***
December 31
***
"Gary, get the phone, would you? Put it on speaker." Donna stepped out of a
stunning evening gown and laid it across the bed along with the dozen others,
the surfeit of riches. Among the perks of working for Matt was his friendship
with a well-known designer who had seen Donna at a fundraiser and declared that
she was his muse.
Each of the gowns on her bed cost as much as she'd made in six months at the
White House. Hers to use and return, in exchange for a photo of her in the
garment - and for being fussed over by the designer himself, who was currently
pacing her living room as he waited for her to try on another dress.
From the living room she heard Gary's voice. "Donna Moss' residence."
"This is Sam Seaborn. Is Donna available?"
"She can't talk to you right now, Senator - she's naked."
"I'm not naked!" Donna shouted in the direction of the speakerphone. "I'm
wearing shoes!"
"Well, that's an image I'll carry around for quite a while." Sam's voice
crackled with amusement. "Is there a man in your apartment?"
"I'm Gary Tennenberg."
"The Gary Tennenberg? The designer?" Sam sounded impressed. He raised his voice
to make sure Donna could hear him. "Donna, how do you know Gary Tennenberg?"
"He's a friend of a friend of Matt's, and he keeps sending me clothes. Now he's
here with about a hundred gowns, and I can't decide which one to wear. If I wear
one at all."
She emerged from the bedroom in her blue bathrobe, looking dejected.
"You're going to the party...wearing...what?" Sam asked.
"I'm not sure if I'm going to go at all." She sat down on the sofa and ran a
hand through her hair. "I'm having second thoughts. Matt got called out of town
on a family thing, and going alone - well, I don't know about that."
"Tell her she has to go," Gary put in. He was a tall, slim man with dark hair
graying at the temples and hazel eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. "It's New
Year's Eve, and it's a party at the White House, and she has to go, whether she
wears one of my dresses or sackcloth and ashes."
"You have to go," Sam said. Donna could hear the friendliness in his voice.
"Gary says so. Besides, it's not as if you don't have a thing to wear."
"I could change clothes every twenty minutes and not repeat an outfit," Donna
admitted with a grateful glance at Gary. "But if I'm going to be miserable the
entire night, then why bother?"
"Being around me is going to make you miserable? I haven't seen you in, what, a
year and a half? It's been crazy since I got into town, Donna, and I was
counting on seeing you tonight. In fact, I was counting on you to do me a
favor."
God bless Sam, Donna thought as she smiled tearfully at the telephone. He's
going to ask me to go to the party with him.
"I hate to show up at these things alone - Abbey always points me in the
direction of some strange woman or another and things that Abbey organizes..."
Sam trailed off. "Well. Anyway. I was hoping you'd do me the honor."
"That depends - is your tux hand-tailored?" Gary asked, putting his arm around
Donna and hugging her while she dried her tears and worked to regain the power
of speech.
"You bet. If I'm going to be an accessory for Donna's outfit, I'm going to be a
good one."
"Then come by her place in an hour."
"She'll be ready in an hour?"
"Guys, you know I'm in the room, right?" Donna asked.
"I'm sorry," Sam said, sounding genuinely contrite. "Will you do me the honor?"
"Of course." Her heart was full of gratitude. "Thanks, Sam." She disconnected
the call and went back into the bedroom. Her attention was caught by something
dark blue, and she stepped into the dress and zipped it up before going back
into the living room.
She was wearing dark blue velvet, with a high neckline, a gentle drape at the
back, and a slim skirt. It clung to Donna's body in exactly the right ways, and
the color made her hair look like spun gold.
"Oh. Donna." Gary's face glowed with pride. "That's the one."
***
C.J. stood in the doorway of the Oval Office. "Good evening, Mr. President.
Ma'am."
"Hey, C.J." Bartlet looked up from the shoe he was lacing. "Are you wearing
black?"
"Nothing gets past you, Mr. President," C.J. said with a grin as she entered. "I
know we were supposed to be more festive, but I've packed almost everything and
this was the only dress I could find."
"You should go to Donna's - Sam tells me she's up to her knees in Gary
Tennenbergs, along with Gary himself," Abbey declared.
C.J.'s eyes widened. "He's at her apartment? With, you know, dresses and
everything?"
"She's moving up in the world. I miss her," Bartlet declared, tying his other
shoe. He paused, and for a moment C.J. thought he was going to say something
else, but the room remained silent a while longer.
Abbey broke the stillness. "C.J., come help me with this bracelet and tell me
what you've heard from Toby."
C.J. had shared his cryptic post card messages with everyone and told them the
funny stories about Toby being handed a live fish at the market and how he'd
accidentally gone to a service at a Jews For Jesus "synagogue." The late-night
phone calls and long, handwritten letters she'd kept to herself, along with a
sudden desire to tell NBC to jump into the Hudson because she was a California
Girl down to her toes. But of course she wouldn't do that, and most nights she
was able to talk herself down from the ledge.
"He called last Thursday. He's tied up with the book, of course, but he wanted
me to send you his regards." She tried to look casual as she fiddled with the
clasp of Abbey's bracelet, tried to hide her disappointment that she'd be at the
party alone, but she knew she wasn't fooling anyone.
"I'm sorry," Abbey said. "I know you wanted to be with him tonight. We should've
sent you to California."
She shook her head, enjoying the tinkling sound her earrings made as they bobbed
back and forth. "He's not ready for me, yet."
"Getting ready for you is a job that could take a lifetime," Bartlet declared.
Looking from one woman to the other, he added, "I mean that in the best possible
sense."
"Nice save, Mr. President," C.J. said, her good spirits beginning to return. She
glanced at the outer office. "It's good to see Zoey. She looks great."
"All my daughters look great. My wife, even more so." Bartlet beamed up at
Abbey, who gave him an indulgent smile in return. "It's even better to see her
talking to Charlie."
The breakup had been slow and painful, with hurt feelings on both sides, but
tonight the two were talking as animatedly as any old friends who were catching
up. C.J. sighed. "We were all so young."
"No, no, none of that. No maudlin exchanges tonight. I forbid it. By executive
order, if need be." Bartlet got to his feet and put one arm around Abbey and the
other around C.J. "First woman to shed a tear has to dance with Josh."
