Title: Silence
Author: Fuwakateema, irishbooty79@aol.com
Disclaimer: What's the saying? Wish in one hand and shi—oh never mind. It goes without saying really that this is an amateur work of fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Whew…this is going to be a doozy. I will be touching on some extremely sensitive subjects in this story, specifically, abortion. As this is an issue I know most folks feel very strongly about, I am attempting to present both sides without leaning one way or the other.
I've done a little research on the 'net and am going to include the pertinent links. The Feminists for Life page is
Category: CJ/T friendship, CJ/J friendship…eventually romance perhaps. :)
Rating: Right now about PG-13.
Feedback: Rocks!
Spoilers: None specifically, but everything is fair game.
Thanks: Lizisita and Sidalicious. Thank you gals for your friendship and inspiration.
++++++
She was a quiet woman, my mother. Quiet in her devotion, quiet in her happiness, and quiet in her anger. She could make you feel small and mean without even uttering one word. It was her weapon, and she knew how to use it. Maybe that's why I can't bear silence, because somewhere in my mind I equate the absence of sound with my mother. And it's terrifying.
To say our relationship was complicated would be an understatement. The woman hated me. She hated my easy laugh, and the way I could walk into a room like I owned it, even though I wasn't the prettiest woman there. She hated the way I defended myself with self-deprecating jokes in an argument, and she hated the ready-forgiveness I offered to my older brothers when they'd hurt my feelings.
I don't know when it all started. This complicated relationship with my mother. Had it always been there, or only when it became apparent that I wouldn't be the striking beauty she'd always imagined any daughter of her's would be? I remember the conversation I'd over-heard more than twenty-five years ago. My Aunt Katherine had been visiting from Birmingham, and the two women sat on the porch, sharing Parliament cigarettes.
I'd been standing in the kitchen, searching the refrigerator for something cool to drink when I heard my name. Claudia Jean. I knew it was my mother because she was the only one who ever addressed me that way. To everyone else I was Claudia, or CJ, or Ceej. I think I'm going to Hell Katherine because I don't love my daughter. I know it's not Claudia Jean's fault that she's ugly, but I can't bring myself to forgive her for that.
Ugly. My own mother called me ugly. Not unattractive, not plain, or any of the other nicer ways of saying it. And that's when I realized that nothing I did would ever please her because I wasn't pretty. And it hurt. It hurt more than any physical pain I've ever endured.
But I dealt with it, and I learned to forgive her even as she refused me. And later, when she grew ill I tried to offer an olive branch. Not out of any sense of great guilt for the way our relationship had deteriorated to the point where we couldn't even have a civil phone conversation, but because I knew she wouldn't be around much longer. She pretty much snapped that twig in two and told me to go back to San Francisco because she didn't need me. Stephanie, Tom's wife and former Miss Georgia, was there to take care of her.
So I left, and didn't come back for two years. Until it was time to bury her. My brothers and Father were inconsolable, and I hated her because I felt guilty for not being able to shed any tears at the funeral. They understood of course, and left me alone after the reading of the will. She'd left my grandmother's ring, the one I'd admired since I was five, to a distant cousin. And she'd left me nothing. Nothing, except bitterness.
It's amazing how people can continue to hurt you, even after they're dead and buried. I don't know why I'm thinking of all this now. Maybe it's because the woman sitting two pews in front of me has the exact same hair color as my mother. Maybe it's because the lemon-scented furniture polish filling my senses now, reminds me of Mass as a child. Or maybe it's the silence as the congregation reflects on the Homily. She was a quiet woman, my mother.
+++++++++
"Claudia Jean, Good Morning! You look exceptionally ravishing today."
I look up from the news report I've been scanning for the better part of an hour and can't help but grin as I meet Josh's twinkling eyes. He's leaning carelessly against the doorjamb, and so very obviously up to something. Josh is not a morning person. Particularly on Mondays. This doesn't bode well for me, but I decide to play along anyway as I push the report aside.
"Joshua Ann! I would say you look devastatingly handsome this fine Monday morning, but then, well, I'd be lying."
Josh brings his hand to his heart and feigns pain. "You wound me, CJ. Here I am, greeting you cheerfully and paying you compliments…wait, you called me Joshua Ann again. Why do you keep doing that?"
"Because I think it's cute." I reply simply as I turn back to the news report.
"Ah…much like the man himself, wouldn't you say?" When I don't respond, Josh continues. "So, how was your weekend?"
