PART 2
He's a great man, my father. He celebrated his seventieth birthday this past March and his mind is still as sharp as it was when he was thirty-five, and the hero in my world. Actually, he's still the hero in my world. It's funny, but I'm forty years old, and I'm a daddy's girl.
My father is the one who greeted me with a kiss each morning as I came down for breakfast. He's the one who placed band-aides on my knees and elbows when I fell off my bike. He's the one who comforted me with milk and Oreo's when I came home from the Spring dance in tears because I'd stood against the wall the entire night. He's the one who told me I was beautiful and made me believe it, too.
I remember the tears in his eyes the day I told him I'd been accepted into Berkeley. He wasn't crying because he was happy, he was crying because he thought Berkeley was too far from home. The man thought a thirty-minute drive north was too far. And I loved him for it.
I talk to my father once a week, sometimes twice when things get to be too much at the office. I don't visit him as often as I'd like, but he understands, or says he does anyway. And he never fails to tell me how proud he is of me. How he wishes my mother, God rest her soul, were still alive so she could see me. How much he loves me.
And I start crying now in the darkened church because after tomorrow, I don't think he'll ever be able to say those words to me again. My father is a devout Catholic. He wakes up every morning at four so that he can make it to five-thirty daily mass. He serves as a Eucharistic minister on Sundays and is active in the parish fund-raisers. And for the life of me, I don't know how he's going to be able to face his fellow congregates come Sunday morning.
I'm sitting in an empty church on a Monday afternoon because it reminds me of my father. The flickering devotional candles, the lingering smell of incense and the hardwood pew comfort me, as they always have. I bow my head and send a silent prayer to God, Jesus, Mary and all the Saints. I pray for strength. I pray for wisdom. And I pray for forgiveness.
I'm so sorry, Daddy.
It's funny how your life can change in an instant. Not ha-ha funny, more like weird funny. Ironic funny. Or maybe it's not funny at all. I don't know anymore.
I'm standing in CJ's office, my eyes roving in quick succession over the box on her desk, the hole in the wall, and Simon Glazer on the TV screen doing the afternoon briefing. Was it only a minute ago that Donna barged into my office with this new development? CJ leaving? I laughed, I actually laughed, because no matter how many times she pretends to quit, I know that Claudia Jean could never walk away from what she does. It isn't in her.
I was wrong. God was I wrong. I'm aware that someone is behind me, but I don't turn around because I know it isn't her. She has this presence, this overwhelming, beautiful presence, and…whoa, where in the hell did that just come from?
"Where's CJ?"
Well now, there's a voice I haven't heard in a long time. Come to think of it, I haven't seen him in a while either. I remember how it used to be…when I couldn't walk past CJ's office without seeing him in the doorway, trying to charm her. Things changed between them a few months ago though. She misses him, even if she won't admit it. Or maybe it's just the attention she misses.
Someone, I think it may have been Donna, told me he's been seeing a woman from the State Department for a few months now. I don't know if it's serious or not, but I do know that Mister Daniel Concannon, reporter extraordinaire, has blown any chance he may have had with CJ. And I'm not even going to think about why this makes me happy.
I turn around now because there's this urgency in his tone that I've never heard before. He looks a little more fit than the last time I saw him, and I realize that he's taken more care in his appearance. Yep, this thing with that State Department woman is definitely serious.
"I don't know." I answer honestly.
He sighs and looks down at his feet for a moment. There's an agitated air about him, and for one moment I think maybe he knows. He knows that CJ's leaving…and then I think maybe he knows why.
"Well do me a favor, will ya? When she gets in—"
"What do you know?" I interrupt.
"Pardon me?"
"What do you know?" I repeat more slowly, as if I were talking to a third grader and not the Senior White House Correspondent.
"Well, I know a lot of things, Josh. You want to specify?"
I take a step towards him and I lower my voice. "Look Danny, don't play games with me. If you know anything about—"
"What in the hell's going on in here?"