Josh's inability to dance was the stuff of legend around the White House. Every
woman in the building had a damaged shoe or a torn hemline to bear witness to
his ineptitude. He'd actually broken C.J.'s toe at the second Inaugural.
Remembering that, C.J. winced as she pulled away and headed out of the office.
"I'll keep that in mind, sir. See you there."
Abbey snuggled closer to her husband as they watched Zoey and Charlie depart
with C.J. "You didn't mention what's going to happen to the first man to shed a
tear."
"We won't!" he declared, placing his hand over his heart. "We're strong, manly
men. We don't weep when we hear 'Auld Lang Syne.' I'm shocked - shocked, I say -
that you'd suggest such a thing."
"I was going to suggest, my manly husband, that the first man to shed a tear has
to dance with the First Lady." She reached up to touch his face, showing him the
drop of moisture she'd found on his cheek. "I love you, Jed."
"I love you, too," he murmured, holding her tightly for just a moment longer
before offering her his arm. "Let's put this turkey in the oven, shall we?"
Like royalty they swept through the halls they'd come to know so well. Arm in
arm, joined body and heart, they smiled at the Secret Service agents and went to
bid a fond farewell to their second family.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the announcer intoned solemnly, "The President and First
Lady of the United States!"
The string quartet played "Hail to the Chief" and everyone in the room rose,
applauding. So many people, even though they'd kept the list down to "those we
actually like," as the President had expressed it. Leo was the first to greet
them, of course, slim and elegant in his immaculate tuxedo but with a pallor to
his face that upset his old friends more than they would have dreamed possible.
"Abbey," he said as he kissed her cheek. "Mr. President."
"We must break you of that habit," Bartlet said as he embraced Leo, wondering if
Leo would live long enough to call him by his first name again.
"I'm not willing to start until you're safe and sound on the farm, after which
time we'll review the situation." The three of them made their way to a table
near the quartet.
"How are you? Good to see you, thanks for being here," the President said to the
musicians, waving. The first violinist nodded his greeting.
"Someone's taking care of them on their break, right?" Abbey asked Leo.
"They're with the American Symphony. They make more money than I do," Leo
commented. "But yes, we have stuff for them and also for the people who are
working tonight."
"Thank you, Leo."
"You're welcome, Abbey. But it was Margaret who set it all up. You know,
treating workers with dignity and all that." But Leo's smile betrayed how proud
he was that she'd stood up to him and demanded that hospitality be extended to
the people giving up their holiday.
Margaret was sitting with a group of people who were drinking champagne, eating,
and laughing. Everyone looked happy for a change, instead of skulking around the
halls of the West Wing with slumped shoulders and listless expressions. Beyond
that group were Liz, her husband, and their three children - Annie, who at
twenty was a younger version of her grandmother, Ethan, a dark-haired boy of
thirteen, and ten-year-old James, who was currently giggling in delight as his
father opened a helium balloon, took a breath from it, and began to talk.
Ellie and Josh watched silently while Zoey questioned Amy about the burgeoning
women's rights movements in third-world nations. Their lively discussion was
interrupted by the announcer.
"Senator Samuel Seaborn and Ms. Donnatella Moss."
And at that moment, everything shifted.
Sam was so pleased and proud, standing at the top of the stairs with Donna's arm
linked through his, as his friends got to their feet and applauded. He descended
the staircase slowly, in deference to the narrow skirt of Donna's exquisite
gown, but he was anxious for this long-awaited homecoming.
"I'm so sorry we're late," Sam began, only to find himself engulfed by a sea of
welcoming arms. C.J. threw herself into his embrace, while Josh and Leo clapped
him on the back. Sam kept an eye on Donna, who had stepped aside to watch the
reunion.
"Hey, Sam, you look great!" Josh declared, holding his friend by the shoulders.
"We have so much to talk about. There's going to be..."
He trailed off as he found himself face to face with Donna. She lowered her
gaze, and he had to duck to meet her eyes. "Hello, Donna," he said softly.
"Hello, Josh." She turned slightly away. Their corner of the room was silent and
uncomfortable for what felt like years, until someone rescued them.
"I'm so glad you're here, Donna. We're counting on you to settle an argument,
and you're the only person who knows the real answer." It was Amy, stepping
forward with her hand outstretched. Donna took it, looking surprised and wary,
but Amy smiled and hugged her. Sam heard Amy whisper into Donna's ear, "He's
scared to death." That made Donna relax enough to shake hands with Josh and
offer him a tremulous smile.
"Is that a Tennenberg?" C.J. asked. When Donna nodded her affirmative, all the
women in the group sighed. "Seriously, forget NBC. I want to work for Senator
Skinner."
"No way. Gary only likes me because I'm the tallest woman he knows." There was
another silence, then Donna turned to Amy, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Now,
about that argument that only I can mediate..."
She and Amy walked away, joining Zoey and some others at a table across the
room. Leo and C.J. got pulled away by other partygoers, leaving Josh and Sam by
themselves. Josh relaxed visibly and ran his hands through his hair. "Okay.
That's done."
"Yeah, that's done."
"It went really well, I think." Josh seemed to realize that his hair was now
beyond repair, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Yes, it went well."
The men looked at each other for a moment.
"It sucked," Josh declared.
"Pretty much." Sam took a glass of champagne from a tray and handed it to Josh
before getting one for himself. "But it's over. Mostly because Amy saved our
asses."
Josh raised his glass to Sam in a silent toast and they each took sips. "I
almost didn't come tonight, Sam."
"Donna said the same thing. Why are you here?"
"Because Amy made me come. Why is Donna here?"
"Her designer made her come."
"Ah."
"Anyway," Sam said, feeling unaccountably nervous, "I never had the chance to
congratulate you. By the time you called, I'd already heard about it
from...well, from a lot of people."
"I'm sorry, Sam. I seem to have pissed off about everyone I've ever met in one
fell swoop."
"You didn't piss me off," Sam put in quickly. "Well, only a little. I was a
little disappointed about not being your best man."
"You are," Josh said. "You are the best man I know, Sam, and I'm honored to be
working for you."
Sam was able to bask in the compliment for a few seconds before becoming acutely
embarrassed. "Come on, let's go see the President."