"It was fine."
"Aren't you going to ask me how mine was?"
"No."
"Ok."
"Josh, just tell me what you want, or what you did that I'm going to have to fix."
"What makes you think I want something?" He asks as he steps into my office and sits down nonchalantly on the couch.
I snort in a decidedly un-ladylike fashion, but don't raise my eyes. "What, are you kidding me?"
"OK, there is this thing."
I push the paper aside and glance at Josh. "Oh, this ought to be good."
"Well, there's this group of people coming in today that I'm supposed to meet with."
"You mean that you are going to meet with."
"No, uh, I said it right the first time."
"Ok, so there's a group of people coming in today that you're scared of and…?" I prompt.
"Let me state for the record that I am not scared of these people. I just don't like dealing with nut cases on Mondays. Well the ones who don't work at the White House, anyway."
"Well, why did you agree to meet them in the first place?"
"I didn't agree. Leo set it up. In fact, I think he did it out of spite." Josh replies as he stands to pace in front of my desk.
"What'd you do now?" I ask in amusement. Josh just never learns.
"I made fun of the whole Karen Cahill thing."
"What Karen Cahill thing?"
"Leo made some comment about—" Josh trails off and shrugs his shoulders. "Oh never mind about that. I've got bigger problems. Now where was I?"
"Um…Leo and spite."
"Yeah, well, I didn't even know I had to deal with these…people until I stroll into my office first thing this morning. You'd think he would've given me a heads up, right? No, no, no. Not Leo McGarry, royal pain in the—"
"Hey, that's our boss you're about to belittle. A man who has been extremely understanding about the numerous screw-ups you've managed to headline in the past two years." I interrupt.
Josh pales and leans forward conspiratorially. "Oh God…is he standing behind me right now?"
I smile and shake my head. "No, I just wanted to see what you'd do if—"
"Speaking of pains in the ass, you're one too, you know that?"
"I don't think that is any kind of way to talk to someone who you're about to ask a favor from." I sniff indignantly.
Josh closes his eyes briefly and ducks his head. "OK, look, if you meet with these people—"
"You keep calling them 'these people' Josh, who in the hell are they and what do they want?"
"I'm glad you asked." He says brightly. "You ever heard of 'Feminists for Life'?"
"Get out of my office as fast as your legs can carry you, Joshua."
"Oh come on, CJ. It won't be that bad. You'll spend fifteen minutes over coffee listening to them whine about the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances Act and send them on their way with a nice White House mug. It'll be over before you know it."
"Once again, you astound me with your stupidity." I say angrily. "You think that they're going to see this meeting with me, the frigging Press Secretary, as a suitable substitute for the Deputy Chief of Staff? They're going to feel patronized and—"
"Who cares if they feel patronized?"
I sigh audibly and pinch the bridge of my nose. "Joshua, these women don't like me."
He cracks a smile, and I see he's about to make a joke at my expense. He thinks better of it though, and simply shrugs again. "They don't like me either. You'll do fine."
"You don't see the potential for disaster in this?"
"Quite frankly, no."
"Josh!"
"What's the problem?" A new voice inquires from the doorway.
"Go away Toby." I say irritably as I cross my arms over my chest.
"I'm talking to her about the thing." Josh explains.
"Wait, you're in on this too?" I ask incredulous.
"Josh and I discussed it this morning. Do it, ok?"
"No, it's not ok. I want to know why Josh can't do it."
"Because Josh would alienate them and we need their support." Toby says as he ignores the indignant glance Josh tosses him.
"So why don't you do it then?"
Toby lifts one corner of his mouth and shrugs. Damn what is it about these men and shrugging? I'm starting to get seriously annoyed. "Because I would too."
"So let me get this straight. Because the two of you…jackasses can't control yourselves, I have to take fifteen minutes out of my extremely busy day to pat some women on the head, all the while trying to conduct myself without appearing to know, that they know, that the only reason I'm there is because I've been brow-beaten by my boss."
"In a nutshell." Josh agrees.
"Did it occur to either of you that I might alienate them?"
"Nah…you'll go in there and charm them. Be funny, be gracious—"
"I don't need tips from you Mr. Lyman." I cut him off. "I really don't want to do this." I say quietly, hoping they can't detect the note of desperation in my voice.
"Why not?" Toby asks.