I visibly cringe as Toby storms into the office, slamming his shoulder into Danny in the process. Here we go. These two men don't like each other, and have never tried to conceal the fact. And I'm not exactly suited to the role of peacemaker…where in the hell is CJ when you need her? Well, I guess if we knew that, we wouldn't all be congregated in front of her desk right now.
"Nothing's going on…we're just waiting for CJ." I answer quietly.
"You aren't supposed to be back here Danny…shouldn't you be in the briefing room right now?" Toby asks irritably.
"I'm working on another story…and I need to talk to CJ about it, all right?"
"Well, you see she's not here. Come back later."
"Toby…"
"I said come back later, Concannon."
The tension in the room is palpable, and now I am absolutely convinced that Danny knows something. This 'new story', well, it's got him quite worked up. He's an easy-going guy, takes things in stride and all that jazz, but right now, he's standing toe-to-toe with Toby Ziegler of all people, and he's not backing down. I guess I should try to do something to diffuse the situation, but I refuse to get in the middle of this one.
"Well, if I would've known you all were throwing a party in my office, I would have brought some refreshments."
"CJ!" We all exclaim at the same time. She comes breezing into the room, and sets her purse down on the desk. Her expression is neutral, but there's something in her eyes, something dangerous.
"You and you," She begins pointing to Toby and I, "Meet me in the Mural room in fifteen minutes, and bring Spanky."
"But CJ," I begin, only to be quelled by her look.
"Fifteen minutes Josh. Now get out, and shut the door behind you. Danny and I have some things to discuss."
Toby lingers for only a moment before following me out of the room. I expect there to be a look of triumph on Danny's face because, well he's a guy, and guys have been known to gloat in times of victory. However, he merely nods to me as I walk past, and I swear I see an apology written across his features. Oh God Claudia Jean. What have you done?
She has this habit of wringing her hands when she's nervous. Her beautiful hands… she's got these long tapered fingers and although her nails are short, they're well manicured. And her skin…I'm a writer and I can't begin to think of any adequate adjectives to describe the softness of her hands.
I once asked her what kind of lotion she used, but she'd laughed off the question and shut the door in my face. I don't know why I'm thinking of her hands now. Maybe it's because for once, she's hiding them under her desk, and her face is too impassive for me to read. If I could just see her hands…
"Let's cut right to the chase, shall we? I know the pictures were delivered to your paper…and I know that given your seniority, you're the reporter in charge of the story."
"Yes."
"I'm not giving any interviews. I'm not talking about this to you, or anyone else." She says quietly.
"Well, to be quite honest I don't know if I'm going to be working at the Post after today, so you don't have to worry about me looking for an interview." I answer angrily because I'm offended that she thinks the only reason I'm here is to get a story. She's my friend…I want to protect her.
"What are you talking about, Danny?" She asks me in this weary voice that I've only heard one other time…after the shooting.
"I don't work for a tabloid, CJ. I'm not going to be a party to this…this…"
"It's the truth Danny. You're not printing anything unfounded."
"CJ—"
"Look Danny. Don't do me any favors, all right? You love your job, and you're great at it. Don't throw that away because you think it's going to change anything. They're going to print this story with or without you, and then everyone else is going to pick it up the day after. It's inevitable."
"I don't think you understand the consequences, CJ."
"You don't…you don't think I understand the consequences? Who do you think you're talking to? I know what's going to happen to me…to my name…to my reputation. Believe me."
"Then why are you asking me to help them destroy you?"
CJ gazes at me for a moment and I see the affection in her eyes. "Because I'm selfish…my motives aren't entirely altruistic Danny. People are going to step forward after this, you know? And they're going to make up stories about me, and everyone will believe them. But you know me Danny…you're my friend."
"So you want me to stay on to defend you?"
"No. I want you to stay on because you won't print lies."
I sigh because I don't know what else to say. She's staring intently into my eyes, and I see the plea in them. CJ's a proud woman, has always been able to hold her own amongst these men without asking for help, but now she needs it, and she's coming to me. And I don't want to fail her. But in the end I will, because there's no way I can protect her from this.