Bartlet greeted Sam with a fierce embrace before turning him over to his wife
for inspection and a kiss on the cheek. "Senator, Jed and I are so glad you
could join us tonight."
"I can't thank you enough for inviting me, ma'am."
"Don't be ridiculous, Sam - you're part of the family! Has anyone gotten you
something to eat?"
"I'll get something in a few minutes, thank you. How are you?"
"Tired of hearing President Know-it-all try and convince me that this is the
eighteenth variation."
"Eighteenth variation of what?" Josh asked, eyebrows raised.
"The eighteenth variation upon a theme of Paganini, by Rachmaninoff," Bartlet
said smoothly. "My lovely wife insists that it is the twenty-first, and it is
not."
"We could, you know, ask them," Josh said, jerking a thumb in the direction of
the quartet.
"They're busy. I'll go look over their shoulders." Sam walked onto the stage,
nodding at the group. "Excuse me, but I just want to see the title..."
His toe caught on the edge of the violist's chair and he lost his balance. He
tottered for an instant, smiling when he realized that he had not actually
fallen down. Then, as the music stopped, his smile froze.
His champagne glass was empty.
The violist's black dress was wet, and droplets stood out like diamonds against
her brunette curls.
"Oh, God," murmured Sam.
***
"I'm so sorry," he said for the fifteenth time, and the young woman looked at
him with even more annoyance in her brown eyes.
"Look, you didn't spill it on my instrument, for which I'm very grateful. You
got me a towel and your friend found a hair dryer and that's all wonderful. But
I need to get back out there and, you know, earn my living."
"We're on a break, Nina," said the 'cellist mildly as she passed a full plate to
the second violinist. "Just relax."
Nina blew out a breath and sat down at the table with her colleagues. She
smiled. Sam thought it was a nice smile. "You work here, in the White House?"
she asked.
"I used to. I've changed jobs since then."
"What do you do now?"
He didn't quite know how to answer the question. "I'm, uh, in the Senate."
"Oh, right," said the first violinist. "I thought you looked familiar - you're
the guy from California."
The guy from California.
"We're not especially political," said the second violinist, shrugging, as he
ate a stuffed mushroom.
"Except about the N.E.A. We're kind of passionate about that," the 'cellist put
in.
"Anyway," Nina said, her expression softening a little, "it's not a big deal
about the champagne, and it's nice of you to check on me, Senator...?"
"Seaborn. But please, call me Sam." Sam extended his hand, which was still a
little sticky from the champagne. "Oops, sorry."
"Jacqueline Fisher-Lennox. But please, call me Nina."
She really did have a nice smile.
"And tell your friend, the guy with the hair," Nina added, making a swirling
motion above her head, "that I've heard every viola joke on the internet already
and he's not so funny."
"That would be White House Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman, but I'll be sure
to pass your message along to him."
Nina didn't seem impressed with Josh's title. Or with Josh, for that matter.
But she really did have a nice smile.
***
At 11:30, everyone began to fear that the President was going to make a speech.
Sam, who was dancing with Donna, mentioned that fear to her.
"It's his party, Sam. Of course he's going to say something. And just because
Toby wasn't here to write it for him doesn't mean it won't be meaningful.
Meaningful, and, well, lengthy."
He smiled and squeezed her hand. "Yes, and I'm glad you see my point."
"Are you afraid of missing midnight?" she asked. "Think he'll talk his way right
into 2007? Or are you afraid he'll still be talking when the musicians pack up
and leave?"
Busted.
"Donna, I wouldn't dream of--"
"Sam, I can get a cab home."
"You can not get a cab home. It's New Year's Eve, and no one can get a cab
because they're all busy."
"That means someone's in a cab."
"What the hell are you two talking about?" Josh asked as he and Amy joined them.
"I'm trying to get Sam to make a move on the viola player," Donna said smoothly.
"You know the difference between a violin and a viola? Violas burn longer." Josh
sounded happy and a little intoxicated.
"Yes, and Nina said she's already heard all the viola jokes in, you know, the
world, so you can stop."
"How do you know she doesn't have a ride?" Donna asked.
"One of the violinists said they all came in one car. It'd be the least I could
do to get her home after ruining her dress and getting champagne in her hair.
But it'd also be the least I could do to get Donna home, since she agreed to
come with me."
Donna shook her head. "Go for it. Sam, I said it's okay and that I'd get a cab."
"You'll never get a cab tonight. We'll drop you off," Amy said.
"I don't want to be a bother," Donna said, her voice becoming softer with each
word.
"You're not a bother." Amy wriggled out of Josh's arms and put her hand on
Donna's shoulder. "If it weren't for you, Josh might not be alive right now.
That's a big deal to me, Donna. Driving a few blocks out of my way - not so
much."
Before Donna could say anything, the President started making a move toward the
stage. "Go," Donna whispered to Sam, who made long strides so that he could be
standing near the stage when the last song was played.
"Good evening, my friends," Bartlet said into the microphone. "I wanted to say a
few things to you - and don't worry, because I can see a clock from here and I
promise to stop before the new year begins."
Everyone laughed.
"This is our last formal affair in the White House. From now on it'll be
barbecues at the farm - which, although they are more comfortable, won't give me
the chance to admire our beautiful women in all their finery. And by 'all' I
mean 'you and the girls,' Abbey."
"Thank you," she drawled, raising her glass to him.
"In any event, I just wanted to say how much I've appreciated each and every one
of you during this great adventure. Thank you, C.J., for putting your beautiful
face on my words and deeds. And thank you, Josh, for doing whatever the hell you
do - I've never understood it, but I know I'd be dead in the water without you."
Josh rested his cheek on Amy's head and held his hand out to C.J., who held it
tightly as she fought back tears.
"Thank you, Charlie, for going to the wrong office and ending up talking to Josh
instead of to some guy with a bike helmet. What you've done for me, what you've
deferred because of me - I won't ever forget what I owe you."
Charlie stood with Ellie, who slipped her arm around his waist and hugged him.
"Way to go, Charlie," she whispered as she looked back at her father.
"Thanks, Sam, for the words and the wisdom, and for having the sense to run for
Senate so you could take over when we get evicted." Then Bartlet's gaze rested
on Leo. "And as for you, Leo McGarry...well, I have no words." He started to say
something else, but his voice gave out and he held the microphone away for a few
seconds while he composed himself.
