Title: Communique
Author: Zephyra
Rating: PG for very mild language
Genre: humor -- a lot of irony, a little bit of satire, and just general funniness, I hope!
Summary: Toby is invited to be interviewed for a magazine . . . but is it the type of magazine he thinks it is? Very Toby-centric, although most of our buddies get to say something sarcastic towards the end.
Disclaimer: These are not my original characters. I do not own them.
Archive: Sure, just email me first.
Feedback: Reviewing is enough, anything else is even better!
Author's Note #1: Toby's parents are a conglomeration of my maternal grandparents, my mother's sister, and my mother's many cousins. I love them all!
Author's Note #2: My brief mention of CCNY is totally plausible; I did some real research for this piece.
~~~
COMMUNIQUE
A dozen or so suits were gathered around a mahogany conference table. At the head of the table was a projector that shone images onto a screen a few feet beyond the table. Everyone's eyes were on the line graphs that changed every few seconds automatically.
Readership . . . down. Ad sales . . . down. Circulation . . . down. Subscription renewal . . . down.
Frowns appeared on the face of each corporate bigwig. Their magazine, Street Beat, was failing miserably. The reason? It was marketed to teens, and it featured all teens, all the time. What was the problem with that? Well, for some ineffable reason, teens preferred to read advice columns targeted to them, but read articles about older men and women, mostly in their mid-twenties. All best-selling teen magazines interviewed non-teens. Hypocrisy? Yes. But that never stopped anyone in the corporate world.
"Surveys show that our 'Communique' column is the least-liked in the magazine," one woman offered in a somewhat strangled voice.
"Any indication why?" asked a man.
"Apparently," answered another, "the target audience members don't enjoy being given communication advice by members of their age group. It makes them feel . . . stupid."
"The question is, who can we get to interview for the column who will give intelligent advice but not scare readers away?" mused the first woman.
~~~
"Yes, this is Toby Ziegler's office. This is Ginger speaking, how may I help you? (pause) No. No, he's not in his office. (pause) It really doesn't matter who your boss is. (long pause) I don't recognize that name. Is he a member of the House? (pause) The House of Representatives. (pause) Why are you laughing?"
Donna could only hear half of the conversation that Ginger was having, but since it was late in the day and Josh was in Senior Staff, she had nothing to do for the moment. She was finding Ginger's conversation interesting, so she decided to hang around for a few minutes and find out to whom Ginger was talking.
"An interview? Well . . . I'll have to speak to him about it. (pause) How much? Say that number again. (pause) You're kidding, right? (pause) Well, I'll definitely talk to him as soon as he gets out of his meeting. And the topic of this interview would be? (pause) Communication? That's it? (pause) Well, all right. I'll talk to him. What's your number? (pause) All right. Good-bye."
Ginger shook her head as she wrote the message down. Donna approached her. "What was that all about?"
"Some magazine wants to interview Toby for big bucks," Ginger summarized. "I doubt he'll be happy about it, but he'll take any chance to make the administration look good. That is, when he's not making it look dour and evil."
"Do they know how hostile he can be?" Donna asked. "What kind of magazine is this, anyway?"
"A political one, I assume," Ginger sighed. "She didn't say. All I know is it's called Street Beat, and it's a fairly new publication."
"You think he'll do it?"
~~~
He was reluctant at first (interviews with him never went well), but when he heard the money being offered, he accepted. After all, the money from his Internet stocks had been spent on rent and clothes and invested, and he was back to his normal salary, which was somewhat jarring. He didn't need the money, but he sure wanted it.
So Toby boarded a commuter train and happily rode the three hours from D.C. to New York. He planned to visit his mother and father in Brooklyn while he was in his home town, and then do the interview the next day. He even came close to smiling to himself a few times.
The visit with his parents went well, if predictably. First they asked if he had yet reconciled with Andrea. Then they asked if he was planning on marrying CJ. Then they asked why the hell not. Finally, they invited him into the apartment, took his coat, and made him stay for a huge lunch.