He's staring at me now in that piercing way of his, like he's trying to divine the secrets of my soul. Well, he's not going to discover anything I don't want him to know. I've become very good at protecting myself and hiding things. Especially since…well, never mind.
"I never thought I'd see the day CJ Cregg was afraid of a bunch of women." Josh pipes in.
"I hate you both. Now get out of my office."
"CJ…"
"NOW!" I yell, almost smiling in satisfaction as Josh jumps.
Toby and Josh exchange glances, but they both know better than to argue with me when I use that particular tone of voice. They know that I'll meet with those…women, despite my objections, and this is enough for them. Josh follows Toby out of my office and closes the door gently behind him. I pick up the brass nameplate from my desk and throw it against the wall, feeling some of the anger drain from my body at the loud thud. I'll worry about the gaping whole underneath the window later. Damn, this is the second time I've broken the White House.
++++++++++++++++++++
"Do you think she's mad?"
Toby gives me one of his well patented 'are you serious' looks and arches his eyebrow. "Yes Josh. I think it is safe to assume that CJ is not in the best of moods right now." He answers sarcastically as he begins to jot something down in his ever-present notebook.
"What are you writing?" I ask curiously as he starts to walk away.
"My will."
"Hey, make sure you spell my name right." I call after him. He doesn't acknowledge me, much like my assistant who chooses this moment to walk past me with a stack of folders balanced precariously in her arms. I could help her but…well, she didn't even say 'good morning' to me.
I turn around and regard CJ's closed door for a few moments. Yeah, she's pissed. But it's not my fault…it's Leo's. Of course, she's not going to see it that way. In fact, she's going to look at it like Toby and I were pulling rank. Which, in hindsight, I guess we did.
"Oh Donnatella?" I call as I walk into the bullpen, where my faithful assistant is busy scribbling something down on a yellow-sticky note.
"Good morning to you too, Josh. How are you? I'm fine, thanks so much for asking."
"You know Donna, this sarcastic thing you've got going?"
"Yeah?" She asks without looking up.
"It's not an attractive feature on you. Work on it, will you?"
"Bite me, Josh."
There's a joke in there, but I decide to leave it alone, because I've got other, more pressing matters to concern myself with. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to know what CJ's favorite flowers are, would you?"
"CJ doesn't like flowers."
"What do you mean she doesn't like flowers?"
"She doesn't like flowers, Josh. She thinks flowers are for funerals."
"But all women like flowers…"
"Oh for Pete's sake. The woman doesn't like them, get over it."
"Wow." I pause for a moment and then shake my head. "Well, now I'm out of ideas. Um, what do you think I should get her?"
"Well, I guess my answer will depend on what you did to piss her off this time." Donna replies, finally looking up from her notes and meeting my gaze.
"I just…hey, what do you mean 'this time'?"
Donna just rolls her eyes at me and places her hands on her hips. "On second thought, you don't deserve my help."
"Whatever. Hey, everyone likes chocolate. Maybe I'll get her some really expensive—"
"That's a really good idea Josh."
"It is?" I ask hopefully. If Donna says it's ok, then I trust her.
"Yeah, it's a great idea if you want a box of chocolates shoved up your—"
"Thank you very much Donna. I always appreciate our time together." I interrupt before she can get any further. She's snickering openly and it's, quite frankly, very annoying. I turn on my heel and start walking towards my office. Maybe I can find something on the Internet…
"Hey Josh?"
"Sup?"
"My favorite flowers are tulips."
"Who asked you?"
And now I'm snickering because although I don't turn around, I know she has that crest-fallen look on her face. Put that in your pipe and smoke it, Donna Moss.
+++++++++++++++++++
"CJ?"
"Yeah?"
"They're waiting for you in the Roosevelt Room." Carol reminds me as she sticks her head around the corner. Her gaze is drawn to the hole in the wall, and she tries to hide her smile.
I stand up and smooth out the imaginary wrinkles in my skirt. "Remind me why I haven't quit yet?"
"Because this place would fall apart without you."
"Oh, yes. Good reason." I stride down the hallway with Carol at my heels, tugging at the sleeves of my suit jacket, feeling like a lamb being sent into the Lion's Den. "Carol, if I'm not out of there in fifteen minutes, you come in and interrupt me. I mean it, fifteen minutes.""
"Interrupt you, how?"
