Part III
Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size
But when I start to tell them,
They think I'm telling lies.
I say, It's in the reach of my arms,
The span of my hips,
The stride of my step,
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
The human mind is a mystery. I have trouble memorizing the pin number to my ATM card, can't for the life of me remember the name of my Ethics professor at Harvard, and couldn't tell you when my mother's birthday is without looking at a calendar.
But I know every single line to a Maya Angelou poem. I, Josh Lyman, can still recite every stanza of 'Phenomenal Woman' after hearing it only once, fifteen years ago.
You see, I thought I was in love with her. She had this way about her. She wasn't what you would call classically beautiful; her eyes were to small, her nose too wide and her hair a mass of unruly curls that she kept cut close to her scalp.
But you forgot all that when she opened her mouth to speak. Then she became the most beautiful woman in the world, hell, she became the only woman in the world.
I thought I loved her because she didn't wear pleated skirts and expensive cardigans. She didn't smell of Jean Nate and Ivory soap. She didn't carry her books close to her chest like the other girls on campus, and she never owned an umbrella.
I thought I loved her because she was like nothing I'd ever seen before.
I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please,
And to a man,
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees.
Then they swarm around me,
A hive of honeybees.
I say, It's the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing of my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
We were lying on opposite sides of the bed because she didn't like to cuddle after sex, didn't like what it implied. And so I asked her to speak, to say something because it made me feel like I was still part of her life. It didn't matter that she never returned my calls, that she only stayed until I fell asleep, and that she'd started spending more time with Tim, or Tom, or whatever his name was.
Her voice had been sensual as she softly repeated the words crafted by Maya Angelou and the movement of her lips captivated me. I leaned in for a kiss, but she'd pushed me away and this is how I knew it was over.
I never saw her again after that night, but the poem reigned in her absence. Only now, I don't associate it with Leah, the free spirit I met my junior year at Harvard.
No, now 'Phenomenal Woman' belongs to Claudia Jean; has since the night I met her. She walked into the room with a confidence I didn't think possible to possess, and won us all over with a dazzling smile.
Oh sure, we've all given her a hard time at one point or another. Disregarded her feelings or advice. Despite what she claims, it's not because she's the only woman on this all-star team. The truth of the matter is, she's the only person on the staff who will put up with our bullshit, and then go out for drinks with us at the end of the day just to make sure we get home all right. She's extraordinary, and she has no idea.
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them,
They say they still can't see.
I say, It's in the arch of my back,
The sun of my smile,
The ride of my breasts,
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
She has no idea because no one has ever told her. I've come close a few times…like when I'm sitting in a bar after one too many drinks, or when I'm stuck in traffic and a song comes on the radio that reminds me of her, or the one time she was sitting beside me watching the Lakers game and I couldn't focus on anything but the way the TV light danced across her features.
This love I have for CJ didn't just suddenly come upon me…it's been here from the moment she walked through the door of campaign headquarters in New Hampshire and I couldn't get the damn poem out of my head. But she doesn't know this.
No one does.
Oh, Sam thinks I have a little crush on her because he caught me staring at her from across the room one night at a Sate Dinner, but he doesn't know that I love her. Doesn't know that there have been nights when I've called her at home just because I needed to hear the sound of her voice, even if it was only a groggy 'hello' before I hung up in embarrassment.
I think Donna may have her suspicions too. She's a woman, and women are intuitive about these things. Of course, it could just be because she found the picture I have of CJ, taken on the night of the Inauguration Ball, buried under a stack of papers in the top drawer of my desk. Her head is thrown back, exposing her graceful neck, and she's laughing at something The First Lady said…I can't remember what it was now. But she looks magnificent.
Donna never came right out and asked me about the picture. I think she just filed it away in her brain with the other 'My Boss is Weird' moments and moved on. But sometimes when I'm in the hallway talking with CJ, I'll catch Donna out of the corner of my eye observing us with this funny look on her face.
Sigh.
I've tried to forget about CJ. Well, one could never forget her, let's be honest. What I mean is, I've tried to banish all romantic thoughts from my head because I know it could never work. I'm Josh, and she's CJ. Deputy Chief of Staff and Press Secretary. Friends, Buddies, Pals.
But I'm not feeling that confident in our relationship right now.
I've never seen her cry. Not when Bartlet was elected, not when we lied to her before press briefings, and not even after the shooting. I'm sure she may have allowed herself the luxury of a few tears when she was alone, but never in front of us. Ever.