Over lunch, they discussed politics, but the discussion quickly degenerated into Toby's parents loudly threatening to "give a potch in the tuches" to any of the members of their synagogue who didn't plan on voting Bartlet in 2002.
Toby attempted to explain why their beloved Bartlet might be impeached (therefore rendering the reelection question moot), but his excitable mother and father would hear nothing of it.
"It's a shanda!" cried his mother. "They're giving such a hard time to such a mensch!"
They spoke for a while after that about what a good man the President was, then his mother eagerly asked for more office gossip, preferably about Josh and Donna.
"I don't care if she is a shikse, she's perfect for him. I know! My great-grandmother Esther was a matchmaker in the old country! I know these things!"
Toby eventually managed to extract himself from his parents about three hours after he had come for "a little visit" -- his all-time record. Normally, they would make him stay for dinner.
He caught an independent film at seven, then turned in. He was a little nervous, to tell the truth, and he needed the sleep. As always.
~~~
He awoke an hour after dawn feeling uncharacteristically rested and surprisingly refreshed. "I am ready for this INTERVIEW!" he said aloud, scaring three pigeons off his hotel balcony. He dressed in a smart suit and took an inordinately long amount of time trimming his facial hair. Toby wanted to look his absolute best.
Outside the hotel, Toby hailed a cab and instructed the cabby to take him to the address Ginger had gotten while she was making arrangements for him. The cab pulled up in front of a huge, bland, but somehow magnificent building that just had to be the powerhouse of a publication company. The butterflies in Toby's stomach began to flutter weakly, but he stared them down (no mean feat, considering they were inside his stomach).
At the front desk, he gave his name, and shortly thereafter a young woman came down to see him safely to his interview. In the elevator, she asked, "Are you an actor?"
When Toby answered in the negative, she responded, "Oh, it just seems odd that they'd be interviewing you."
That was when Toby began to wonder if this whole thing had been a terrible, horrible mistake.
~~~
"Thanks for coming all the way up here," said the young man who was apparently Toby's interviewer. He was handsome, almost disturbingly so. "This conversation will be audio taped so we can transcribe it later, if you don't mind."
"Of course not," Toby answered.
"Well, would you mind telling us at Street Beat just what you do?"
"I am Communications Director and Senior Domestic Policy Advisor to the President."
"The president of what?"
Toby stared for a minute, then answered. "The United States."
"Wow! Sounds like a tough job! What are, like, your obligations?" the interviewer said blithely.
"I am the voice of President Bartlet's administration. Every time he gives a speech, I usually write it and always approve the final draft. Most major press releases are given shape by me or my deputy, Sam Seaborn. I also play a part in advising the President in domestic policy situations."
"So you, uh, know a lot about communications."
Again he stared. "Yes. I earned my master's degree in media and communication arts from the City College of New York."
"Very cool. What can you tell our readers about the, you know, vitals of communication?"
"Well . . . you always have to know what message you're trying to send. Any ambivalence or ambiguity on your part will always manifest itself in your writing or speech."
"Can you give us, like, an example?"
"Sure. Okay, let's say the President is planning an airstrike on a foreign power. If you don't know the specifics --"
"Hey, hey, hold on a second!" the interviewer cried. "How about something relevant to the lives of our readers?"
Toby grimaced witheringly. "I think you'll need to help me out with that."
"No problem, dude! Let's say a girl is going on her first date with a guy, and she needs to send the message, 'I'm cute, but I'm not easy.' How would she go about doing that?"
Toby was at a loss for words for one of the only times in his life.
"Well?" prodded the interviewer.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Toby exploded. "What magazine is this? Isn't this a young political activists' publication?"
The interviewer looked both perplexed and amused. "Who told you that? This is a fashion and lives 'zine for teenage girls."
"The -- " Toby stopped. No one had told him that. He had assumed it. "This is ridiculous. I'm catching the next train to Washington." He got up and headed for the door.
"Wait," said the interviewer. "I'm not, like, in charge or anything, but I'm pretty sure that if you don't do this you don't get paid, right?"
Toby stopped dead in his tracks.