I stop in my tracks and face my assistant. "I don't know…just be vague and say that there's something that needs my immediate attention. They can't argue with that, can they?" Carol tosses me a dubious look, and I scrunch my lip to the side. "Ok, they can argue with that, but I'm not going to wait around long enough for them to do it."
I stop before the door and take a deep breath. I'm going to kill Josh. I really am. And then, I'm going in search of his big, bald friend, who by the way has been on my shit list for quite a while now. I open the door and walk in with a confidence I don't really feel.
"Good morning ladies. Welcome to the White House."
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
OK, flowers are out of the question. And according to Donna, so is chocolate. What the hell? I guess it really shouldn't surprise me that Claudia Jean would be complicated, but, damn, it doesn't make my life any easier. I mean, should I really apologize to her anyway? I'm higher on the ladder than she is, and I delegated. Is there anything wrong with that? No.
Then why do I feel like shit? Maybe it's because she had this haunted look in her eyes, and I ignored it. I'm her friend, but I just brushed it aside because I needed—wanted—her to take this meeting. In the back of my mind, I know that she'll forgive me in a day or two, because she always does.
She'll make a joke or two about her poor, sainted, put-upon self, and we'll laugh, and then she'll punch me in the arm, or pinch me, and I'll know that I'm forgiven. We have this routine, she and I. I've grown accustomed to it, taken it for granted. Maybe that's why I'm at this stupid web page, looking through an assortment of stuffed-animals and mushy cards, trying to find something adequate enough to express my apologies.
"Josh?"
"Sam! Sam, my man, I need your help." I look up and meet the eyes of my other best friend.
"Ok." He answers simply as he comes into my office and perches on the edge of my desk.
"When you think of CJ, what comes to mind?"
"What did you do now?"
"What makes you think I did anything?"
"Because when I went to CJ's office to talk to her, there was a big hole in the wall."
"There was a hole in the wall?" I ask in amazement. "Damn, I think I'm in trouble."
"Big trouble." Sam agrees.
"Ok, so what should I get her…you know, to get back into her good graces?"
"Your head on a platter, perhaps?" Sam suggests, smiling in amusement.
"Are you gonna help me or not?"
Sam cocks his head to the side as if he is seriously considering it, and I throw a pencil at him. He throws his hands up. "All right, calm down. Let's think about this logically."
"Yes."
"CJ doesn't like flowers, so those are definitely out of the question."
"How did you know?" I ask, not willing to believe that Sam knew this about Claudia Jean, when I didn't.
"That CJ doesn't like flowers?"
"Yeah."
"Oh come on, Josh. Everyone knows that."
I didn't, but I don't tell him so. "OK, so what else do we got?"
"She doesn't strike me as the stuffed-animal type…and don't even think about getting her something as trivial as candy."
"I happen to think that a nice box of chocolates is a very thoughtful gift." I say defensively.
Sam clears his throat and smiles. "If you say so."
"No flowers, candy or cute teddy-bears. What's left?"
"How about a piece of jewelry? Maybe a pair of earrings, or a bracelet."
"No way."
"Why not?"
"Because jewelry is something you give a girlfriend, or a wife, or a mother. And CJ is none of the above."
"Yet." Sam mutters, but I pretend I don't hear him because he's going in a direction that I'm not sure I can handle.
"Anything else, oh friend-of-friends?"
"Sorry…I don't have much experience in this department."
I sigh in frustration and lean back in my chair. It's only ten in the morning, and already I feel like I've been there for eight hours. Maybe I should just forget this gift thing all together. It's not like she'll be expecting it…which of course is why I want to do it. Damn.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I think I know how all those people felt during the Spanish Inquisition. I mean, I'm not about to be burned at the stake for heresy, but, well, you know what I mean. I'm sitting across the table from three very professional-looking women and all I can think of is the Spanish Inquisition. This isn't going very well.
"Ms. Cregg, we were told that we would be meeting with Josh Lyman."
"I'm sorry, Ms--?"
The young woman looks at her companions and they exchange a commiserating glance. Great. I guess it would be nice if Josh had given me the names of the women I was meeting, but then again, I didn't ask. I should have prepared, but I was too busy trying to get my emotions under control. So now I look like a fool…which isn't a new sensation, believe me, but I've also managed to insult these people. Good going Claudia.
"Clark. Jenna Clark, and these are my associates, Anna Moreno and Tammy Nguyen."
I clear my throat and absently play with the cuff of my jacket. "I apologize Ms. Clark, but Josh Lyman was called away to an important meeting at the last minute. I was asked to come here instead."