"And now, since I have some time left, I'd like to give you a history of the
musical selection we will hear at midnight..."
One of the waiters whispered something to Abbey, who whispered it to the
President, who nodded at the announcer by the door. "Tell us who our tardy but
welcome guest is," Bartlet said.
Everyone turned toward the top of the stairs, where a lone figure in a tuxedo
stood with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
"Toby Ziegler," the announcer intoned.
Toby moved slowly, his dark eyes scanning the room until they found C.J., who
stood rooted to the spot with her hands over her heart. Toby looked from her to
Josh, who was standing behind C.J. with his hands on her shoulders, and then
over to the First Family.
"Am I interrupting something?" he asked.
"Depends. Is that for me?" Bartlet held out his hand and took the papers from
Toby. With his free hand he fished in his pocket for his reading glasses and
put them on. "'An Assembly of Words,' it says here." He opened the book from the
back and glanced at it. "This is about writing speeches. My speeches."
"It's only the first chapter, sir," Toby said, sounding uncertain of his
welcome. "But I think there's something at the beginning that you should read.
The, uh, dedication."
Bartlet did so, and his blue eyes dimmed with tears. He cleared his throat once,
twice, and set the papers down with a trembling hand. "I'm not reading that part
aloud," he murmured into the microphone, his voice giving out for the second
time that evening. As he turned to Toby, trying to find words, the sound of
fireworks on the Mall could be heard, and joyful voices outside began to count
down.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!"
"Five!" shouted the people in the ballroom.
"Four!" Josh spun Amy around in his arms and held her tightly.
"Three!" Bartlet held his hands out to Abbey, who took them and began to join
the other voices.
"Two!" Sam stood behind Nina, ready to speak to her at the first opportunity. He
looked out in the crowd at Donna, who granted him a smile and a thumbs-up.
"One!" Toby made his way to C.J., cupping her face in his hands.
"Happy New Year!" everyone cried at once, and the quartet began to play "Auld
Lang Syne." Lovers kissed, old friends kissed, new friends smiled at one another
even though a viola was between them, and everyone embraced as they began to
sing: "Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind..."
They were all singing except Toby, who held his hand out to C.J. and gave her
his most dazzling smile.
"Dance with me," he said, and she did, as their friends watched with love in
their hearts.
***
"We'll take a cup of kindness yet," warbled Bartlet as he removed his tie and
flung it onto the nightstand.
"For the love of God, Jed, would you stop?" Abbey returned from the bathroom
with little dollops of moisturizer across her cheeks and forehead. She rubbed
the cream into her skin as she went to the side of the bed and sat down. "I
thought it was a great party."
"You thought it was a great party because Toby interrupted my speech."
"That didn't hurt. But seriously, we saw a lot of wonderful things tonight. It
looks as if Josh and Donna can coexist without bringing on the Apocalypse, C.J.
and Toby looked wonderful together, and did you see Sam talking to the viola
player? Did you see how she looked at him?"
"Sam's a good looking man. Everyone looks at him. I wouldn't read too much into
that."
Abbey, who had begun to brush her hair, stopped and looked at her husband. "You
don't sound happy, Jed."
"I am happy," he protested weakly as he continued to undress. "My kids were
there, and the grandchildren, and Leo looked really good. It's just that - I had
until 2007, you know, and it didn't seem as if it were really going to happen.
Then the clock struck midnight, and I'm about to turn into a pumpkin again."
"You're my pumpkin," Abbey declared, pulling him down for a kiss. "You've said
for years that we need to get our lives back, and we're about to do just that.
I'll apply for my license again, and you'll have all the time in the world to
read and catch up on being a normal man."
"I have never been a normal man."
"Okay, you can go back to being an abnormal man." She kissed him again and
stroked the side of his face. "Is it really so awful, the thought of belonging
to me and not the entire nation?"
"Abigail, my darling wife, that thought is the only thing keeping me awake at
this ungodly hour of the night." He turned off the lamp and got into bed beside
her.
"Keep talking like that and you might get lucky," Abbey murmured into his
shoulder.
He thought for a few moments, recalling campaign stops and poker games, trivia
contests and late-night chats. He remembered Thanksgivings and Christmases come
and gone, friends lost and friendships begun anew. And he thought of all the
good things that had come to pass because of the amazing people who had worked
in the West Wing over the last eight years.
Bartlet put his arm around Abbey and turned her so he could kiss her, so he
could tuck her head beneath his chin, so he could run his hands up and down the
soft curves of her body. "I have been," he said to her between kisses.
"Been what," was her half-sleepy, half-aroused question. He smiled into the
darkness and tightened his hold on her.
"I have been - and continue to be - the luckiest man in the world."
***
End "Spirits of Great Events"
Feedback would be adored at Marguerite@opermail.com
The Rarest Faith will consist of six self-contained stories:
Spirits of Great Events (2006)
A Mighty Thing (2007)
Healthy Irreverance (2008)
The Surest Wisdom (2009)
Beginning to Believe (2010)
The Triumph of Principles (2011)
How can I ever thank my comrades and friends enough for what
they've done? Ria, Jo March, and International Princess have
been timely, honest, and loving beta readers with a genuine
interest in the story. Ryo Sen and Anna have been by my side
with pointy sticks - uh, gentle reminders - with which to
encourage me when I faltered. Ladies, I owe you everything.
Notes:
1. Many people will only read stories - especially
long ones - if they know the outcomes of any possible
pairings. I've listed the obvious ones but really can't tell
about Josh because advance knowledge will ruin the story. If
that means you can't/won't read this, then I'm sorry, but I
do need to protect the work as it's written. When it's all
over, someone can tell you how it came out and you can
decide then whether or not to give it a try. :)
2. I'm not addressing exactly how/when Sam left the White House
because, as of the time of this writing, I don't know. This
is just conjecture.
3. I know that the National Symphony makes its home in D.C.
and that the "American Symphony" is fictitious. I went to
college with people in the National, which made using the
real name just too creepy.
4. And no, Nina's not based on a real person although I did
get her nickname from someone I met.
Back to West Wing .