~~~
The next month, the West Wing was littered with scores of copies of Street Beat. When Toby walked into work the morning the magazine was released, he went straight to his office. But that didn't stop all the Senior Staff from popping their heads in to taunt him.
First came Leo. "Hey, Toby, I was having trouble telling the President that the ambassador from Andorra really doesn't like him like that. Can you help me?"
"You think you're hilarious, don't you? Get out."
Then Josh peeked in. "Toby, I can't find a date to the prom. Can you help me?"
"Try asking Donna!" At that, Josh scurried away, not wanting the conversation to advance any further.
CJ was more persistent. "Lately my Press Corps has been giving me mixed signals. I don't know what they think about me. Help me, Toby!"
"Don't worry, CJ, the country is just fine running itself while you nincompoops think up witty remarks with which to bait me!"
"It seems to be working quite well, doesn't it? But about my questionable rash --"
"You want a questionable rash? I'll GIVE you a questionable rash!"
"Is that a promise?" asked CJ coquettishly.
"OUT!" bellowed Toby.
Only Sam, loyal Sam, did not tease his boss. In fact, he didn't mention the article all day, although Toby did catch Sam reading it at lunch.
The next week, Toby had a message on his desk.
Mr. ZIEGLER,
We are very pleased with the circulation of our latest issue
of Street Beat, our magazine aimed towards the teenage segment
of our readership. We would love to have you back for a
post-election retrospective in a year. If you are interested,
feel free to contact me. You have my number.
Sincerely,
Thomas Wickersham
Vice-President of Marketing
Firefly Publications, Inc.
Toby looked at the message. He read it four times. He tried to consider the offer, but it was difficult to think when all he could hear was CJ saying, "But about my questionable rash . . . ."
"Are you going to do it?" came a voice from behind him.
Toby jumped, but it was just Sam. "I don't know yet."
"Toby?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
"It's about Ainsley."
~~~
The end. I hope you enjoyed my foray into the humorous situations that are possible to craft with the "rumpled and sleepless" Toby.
Author: Zephyra
Rating: PG for very mild language
Genre: humor -- a lot of irony, a little bit of satire, and just general funniness, I hope!
Summary: Toby is invited to be interviewed for a magazine . . . but is it the type of magazine he thinks it is? Very Toby-centric, although most of our buddies get to say something sarcastic towards the end.
Disclaimer: These are not my original characters. I do not own them.
Archive: Sure, just email me first.
Feedback: Reviewing is enough, anything else is even better!
Author's Note #1: Toby's parents are a conglomeration of my maternal grandparents, my mother's sister, and my mother's many cousins. I love them all!
Author's Note #2: My brief mention of CCNY is totally plausible; I did some real research for this piece.
~~~
COMMUNIQUE
A dozen or so suits were gathered around a mahogany conference table. At the head of the table was a projector that shone images onto a screen a few feet beyond the table. Everyone's eyes were on the line graphs that changed every few seconds automatically.
Readership . . . down. Ad sales . . . down. Circulation . . . down. Subscription renewal . . . down.
Frowns appeared on the face of each corporate bigwig. Their magazine, Street Beat, was failing miserably. The reason? It was marketed to teens, and it featured all teens, all the time. What was the problem with that? Well, for some ineffable reason, teens preferred to read advice columns targeted to them, but read articles about older men and women, mostly in their mid-twenties. All best-selling teen magazines interviewed non-teens. Hypocrisy? Yes. But that never stopped anyone in the corporate world.
"Surveys show that our 'Communique' column is the least-liked in the magazine," one woman offered in a somewhat strangled voice.
"Any indication why?" asked a man.
"Apparently," answered another, "the target audience members don't enjoy being given communication advice by members of their age group. It makes them feel . . . stupid."
"The question is, who can we get to interview for the column who will give intelligent advice but not scare readers away?" mused the first woman.
~~~
"Yes, this is Toby Ziegler's office. This is Ginger speaking, how may I help you? (pause) No. No, he's not in his office. (pause) It really doesn't matter who your boss is. (long pause) I don't recognize that name. Is he a member of the House? (pause) The House of Representatives. (pause) Why are you laughing?"
