And now, he had someone to take care of Jed for him.
***
Washington, D.C.
***
Sam had corralled everyone he could find for a premiere party. Ed and Larry,
Carol and Bonnie. Ginger, who was now his assistant. Margaret, who had agreed
with regret to accept a research job at the Library of Congress instead of
traveling to Boston with Leo. Matt. Donna. Josh and Amy. Some former interns now
working in various offices in D.C. Everyone who had worked with C.J. and who
wished her well. Nina, who wasn't playing that night, was curled up on the sofa
next to Sam, watching the interplay among the people Sam loved so dearly, and
keeping her fingers crossed that C.J. would do well.
C.J. did better than well. By the first commercial break, she owned the
airwaves. Her delivery of the news was sure, and her first interview was nothing
short of masterful. Everyone in Sam's overcrowded living room cheered. Ed began
pouring champagne.
Donna passed glasses to Amy and Josh, then took one for herself. "Did you send
anything?"
"To...whom?" Josh asked, looking confused.
"To C.J. For the premiere. I sent flowers from Matt, and a basket of bath gels
from me. I can send something from you tomorrow, since you're without an
assistant. Again."
Josh had been turning over assistants at an alarming rate. His nickname at the
O.E.O.B. was "Murphy Brown."
"C.J. didn't send me flowers when I started working for Sam."
"C.J. sent flowers to Sam when you started working for Sam," Donna said.
Amy saluted Donna with her glass, then slipped her arm around Josh's waist. "We
sent flowers to C.J. Well, I sent them. But I put your name on the card, too,"
she told her husband. "Toby's not here - did he grow some balls and go to New
York?"
"He went to Boston, actually." Josh's face fell, and he took a large sip of
champagne. "Leo invited him. Actually, Leo commanded him."
"How's Leo doing?" Donna asked. She'd never gotten over being a little afraid of
Leo, but she loved him and it grieved her to know that he was ill.
Josh pressed his lips together as if unable to speak, which alarmed Donna. She
looked at Amy, who tried to smile as she answered the question. "He says he's
doing okay, that he's feeling pretty good."
"He won't let me see him." Josh's voice was low and tremulous. "He keeps telling
me to stay here, to keep my head in the game."
"He's right," Donna said smoothly. She reached out and put her hand on Josh's
arm. He flinched a little at the contact, and Donna felt a blush creeping across
her face. Before she had a chance to react, Larry said that the commercial break
was over and for everyone to get quiet.
Margaret tugged at Donna's hand. "Sit with me," she whispered, "and tell me at
the next break when Gary Tennenburg will be visiting you again. 'Cause I'm
taller than you, and I hear he loves dressing tall women."
Thank you, Margaret, Donna thought, then she looked up at the screen to see C.J.
laying into a journalist who had falsified an entire story. And go get 'em,
C.J., she added to as she let herself be swept up in awe of her friend's
prowess.
***
Washington, D.C.
March
***
Amy held the phone between her shoulder and her ear as she sorted through the
mass of paperwork on her desk. "Sounds like you should really be talking to Sam,
or Matt, not me. My organization lobbies lawmakers. I don't exactly have a lot
of pull in Judicial."
"It's just that they don't take me seriously." C.J. sounded agitated. Amy could
imagine her pacing the floor of her office, waving one hand in the air in a
gesture she'd surely learned from Toby. "I'm getting all this information--"
"From 'unnamed sources?' That's not going to get you much of anywhere."
"Worked for Woodward and Bernstein," C.J. grumbled. "But then, they were men."
"And reporters." Amy stuffed some papers into a green folder and put it in her
outbox. "Yes, some of the same legislators who tried to pass the rather
thinly-veiled 'Christian nation' bill are now suddenly outspoken supporters of
Israel. It's weird, but it's not impossible. What's Toby's take on this?"
"He says he's not keen to get into bed with these people."
"I think he's got a good point. I'll talk to Josh tonight, and we're seeing Sam
and Matt this weekend so I'll bring it up then. I'll talk to Josh tonight."
"Amy?"
"Yeah?"
"You said that twice. 'I'll talk to Josh tonight.' You just said that twice."
Oh, great.
"Look, I'm a little tired, and I've got a lot of stuff on my plate this week.
You know my assistant, Naima?"
"Right. Taller than me. That doesn't happen much."
"She's the one. She has a daughter. Angela. Three years old. Naima wants her
daughter to be an American. But her husband went back to Kenya, and he's
demanding that the girl be sent to him."
"For a visit, or for keeps?"
"Long enough to circumsize her. Just like Naima's family did to her." Amy felt
gorge rising at how Naima had described her own mutilation. "Anyway, Josh is
trying to get someone at State to give Angela refugee status, but we're having
trouble because her father's got an immaculate record."
"Plus, it doesn't matter so much if it's happening to a girl and it's part of a
culture," C.J. said. "God, Amy, I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do from
this end?"
"Well, a segment on your show wouldn't hurt." She felt a crushing, guilty weight
on her chest at the idea of asking C.J. for a favor. Josh. Oh, God, Josh.
"Have your people contact me, and I'll get something put together for next week.
Our highest ratings are on Tuesdays, so I'll put it in then." As if reading
Amy's mind, C.J. paused and took a deep breath. "Amy? Is Josh okay?"
"He's fine," she said quickly.
"Amy. Seriously. Talk to me."
She had to tell someone. Had to tell someone who knew Josh, who loved him, who
might be able to predict what was going to happen.
"C.J., I'm--I'm going to Canada."
An instant of silence. "I don't understand. Josh has a problem with Canada?"
"Josh doesn't know." Amy sighed and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
"Amy? Just what are you going to do in Canada?"
"I'm taking Naima and Angela to a friend's place in Saskatchewan. We're giving
Angela a safe place."
"Josh would be thrilled that you're doing something like that, he'd be...oh, my
God. Amy. You're going to stay there, aren't you?"
She nodded, then realized that C.J. wouldn't be able to see her doing that.
"Yes," she whispered. "We're...we've..."
"Oh, holy hell."
"C.J., please, you can't tell anyone. Please."
"How long has this been--no, wait, I don't want to know. I need to maintain
plausible deniability when the shit hits the fan. God, Amy, you've only been
married for a few months! Was this going on, you know, before?"
"I had an inkling." Her heart sank as the silence between the two women grew.
"C.J., I swear to God, I didn't think it would happen like this. I didn't think
what I felt for Naima had any more meaning than what Josh felt for--" She cut
herself off. "Anyway. I was going to talk to him tonight, but I'll do your thing
instead."
"I don't know what to say."
"I'll tell him soon, C.J. Very soon. Tomorrow." She began to cry. "I didn't want
this. You have to believe me. I love him so, so much."
"So do I," C.J. answered, her voice brittle and frustrated. "So do I."
The line went dead, and Amy dropped the receiver in its cradle as she continued
to weep.
***
Part Two