Title: The Rose Garden Conspiracy part 1
Author: Madeleine Mitchell Carr
Email:
Rating: PG
Subject: Josh/Donna, Sam/Ainsley (sort-of, in a very twisted way…)
Spoilers: Five Votes Down/Season 2 up to and including The Leadership Breakfast
Disclaimer: All the characters herein are the legal property of NBC and Aaron Sorkin esq. Sue me not, fair Sirs, as my pockets are empty and I do but dally awhile with these fair mortals and will return them intact, anon.
Summary: A stolen memo, a meeting in the Rose Garden and the IRS. A mystery is afoot. Does it have something to do with Josh's missing coffee mug? And what is CJ hiding in her office? Why is Donna in Ainsley's cupboard with Sam? Just another 'normal' day at the West Wing…
Author Note: Okay, here's the thing. I know nothing at all about the US tax system, or the IRS, or anything, and it probably shows. But, hey, go with it guys, it's what we 'authors' call a Plot Device (capital letters optional) ;-)
Part 1 - Josh POV
Toby Ziegler is a dead man.
But before I boil him in oil and pull his fingernails out, I am going to torture him, slowly and mercilessly, for many days. I'll remove the comma key from his laptop, I'll tell him so many fish jokes that he will never be able to look a crab puff in the eye again, I'll yell 'The Yankees Suck!' every time he passes my office, I'll…
Oh.
I was going to say, 'I'll sic the IRS on him', but in the circumstances that little plan may just backfire…
Let me explain:
Half an hour ago (precisely 7.46am), I was sitting quietly and innocently at my desk, nursing my first cup of coffee of the day, when the man in question knocked, poked his head around the door without waiting for an answer, and said, ominously,
"Josh, don't overreact, but I've gotta tell you something."
Now, when someone says the words 'don't overreact', you can pretty much guarantee that what they are about to say is not going to make you jump through hoops in joy. When it's Toby I-don't-care-what-you-do-as-long-as-you-read-the-words-on-the-page Ziegler who says them, you should start running for the hills and not even stop to pack because when the proverbial hits the fan, you don't want to be around to see it.
So, understandably, the first words out of my mouth were,
"Don't tell me. I don't wanna know."
Not very constructive, I'll admit, but self-preservation has been pretty high on my agenda lately.
Toby winced, but didn't go away. In fact, he even double-checked to make sure the door was closed after him.
"You've got to know this one Josh, or you'll be pretty damn surprised when you're arrested for fraud."
"WHAT!?"
Toby at least had to grace to look slightly sheepish at my outburst. I could feel the newly healed scar in the palm of my hand throb against the heat of my coffee mug, so I carefully placed it back on the desk.
"Tell me."
Toby sighed and rubbed his beard.
"You have no idea how much I don't want to tell you, but here goes. You know the financial disclosures at the end of last year?"
Oh, God, not again…
"Yes?"
"Well, I inadvertently failed to declare everything."
"What on earth could you have forgotten to declare? You only earned $1 last year. And nobody gives you gifts, because you're a…"
"Paranoid nudnick?"
"That too."
"Thanks Josh, your concern is underwhelming."
I could hear a faint growl in the back of my throat at that point and I think Toby heard it too because he hurried on,
"My aunt died and left me some money of which I failed to inform the IRS and now I haven't paid any tax on it."
"Why did you fail to tell the IRS?"
"Because I only found out about the money yesterday."
I felt my heart returning to its normal speed when I realised that Toby was indeed being paranoid. And stupid.
"Toby, I know that you are ignorant and naïve when it comes to financial matters, but I would have thought that even you would have realised that the financial year ended on…"
"She left me the money last September."
I think I checked the level of my coffee at that point. Perhaps I had been hallucinating the whole conversation in a caffeine-deprived fugue state. Half-full. Maybe, maybe not…
"She left you the money last September, but you only heard about it yesterday?"
"I believe that's what I said, yes."
"Okay. Just checking. Why?"
"Because she was a stupid, bitter, vindictive old trout. I hated her guts and was glad when she died and didn't want to hear anything more about her ever again. And I ignored all the letters from her lawyer."
Maybe I needed to start drinking the extra-strength double espresso…
"Um…Toby, why did she leave you money if you hated her?"