Donna could only hear half of the conversation that Ginger was having, but since it was late in the day and Josh was in Senior Staff, she had nothing to do for the moment. She was finding Ginger's conversation interesting, so she decided to hang around for a few minutes and find out to whom Ginger was talking.
"An interview? Well . . . I'll have to speak to him about it. (pause) How much? Say that number again. (pause) You're kidding, right? (pause) Well, I'll definitely talk to him as soon as he gets out of his meeting. And the topic of this interview would be? (pause) Communication? That's it? (pause) Well, all right. I'll talk to him. What's your number? (pause) All right. Good-bye."
Ginger shook her head as she wrote the message down. Donna approached her. "What was that all about?"
"Some magazine wants to interview Toby for big bucks," Ginger summarized. "I doubt he'll be happy about it, but he'll take any chance to make the administration look good. That is, when he's not making it look dour and evil."
"Do they know how hostile he can be?" Donna asked. "What kind of magazine is this, anyway?"
"A political one, I assume," Ginger sighed. "She didn't say. All I know is it's called Street Beat, and it's a fairly new publication."
"You think he'll do it?"
~~~
He was reluctant at first (interviews with him never went well), but when he heard the money being offered, he accepted. After all, the money from his Internet stocks had been spent on rent and clothes and invested, and he was back to his normal salary, which was somewhat jarring. He didn't need the money, but he sure wanted it.
So Toby boarded a commuter train and happily rode the three hours from D.C. to New York. He planned to visit his mother and father in Brooklyn while he was in his home town, and then do the interview the next day. He even came close to smiling to himself a few times.
The visit with his parents went well, if predictably. First they asked if he had yet reconciled with Andrea. Then they asked if he was planning on marrying CJ. Then they asked why the hell not. Finally, they invited him into the apartment, took his coat, and made him stay for a huge lunch.
Over lunch, they discussed politics, but the discussion quickly degenerated into Toby's parents loudly threatening to "give a potch in the tuches" to any of the members of their synagogue who didn't plan on voting Bartlet in 2002.
Toby attempted to explain why their beloved Bartlet might be impeached (therefore rendering the reelection question moot), but his excitable mother and father would hear nothing of it.
"It's a shanda!" cried his mother. "They're giving such a hard time to such a mensch!"
They spoke for a while after that about what a good man the President was, then his mother eagerly asked for more office gossip, preferably about Josh and Donna.
"I don't care if she is a shikse, she's perfect for him. I know! My great-grandmother Esther was a matchmaker in the old country! I know these things!"
Toby eventually managed to extract himself from his parents about three hours after he had come for "a little visit" -- his all-time record. Normally, they would make him stay for dinner.
He caught an independent film at seven, then turned in. He was a little nervous, to tell the truth, and he needed the sleep. As always.
~~~
He awoke an hour after dawn feeling uncharacteristically rested and surprisingly refreshed. "I am ready for this INTERVIEW!" he said aloud, scaring three pigeons off his hotel balcony. He dressed in a smart suit and took an inordinately long amount of time trimming his facial hair. Toby wanted to look his absolute best.
Outside the hotel, Toby hailed a cab and instructed the cabby to take him to the address Ginger had gotten while she was making arrangements for him. The cab pulled up in front of a huge, bland, but somehow magnificent building that just had to be the powerhouse of a publication company. The butterflies in Toby's stomach began to flutter weakly, but he stared them down (no mean feat, considering they were inside his stomach).
At the front desk, he gave his name, and shortly thereafter a young woman came down to see him safely to his interview. In the elevator, she asked, "Are you an actor?"
When Toby answered in the negative, she responded, "Oh, it just seems odd that they'd be interviewing you."
That was when Toby began to wonder if this whole thing had been a terrible, horrible mistake.
~~~
"Thanks for coming all the way up here," said the young man who was apparently Toby's interviewer. He was handsome, almost disturbingly so. "This conversation will be audio taped so we can transcribe it later, if you don't mind."