December 31
***
"Gary, get the phone, would you? Put it on speaker." Donna stepped out of a
stunning evening gown and laid it across the bed along with the dozen others,
the surfeit of riches. Among the perks of working for Matt was his friendship
with a well-known designer who had seen Donna at a fundraiser and declared that
she was his muse.
Each of the gowns on her bed cost as much as she'd made in six months at the
White House. Hers to use and return, in exchange for a photo of her in the
garment - and for being fussed over by the designer himself, who was currently
pacing her living room as he waited for her to try on another dress.
From the living room she heard Gary's voice. "Donna Moss' residence."
"This is Sam Seaborn. Is Donna available?"
"She can't talk to you right now, Senator - she's naked."
"I'm not naked!" Donna shouted in the direction of the speakerphone. "I'm
wearing shoes!"
"Well, that's an image I'll carry around for quite a while." Sam's voice
crackled with amusement. "Is there a man in your apartment?"
"I'm Gary Tennenberg."
"The Gary Tennenberg? The designer?" Sam sounded impressed. He raised his voice
to make sure Donna could hear him. "Donna, how do you know Gary Tennenberg?"
"He's a friend of a friend of Matt's, and he keeps sending me clothes. Now he's
here with about a hundred gowns, and I can't decide which one to wear. If I wear
one at all."
She emerged from the bedroom in her blue bathrobe, looking dejected.
"You're going to the party...wearing...what?" Sam asked.
"I'm not sure if I'm going to go at all." She sat down on the sofa and ran a
hand through her hair. "I'm having second thoughts. Matt got called out of town
on a family thing, and going alone - well, I don't know about that."
"Tell her she has to go," Gary put in. He was a tall, slim man with dark hair
graying at the temples and hazel eyes framed by wire-rimmed glasses. "It's New
Year's Eve, and it's a party at the White House, and she has to go, whether she
wears one of my dresses or sackcloth and ashes."
"You have to go," Sam said. Donna could hear the friendliness in his voice.
"Gary says so. Besides, it's not as if you don't have a thing to wear."
"I could change clothes every twenty minutes and not repeat an outfit," Donna
admitted with a grateful glance at Gary. "But if I'm going to be miserable the
entire night, then why bother?"
"Being around me is going to make you miserable? I haven't seen you in, what, a
year and a half? It's been crazy since I got into town, Donna, and I was
counting on seeing you tonight. In fact, I was counting on you to do me a
favor."
God bless Sam, Donna thought as she smiled tearfully at the telephone. He's
going to ask me to go to the party with him.
"I hate to show up at these things alone - Abbey always points me in the
direction of some strange woman or another and things that Abbey organizes..."
Sam trailed off. "Well. Anyway. I was hoping you'd do me the honor."
"That depends - is your tux hand-tailored?" Gary asked, putting his arm around
Donna and hugging her while she dried her tears and worked to regain the power
of speech.
"You bet. If I'm going to be an accessory for Donna's outfit, I'm going to be a
good one."
"Then come by her place in an hour."
"She'll be ready in an hour?"
"Guys, you know I'm in the room, right?" Donna asked.
"I'm sorry," Sam said, sounding genuinely contrite. "Will you do me the honor?"
"Of course." Her heart was full of gratitude. "Thanks, Sam." She disconnected
the call and went back into the bedroom. Her attention was caught by something
dark blue, and she stepped into the dress and zipped it up before going back
into the living room.
She was wearing dark blue velvet, with a high neckline, a gentle drape at the
back, and a slim skirt. It clung to Donna's body in exactly the right ways, and
the color made her hair look like spun gold.
"Oh. Donna." Gary's face glowed with pride. "That's the one."
***
C.J. stood in the doorway of the Oval Office. "Good evening, Mr. President.
Ma'am."
"Hey, C.J." Bartlet looked up from the shoe he was lacing. "Are you wearing
black?"
"Nothing gets past you, Mr. President," C.J. said with a grin as she entered. "I
know we were supposed to be more festive, but I've packed almost everything and
this was the only dress I could find."
"You should go to Donna's - Sam tells me she's up to her knees in Gary
Tennenbergs, along with Gary himself," Abbey declared.
C.J.'s eyes widened. "He's at her apartment? With, you know, dresses and
everything?"
"She's moving up in the world. I miss her," Bartlet declared, tying his other
shoe. He paused, and for a moment C.J. thought he was going to say something
else, but the room remained silent a while longer.
Abbey broke the stillness. "C.J., come help me with this bracelet and tell me
what you've heard from Toby."
C.J. had shared his cryptic post card messages with everyone and told them the
funny stories about Toby being handed a live fish at the market and how he'd
accidentally gone to a service at a Jews For Jesus "synagogue." The late-night
phone calls and long, handwritten letters she'd kept to herself, along with a
sudden desire to tell NBC to jump into the Hudson because she was a California
Girl down to her toes. But of course she wouldn't do that, and most nights she
was able to talk herself down from the ledge.
"He called last Thursday. He's tied up with the book, of course, but he wanted
me to send you his regards." She tried to look casual as she fiddled with the
clasp of Abbey's bracelet, tried to hide her disappointment that she'd be at the
party alone, but she knew she wasn't fooling anyone.
"I'm sorry," Abbey said. "I know you wanted to be with him tonight. We should've
sent you to California."
She shook her head, enjoying the tinkling sound her earrings made as they bobbed
back and forth. "He's not ready for me, yet."
"Getting ready for you is a job that could take a lifetime," Bartlet declared.
Looking from one woman to the other, he added, "I mean that in the best possible
sense."
"Nice save, Mr. President," C.J. said, her good spirits beginning to return. She
glanced at the outer office. "It's good to see Zoey. She looks great."
"All my daughters look great. My wife, even more so." Bartlet beamed up at
Abbey, who gave him an indulgent smile in return. "It's even better to see her
talking to Charlie."
The breakup had been slow and painful, with hurt feelings on both sides, but
tonight the two were talking as animatedly as any old friends who were catching
up. C.J. sighed. "We were all so young."
"No, no, none of that. No maudlin exchanges tonight. I forbid it. By executive
order, if need be." Bartlet got to his feet and put one arm around Abbey and the
other around C.J. "First woman to shed a tear has to dance with Josh."