"Danny, if you're not comfortable—"
"CJ, I would go to the ends of the Earth for you…you know that."
She seems startled by the vulnerability in my voice, and she ducks her head. It doesn't matter that I've been seeing another woman for two months now, that I keep a toothbrush and shaving kit at her apartment, that her robe and hairbrush are at mine. No, none of that matters because I'm still in love with CJ Cregg, and suspect I always will be.
"Danny." Her voice is choked with tears and I feel guilty for putting them there.
I stand up now because I know she doesn't want me to see her like this, doesn't want me to think her weak, even though I never could. "CJ, if you ever want to talk…if you ever need anything…call me, please."
I know she won't, even as she nods her head. I can only hope that Toby, Josh, and Sam will be able to penetrate her defenses, will be strong enough to fight for her even when she tells them to go to hell. I close the door behind me and avoid Carol's eyes as I walk down the hallway. I feel tired already, and the battle hasn't even begun.
I used to be young once, and idealistic. CJ tells me I'm still idealistic…that I try to hide it behind acidic criticism and gruff responses, but that she can see through all that because she's known me so long. And she's right. I can't begin to tell you how much I hate that. Not that she's right, but that she can see beyond this well-crafted exterior I've developed over the years to protect myself.
I wasn't always like this, guarded and jaded. But decades of working in politics will do that to a person. Make him erect walls so that others can't see just how much he is affected by losses and victories; how much he wants to believe in the basic goodness of humankind; and how he cries when someone he trusts has disappointed him.
Sam is staring off into space, looking lost in the big armchair in the corner, Josh is pacing the length of the room, running his hands nervously through his hair so that it stands on end, and I'm resting my forehead on two fingers as I lean on the arm of the small couch when CJ finally enters the room. We've been waiting for ten minutes now, but it seems like so much more time has passed.
Josh has stopped in mid-stride, and seems unsure of what to do next. CJ smiles at him reassuringly as she walks past, and places her hand briefly on his arm. She sits next to me on the couch, close enough so that our shoulders touch, and I can see she's been crying. I'm thinking of possible ways to kill a certain red-haired reporter, when she begins to speak.
"Thank you all for coming. I was going to talk to each of you privately, but I don't think I could handle it, so I'm going to tell you all together."
"What's going on, CJ?" Josh asks as he leans against the wall.
She removes her glasses, and pinches the bridge of her nose. She seems reluctant to start, so I take one of her hands in my own, and squeeze it gently. CJ seems surprised at this simple display of affection, but it isn't long before she's gripping my hand as if her life depended on it. "I don't want you guys to think that I was keeping this a secret because I didn't trust you…you've been like a family to me, and well…I just wanted you to know that. I honestly didn't think this would ever become an issue."
"What is it?" I ask quietly, because she has fallen silent again.
She closes her eyes briefly and leans her head on the back of the couch. "God I don't even know how to begin." CJ sighs and a few more seconds pass before she pulls herself into an upright position. "Five years ago while working for Emily's List, I met a man…and I fell in love with him. I won't go into specifics because they aren't important, but well, after five months, I found out that he was married, and had three children."
I swear under my breath because as she looks up, there is a tremendous amount of pain and heartache in her large eyes, and I'd like to break the neck of the man who put it there. Josh has moved from his place on the wall, until he's standing beside her, and places his hand on her shoulder. She looks at him gratefully and takes a deep breath before continuing.
"Needless to say, I wasn't going to continue seeing him…not when he was still married and had no intention of leaving his situation. It suited him politically, and he wasn't willing to sacrifice that for me…and I wasn't willing to sacrifice my self-respect for him, and so we parted ways."
I try to search my memory for any clues as to who the man might be. CJ and I used to call each other every week, but during that period, it had dwindled down to once every few months because I was trying to save my marriage to Andi. I of course kept abreast of CJ through mutual friends, but no one ever mentioned a significant other, and I wonder if she ever told anyone. If he was married, he probably fed her a line about wanting to keep CJ all to himself, so that their romance could remain a secret. If I ever find out who the scum was, so help me God…
"And then…about three weeks later I went to the doctor because I thought I had the flu." She laughs now in that self-deprecating way she has, and I want her to stop because it sounds bitter. "I was so stupid…it wasn't the flu, I was pregnant."
