***
April
Manchester
***
C.J. wrapped the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders as she read, sneaking
an occasional glance at Toby. He was either napping beside her on the hearth rug
or playing possum.
He opened one eye. Possum. "You're not going over this all again, are you? It's
a dead end, C.J."
"The dead ends have dead ends that have dead ends so dead that they can't have a
wake because everything's dead." She held her hands out toward the fire. "It's
freezing. How the hell can it be so cold in April?"
"Just lucky, I guess." Toby sat up and ran a hand through C.J.'s disheveled
hair. "This will be the last fire of the season. We really should enjoy it."
Leaning into the caress, C.J. smiled. "I've enjoyed it twice already."
Toby always looked so damn smug after they made love, and tonight was no
exception. He waggled his eyebrows at her. "I say we go for three."
"Later. I'm still going over the R.N.C. expense reports." She shuffled the
papers, wishing she had her glasses but unwilling to get up from the warmth of
this spot, unwilling to remove Toby's fingers from her back.
"I really don't think you'll find anything that leads directly to the
Internationalist Party. They're stupid, but they're not that stupid. It'll be
buried somewhere, if it's in there at all, but it's more likely that a few deep
pockets put Jeffrey Sawyer in the running."
C.J. hated Jeffrey Sawyer almost as much as she hated Gregory Schiller. She felt
her heart increasing to an angry tempo at the very thought of this kid, barely
old enough to run, who was siphoning votes from Democrats at an alarming rate by
playing to the ultra-liberals unhappy with Matt Skinner's moderate views.
"His numbers don't look good," Toby whispered into her ear, followed by an
enticement that made her shudder.
"Down into the low forties - almost a sixteen-point drop. Schiller's
pulling...oh, God, Toby, please don't do that...almost even, without moving a
notch. It's Sawyer who's going to kick our asses."
"It won't last, C.J. These guys never do. He's just a good-looking kid willing
to spout off whatever he's fed. He has even less gray matter than Robert
Ritchie, and I really didn't believe that was possible."
True. Young Mr. Sawyer, a small-town public defender who'd inherited the job
from his late father, had an alarming array of malapropisms at his beck and
call. Still, even as a few older Democrats started to wise up, the numbers in
the 18-21 demographic - both male and female - were skewed toward this upstart.
"At least Schiller's not gaining," C.J. said softly. "But it doesn't matter.
Even if he doesn't gain, Sam's going to lose." And that was the one thing she
had never thought possible. She called in favors from every muckraker she'd ever
met. Every day she'd get some leads, and every night Josh or Donna would call
back to say they'd gone nowhere.
"Makes you wonder why they're allowed to vote," Josh had groused during C.J.'s
recent visit to Washington, only to be elbowed by Donna as she reminded him that
the vast majority of college-age citizens were far too intelligent to be duped
by this slick young man and his canned rhetoric.
The upper management at NBC threw every available obstacle into her path. She
was an interviewer, not a reporter. They were short-staffed. She'd already
slapped the conservatives around with the "Hell on Earth" interview and the
exposure of the C.A.P. It was time for her to do something else, something
like...interviewing the oversexed cook Leo used to love watching.
Something else. That's what she longed to do. Something...else.
Toby began to plant wet kisses on her shoulder, and his hands slid under the
blankets and down. Down. Ooh. So much for paperwork, not when he was...
C.J. made a point of only taking Xeroxes to Manchester. After all, she was only
human.
Her breathing quickened, and she felt blood pounding in her ears. Ringing.
Ringing. Oh, for God's sake, not the phone. Please, please, not the
phone...please, Toby...don't answer...let the machine...get it...
"Toby, it's Josh. Where the hell are you?"
"Die screaming," Toby groaned, his voice so full of sex that C.J. was glad they
weren't on speakerphone. But the moment was well and truly gone, and Toby
reached for the phone with a higher level of grouchiness than normal. "I'm here,
Josh," he said, scrabbling for the speaker control. "Wait a second. Okay, you're
on."
"Is someone there with you?"
"Yes, it's me," C.J. called out, croaking a little after all the vocalizations
from earlier in the evening.
"You sound hoarse - are you getting a sore throat?"
"Not yet," Toby said dryly, and C.J. started to laugh so hard that she almost
choked. "What do you have for us?"
There was a pause, during which C.J. imagined a small light bulb going off over
Josh's head. Then she remembered that this was Josh at his most politically
focused, his most driven. His ability to decipher subtleties, never his best
feature, was surely deactivated.