"According to her lawyer, it was because I was the only member of the Ziegler family who completely ignored her, and this apparently endeared me to her."
"You endeared yourself to your dead aunt by ignoring her?"
"Again, that is what I said, yes."
"Well, I can understand that part. In fact, if you were to start ignoring me, I would find myself becoming very endear…"
"Stop talking"
"Okay"
"My late and completely not-lamented aunt is not important. What is important is the $1 salary for last year."
"Why is your, incidentally, well deserved salary important?"
"Because before I fired my accountant, I asked him to be very specific in telling the IRS that I would only be paying tax on the $125,000 from the stock thing and not on anything else as I would be earning…less."
"Toby, there are performing dogs that earned less than you last year"
"Josh, for the love of God, would you start taking this seriously?"
I wanted to say that only God knows how seriously I'm taking this, but I wisely kept my mouth shut in case he came at me with a salad fork. Toby is the most single-minded and focused individual I have ever met, bar none, and when something comes along which distracts him from his one-man mission to save the planet by the power of words, he becomes…a trifle testy. Besides, I really, really didn't need this. Does he know I am not a well man?
"Sorry"
"Okay. Well, the thing is, not only do I now owe a truck load of back taxes, it looks really bad, because…"
At this point, he trailed off and actually looked pale. I on the other hand was still struggling to catch up. Perhaps a larger coffee mug…
"Because?"
"Well, frankly, it looks like I conspired to get my salary reduced in order to avoid taxation on an undeclared larger sum, using the $125,000 stock thing as a red herring, and waiting until the new financial year before sneaking the new lump sum in through the back door, thus defrauding the IRS of…some money."
Wait a minute. Larger sum?
"How much?"
"How much, what?"
Of all the times to be cagey…
"Don't torture me, Toby. How much money did your aunt leave you?"
"Some"
"Toby…"
I swear, his beard was practically jiggling with mortification. It was a sight I would have enjoyed on any other occasion.
"Half a million dollars"
I gaped and him. And goggled. Because, really, I had no words… I was thinking, forget stronger coffee, maybe I could get pure caffeine. On an intravenous drip…
"HALF A MILLION DOLLARS?"
That wasn't quite what I had wanted to say, but hey, give me some leeway here. I mean, half a million? In dollars?
"You want to try that again louder, Josh? I don't think they heard you in the Residence"
He had that sarcastic, twitchy grimace thing going on, but I could tell he was seriously perturbed. Well, I mean, who wouldn't be? Half a million…
"What is with you, Toby? Do you have a secret pact with the money fairies? You care less about money than anyone I've ever met, and you also accrue it faster than anyone I've ever met. Is this some sort of Feng Shui thing? Do you have a money tree in the Southeast corner of your bedroom? Do you…"
"JOSH!"
Guess I got stuck in a groove there…
"Okay, first up, it scares me that you know anything at all about Feng Shui and secondly, would you STOP with the money thing, already? I could be facing jail for a Federal crime here. And, incidentally, you as well."
"what…?"
From shouting to squeaking in the space of a minute. Not a good sign.
It was at that point that my fair assistant, with her usual exquisite sense of timing, stuck her head around the door.
"Josh, Congressman Wick wants to talk to you about the Health Bill thing, shall I schedule him in?"
I think I just stared at her. The words 'Federal crime' were still bouncing around in my brain.
"Josh, are you okay?"
I suddenly found my voice,
"ME? Why me as well? What the HELL?"
Without missing a beat, Donna turned on Toby,
"Toby, what did you do to Josh? He's rhyming his swear words, and you know we all suffer when he does that."
"Why ME?"
"What's the matter, Josh? How much coffee have you had to drink this morning?"
"NOT ENOUGH!"
Okay, Donna really didn't deserve that. I immediately resolved to apologise at the next opportunity, when Toby suddenly grabbed my arm and started tugging me towards the door. I stumbled after him, feeling like a ten-year-old on my way to the Principal's office.
"Excuse us, Donna, but Josh and I have to go and see someone about a thing now"
"What? We do? Who?"
The grip on my arm tightened and as we careered through the bull pen, Toby's voice growled in my ear,
"Just shut up and keep walking, I'll explain on the way. And stop with the rhyming thing."