Sam shifts a bit disconcertedly in his seat, and Josh has grown considerably pale. I don't know what I look like, but if it's close to the way I feel…God save us. CJ was pregnant and she never told me. I feel completely and utterly betrayed.
We used to tell each other everything…I mean there was nothing that we didn't share. She knew about the fertility drugs Andi was taking to get pregnant, knew about the miscarriages, and knew about our finally just giving up because it was too heart-breaking. But never once did she tell me she was pregnant. I guess she didn't trust me as much as I trusted her, and oh, how that hurts.
I'm afraid to meet her eyes because of what she might see there, so I study our joined hands while she continues. "I…I didn't know what to do. I mean, Mr. Wrong was out of the picture…had never really been a part of it. I was living out of hotels and buses; I didn't even have my own apartment…all of my things were in storage. I didn't have room for a baby in my life."
"Did you…did you give it up for adoption, CJ?" Sam asks as he leans forward on his knees.
A tear falls on my hand, but I don't know if it's mine, or CJ's, and I don't care enough to find out. I'm aware that her voice is shaking now, and the shoulder next to mine is trembling, but I can't bring myself to look at her, to speak a single word of comfort, to squeeze her hand reassuringly. Nothing.
"I couldn't bear the thought of someone else raising my child. I mean, what if they weren't good parents, what if they couldn't love him or her as much as they should? I couldn't do it. And so I found the name of a doctor and—"
She's sobbing now, and I pull my hand away from hers in disgust. She knew…she knew how hard Andi and I were trying to have children, knew how much we longed to be parents. She knew this and still…I get up from the couch because I'm not sure I can handle sitting next to her right now, not even sure I can look at her.
I walk over to the wall and lean my forehead against the brilliant colors, trying to block the sound of her tears. There's a hand on my shoulder and I can identify the grip as Sam's. He's speaking to me quietly, but I can't make out what he's saying because there's this pounding in my ears, and for one minute, I think I'm going to faint.
I don't know how much time passes before I gain control of myself, but when I finally have the strength to turn around, CJ's cries have subsided, and she's looking at her hands, folded now in her lap. Sam is still beside me, but I notice that Josh has moved across the room and is gazing intently at his shoes.
When CJ speaks again, her voice is clear, and there's a coldness lacing her words. "I thought I should tell you all because tomorrow morning, The Washington Post is going to be running a story, along with some photographs of me entering and leaving the clinic. That's the reason the representatives from Feminists For Life were here today…they wanted to warn us."
No one says anything for a few moments and CJ sighs audibly in what can only be described as sorrow. "Simon Glazer is going to be taking over the duties of Press Secretary, so you all should meet with him sometime today to go over what he's going to say."
She stands up and moves towards the door, but before her hand touches the knob, she turns back and meets my gaze. "I'm sorry."
I can't offer her the forgiveness she's so desperately seeking because I don't have it in me. She nods her head almost imperceptibly in understanding and walks out the door. I'm a hypocrite. I've always believed in a woman's right to choose, I've gone to rallies and protests, hell, I've even spent a night in jail for the cause. I don't know why I'm so angry and hurt. I only know that I am, and the fact that I can't explain the origin of these emotions angers me even more.
I've never been a drinker. I mean, I'll have a beer or a grasshopper, which is a perfectly respectable drink by the way, every once in a while, but I've never used alcohol to escape from my problems. That's the coward's way, and call me what you will, but Claudia Jean is not a coward.
At least I didn't used to be. Now though, I'm absently fingering the label on the bottle of tequila Carol had waiting in my office when I returned from my father's birthday a few months ago, imagining how comforting the golden liquid would be burning its way down my throat. And the numbness and lightness that would follow…I really need that right now.
