Disclaimer: Weird Al belongs to Weird Al, I guess... and the song that goes
"...Ground Control to Major Tom, Can you hear me Major Tom?..." belongs to
whoever wrote and sings it. I don't know who though. Great song though.
Chapter Three: 19 Days
10:00 AM
Sam met Karol in the Georgetown Hilton hotel lobby. "Our campaigning here won't help us win the election," he said. "We should be campaigning in California. Or New York. We could go back to Texas."
"Sam, relax," Karol told him. "We need to show the people we care about DC."
"Of course I care about DC," Sam said. "DC doesn't seem to care about me."
The two of them went to the hotel confrence room. "They're gonna take the big table and push it to the back for putting food on," Karol told him. "And they're gonna bring in a bunch of sofa's and more comfortable chairs for us to sit on.
He nodded. "Sounds good," he said. "You set it up?"
"No," Karol replied. "You're Maryland campaigne manager did. Lisa Morris."
"Send her an invitation to join us on election night," he said. "If she's been campaigning in DC and Maryland she deserves to be there with us when we find out. We won't win either, I don't think, but from what I've heard they've done a great job here."
"Consider it done," she said.
The two of them walked out the back of the hotel and into an awaiting limo. "For just candidates we sure ride around in some pretty good wheels," Karol commented.
"But, of course," Sam said. "Would you rather drive around in an old station wagon. I can arange it." He walked over and knocked on the glass seperating the passengers and driver. "Could you pu-"
Karol pulled him down and had the driver roll the window back up.
Sam grinned then leaned back. Karol handed him a folder. "What's this?"
"Your speech," she said. "Lisa Morris put it together for you. Figured you'd need it if you were going to talk to her native people."
"Even more a reason to invite her to the hotel," he replied.
He read through it and then looked to Karol. "This is actually really well written. Almost like I wrote it."
"Well, if anything, your Communications directors can take comfort in the fact that they won't have to work as hard as they did in Schumer's administration. They'll love you!"
Sam laughed. "That's *if* we win, Karol," Sam said. "If everyone would quit saying we're going to lose by a landslide."
"And if we do?"
"Back to the Congress Chambers?"
Karol groaned. "Not the Chambers. ANYTHING but the Chambers!"
"God, poor Scott, in there all alone," Sam joked. "And come on, I never thought it was *that* bad."
***
12:35 PM
Ronald Timmons placed the tray he was carrying on his daughter's lap. "Chicken noddel soup," he said. "Best thing to have when you're sick." He sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled the thermometer out of her mouth. It read 101 degrees. "Well," he said. "It's gone down a degree."
Rachel Timmons rolled her eyes and put her head phones back on.
Her father left her to her soup. Where had be gone so wrong to make her despise him so much?
Ronald walked downstairs and sat in the living room. Sarah had gone to work; she was a doctor at the Georgetown hospital. He himself had taken a personal day. The Secretary of Transportation figured he'd use Rachel's sick day to try and fix things between the two of them. It didn't, however, seem to be working. If he tried to start a conversation, she'd just ignore him.
Timmons turned on the news then quickly flicked it off. That wasn't what ne needed at the moment. He was taking this day off from politics as well.
What was there to do though? It was painfully clear that Rachel didn't want to talk to him. Ronald mentally kicked himself. He might as well have gone to work. She was seventeen, old enough to stay home alone. All she had to do was call him or Sarah if she really needed something.
School was in and Zach was gone. The one kid that actually liked him was at school on the day his father actually had time to spend with him.
"Meow."
Sabrina Timmons, the only four legged member of the family, jumped up on to the arm of the couch and began rubbing on Ronald's arm. "You like me, don't you Sabrina?"
The grey cat narrowed her eyes and looked at him.
Ronald sighed in submission. "Alright," he said and got up. "Tuna or chicken?"
Sabrina meowed and followed him into the chicken for her cat treat.
***
1:58 PM
"You hear rumors on who the next Press Secretary is going to be?" Bobby leaned over and asked Jenna as the current one walked in.
Though four days had passed, Jenna hadn't said anything to anyone about the offer yet. Not her parents or her sister, no one. She still wasn't sure if she was going to do it. It would mean the end of her traveling... for a while anyways but it would also open up opportunities for her.
"Ground control to Major Clark," Bobby began to sing, engaging into a parody of the 80's song. (A/N: Don't know the title or artist. Do any of you?) "Can you hear me Major Clark? Can you hear me Major Clark? Can you hear... am I sitting in a Press Room, many problems in the world, Planet Earth is screwed and I put it in the news..."