She finally made that concession to us though…Sam, Toby and me a few hours ago. Allowed us to see her sorrow and anguish, confirmed that she was human, and not the Emotional Superwoman we all thought her to be.
And what did we do?
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
The woman who has stood beside us, fought for us, fixed our mistakes without ever once asking anything in return, needed just one look of understanding and we couldn't give it to her.
The truth of the matter is, I didn't know what I could do or say to assuage that guilt and pain so evident in her eyes. So I didn't do or say anything, because I feared whatever I decided would ring false and she would detect the trembling in my hands and voice.
She thinks we condemn her, thinks our silence is accusatory, thinks we've abandoned her. How do I tell her the truth? How do I tell her that the only reason I couldn't offer her comfort was because I didn't trust myself to speak without breaking down?
Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed.
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say, It's in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
The palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally.
Phenomenal woman,
That's me.
I don't know what I'm going to say to her, but I know I need to try because she deserves it. She's a phenomenal woman, phenomenally.
++++++++
She is my daughter.
Oh, not in the blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh way, but in every other sense of the word. She was there in the beginning when I was speaking out of warehouses on fishing docks, and then when I was debating other democrats for the party nomination in more refined locations. She survived the almost suffocating heat of an Alabama summer, and the bitter cold of a New Hampshire winter. She traveled on cramped buses and lived out of cheap motel rooms. Ran on bottled water and Twinkies for weeks at a time.
She gave up her life for me. Because Toby told her I was a good man. That was all she needed to hear before selling her house, taking a pay cut and leaving the life-style she'd become accustomed to.
She left everything she knew behind to take on a difficult and often thankless task. She became the face of the campaign with a grace that surpassed our highest expectations. Bared the brunt of our anger when things didn't go well, cleaned up our political messes with her sharp wit and even sharper tongue, and smoothed down ruffled feathers when we took to in-fighting. She was amazing…is amazing.
If it was Toby who motivated us, Sam who pointed the way, and Josh who got us moving, it was CJ who made sure we followed through, even as we all wanted to give up. She was determination and tenacity personified, a tornado on legs. She still is.
She is my daughter.
And when she hurts, so do I. It's the nature of the relationship, you see. Her pain becomes my own until the invisible lines separating us as individuals are blurred beyond recognition. It's hard to tell where her sorrows end and mine begin…and that's how it should be.
She's hurting now, is about to go through the toughest thing in her life, and will be forced to do so with the eyes of the nation upon her. And I can't help her. I wish to God I could, but this is beyond my control.
CJ's ashamed. This woman who berated a decorated General stood in my office and refused to meet my gaze because she was afraid of what she might find there. She didn't understand that the disappointment in my voice came not from the knowledge of her past action, but from the knowledge that she would think me cruel enough to deprive her of my support, of my love.
So I let her walk away.
But I don't accept her resignation. I know she's going to fight me, going to try and convince me that leaving is the only option. But I have a reputation for being stubborn myself, and if there was ever an issue worth locking horns over, this is it.
She's not like my daughter; she is my daughter.
+++++++++
She was known as 'The Linebacker' on the campaign trail because she used to run interference for us with Leo, or more frequently, Toby. When I thought I'd done something wrong, CJ was the first person I spoke to. I'd bring her coffee, or a brown paper bag filled with jawbreakers and fireballs and she'd set aside anything she was working on to listen. It was our signal.
Sometimes she'd cluck her tongue in sympathy at my latest faux pas, other times she'd deliver a swift slap to the back of my head. She was unpredictable that way. But in the end, she'd tell me that things weren't as bad as I'd perceived them to be, that she'd fix everything, that she'd talk to Leo or Toby, that she wouldn't tell Josh.
And she was as good as her word. I mean, sometimes a lecture from Toby was unavoidable, but she never let me down. Not once.
But things changed. Once Bartlet was elected, I felt like I'd graduated from the school of politics. I was one of the 'Big Boys' now and I didn't need anyone to fix my screw-ups. I could do it myself because I was that damn good.
Yes, I actually thought I didn't need CJ. Even told her as much. She'd been hurt, but in the typical CJ-fashion, she'd masked it with a sharp reply and a curt dismissal. I've never told her how wrong I was…how much I do need her, how much we all do.
So, here I am, standing outside her office with a bag full of those God-awful jawbreakers she's so fond of, trying to find the courage to knock on the door.