Josh's inability to dance was the stuff of legend around the White House. Every
woman in the building had a damaged shoe or a torn hemline to bear witness to
his ineptitude. He'd actually broken C.J.'s toe at the second Inaugural.
Remembering that, C.J. winced as she pulled away and headed out of the office.
"I'll keep that in mind, sir. See you there."
Abbey snuggled closer to her husband as they watched Zoey and Charlie depart
with C.J. "You didn't mention what's going to happen to the first man to shed a
tear."
"We won't!" he declared, placing his hand over his heart. "We're strong, manly
men. We don't weep when we hear 'Auld Lang Syne.' I'm shocked - shocked, I say -
that you'd suggest such a thing."
"I was going to suggest, my manly husband, that the first man to shed a tear has
to dance with the First Lady." She reached up to touch his face, showing him the
drop of moisture she'd found on his cheek. "I love you, Jed."
"I love you, too," he murmured, holding her tightly for just a moment longer
before offering her his arm. "Let's put this turkey in the oven, shall we?"
Like royalty they swept through the halls they'd come to know so well. Arm in
arm, joined body and heart, they smiled at the Secret Service agents and went to
bid a fond farewell to their second family.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the announcer intoned solemnly, "The President and First
Lady of the United States!"
The string quartet played "Hail to the Chief" and everyone in the room rose,
applauding. So many people, even though they'd kept the list down to "those we
actually like," as the President had expressed it. Leo was the first to greet
them, of course, slim and elegant in his immaculate tuxedo but with a pallor to
his face that upset his old friends more than they would have dreamed possible.
"Abbey," he said as he kissed her cheek. "Mr. President."
"We must break you of that habit," Bartlet said as he embraced Leo, wondering if
Leo would live long enough to call him by his first name again.
"I'm not willing to start until you're safe and sound on the farm, after which
time we'll review the situation." The three of them made their way to a table
near the quartet.
"How are you? Good to see you, thanks for being here," the President said to the
musicians, waving. The first violinist nodded his greeting.
"Someone's taking care of them on their break, right?" Abbey asked Leo.
"They're with the American Symphony. They make more money than I do," Leo
commented. "But yes, we have stuff for them and also for the people who are
working tonight."
"Thank you, Leo."
"You're welcome, Abbey. But it was Margaret who set it all up. You know,
treating workers with dignity and all that." But Leo's smile betrayed how proud
he was that she'd stood up to him and demanded that hospitality be extended to
the people giving up their holiday.
Margaret was sitting with a group of people who were drinking champagne, eating,
and laughing. Everyone looked happy for a change, instead of skulking around the
halls of the West Wing with slumped shoulders and listless expressions. Beyond
that group were Liz, her husband, and their three children - Annie, who at
twenty was a younger version of her grandmother, Ethan, a dark-haired boy of
thirteen, and ten-year-old James, who was currently giggling in delight as his
father opened a helium balloon, took a breath from it, and began to talk.
Ellie and Josh watched silently while Zoey questioned Amy about the burgeoning
women's rights movements in third-world nations. Their lively discussion was
interrupted by the announcer.
"Senator Samuel Seaborn and Ms. Donnatella Moss."
And at that moment, everything shifted.
Sam was so pleased and proud, standing at the top of the stairs with Donna's arm
linked through his, as his friends got to their feet and applauded. He descended
the staircase slowly, in deference to the narrow skirt of Donna's exquisite
gown, but he was anxious for this long-awaited homecoming.
"I'm so sorry we're late," Sam began, only to find himself engulfed by a sea of
welcoming arms. C.J. threw herself into his embrace, while Josh and Leo clapped
him on the back. Sam kept an eye on Donna, who had stepped aside to watch the
reunion.
"Hey, Sam, you look great!" Josh declared, holding his friend by the shoulders.
"We have so much to talk about. There's going to be..."
He trailed off as he found himself face to face with Donna. She lowered her
gaze, and he had to duck to meet her eyes. "Hello, Donna," he said softly.
"Hello, Josh." She turned slightly away. Their corner of the room was silent and
uncomfortable for what felt like years, until someone rescued them.
"I'm so glad you're here, Donna. We're counting on you to settle an argument,
and you're the only person who knows the real answer." It was Amy, stepping
forward with her hand outstretched. Donna took it, looking surprised and wary,
but Amy smiled and hugged her. Sam heard Amy whisper into Donna's ear, "He's
scared to death." That made Donna relax enough to shake hands with Josh and
offer him a tremulous smile.
"Is that a Tennenberg?" C.J. asked. When Donna nodded her affirmative, all the
women in the group sighed. "Seriously, forget NBC. I want to work for Senator
Skinner."
"No way. Gary only likes me because I'm the tallest woman he knows." There was
another silence, then Donna turned to Amy, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Now,
about that argument that only I can mediate..."
She and Amy walked away, joining Zoey and some others at a table across the
room. Leo and C.J. got pulled away by other partygoers, leaving Josh and Sam by
themselves. Josh relaxed visibly and ran his hands through his hair. "Okay.
That's done."
"Yeah, that's done."
"It went really well, I think." Josh seemed to realize that his hair was now
beyond repair, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Yes, it went well."
The men looked at each other for a moment.
"It sucked," Josh declared.
"Pretty much." Sam took a glass of champagne from a tray and handed it to Josh
before getting one for himself. "But it's over. Mostly because Amy saved our
asses."
Josh raised his glass to Sam in a silent toast and they each took sips. "I
almost didn't come tonight, Sam."
"Donna said the same thing. Why are you here?"
"Because Amy made me come. Why is Donna here?"
"Her designer made her come."
"Ah."
"Anyway," Sam said, feeling unaccountably nervous, "I never had the chance to
congratulate you. By the time you called, I'd already heard about it
from...well, from a lot of people."
"I'm sorry, Sam. I seem to have pissed off about everyone I've ever met in one
fell swoop."
"You didn't piss me off," Sam put in quickly. "Well, only a little. I was a
little disappointed about not being your best man."
"You are," Josh said. "You are the best man I know, Sam, and I'm honored to be
working for you."
Sam was able to bask in the compliment for a few seconds before becoming acutely
embarrassed. "Come on, let's go see the President."