The other journalist began looking at him funny so he stopped. Jenna was about to burst out in laughter. She clapped her hands and was joined by the others. Red faced, Bobby sunk down into his chair.
"Very nice, Bobby," Press Secretary Clara Evans said to a room wide chuckle.
Jenna watched Bobby sink lower in his seat.
Evans went on to report on a recent, out of season tornado in Oklahoma that had put the other Oklahoma senator in the hospital, and to brief them on a Presidential visit to Ft. Watachuka (A/N: Probably not spelled right. My dad hasn't been stationed in AZ yet.)
As they were exiting, the journalists all congratulated Bobby once again on his performance. Jenna half expected him to fall out of his chair.
"Very good, Bobby," Evans said with a grin before she walked out. "Don't quit your day job, though. You're no Weird Al."
Bobby looked at Jenna who shrugged. "I'm all country, pally," she told him. "You'd know who he was before me."
The two journalists walked out of the Press Room together. They were about to part ways when Jenna stopped Bobby.
"It's me you know."
"Huh?"
"Me," Jenna repeated. "I was asked to be the next Press Secretary... if Seaborn wins anyways."
Bobby's jaw dropped then his face lit up in a big smile. "You're kidding!"
Jenna smiled. "Nope," she said and pulled out the letter. "See?"
The other journalist read the letter from Seaborn and looked at it in disbelief. "This is great, Jenna!" he shouted after a moment.
"See, now that is the part that I'm not sure about," she replied.
"Why not?" Bobby asked.
"Because," Jenna answered.
Bobby asked, "Because... what?"
"Because... I don't know," she said. "Just because. I like writing, Bobby. I've got to give that up if I take this job."
"Only for four to eight years," Bobby said but quieted after seeing Jenna's deadly glare.
"Could *you* give up journalism for eight years?"
"Probably not," Bobby replied. "Well... if the reason was great enough, yes, I would be able to. And look at the bright side. A lot of people say he's going to lose. So don't worry about it right now."
Jenna hugged Bobby.
"What was that for?"
"Well, for once I'm going to listen to you," she said. "I'm not going to worry about it. Not unless Seaborn wins. *Then* I'll worry."
"Sounds good," Bobby said. "Get some lunch with me?"
"You don't know how tempting that offer is," Jenna told him, and meaning it. "But..."
Bobby nodded. "Yeah, I know. Deadlines. Me too. Maybe later?"
She nodded. "I'd like that."
***
3:30 PM
"Lisa!" Sean Bower called out from his desk. The college student was more than happy to be there now, the lanyard having meant too much responsibility for him. "Phone!"
Lisa Morris shouted back, "Patch it through!"
Sean complied and sent the line through to her office.
"Lisa Morris," she said into the speaker.
"Ms. Morris?"
"This is her."
"This is Karol McShane," the other voice said. "I'm calling on behalf of Presidential Candidate Seaborn. We're having a 'party' on election night at the Hilton in Georgetown and Senator Seaborn and I would like to extend an invitation to you."
Lisa nearly dropped the phone. "R-really?"
"Yes, really. Everyone will arrive at noon and the party will go until the next morning," McShane informed her. "Official information will be mailed to you in... well, in the mail."
"R-really? I mean... wow... that's great," Lisa said. "I mean, it sounds great."
"It'll be good to see you again, Lisa," McShane said. "And Sam loves your speech. Said it even looked like he'd written it himself."
Lisa was flattered. "Thank you, Senator."
"Thank *you*, Lisa," McShane said. "See you on the Eighth."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."
McShane hung up.
The campaign manager sat down in her chair almost in shock. She'd only met Senators Seaborn and McShane once before, when they'd come to DC once at the begining of the campain. Lisa was confident that they'd win and she would be there when it happened.
"Uh... Earth to Lisa."
She looked up to see Gregory Tymes in her office door way. Her good mood was instantly killed.
"What?"
"I came to apologize," Greg said. "Really, to check up on Sean and the rest. But also to apologize."
Lisa was once again shocked. "What brought this around?"
Greg grinned. "Looked like Sean and Petey would kill me if I didn't," he answered. "They said you were in a, and i quote little Petey, 'A very fowl tempered mood'."
"That kid reads too much," Lisa muttered. "Well, good. You've come to terms with your misdoings."
"Ah... yeah," Greg said. "Anyways... that's all I came in here to say.
The White House Communications Director walked out of the campaign office, talking with a few of the volunteers on the way out.