Jenna observes me silently for a moment, and I can only imagine what's going through her mind. "Look Ms. Cregg, we're here to discuss a very sensitive matter…and quite frankly, we'd rather not do it with you."
I look to her companions who are busy studying their hands and I'm suddenly aware of the dread settling in my belly. I'm speechless for a moment, and worried because they won't meet my eyes. "If this is about the work I did with Emily's List, then let me assure you that my own personal views don't—"
"That isn't the reason."
"OK, then…I don't understand."
"The reason we don't want to discuss this sensitive issue with you is because…well, we're here about you."
"About me?"
Jenna sighs, and nervously draws circles on the table with her fingernail. "Please Ms. Cregg. We'd rather talk to—"
"Well, I'm all you've got Ms. Clark, so whatever it is, you're going to have to tell me…to my face."
There is a steel edge to my voice, and the women in the room recognize it. They glance at each other again, and seem to come to a consensus, because Jenna meets my unwavering gaze and begins.
"The Feminists for Life was established in 1972. The organization is dedicated to education about and prevention of abortion, capital punishment and euthanasia." After I nod my head, she continues. "Recently, there's been a split…some members thought our methods were too…docile. More specifically, they think we should be more vocal in our condemnation of abortion."
"I understand…but what does this have to do with me?"
Jenna clears her throat and pushes a large manila envelope I hadn't even realized she possessed across the table until I grasp it with my fingers. "We respect President Bartlet…he's always been a champion of women's rights, and has a better track record than any of his predecessors in supporting legislation for equality."
I'm barely listening to her as I begin to pull out what appears to be a stack of glossy photographs. I realize that my hands are shaking and I pray that they don't notice. OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod.
I can't swallow. I can't breathe. And I can't tear my gaze away from the picture in front of me. I still have nightmares of this day. About once a month, I wake up soaked in my own sweat, shaking and sobbing into my pillow. I've never told anyone. Not even my Priest in confession. No one. And now these women who hate me know. And by this time tomorrow, the Public is going to know as well. And all I want to do is curl up and die, because I don't have the strength to fight this…I'm not sure I'd want to, even if I could.
"We want to make something clear to you Ms. Cregg…we aren't responsible for this. We just wanted to give you a heads up…give you some time to prepare."
I only vaguely hear her apology…I think it's an apology anyway. I can feel their sympathy even though I don't look up because I'm trying to concentrate on regulating my breathing. Panic wells up in my chest and it takes all I have not to run from the room, hell from the West Wing itself. I can't break down in front of these women…I won't.
"Where…how…why?" Is all I can manage to get out, although in my head it sounded far more intelligent.
"As I explained earlier, there is a more radical faction of our organization. We don't know how they obtained the photographs, but we do know that they are probably being delivered to The Washington Post as we speak."
The Washington Post? Oh God, Danny. How am I ever going to be able to face him again? How am I ever going to be able to face anyone again? I nod my head, and the panic in my chest is slowly being replaced by numbness. There's nothing I can do. My world is falling apart, and I have absolutely no control.
"They want me to resign?" I ask in a low voice, although I already know the answer.
"That is their goal, yes."
I don't say anything. I know I'm making the women uncomfortable, but at this point, I really don't give a damn. I start to sift through the pictures, feeling my heart constrict with each one. This is bad…this is very bad. I need to leave. I need to get up and just walk out of the room because I don't know what's worse; the fact that these women were the ones to warn me, or the fact that their eyes are filled with pity as they watch me now. In the end however, I just sit there because I don't trust my legs to support me.
"I am sorry Ms. Cregg. We don't encourage this type of personal attack, and we'll say as much if asked. I um, I think we'll show ourselves out."
I don't acknowledge Jenna Clark, or the others as they get to their feet and exit the room.
I don't acknowledge Carol as she reminds me that I have a press briefing in thirty minutes from the doorway.
I don't acknowledge the bustle in the hallway, or the flickering light overhead that is on the verge of dying out all together.
I can't think about anything except the fact that by this time tomorrow, I will be destroyed.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++
In hindsight, I guess I should have seen this coming. She's a strong woman, but I think we all tend to forget that she's still human. That she still has her breaking points. She's the one we run to when our problems are threatening to overwhelm us. We go to her because we know she'll fix them. That's what she does. But as I stand in the doorway of her office, I wonder whom she goes to when she has problems. And I hate myself for not knowing the answer.