He mercifully released my arm and as I was sucked along in his wake, I heard Donna faintly in the background shouting,
"Josh? Josh! What about Congressman Wick…?"
Congressman Wick could have streaked through the Oval Office at that moment, and I wouldn't have batted an eyelid. I had more urgent things to think about. Like jail. And how to keep me out of it.
"Toby?"
As I hurried to keep up, Toby said over his shoulder,
"You're up to your neck in it because you authorised the $1 salary thing."
I did?
"I did? But the President…"
"It was a delegation thing. The President was busy so he passed the forms to Leo, and Leo…"
"…passed the forms to me."
"Yep"
Oh God. I resolved then and there that the next time Donna told me to read something before I signed it, I would suck it up and do as she said.
The next moment, I bounced off Toby's rather solid back and fell against the wall next to CJ's office, clutching my chest.
"Ow"
Toby must have had some weird clairvoyant thing going on because the next instant, CJ's door flew open. She stuck her head out and glanced furtively up and down the corridor, squeaked when she saw us, and immediately slammed the door shut again.
Toby started walking again. I staggered after him. My hand hurt, my chest hurt, and now my nose was complaining. I said, rather breathlessly,
"That was strange."
"CJ? I have frequently thought so."
"No, not CJ. Well, yes CJ too. I meant the smell."
"What smell?"
"The smell coming from her office"
"Perhaps it was her perfume"
"I don't think even CJ would wear 'eau de rotten organic matter', 'cos that's what it smelled like."
Toby ignored me and I gave up my attempts to distract myself from the escalating nightmare.
"Where are we going?"
"To see Ainsley."
"Ainsley Hayes? The Republican?"
"Yes, Ainsley Hayes. You make being a Republican sound like a disease."
"You mean it's not?"
He ignored me again. I said, tiredly,
"Why are we going to see Ainsley?"
"Because when my aunt's lawyers couldn't get hold of me, they contacted my accountant. My accountant told them I'd fired him so they got hold of my bank. The bank informed the IRS about the money and the IRS, scenting a plot, contacted the White House Counsel's Office."
I was terrified at that moment.
"An IRS investigator told a Republican lawyer that he suspected some financial wrongdoing by the Democratic White House's Senior Staff?"
"Yes. And keep your voice down."
I had just lived through a really horrible year. The worst year of my life. And now my career was about to come crashing down around my ears in a truly spectacular fashion. I felt like falling to my knees in supplication and screaming 'WHY ME?'
"Toby, this is horrible! It's…it's disastrous! We could go to jail!"
He finally stopped walking and I had to break sharply to prevent another painful collision. He spun on the spot to face me.
"I KNOW. What do you think I've been trying to tell you for the last half hour? Would you stay with the plot line, Josh?"
I tried to take a deep, calming breath when there was a noise behind me, Leo popped out of nowhere, pounced on us, and shouted with a face like thunder,
"Toby!"
I think I may have let out a little scream, I certainly staggered and fell back against the wall again. If I managed to keep my job, I was going to insist that everyone wore bells around their necks.
"Josh, what the hell is the matter with you? Toby, I want to see you in my office NOW!"
I looked at Toby to see how he was taking this order. Did it mean that news of the IRS fiasco had reached Leo's ears? Neither of us dared say a word; I don't think I have seen Toby look quite that discomforted before.
"Leo…"
"Don't say anything, Toby, just be in my office in 60 seconds," he rounded on me suddenly,
"And for God's sake Josh, switch to decaf!"
Leo disappeared back into whatever hole he'd popped out of to begin with and Toby and I were left staring miserably at each other.
"Well, I have to go and…" Toby pointed towards Leo's office. He hesitated and failed utterly to meet my eye. "Josh…"
No, no, no, no
"…You'll have to go and…"
"…See Ainsley."
"Yeah"
I'll say it again: Toby Ziegler is a dead man.
I am standing here now in front of Ainsley's door and I am looking back in nostalgia at what my life had been a mere one half hour, and a whole lifetime ago. There is a cold dread lurking somewhere deep inside me that won't go away because I think that this time, and for the stupidest and most banal of reasons, I'm about to lose everything that I have ever worked for.
As I stand in the White House basement, my fist poised to knock at the door of a Republican lawyer, a fleeting thought passes through my head,
'I wonder if Donna will come with me if I'm forced to resign…'
"Come in!"