I screwed up again.
I'm willing to admit that much, willing to admit that I need her help. Only this time, it isn't because I messed up somewhere in the political arena, though that still happens from time to time.
You see, I didn't know how to handle it. CJ doesn't have problems; we don't have to worry about her. I've always been confident in that knowledge. She's so great at what she does that it's sometimes hard to separate the Press Secretary from the woman; hard to see CJ as human.
She was crying. CJ doesn't cry. The sun doesn't rise in the west, pigs don't fly, money doesn't grow on trees, and CJ doesn't cry. These are fundamental truths. Not anymore.
Oh, I'm sure that I won't look up into the sky and see a flock of pigs, and that there aren't any money-tree orchids in Oregon, but CJ does, in fact, cry.
I was scared, if you want to know the truth. Scared of what her tears meant…if CJ was unraveling, what was going to happen to the rest of us? I'm still scared, but I know she needs me, needs us.
"Sam?"
I turn around and smile in embarrassment as Carol sets her purse down upon her desk. I must have been extremely deep in thought if I didn't hear her come up behind me…or maybe it's that stealth thing women have again.
"Uh…hi Carol. I was, um…I was…is CJ in?"
She walks past me, tossing me a knowing look before knocking on the door while simultaneously opening it. It's too late to back out now.
"CJ, Sam's here."
"O.K."
She's sitting in her chair, with her legs propped up on the desk and crossed at the ankles. I can't help myself from admiring the view, but I'm quickly pulled back to reality as Carol closes the door and CJ sits up.
"What's up, Sam?" She asks me softly. The pitch of her voice doesn't fool me…there's this hardness to her tone that I've only heard her use with our enemies, never with us, no matter how much we piss her off.
I'm startled because I wasn't expecting it, and I can't seem to think of anything appropriate to say as an opener. She's looking at me with her eyebrow arched, and I can see the impatience working it's way across her face, but still I can't seem to speak.
So instead, I hold up the bag of candy and shrug my shoulders. I guess this is the right thing to do because she flashes me the most beautiful smile I've ever seen and gets to her feet. I round the desk before she does though, and pull her into my arms.
I hold her so tight that I'm afraid I'm hurting her, but I can't seem to release the pressure because I'm afraid if I do, she'll let go. But then I realize that she's squeezing me just as tightly and I bury my face into the side of her neck.
"I'm so sorry CJ."
Just then, the door to her office bursts open and we pull apart slightly. "Now, I want you to listen…to just listen while I try and—whoa, am I interrupting something here?"
There's a spark of jealousy in Josh's eyes as he approaches the two of us, and I can't help but smile at CJ.
"I mean, I can come back in ten minutes while you two finish making out, but you really should put a sign on the door."
CJ throws her head back to laugh and Josh gets this dreamy look on his face, the same look he's had for a while when he thinks no one is watching him observe her. I move my arms from around her waist and gently push her forward.
This is the only cue Josh needs before he tenderly encloses her wrist in his fingers and tugs her toward him. Their embrace is much more intimate, and I feel like I'm intruding on something private. I know Josh has feelings for CJ, and now I wonder if maybe there's some reciprocity. Heaven help us.
The moment ends too soon though as there is another interruption from the doorway; this time in the form of President Bartlet. If he's surprised to find us there, he doesn't show it. He just smiles at the three of us and inclines his head.
"You two mind if I have a word with CJ?"
"No sir." I answer for the both of us, because Josh doesn't seem too inclined to answer right now.
He gives her hand a gentle squeeze and follows me out of the office. We both know why Bartlet's here…he's going to talk her into staying. I think at this point, he's the only one who can.
"We're gonna be o.k." I whisper more to myself than Josh.
But he looks at me anyway and nods his head. "Yeah."
+++++++++
Sometimes, he would have to drive fifty miles to the next town to find a Starbucks. Sam would never tell me this as he set the large plastic cup in front of me, but the melted whipped cream was always a telltale sign. Well, that and the fact that the first thing I ever did when we pulled into a city was ask the hotel clerk for directions to the nearest café of my addiction. So, when Sam strode into my office with a Caramel Frappuchino, I always knew exactly how far he had to go to get it. Most of the time, the liquid was luke-warm, but it always tasted sweetest that way because I knew he'd gone out of his way for me.
Other times, he'd come to me with a bag filled with my favorite candy and he'd explain his latest lapse of judgment while I rummaged through the goodies. He's always been a sweetheart.