I can't forget the look on Carol's face when she ran into my office moments earlier. Frightened. Distraught. Confused. None of these adjectives seem appropriate right now, but I don't know how else to describe it. She only managed to utter two words before I was out of my chair, and down the hallway. CJ's leaving.
I know this for a fact now because I am silently observing her filling a small cardboard box with her belongings. Her movements are slow and resigned. She looks tired. Defeated. I don't know what happened in that room, but whatever it was, it has turned this strong, vibrant woman into a walking zombie. She doesn't even know I'm there.
"CJ?"
She jumps at the sound of my voice, and seems reluctant to meet my eyes. But she finally does, and what I see there nearly breaks my heart. "Toby…not right now. I need you to get me an audience with Leo and The President."
"Why?"
"Do you want what's best for this administration?"
I pause because she has caught me off-guard with her question. "Of course I do."
"Then please do as I ask and get me ten minutes alone with Leo and the President."
"Can I tell them what it is in regards to?"
CJ closes her eyes briefly and ducks her head. When she finally looks up again, her face is devoid of emotion and I don't think I've ever been more scared of anything in my life. "Just tell them it's important, ok?"
I nod my head and leave, because I don't know what else to do. This friendship I have with CJ has always been a bit…well, convoluted. I'm torn between demanding answers and pulling her into my arms for comfort. In the end I do neither because I'm scared of the consequences. When did this happen? This trepidation when it comes to all things CJ? I can't answer that question and this scares me too.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++
Above all else, I remember the pain. Not the physical pain. That was the easy part. No, what I can't seem to get over is the unremitting ache in my heart as I sat in the waiting room, clutching the armrest until my knuckles were white. I kept telling myself that it wasn't too late, that I could walk out of the doors just as easily as I had entered.
"CJ?"
I realize now that I'm not in the clinic waiting room. I'm just outside the Oval Office, waiting to meet with The President and his Chief of Staff. But the ache is still there. The ache in fact, has never left. I've just become good at ignoring it.
I don't say anything as I get up from my seat and pick up the damning evidence, following Leo into the office. This may be the hardest thing I've ever had to do, and I can't reconcile myself to the fact that I'm about to disappoint two men who I've tried very hard to prove myself to.
"Good Morning, Sir." I greet politely as I come to stand before Bartlet's desk. He looks at me over his glasses, and I can see the concern in his gaze.
"Mornin' CJ. Toby told us you had something important to discuss?"
"Yes sir. I have just concluded a meeting with three representatives from Feminists For Life."
"What? I assigned that meeting to Josh." Leo grumbles from beside me.
"Yes, well he delegated to me…and quite frankly, I'm glad that he did. You see…" I trail off because I don't think I can go through with this.
Both men wait patiently while I try to gather my thoughts. And then I decide that the easiest way to do this is to let them see for themselves. I pull out the stack of photographs and place them on the President's desk. "I um, I think you should take a look at these."
Leo glances at me curiously before he walks behind the President's desk to stand over his shoulder. I dip my head and close my eyes because I can already feel the tears welling, and I'll be damned if I'm going to start sobbing like a little girl in the Oval Office. And that's exactly what I feel like, a little girl.
I can't help but being reminded of the time I was six, maybe seven, and I stood in my father's study, awaiting punishment. My brothers and I had been digging around in the attic because it was summer, and it was raining, and we were bored. We discovered some old photos of my mother and father when they first married, a box full of baby clothes, and some old sporting equipment.
My brothers were satisfied with the leather mitts and baseball they found, but I wanted more. So I continued to dig through the chests and boxes, carefully avoiding the spiders nesting there, until I came upon it. I was mesmerized by the fake jewels, and how it shined even though it was covered in dust.
My brothers laughed as I placed the tiara on my head and started prancing around the attic, waving as I'd seen all the beauty queens do in the parades. It was heavy on my head, but I felt beautiful with it. Beautiful and invincible. I should have been more careful, should've put it back in the chest with the glamorous dresses my mother used to wear in the pageants, but I didn't.
No, instead, I continued my 'victory walk' and tripped over one of the boxes. The tiara flew off my head, and shattered into three pieces as it hit the floor. I couldn't move because all I could think of is how angry my mother was going to be. My brothers didn't move either. And then my mother was in the attic, beckoned by the crash. And the look in her eyes was enough to make me want to find a hole to crawl into.