"Of course not," Toby answered.
"Well, would you mind telling us at Street Beat just what you do?"
"I am Communications Director and Senior Domestic Policy Advisor to the President."
"The president of what?"
Toby stared for a minute, then answered. "The United States."
"Wow! Sounds like a tough job! What are, like, your obligations?" the interviewer said blithely.
"I am the voice of President Bartlet's administration. Every time he gives a speech, I usually write it and always approve the final draft. Most major press releases are given shape by me or my deputy, Sam Seaborn. I also play a part in advising the President in domestic policy situations."
"So you, uh, know a lot about communications."
Again he stared. "Yes. I earned my master's degree in media and communication arts from the City College of New York."
"Very cool. What can you tell our readers about the, you know, vitals of communication?"
"Well . . . you always have to know what message you're trying to send. Any ambivalence or ambiguity on your part will always manifest itself in your writing or speech."
"Can you give us, like, an example?"
"Sure. Okay, let's say the President is planning an airstrike on a foreign power. If you don't know the specifics --"
"Hey, hey, hold on a second!" the interviewer cried. "How about something relevant to the lives of our readers?"
Toby grimaced witheringly. "I think you'll need to help me out with that."
"No problem, dude! Let's say a girl is going on her first date with a guy, and she needs to send the message, 'I'm cute, but I'm not easy.' How would she go about doing that?"
Toby was at a loss for words for one of the only times in his life.
"Well?" prodded the interviewer.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Toby exploded. "What magazine is this? Isn't this a young political activists' publication?"
The interviewer looked both perplexed and amused. "Who told you that? This is a fashion and lives 'zine for teenage girls."
"The -- " Toby stopped. No one had told him that. He had assumed it. "This is ridiculous. I'm catching the next train to Washington." He got up and headed for the door.
"Wait," said the interviewer. "I'm not, like, in charge or anything, but I'm pretty sure that if you don't do this you don't get paid, right?"
Toby stopped dead in his tracks.
~~~
The next month, the West Wing was littered with scores of copies of Street Beat. When Toby walked into work the morning the magazine was released, he went straight to his office. But that didn't stop all the Senior Staff from popping their heads in to taunt him.
First came Leo. "Hey, Toby, I was having trouble telling the President that the ambassador from Andorra really doesn't like him like that. Can you help me?"
"You think you're hilarious, don't you? Get out."
Then Josh peeked in. "Toby, I can't find a date to the prom. Can you help me?"
"Try asking Donna!" At that, Josh scurried away, not wanting the conversation to advance any further.
CJ was more persistent. "Lately my Press Corps has been giving me mixed signals. I don't know what they think about me. Help me, Toby!"
"Don't worry, CJ, the country is just fine running itself while you nincompoops think up witty remarks with which to bait me!"
"It seems to be working quite well, doesn't it? But about my questionable rash --"
"You want a questionable rash? I'll GIVE you a questionable rash!"
"Is that a promise?" asked CJ coquettishly.
"OUT!" bellowed Toby.
Only Sam, loyal Sam, did not tease his boss. In fact, he didn't mention the article all day, although Toby did catch Sam reading it at lunch.
The next week, Toby had a message on his desk.
Mr. ZIEGLER,
We are very pleased with the circulation of our latest issue
of Street Beat, our magazine aimed towards the teenage segment
of our readership. We would love to have you back for a
post-election retrospective in a year. If you are interested,
feel free to contact me. You have my number.
Sincerely,
Thomas Wickersham
Vice-President of Marketing
Firefly Publications, Inc.
Toby looked at the message. He read it four times. He tried to consider the offer, but it was difficult to think when all he could hear was CJ saying, "But about my questionable rash . . . ."
"Are you going to do it?" came a voice from behind him.
Toby jumped, but it was just Sam. "I don't know yet."
"Toby?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Yeah."
"It's about Ainsley."
~~~
The end. I hope you enjoyed my foray into the humorous situations that are possible to craft with the "rumpled and sleepless" Toby.