Lisa watched him leave and muttered, "My life may not be so screwed up after all."
***
Chapter Three: 19 Days
10:00 AM
Sam met Karol in the Georgetown Hilton hotel lobby. "Our campaigning here won't help us win the election," he said. "We should be campaigning in California. Or New York. We could go back to Texas."
"Sam, relax," Karol told him. "We need to show the people we care about DC."
"Of course I care about DC," Sam said. "DC doesn't seem to care about me."
The two of them went to the hotel confrence room. "They're gonna take the big table and push it to the back for putting food on," Karol told him. "And they're gonna bring in a bunch of sofa's and more comfortable chairs for us to sit on.
He nodded. "Sounds good," he said. "You set it up?"
"No," Karol replied. "You're Maryland campaigne manager did. Lisa Morris."
"Send her an invitation to join us on election night," he said. "If she's been campaigning in DC and Maryland she deserves to be there with us when we find out. We won't win either, I don't think, but from what I've heard they've done a great job here."
"Consider it done," she said.
The two of them walked out the back of the hotel and into an awaiting limo. "For just candidates we sure ride around in some pretty good wheels," Karol commented.
"But, of course," Sam said. "Would you rather drive around in an old station wagon. I can arange it." He walked over and knocked on the glass seperating the passengers and driver. "Could you pu-"
Karol pulled him down and had the driver roll the window back up.
Sam grinned then leaned back. Karol handed him a folder. "What's this?"
"Your speech," she said. "Lisa Morris put it together for you. Figured you'd need it if you were going to talk to her native people."
"Even more a reason to invite her to the hotel," he replied.
He read through it and then looked to Karol. "This is actually really well written. Almost like I wrote it."
"Well, if anything, your Communications directors can take comfort in the fact that they won't have to work as hard as they did in Schumer's administration. They'll love you!"
Sam laughed. "That's *if* we win, Karol," Sam said. "If everyone would quit saying we're going to lose by a landslide."
"And if we do?"
"Back to the Congress Chambers?"
Karol groaned. "Not the Chambers. ANYTHING but the Chambers!"
"God, poor Scott, in there all alone," Sam joked. "And come on, I never thought it was *that* bad."
***
12:35 PM
Ronald Timmons placed the tray he was carrying on his daughter's lap. "Chicken noddel soup," he said. "Best thing to have when you're sick." He sat down on the edge of her bed and pulled the thermometer out of her mouth. It read 101 degrees. "Well," he said. "It's gone down a degree."
Rachel Timmons rolled her eyes and put her head phones back on.
Her father left her to her soup. Where had be gone so wrong to make her despise him so much?
Ronald walked downstairs and sat in the living room. Sarah had gone to work; she was a doctor at the Georgetown hospital. He himself had taken a personal day. The Secretary of Transportation figured he'd use Rachel's sick day to try and fix things between the two of them. It didn't, however, seem to be working. If he tried to start a conversation, she'd just ignore him.
Timmons turned on the news then quickly flicked it off. That wasn't what ne needed at the moment. He was taking this day off from politics as well.
What was there to do though? It was painfully clear that Rachel didn't want to talk to him. Ronald mentally kicked himself. He might as well have gone to work. She was seventeen, old enough to stay home alone. All she had to do was call him or Sarah if she really needed something.
School was in and Zach was gone. The one kid that actually liked him was at school on the day his father actually had time to spend with him.
"Meow."
Sabrina Timmons, the only four legged member of the family, jumped up on to the arm of the couch and began rubbing on Ronald's arm. "You like me, don't you Sabrina?"
The grey cat narrowed her eyes and looked at him.
Ronald sighed in submission. "Alright," he said and got up. "Tuna or chicken?"
Sabrina meowed and followed him into the chicken for her cat treat.
***
1:58 PM
"You hear rumors on who the next Press Secretary is going to be?" Bobby leaned over and asked Jenna as the current one walked in.
Though four days had passed, Jenna hadn't said anything to anyone about the offer yet. Not her parents or her sister, no one. She still wasn't sure if she was going to do it. It would mean the end of her traveling... for a while anyways but it would also open up opportunities for her.
"Ground control to Major Clark," Bobby began to sing, engaging into a parody of the 80's song. (A/N: Don't know the title or artist. Do any of you?) "Can you hear me Major Clark? Can you hear me Major Clark? Can you hear... am I sitting in a Press Room, many problems in the world, Planet Earth is screwed and I put it in the news..."