Poor Donna.
"You'll love this. Matt's been getting phone calls from people pretty high up in
the Republican Party - please come back, we love you, we need you, you don't
want to work with Seaborn. So Matt was curious and he went to a meeting. At the
White House, no less."
"Really?" Toby's eyes opened wider. "What was it about?"
"Turns out that they wanted Matt to run for Vice-President."
"He's already running...oh, my God," C.J. sputtered. "They're going to replace
the Vice-President. That's unheard of! Well, I mean, we thought about it, but--"
"Exactly." Josh chuckled. "Anyway, Matt told them where to stick their offer. He
said he wasn't willing to be the token gay guy on the ticket, that they'd never
be able to offer him the opportunity Sam had."
Toby grinned. "How did Schiller take that?"
"Not well. He shouted something about not allowing Sam Seaborn within a hundred
yards of the Oval Office, whereupon Matt reminded him that Sam used to work a
lot closer than that. I think his credentials may be pulled for a while."
"I'd have paid, you know, money to see that meeting," Toby said. "Anything yet
on the Schiller-Sawyer connection?"
"I'm not finding anything. There are some people I'm going to call, and Donna's
got a few ideas, too."
"Is she there? I'd love to talk to her," C.J. said as smoothly as possible.
Mostly she just wanted to know if Donna was at Josh's apartment at this ungodly
hour.
"It's the middle of the night!" Josh squeaked. "Of course she's not with me!"
Toby rolled his eyes at C.J. and mouthed the word "putz."
"Anyway," Josh continued blithely, "Matt just called me and I wanted to pass
this along to you. When are you going home, C.J.?"
"Monday," she sighed. She didn't relish the prospect. "But I'm hoping to get a
lot done by then."
"Excellent. Night, guys."
"Night, Josh." Toby ended the call and turned to C.J. with a delightfully feral
look in his dark eyes. He looked so good in the amber firelight, so vital. So
sexy, even after all these years, and C.J. felt the liquid warmth pooling inside
her again as he crept toward her, smiling lasciviously.
"Still want to go for three?" C.J. asked coyly.
"Nuh uh," was his muffled reply as he lifted her hair and kissed each vertebra
in her neck. "Five sounds like a better number for you."
C.J. tackled him, turning him over so that she was on top. She never took her
eyes from his as she reached out with her long fingers, grabbed the phone cord,
and yanked it out of the wall.
***
July
Dallas
***
"We couldn't have the convention someplace cooler? Like Hell, for instance?"
Even in the limousine with the air conditioning on full blast, it was incredibly
hot. Josh felt sweat trickling down his back, down his chest, under his arms,
across his upper lip. He stared glumly at Donna, whose second coat of powder for
the day was starting to clump in the curves of her neck and elbows.
"It'll cool down in a while," she said.
"When? December?"
"Josh. Please." She sat forward on the leather seat and fanned the back of her
neck with a folder.
Squirming only made the sweat spread, so Josh tried to sit still. "It's a lock.
I mean, he has all but about six delegates. This is going to be the easiest
convention in the history of politics." He paused, running his finger across his
lip and wiping the perspiration off on his pants leg. "So why do I feel like
there are a hundred Cossacks marching through my chest?"
"Because tonight it's for real."
"Donna, we spent six months campaigning. It's been real for a long, long time."
"True." She didn't seem interested in the verbal sparring. A welcome blast of
cold air went through the passenger area, making them both sigh with relief.
"We're here."
The hotel was a welcome change from the Convention Center. Josh had practically
lived at the Democratic National Convention - small, stuffy room after small,
stuffy room after small, stuffy room, talking to delegates, talking to platform
committees, talking to campaign staff. But tonight he'd be on his way to the
vast auditorium to watch the first part of his dream come true.
In a few hours, Sam Seaborn would be the official Democratic Party candidate of
the 2010 Presidential Election.
The thought made Josh sweat even harder.
"Your tux came back from the cleaners this afternoon," Donna said, looking at
him with some concern as he got his damp, clammy body out of the car. "And for
God's sake, take a shower. You're way past ripe."
He looked at her as she walked ahead of him into the lobby. Just a little damp
around the edges, but delectable. And untouchable.
Still.
Watching their steps had become a full-time occupation. Nothing could happen
during the campaign, especially when Jeffrey Sawyer had made his first splashes.