However, Sam hasn't come to see me like that in quite some time. Not since Bartlet was inaugurated, in fact.
I was full of righteous indignation when he came into my office, waiting for an excuse to make him feel as small as they'd made me feel earlier, but he didn't give me the chance. Instead, he'd held up his offering and I felt all the anger deflate like air from a tire.
And then Josh. God his arms felt so nice. I felt safe, secure, electrified. Did I just say electrified? Well…I don't know how else to describe it, but then again, this is neither the time nor the place to be thinking of how his touch affected the rate of my pulse, so I'll just move on to other things.
Like Bartlet, and why he's sitting on my couch now.
"Have a seat CJ." He says quietly as he pats the cushion beside him. I hesitate for only a moment before complying, and hope he doesn't notice.
But he's an observant man, and I see the hurt in his eyes before I even sit down. I start fiddling with the hem of my skirt because I don't know what to do with my hands…it's a nervous habit I've been trying extremely hard to curb.
"Why are you so uncomfortable around me, CJ? What have I done to make you so scared of me?"
"Nothing, sir."
"Then why can't you look me in the eye?"
I know that nothing I say can erase the fear that somewhere along the line, he's done something wrong. I want to reassure him, tell him that he's one of the most amazing men I've ever met, that my reluctance has nothing to do with him. But in the end, I only sit there mute because the words stick in my throat.
"Claudia Jean, do you think I…do you think I blame you for this somehow? Do you think I judge you?"
I sigh and rest my head on the back of the couch so that I'm staring at the ceiling. Well, I would be staring at the ceiling if my eyes were open, which they're not. Why does this have to be so difficult? He's asking me questions I don't know the answers to, and he's not leaving until he gets them. Maybe if I just sit here quietly, he'll get the hint and…no, I didn't think so.
"I'm not letting you shut me out, CJ."
His voice is quiet, but he has spoken with so much conviction that I can't help but look at him. He's got 'the pitbull' expression on now. The one that means he's not going to let go of the issue until it is resolved to his satisfaction.
"Sir, all due respect, this is my own personal—"
"Own-of or belonging to oneself or itself. Personal-of or relating to a particular person. It's not proper to say 'my own personal' anything because the my—"
"All right, you know what? I'm pretty sure I don't give a damn about the syntax of my sentence."
"What do you give a damn about, then?"
The question catches me off guard, and I pause for a moment because I know he's trying to trap me. Trying to get me to say something he can use against me.
"Don't you have a meeting to get to, or…something?" I try to keep the irritation out of my voice because he's the President of the United States for Pete's sake, but he can be so damn annoying sometimes.
"Nope…I had Charlie clear my schedule for the rest of the afternoon…or however long it takes."
I know I'm going to regret it, but I ask anyway. "However long what takes?"
"When you were in my office earlier, and I…" He trails off, and I can almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Have I ever told you the story about the two travelers and the bear?"
OK, now I'm confused, but knowing his penchant for going off on tangents, I'm not too surprised by the sudden turn in the conversation. "Um, no sir. I don't believe you have."
"Two men were traveling together, when a Bear suddenly met them on their path. One of them climbed up quickly into a tree and concealed himself in the branches. The other, seeing that he must be attacked, fell flat on the ground, and when the Bear came up and felt him with his snout, and smelt him all over, he held his breath, and feigned the appearance of death as much as he could. The Bear soon left him, for it is said he will not touch a dead body. When he was quite gone, the other Traveler descended from the tree, and jocularly inquired of his friend what it was the Bear had whispered in his ear. 'He gave me this advice,' his companion replied. 'Never travel with a friend who deserts you at the approach of danger.'" He smiles at me as he takes my hand. "You get what I'm saying here, CJ?"
I try to swallow the lump in my throat because I promised myself that I wouldn't cry again. Ever. But he's looking at me with such earnestness and confidence, and I can't help the lone trail that slides down my cheek. I want to wipe it away, but now he's got both my hands firmly ensconced in his own and I can't move them.
"We're a family, we're here to support you, and we're not letting you leave."
"I can't—"
"You've taken care of us more times than I can count…please let us return the favor."
My body is wracked with sobs now and I hate myself because I feel out of control, lost, like my world is spinning off its axis. This isn't how it's supposed to be. "I don't think I have the strength to fight this."
Bartlet pulls me into his arms and tucks my head beneath his chin. "That's ok, Claudia Jean, because we do."
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TBC