Bartlet greeted Sam with a fierce embrace before turning him over to his wife
for inspection and a kiss on the cheek. "Senator, Jed and I are so glad you
could join us tonight."
"I can't thank you enough for inviting me, ma'am."
"Don't be ridiculous, Sam - you're part of the family! Has anyone gotten you
something to eat?"
"I'll get something in a few minutes, thank you. How are you?"
"Tired of hearing President Know-it-all try and convince me that this is the
eighteenth variation."
"Eighteenth variation of what?" Josh asked, eyebrows raised.
"The eighteenth variation upon a theme of Paganini, by Rachmaninoff," Bartlet
said smoothly. "My lovely wife insists that it is the twenty-first, and it is
not."
"We could, you know, ask them," Josh said, jerking a thumb in the direction of
the quartet.
"They're busy. I'll go look over their shoulders." Sam walked onto the stage,
nodding at the group. "Excuse me, but I just want to see the title..."
His toe caught on the edge of the violist's chair and he lost his balance. He
tottered for an instant, smiling when he realized that he had not actually
fallen down. Then, as the music stopped, his smile froze.
His champagne glass was empty.
The violist's black dress was wet, and droplets stood out like diamonds against
her brunette curls.
"Oh, God," murmured Sam.
***
"I'm so sorry," he said for the fifteenth time, and the young woman looked at
him with even more annoyance in her brown eyes.
"Look, you didn't spill it on my instrument, for which I'm very grateful. You
got me a towel and your friend found a hair dryer and that's all wonderful. But
I need to get back out there and, you know, earn my living."
"We're on a break, Nina," said the 'cellist mildly as she passed a full plate to
the second violinist. "Just relax."
Nina blew out a breath and sat down at the table with her colleagues. She
smiled. Sam thought it was a nice smile. "You work here, in the White House?"
she asked.
"I used to. I've changed jobs since then."
"What do you do now?"
He didn't quite know how to answer the question. "I'm, uh, in the Senate."
"Oh, right," said the first violinist. "I thought you looked familiar - you're
the guy from California."
The guy from California.
"We're not especially political," said the second violinist, shrugging, as he
ate a stuffed mushroom.
"Except about the N.E.A. We're kind of passionate about that," the 'cellist put
in.
"Anyway," Nina said, her expression softening a little, "it's not a big deal
about the champagne, and it's nice of you to check on me, Senator...?"
"Seaborn. But please, call me Sam." Sam extended his hand, which was still a
little sticky from the champagne. "Oops, sorry."
"Jacqueline Fisher-Lennox. But please, call me Nina."
She really did have a nice smile.
"And tell your friend, the guy with the hair," Nina added, making a swirling
motion above her head, "that I've heard every viola joke on the internet already
and he's not so funny."
"That would be White House Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman, but I'll be sure
to pass your message along to him."
Nina didn't seem impressed with Josh's title. Or with Josh, for that matter.
But she really did have a nice smile.
***
At 11:30, everyone began to fear that the President was going to make a speech.
Sam, who was dancing with Donna, mentioned that fear to her.
"It's his party, Sam. Of course he's going to say something. And just because
Toby wasn't here to write it for him doesn't mean it won't be meaningful.
Meaningful, and, well, lengthy."
He smiled and squeezed her hand. "Yes, and I'm glad you see my point."
"Are you afraid of missing midnight?" she asked. "Think he'll talk his way right
into 2007? Or are you afraid he'll still be talking when the musicians pack up
and leave?"
Busted.
"Donna, I wouldn't dream of--"
"Sam, I can get a cab home."
"You can not get a cab home. It's New Year's Eve, and no one can get a cab
because they're all busy."
"That means someone's in a cab."
"What the hell are you two talking about?" Josh asked as he and Amy joined them.
"I'm trying to get Sam to make a move on the viola player," Donna said smoothly.
"You know the difference between a violin and a viola? Violas burn longer." Josh
sounded happy and a little intoxicated.
"Yes, and Nina said she's already heard all the viola jokes in, you know, the
world, so you can stop."
"How do you know she doesn't have a ride?" Donna asked.
"One of the violinists said they all came in one car. It'd be the least I could
do to get her home after ruining her dress and getting champagne in her hair.
But it'd also be the least I could do to get Donna home, since she agreed to
come with me."
Donna shook her head. "Go for it. Sam, I said it's okay and that I'd get a cab."
"You'll never get a cab tonight. We'll drop you off," Amy said.
"I don't want to be a bother," Donna said, her voice becoming softer with each
word.
"You're not a bother." Amy wriggled out of Josh's arms and put her hand on
Donna's shoulder. "If it weren't for you, Josh might not be alive right now.
That's a big deal to me, Donna. Driving a few blocks out of my way - not so
much."
Before Donna could say anything, the President started making a move toward the
stage. "Go," Donna whispered to Sam, who made long strides so that he could be
standing near the stage when the last song was played.
"Good evening, my friends," Bartlet said into the microphone. "I wanted to say a
few things to you - and don't worry, because I can see a clock from here and I
promise to stop before the new year begins."
Everyone laughed.
"This is our last formal affair in the White House. From now on it'll be
barbecues at the farm - which, although they are more comfortable, won't give me
the chance to admire our beautiful women in all their finery. And by 'all' I
mean 'you and the girls,' Abbey."
"Thank you," she drawled, raising her glass to him.
"In any event, I just wanted to say how much I've appreciated each and every one
of you during this great adventure. Thank you, C.J., for putting your beautiful
face on my words and deeds. And thank you, Josh, for doing whatever the hell you
do - I've never understood it, but I know I'd be dead in the water without you."
Josh rested his cheek on Amy's head and held his hand out to C.J., who held it
tightly as she fought back tears.
"Thank you, Charlie, for going to the wrong office and ending up talking to Josh
instead of to some guy with a bike helmet. What you've done for me, what you've
deferred because of me - I won't ever forget what I owe you."
Charlie stood with Ellie, who slipped her arm around his waist and hugged him.
"Way to go, Charlie," she whispered as she looked back at her father.
"Thanks, Sam, for the words and the wisdom, and for having the sense to run for
Senate so you could take over when we get evicted." Then Bartlet's gaze rested
on Leo. "And as for you, Leo McGarry...well, I have no words." He started to say
something else, but his voice gave out and he held the microphone away for a few
seconds while he composed himself.