Nothing could happen on the long bus trips, because of the media, nor anywhere a
camera might be. And since they spent most of their time with Sam - who spent
most of his time in front of cameras - there had been no prayer of taking their
newly-mended friendship to the next level.
Then there was the other factor, the one Donna quietly called "Amy's ghost,"
even though Amy was very much alive and had returned to Africa to work with
Maendeleo Ya Wanawake. Josh didn't know what he could do about the specter,
other than to be respectful of Donna's hesitation - whether or not it drove him
crazy.
And here, in Dallas, ensconced in the cozy little St. Germain Hotel, with only
their own entourage to worry about, they had found themselves with literally no
time whatsoever. In the week they'd been in Dallas, Josh had managed to have
only three meals with Donna, and one of them was standing up in a hallway
outside a women's caucus meeting. The ride from the Convention Center to the
hotel was the longest time he'd spent with her in a single location, and all
she'd had to say was that he was "past ripe."
Whoever said that sex and politics went together should be taken out and
executed.
Josh watched glumly as Donna went to her room, which was at the other end of the
hall from his and which adjoined Matt's. Grim irony, thought Josh, recalling all
the wasted trips when he'd used the connecting door to Donna's room as a means
to bellow late-night orders which she'd summarily ignored.
This line of thinking was getting him nowhere. He shook it off and meandered
into his own room, which was a shambles of paper, discarded clothing, and more
paper. Taking a shower alleviated his sour mood a little, as did the phone
message telling him that Toby had finally arrived.
At least they were all going to be together for the big event. C.J. had been
forbidden to cover the convention as a journalist because of her close
relationship with Sam, so she'd come as a private citizen and was enjoying the
hell out of being asked to sit in on all sorts of policy meetings. Matt was
keeping a relatively low profile, working quietly with Donna as plank after
plank of the platform fell into place. All working toward this night.
Nina had spent her week safely ensconced with Helen in what was usually the
bridal suite. "I love being trotted out for state occasions," she said as she
joined Josh in the lobby. She wore a stunning, simple gown of dark purple silk,
and Helen's frillier little-girl dress was pale lilac. The resemblance between
mother and daughter was growing more pronounced all the time, except that Helen
had her father's intense blue eyes. Photographers couldn't get enough of them,
and Carol made sure that every photo op made the best of Nina's quiet grace and
Helen's arresting beauty.
Mother and daughter posed for a couple of pictures with campaign staffers. Josh
admired Nina for making the best of the impossible conundrum: her love of
privacy versus the need to be in the public eye for Sam's sake. Concern for
Helen was the couple's top priority, and so far the press had been very
respectful of the boundaries placed around a little girl about to become famous
because of her father.
The last cameras were put away and the staffers went ahead to the Convention
Center. "Nervous?" Josh asked Nina, as he fiddled with his tie for the tenth
time.
Nina walked over and straightened the knot, looking up at Josh with the same
rapturous expression she'd had on her wedding day. Her brown eyes sparkled as
she patted him on the chest. "I don't have to do anything but stand there and
wave. Sam's got the hard part."
"He is going to kick ass and take names," Josh declared. "But first he needs to
come downstairs so he doesn't miss the limo."
"He's just putting the finishing touches on his speech." She looked over Josh's
shoulder and waved.
Josh turned around just in time to see C.J. and Toby emerge from the elevator,
holding hands and whispering to one another. Like teenagers. Sickening.
He was so jealous he could vomit.
C.J. wore her Emmy gown, the one that had caused the fracas between Toby and
Joan Rivers. "For luck," she said as she twirled in front of Helen to make her
laugh. Toby looked at C.J. as if he could eat her alive.
Scratch that thought.
Matt arrived next, holding the door for Donna. She wore a simple black dress,
nothing fancy, but Josh thought she was the most elegant woman in the very,
very fine group. He caught her eye and smiled at her, which made her smile back.
A flurry of dark-suited men heralded Sam's arrival. He wasn't somber, exactly,
but he had...what was the word, the one Toby loved so much?
Gravitas. Yes. And he carried himself like a man who could bear the weight of
the world upon his shoulders as easily as the little girl he picked up and held
in his arms as he led the procession to the limousines.
"Abbey called," Nina said as she waited for an agent to open the door. "She
asked if any of us had eaten anything in the last twelve hours." The collective
silence gave her the answer. "Just thought I'd bring it up."
Josh climbed into the car with Donna, Toby, and C.J., while Matt went with the
Seaborns. "Where's Gary?" Toby asked.