"Claudia Jean, go downstairs and wait for me in the study."
I must have waited alone in that room for an hour, anxiously anticipating my punishment. When she finally did come in, she sat in the leather armchair behind the imposing desk and observed me silently. I stood before her and nervously picked at the fringes of my cut-off shorts, praying that she would say something, anything.
She continued to regard me coolly and my legs were getting tired because I'd been standing for an hour, but I knew better than to sit down. She'd take that as a personal affront since I hadn't been instructed to do so and I was already in enough trouble. I don't remember how much longer I stood there waiting for her to speak, but in my youthful mind, it seemed like eons.
When she finally did address me, her words were lined with ice and I winced.
"You had no right to wear that crown Claudia Jean. You didn't earn it."
"I'm sorry."
"What do you think your punishment should be?"
"I don't know."
I never looked at her through the entire exchange because she had a way of penetrating my defenses, of making me cry. And I knew she despised me because of it. Viewed it as weakness. She finally stood up and extended her hand. I looked up from the intent study of my well-worn sneakers and gasped.
"You will wear this for the rest of the week. And I mean at all times. You may take it off when you go to bed."
I shook my head in horror. The once-beautiful tiara, held together now by three strips of duct tape, had been clutched tightly in her hands. She'd placed it roughly on my head and I remember hissing in pain as the combs dug into my scalp. She could be extremely cruel, my mother. My father wasn't there to save me this time because he was traveling on business. I knew instinctively that he never would have allowed it.
He never would have forced me out of the house, amidst the taunts of the neighborhood children. He never would have made me carry that hideous thing on my head when I complained of neck pain. He never would have been so angry over something as trivial as a broken tiara that hadn't been removed from the chest in over ten years.
"CJ?"
Oh Dear God.
"Yes sir?"
I still can't look up because I don't want to see the disgust on their faces. I couldn't bear it…not right now. But I can hear the confusion and disbelief in the President's tone, and that's almost enough to send me into hysterics.
"When?"
"Five years ago."
The silence in the room is suffocating. I'd rather they interrogate me, ask embarrassing questions, demand an explanation. Anything but this unforgiving silence. I'm not thinking rationally right now so I don't take into consideration that this is an extremely awkward situation for them. Instead, I take it as condemnation. And my heart breaks all over again.
"Sir, I want to apologize for the PR nightmare this is going to cause. I didn't think…I didn't think anyone knew about this." He doesn't say anything, and so I continue. "I think you should consider Simon Glazer as Press secretary. All my deputies are good, but Simon's more at ease with the Press than the rest. He'll handle this for you."
"We already have a Press Secretary." Leo speaks for the first time.
"As of," I glance at my watch, "Eleven-fifteen you don't."
"Look CJ—"
"No. This is my decision. The best thing for this administration is—"
"The best thing for this administration is for you to remain here as the Press Secretary. We lived through my alcoholism, and Sam's…friend. And damn it, CJ we'll get through this too. Personal attacks on the staff aren't uncommon."
I smile humorlessly and shake my head. "I'm not staying Leo."
Out of the corner of my eye I see Leo turn to the President, willing him to speak, to try and change my mind. But he doesn't, and this is how I know I've made the right decision. "I um, I'd like to tell the guys personally if you don't mind."
"For the love of God CJ!" Leo explodes. He moves towards me, but I back away. He stops short and leans on the President's desk. "You don't have to do this…we understand, and we support you."
"Please Leo."
"Why are you doing this?" He asks softly.
I finally meet his eyes and feel the anger at the injustice of it all run through my veins. "I'm doing this because in a few hours, the entire free world is going to know about a very personal and private moment in my life. And I don't know how I'm going to face my family and friends, let alone a room full of reporters. I'm doing this because I'd rather resign than put you in a position where you have to fire me. I'm doing this because no matter what you say, you can't understand." My voice has steadily risen in pitch and my chest is heaving with indignation. I take a deep breath and turn to the President.
"May I be excused, Sir?"
His face is unreadable and his hands are clasped together on top of the pictures. He clears his throat and dips his head. "Yes."
He says it so softly that I have to strain to hear him. His face may be unreadable, but his body language comes through loud and clear. Disappointment. Confusion. Frustration. Anger. Take your pick, because it's there…and I'm responsible. I swallow hard and nod.
"Thank you, Sir."
+++++++++++++++++
TBC