Ainsley is standing to the side of her small desk, an Alice band holding those golden locks away from her face. She looks like Doris Day's younger sister and I'm trying to recall exactly why the President saw fit to hire her. Unfortunately, my inner-CJ is whacking me repeatedly about the head with a rolled up copy of Ms. Magazine for even entertaining those thoughts so I am forced to consider that perhaps I should give Ainsley the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps she won't be gloating at the thought of seeing some 'smug and self-righteous' Democrats brought low…
"Mr. Lyman…"
"Josh"
"Yes. Thank you, Sir. I am concerned. It concerns me and disturbs me that a man in your position and a man in Mr. Ziegler's…"
"Toby's"
"Yes, Sir. That a man in his position could have so carelessly and wantonly exposed the White House to any appearance, however unpremeditated, of impropriety."
"We did? I mean, You are?"
What did she just say?
"Yes. You have both shown an unmindful disregard for the formal lines of procedure so necessary for upholding the reputation of the office you serve."
I really don't have a clue what she's talking about. And as for that accent, she must have a hell of job to be taken seriously, because at the moment, I feel like Ashley being scolded by Melanie for dancing with Scarlett at the ball.
"Ainsley?"
"Yes?"
"What are you going to do about it?"
Her answer this time is mercifully to the point.
"I am going to meet with Mr. Gneiss from the IRS in twenty minutes when I will explain the entirely innocent, though admittedly strange, circumstances surrounding this perfectly understandable mistake."
Although I am deeply, deeply relieved that she appears to be on our side after all, my mind gets stuck on one point…
"Mr. Nice? His name is Mr. Nice?"
"Yes"
"You've got to be kidding me!"
She actually looks genuinely puzzled.
"Why would I kid you?"
"Never mind…"
My brain, which has been floundering about like a suffocating fish for the past hour, has suddenly decided to reassert itself and is now buzzing furiously. I start to pace as I think, measuring the floor of Ainsley's tiny office. Five paces to the cupboard - we can't have an IRS investigator with a peculiar name wandering about the West Wing - four paces to the corner - you can't keep anything quiet in this madhouse - seven paces to the opposite corner - we have to appear a little bemused by it all - six paces back to the cupboard - appearance is everything - four paces to the door - concerned but casual - two more paces - welcoming but formal - YES. GOT IT.
I am the Master Strategist.
"Meet him in the Rose Garden"
Ainsley starts at my voice. She looks a little dizzy.
"The Rose Garden? Why?"
"Never mind why. Just do it!"
I can feel a grin spreading across my face. This might just work…
"Mr. Lyman…"
"Josh"
"Yes. How can I possibly hold an important meeting outside?"
"Because it's not an important meeting", I say triumphantly.
I have rendered her speechless. Score one for the Democrats!
"Ainsley, you have to do this. Do you have any idea what could happen if certain individuals got wind of a potential financial scandal?"
"People like Lillienfield?"
"Yes, exactly. Lillienfield. Do you know what he would say if he heard about this?"
"Yes, I do"
She sounds very certain.
"You do?"
"Yes. I have met Mr. Lillienfield. He is a very poor public speaker with an unfortunate fondness for hyperbole. He would say things like: 'JOSHUA LYMAN, YOU ARE A CORRUPT AND DANGEROUS MAN AND A DANGER TO THE MORAL WELFARE OF OUR FAIR COUNTRY. I WILL BRING YOU DOWN, AND THE DANGEROUSLY CORRUPT GOVERNMENT DOWN WITH YOU'"
I leap away from her like a startled deer. Did she have to yell quite so loud? My poor heart is hammering like a drum.
"Well that was pretty bad"; I manage with a poor attempt at nonchalance.
"Yes", she agrees serenely, "I don't think he knows the meaning of the word 'synonym'".
She smiles.
"Was that a joke?"
"Yes."
I come to the conclusion that I am going to have to seriously revise my opinion of this woman. But I'm going to do it as far away from her as possible. I start backing towards the door.
"Well, I think this conversation is over now."
"You do?"
"Yes"
"Okay"
"Right"
I leave, not quite at the run, but pretty close. Unfortunately, it's a bit too fast for me to avoid a painful collision with a tall person standing outside the door.
"Ow!"