Donna's expression darkened. "He didn't come. He was afraid he'd be a
distraction, especially here in the middle of the Bible Belt."
"He's right, but it sucks," C.J. said. "So all the women are wearing his dresses
- even Helen. He's here, symbolically."
"He should be here in person," Josh sighed. "I want Sam to be President more
than I want to take my next breath, but the cost..." He glanced at Donna, who
blushed and looked out the window.
"There is a cost," Toby agreed. "And a toll that it takes on the leaders and
their families. Sometimes we don't even see it until it's too late." He folded
his hands in his lap, and Josh saw a little tremor.
"How's he doing?" he whispered, but Toby just shrugged and sat back further in
his seat, shaking his head as if saying he didn't want to talk about it, not
now. Donna's cool fingers slipped into Josh's, and he held on tightly.
They'd asked Jed to be with them, of course, but Abbey said he wasn't feeling
well. No one had the heart to ask if it had been an episode of M.S. or simply a
sign of encroaching old age. Either way, it cast a pall on the happiness they
were all feeling.
Their arrival at the Convention Center set off an explosion of flashes, cameras
whirring so loudly that they sounded like helicopters landing in their midst.
Sam smiled, Nina beamed. Helen toddled in, holding C.J.'s hand on one side and
Toby's on the other. Toby looked like Silas Marner in a tux. Matt walked in
alone, his soft eyes full of a mixture of awe and sadness, with Donna right
behind him. Josh, bringing up the rear, tried not to flinch at the noises and
lights.
The whole night was about noises and lights. About impassioned delegates
speaking up for Sam in loud, happy voices. About glitter and balloons and
cheers, about hope. About Sam, his dearest friend in all the world, taking his
place on the podium and offering himself as the people's servant.
Josh would have to read the speech later, because now he was swept up in the
moment itself. This was where Sam was born to be, and Josh was born to put him
here. He was surprised to find tears welling up in his eyes, and for a moment he
wondered if he was just being weak. But then he turned his head and saw Toby
surreptitiously dabbing his eyes while C.J.'s shoulders shook with sobs. Beside
them, Donna stood with her fingers over her mouth as a lone tear made its way
down her cheek.
Josh held his arms open and she fell into them, sobbing against his chest. "I
love him so much," she whispered. "Oh, my God, Josh. I love him so much."
"I know," he said, kissing the top of her head and rocking her back and forth.
"I do, too."
There would be art, of course, showing the former White House Deputy Chief of
Staff with his cheek pillowed in his former assistant's hair. Josh was
peripherally aware that he should give a damn about it. In reality, though,
nothing mattered but Sam's voice, strong and clear, as he proudly accepted his
party's nomination for President of the United States.
***
It had, Sam thought, been surprisingly easy. When you got right down to it, all
he had to do was what he'd done a thousand times before - speak from the heart.
He looked around the dining room at the St. Germain, where his exhausted but
exhilarated campaign staff enjoyed food and champagne and one another's company.
It was real. It had happened, and he'd accepted, and raised his hand with Matt's
high in the air while thousands upon thousands of people cheered.
Sure, his polling numbers were still lower than he'd like, with Jeffrey Sawyer -
and probably the sitting President - to blame. But he knew that eventually the
message would be too good for people to ignore. It had to be. It was what he'd
spent his entire adult life crafting. He could, and would, win this election.
Nina returned after going upstairs to check on Helen again. She slipped her arm
around Sam's waist and hugged him. Here was a First Lady to remake the mold of
First Ladies, Sam thought. She'd have Carol on her staff, and...
Staff.
Holy hell, he'd never talked about a senior staff with these people. It had
seemed like a sure jinx at first, and then later he'd been too busy to actually
do anything about it. Now, surrounded by so many people who loved and believed
in him, he knew that he could never accomplish anything without them.
He kissed Nina, gaining a round of applause and some catcalls, then went to the
middle of the room and tapped a spoon on his champagne glass. "Could I get
everyone's attention, please?"
The room fell silent.
"It occurs to me that I've just been assuming you'll all come work for me in the
White House," he said as preamble, and everyone laughed. "But since we're all
here, I'd like to ask you, formally, to take positions as members of the senior
staff." He turned first to C.J. "I can't offer you a couple of million a year in
salary, a Park Avenue apartment, or even an office that doesn't leak."