He wonders why I never told him. He feels betrayed, deceived, letdown. Three words that all mean the same thing…do they really? I don't know anymore. He doesn't understand…doesn't know that I was sparing him. Has he forgotten how often he used to call me, his voice slurred with scotch and exhaustion? I had to cradle the phone, when I really wanted to cradle him, as he sobbed about Andi's infertility, his feelings of inadequacy as a husband, and the fear that one day she'd leave him because they'd run out of things to talk about.
I'm not that cruel.
And anyway, we'd stopped talking by then. He'd told me it was because he was busy with one campaign or another, but I know the real reason. Andi had never been entirely comfortable with our relationship…not quite lovers, but so much more than friends. Toby loved Andrea Wyatt, still does, and so he chose her over me. I don't blame him. God, I'm a crummy liar. I do blame him. It's been six years and I'm still bitter. I've never told him that either. Add that to the list of 'Things Claudia Jean Has Failed to Disclose to Toby'. It's getting to be quite long actually.
He thinks I owe him…thinks every secret I have belongs to him. What an egotist. I don't know why he would even expect it after all these years. We've both changed too much. He's closed himself off since the divorce and sometimes I feel like he's a completely different person. And I…well, I'm not a doormat anymore. But every now and then, when he smiles or brushes against my shoulder as we walk down the hallway, I see a bit of the old Toby. And who am I kidding? I still have doormat tendencies. Especially where my colleagues are concerned.
Which brings me to Sam and Josh. I guess in the back of my mind I had been expecting Toby's anger, but never the silent condemnation of the men I've grown so close to over the past few years. I've still got quite a bit of learning left to do I suppose.
Sam just had this look of disbelief on his face, like he didn't think it possible. I guess I'm glad that Toby broke down in that room because it gave his deputy something to focus on. Poor Spanky couldn't even look at me. He's been going through a lot lately…his father's affair, Toby's drop-in, my…problem. He's never worshipped me as he has these two men, but I'm fairly certain this hurts just the same. I idly wonder how much more he can take. Oh don't get me wrong, Samuel Seaborn is strong, has carried us through some pretty tough situations, but I fear for his idealism, his care-free smile and the way his eyes shine when he's excited. I don't want him to lose any of this.
Joshua. Josh Lyman. I've been thinking about him a lot lately. Probably more than I should, but let's be honest, I haven't had any action in quite some time so I'm sure these hormone-induced images of him in my mind don't mean anything. But it's not all sexual…I find myself wandering into his office at the end of a particularly hard day because I know that just being with him makes me happy. Sometimes we talk, sometimes we sit on his couch in silence and watch ESPN, and on very rare occasions we go out to dinner because neither of us remembered to eat during the day.
He's one of the best friends I've ever had. He can make me laugh without even trying, can manage to brighten an otherwise dismal day by simply flashing his dimples, can make me forget about everything else as he spins one of his Capital Hill tales.
Of course, this also means he can make me cry without even trying, can manage to send my day straight to hell with his thoughtlessness, can make me so angry I throw things.
But I love him.
As a friend, mind you. And maybe a little more, but I'm not prepared to start turning that over in my mind. Don't I have enough to worry about already?
He couldn't, or wouldn't, look at me either though. And it hurts.
And now this emptiness is being replaced with anger at their abandonment. Anger is good, anger is an old friend of mine, anger is better than the numbness that occupied its space just a few minutes before. How dare they judge me? These men who sing the praises of women like Maria Cantwell, Dianne Feinstein and Carol Moseley, but can't even look me in the eye when I share a bit of my own life with them. Maybe none of them realized just how much one kind word, or look, would have meant to me. Or maybe they did, but couldn't look past their own pain to diminish mine.
In either case, they failed me.
I've been hiding in my office for the past three hours because the truth of the matter is, I'm scared of running into Toby, or Sam or Josh. So, I guess this does make me a coward, but I place the Tequila in the box, which is already filled near to capacity with framed pictures, degrees, awards and other things I've managed to accumulate over the past two years, by my feet anyway. You see, I've never been a drinker.