"And now, since I have some time left, I'd like to give you a history of the
musical selection we will hear at midnight..."
One of the waiters whispered something to Abbey, who whispered it to the
President, who nodded at the announcer by the door. "Tell us who our tardy but
welcome guest is," Bartlet said.
Everyone turned toward the top of the stairs, where a lone figure in a tuxedo
stood with a sheaf of papers in his hand.
"Toby Ziegler," the announcer intoned.
Toby moved slowly, his dark eyes scanning the room until they found C.J., who
stood rooted to the spot with her hands over her heart. Toby looked from her to
Josh, who was standing behind C.J. with his hands on her shoulders, and then
over to the First Family.
"Am I interrupting something?" he asked.
"Depends. Is that for me?" Bartlet held out his hand and took the papers from
Toby. With his free hand he fished in his pocket for his reading glasses and
put them on. "'An Assembly of Words,' it says here." He opened the book from the
back and glanced at it. "This is about writing speeches. My speeches."
"It's only the first chapter, sir," Toby said, sounding uncertain of his
welcome. "But I think there's something at the beginning that you should read.
The, uh, dedication."
Bartlet did so, and his blue eyes dimmed with tears. He cleared his throat once,
twice, and set the papers down with a trembling hand. "I'm not reading that part
aloud," he murmured into the microphone, his voice giving out for the second
time that evening. As he turned to Toby, trying to find words, the sound of
fireworks on the Mall could be heard, and joyful voices outside began to count
down.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!"
"Five!" shouted the people in the ballroom.
"Four!" Josh spun Amy around in his arms and held her tightly.
"Three!" Bartlet held his hands out to Abbey, who took them and began to join
the other voices.
"Two!" Sam stood behind Nina, ready to speak to her at the first opportunity. He
looked out in the crowd at Donna, who granted him a smile and a thumbs-up.
"One!" Toby made his way to C.J., cupping her face in his hands.
"Happy New Year!" everyone cried at once, and the quartet began to play "Auld
Lang Syne." Lovers kissed, old friends kissed, new friends smiled at one another
even though a viola was between them, and everyone embraced as they began to
sing: "Should old acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind..."
They were all singing except Toby, who held his hand out to C.J. and gave her
his most dazzling smile.
"Dance with me," he said, and she did, as their friends watched with love in
their hearts.
***
"We'll take a cup of kindness yet," warbled Bartlet as he removed his tie and
flung it onto the nightstand.
"For the love of God, Jed, would you stop?" Abbey returned from the bathroom
with little dollops of moisturizer across her cheeks and forehead. She rubbed
the cream into her skin as she went to the side of the bed and sat down. "I
thought it was a great party."
"You thought it was a great party because Toby interrupted my speech."
"That didn't hurt. But seriously, we saw a lot of wonderful things tonight. It
looks as if Josh and Donna can coexist without bringing on the Apocalypse, C.J.
and Toby looked wonderful together, and did you see Sam talking to the viola
player? Did you see how she looked at him?"
"Sam's a good looking man. Everyone looks at him. I wouldn't read too much into
that."
Abbey, who had begun to brush her hair, stopped and looked at her husband. "You
don't sound happy, Jed."
"I am happy," he protested weakly as he continued to undress. "My kids were
there, and the grandchildren, and Leo looked really good. It's just that - I had
until 2007, you know, and it didn't seem as if it were really going to happen.
Then the clock struck midnight, and I'm about to turn into a pumpkin again."
"You're my pumpkin," Abbey declared, pulling him down for a kiss. "You've said
for years that we need to get our lives back, and we're about to do just that.
I'll apply for my license again, and you'll have all the time in the world to
read and catch up on being a normal man."
"I have never been a normal man."
"Okay, you can go back to being an abnormal man." She kissed him again and
stroked the side of his face. "Is it really so awful, the thought of belonging
to me and not the entire nation?"
"Abigail, my darling wife, that thought is the only thing keeping me awake at
this ungodly hour of the night." He turned off the lamp and got into bed beside
her.
"Keep talking like that and you might get lucky," Abbey murmured into his
shoulder.
He thought for a few moments, recalling campaign stops and poker games, trivia
contests and late-night chats. He remembered Thanksgivings and Christmases come
and gone, friends lost and friendships begun anew. And he thought of all the
good things that had come to pass because of the amazing people who had worked
in the West Wing over the last eight years.
Bartlet put his arm around Abbey and turned her so he could kiss her, so he
could tuck her head beneath his chin, so he could run his hands up and down the
soft curves of her body. "I have been," he said to her between kisses.
"Been what," was her half-sleepy, half-aroused question. He smiled into the
darkness and tightened his hold on her.
"I have been - and continue to be - the luckiest man in the world."
***
End "Spirits of Great Events"
Feedback would be adored at Marguerite@opermail.com
The Rarest Faith will consist of six self-contained stories:
Spirits of Great Events (2006)
A Mighty Thing (2007)
Healthy Irreverance (2008)
The Surest Wisdom (2009)
Beginning to Believe (2010)
The Triumph of Principles (2011)
How can I ever thank my comrades and friends enough for what
they've done? Ria, Jo March, and International Princess have
been timely, honest, and loving beta readers with a genuine
interest in the story. Ryo Sen and Anna have been by my side
with pointy sticks - uh, gentle reminders - with which to
encourage me when I faltered. Ladies, I owe you everything.
Notes:
1. Many people will only read stories - especially
long ones - if they know the outcomes of any possible
pairings. I've listed the obvious ones but really can't tell
about Josh because advance knowledge will ruin the story. If
that means you can't/won't read this, then I'm sorry, but I
do need to protect the work as it's written. When it's all
over, someone can tell you how it came out and you can
decide then whether or not to give it a try. :)
2. I'm not addressing exactly how/when Sam left the White House
because, as of the time of this writing, I don't know. This
is just conjecture.
3. I know that the National Symphony makes its home in D.C.
and that the "American Symphony" is fictitious. I went to
college with people in the National, which made using the
real name just too creepy.
4. And no, Nina's not based on a real person although I did
get her nickname from someone I met.
Back to West Wing .