Why, oh why is everyone determined to leap out and accost me today? Did I inadvertently stick a 'Sucker' sign on my forehead this morning? I am yet again staggering around clutching my abused chest.
"Josh, are you all right?"
It's Sam, so I don't feel the need to be stoic.
"No." I think that comes out as a whimper. A wimpish whimper in fact. Damn. Sam must think I sound as bad as I feel because after casting a very suspicious look at Ainsley's half-open door, he grabs me by the upper arms and hustles me back up the corridor.
"What's the matter?" he hisses.
Well, the concern is very gratifying, but really, this is going a bit far…
"Other than the fact you just knocked the wind out of me with your elbow, you mean?"
He ignores me. He's too busy glaring back at Ainsley's office with his eyes narrowed and his jaw is clenched tightly in the way it gets when he's perturbed about something. He's also still clutching my arms and I'm struggling feebly to escape. Sam has a very strong grip; must be all that sailing.
"Would you let go of me?"
"What did she say to you?"
Oh Damn. Oh Hell. The IRS thing. The last thing I need today is Sam on a righteous crusade, or laughing his socks off, or both. Misdirection, I need misdirection…
"Why are you lurking outside Ainsley's office?"
Ha! Got him! A brief flash of alarm crosses his face and I take the opportunity to wrench myself from his grasp. I know I should run for it at this point but I can't resist the temptation to stay and watch him squirm.
"I wasn't. I was…it was…er"
Wonderful. Even bruised, staggering and depressed as I am, a day when I can't make Sam Seaborn suffer is a very bad day indeed.
"It was what?"
"It was…a thing…a thing that required a…a…lawyer."
"Oh, a lawyer thing?"
"Yes"
"Sam, I know that you're forgetful sometimes, but YOU are in fact a lawyer"
"Er…yes. I needed another one."
"A two lawyer job, then?
"Yes"
"Right. Well, I'll leave you to get on with it then. I have important things to do."
I straighten my crumpled sleeves and retreat in good order for once. Glancing back briefly, I see him standing forlornly in the corridor, obviously torn between following me or going to see his Republican siren. The siren-song must win out because for the rest of the trek back to my office, my jacket remains unassaulted. Which is just as well, because between Sam's hands and the weight of the world that's sitting on my shoulders, it's started to look a bit dented.
But my misery is destined to increase because Toby is sitting in my chair waiting for me. Leo. I forgot all about Leo. We are so screwed…
"What did Leo say?"
Toby actually flushes pink and my stomach lurches nastily in alarm.
"Toby?"
He squints and looks away, but before I can wrestle him to the floor and shake it out of him, he says
"My conversation with Leo was about a matter entirely unconnected with money and if you ask me one word about the conversation, I will flee this place forever and leave you to deal with the IRS on your own."
Ouch. Must have been a real Leo special.
"Okay"
"Okay. What did Ainsley say?"
I'm relieved that Leo still doesn't know (although he'll have to know eventually), but the world is still looking like a pretty miserable place at the moment.
"She's okay with it. She's gone to talk to the Nice guy."
"What nice guy?"
"No. Nice from the IRS."
"'No nice?' What is happening to your alleged superior verbal skills, Josh? Is he or isn't he?"
"Yes. He's Nice."
"A nice guy from the IRS? Isn't that an oxymoron?"
"No, his name is Nice"
"What's nice about his name?"
Agh! I can't believe I'm even having this conversation. The only thought I can keep in my head right now is, MUST HAVE COFFEE. While Toby's still puzzling over Mr. Nice's name, I reach for my coffee mug and…
It's gone.
My coffee mug is gone.
"My coffee mug is gone."
"What?"
"My coffee mug! I left it here when you dragged me away earlier, and now it's gone!"
"So?"
Doesn't he understand? This is important!
"It was my favourite coffee mug. It said 'Master Politician' on it in big letters. Donna gave it to me. She didn't put any coffee inside it of course, because she never gets me coffee, but she gave me the mug, so that must count for something, right? I always have it on my desk. And now it's gone!"
It is official. I have totally lost it. My brain is marshmallow.
And Toby is laughing at me.
Toby, my friend and colleague and theoretical co-conspirator in a plot to mis-lead the American public and defraud the IRS, is laughing at me.
He is so dead…
TBC