The other journalist began looking at him funny so he stopped. Jenna was about to burst out in laughter. She clapped her hands and was joined by the others. Red faced, Bobby sunk down into his chair.
"Very nice, Bobby," Press Secretary Clara Evans said to a room wide chuckle.
Jenna watched Bobby sink lower in his seat.
Evans went on to report on a recent, out of season tornado in Oklahoma that had put the other Oklahoma senator in the hospital, and to brief them on a Presidential visit to Ft. Watachuka (A/N: Probably not spelled right. My dad hasn't been stationed in AZ yet.)
As they were exiting, the journalists all congratulated Bobby once again on his performance. Jenna half expected him to fall out of his chair.
"Very good, Bobby," Evans said with a grin before she walked out. "Don't quit your day job, though. You're no Weird Al."
Bobby looked at Jenna who shrugged. "I'm all country, pally," she told him. "You'd know who he was before me."
The two journalists walked out of the Press Room together. They were about to part ways when Jenna stopped Bobby.
"It's me you know."
"Huh?"
"Me," Jenna repeated. "I was asked to be the next Press Secretary... if Seaborn wins anyways."
Bobby's jaw dropped then his face lit up in a big smile. "You're kidding!"
Jenna smiled. "Nope," she said and pulled out the letter. "See?"
The other journalist read the letter from Seaborn and looked at it in disbelief. "This is great, Jenna!" he shouted after a moment.
"See, now that is the part that I'm not sure about," she replied.
"Why not?" Bobby asked.
"Because," Jenna answered.
Bobby asked, "Because... what?"
"Because... I don't know," she said. "Just because. I like writing, Bobby. I've got to give that up if I take this job."
"Only for four to eight years," Bobby said but quieted after seeing Jenna's deadly glare.
"Could *you* give up journalism for eight years?"
"Probably not," Bobby replied. "Well... if the reason was great enough, yes, I would be able to. And look at the bright side. A lot of people say he's going to lose. So don't worry about it right now."
Jenna hugged Bobby.
"What was that for?"
"Well, for once I'm going to listen to you," she said. "I'm not going to worry about it. Not unless Seaborn wins. *Then* I'll worry."
"Sounds good," Bobby said. "Get some lunch with me?"
"You don't know how tempting that offer is," Jenna told him, and meaning it. "But..."
Bobby nodded. "Yeah, I know. Deadlines. Me too. Maybe later?"
She nodded. "I'd like that."
***
3:30 PM
"Lisa!" Sean Bower called out from his desk. The college student was more than happy to be there now, the lanyard having meant too much responsibility for him. "Phone!"
Lisa Morris shouted back, "Patch it through!"
Sean complied and sent the line through to her office.
"Lisa Morris," she said into the speaker.
"Ms. Morris?"
"This is her."
"This is Karol McShane," the other voice said. "I'm calling on behalf of Presidential Candidate Seaborn. We're having a 'party' on election night at the Hilton in Georgetown and Senator Seaborn and I would like to extend an invitation to you."
Lisa nearly dropped the phone. "R-really?"
"Yes, really. Everyone will arrive at noon and the party will go until the next morning," McShane informed her. "Official information will be mailed to you in... well, in the mail."
"R-really? I mean... wow... that's great," Lisa said. "I mean, it sounds great."
"It'll be good to see you again, Lisa," McShane said. "And Sam loves your speech. Said it even looked like he'd written it himself."
Lisa was flattered. "Thank you, Senator."
"Thank *you*, Lisa," McShane said. "See you on the Eighth."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."
McShane hung up.
The campaign manager sat down in her chair almost in shock. She'd only met Senators Seaborn and McShane once before, when they'd come to DC once at the begining of the campain. Lisa was confident that they'd win and she would be there when it happened.
"Uh... Earth to Lisa."
She looked up to see Gregory Tymes in her office door way. Her good mood was instantly killed.
"What?"
"I came to apologize," Greg said. "Really, to check up on Sean and the rest. But also to apologize."
Lisa was once again shocked. "What brought this around?"
Greg grinned. "Looked like Sean and Petey would kill me if I didn't," he answered. "They said you were in a, and i quote little Petey, 'A very fowl tempered mood'."
"That kid reads too much," Lisa muttered. "Well, good. You've come to terms with your misdoings."
"Ah... yeah," Greg said. "Anyways... that's all I came in here to say.
The White House Communications Director walked out of the campaign office, talking with a few of the volunteers on the way out.
Lisa watched him leave and muttered, "My life may not be so screwed up after all."
***