She leaned against Toby, whose arm was around her waist, holding her fast. Her
smile was brilliant, one he hadn't seen in far too long. "I don't have to fall
into a swimming pool again, do I?"
How he admired her, this bright, shimmering woman with a mind as complex and
astonishing as the exquisite ruby ring that twinkled on her right hand. "Not
unless I rip up the floor in the Press Room," he quipped, bringing back memories
of days gone by. "Name the job, C.J., and it's yours."
"I'd like to be Media Director, then. I don't know if I have Press Secretary in
me, but I know someone who does. Give Andrew Wang a call. He's been sitting in
for me on "Practical Politics" while Sarah is getting experience as a director,
and he's good, Sam. He's incredibly good."
Sam started to ask Ginger to take notes, but she was already scribbling in a
pad. He looked at her, waiting until she stopped writing so he could catch her
eye. "You didn't have much of an office, last time. Would you be willing...?"
Her expression was priceless when she finally realized that Sam was talking
about the desk right outside the Oval Office. Mrs. Landingham's, then Debbie
Fiderer's. "Administrative Assistant to the President?" she breathed, looking as
if she were about to faint. "Well, I survived eight years of Toby - the last
four without you. How hard could it be?"
"That's the spirit!" Sam declared, enjoying the look of mock injury on Toby's
face. "And for Chief of Staff I was thinking about Bruno Gianelli. Don't you
think that's a great idea?"
Boos and laughter rang through the room. Nina scowled at Sam, then burst into a
fit of giggles that left her teary-eyed and breathless.
That left Sam wanting to...
No, not in the middle of putting a senior staff together.
He searched the room for Josh, who was standing off to one side with a glass of
champagne in his hand. "You came and got me," Sam said gently. "None of this
would have happened if you hadn't turned up at Gage Whitney, soaking wet and
pointing out your incredibly bad poker face."
Josh raised the glass to Sam. His lips were pressed tightly together as if to
rein in some overwhelming emotion, but he managed to twitch the corners upward.
"Jed told me his criteria for choosing a Chief of Staff. He said it had to be my
best friend, someone who loved my enough to tell me when I was screwing up.
Someone smarter than I am. Someone I'd trust with my life." Sam walked over to
Josh and stood in front of him, his hand outstretched. "I didn't ask, formally,
last time. But now I will - I'd like you to be the White House Chief of Staff."
Clasping Sam's hand, Josh finally smiled, his dimples deepening and his dark
eyes flashing with delight. "I serve at the pleasure of the President," he
murmured.
No one spoke. No one moved. At last, when Josh finally released Sam's hand,
Nina's voice broke the stillness. "You got a more formal proposal than I did,"
she said, making everyone laugh and relax after the emotion of the moment.
"And I actually have to be, you know, elected," Sam reminded everyone.
"Not a problem." It was the old Josh, the brash, self-assured, extraordinary
Josh who had turned the Bartlet campaign around in 1998 and again in 2002. And
if Josh said it was not a problem, then Sam was inclined to believe him.
He turned to Toby. Toby, the most unlikely of mentors, the most loyal of
friends. "Would you consider..." he began, but Toby shook his head.
"It's...it's an honor." Toby held C.J. tighter, and she rested her head on his
shoulder. "And I can't begin to tell you what it means to me. But Jed...he's..."
Sam's throat tightened.
Toby cleared his throat, looking at Sam through heavy-lidded eyes. "There've
been problems. Abbey's not certain yet if it's M.S., or just him getting older,
but...I'm not sure how much time he has left. How much good time."
"I understand," Sam whispered. It was a double disappointment, a double
heartache.
"That doesn't mean," Toby added, "that I won't be checking every word that comes
out of the Communications Department and giving you constant feedback. And you
know that any time you need help with your writing..."
"I can come to you."
"You'd better. And you'd also better get all these people to bed, because
there's a campaign to get on the road tomorrow." Toby released C.J. and waved
his arms at the crowd. "Go! Get the last four hours of continuous sleep you'll
have for the next four years!"
"He's got a point. Everyone - thank you so much. We'll see you in the morning at
seven for breakfast." He nodded to his agents, who escorted him to the elevator
with Nina while the rest of the crowd dispersed.
***
Josh leaned against the dining room wall with his eyes closed. Finally, finally
he was alone, and he could begin to absorb Sam's offer.
Yes, he'd allowed himself to hope - but to expect it, outright, was something he
hadn't dared to dream. White House Chief of Staff.
Leo.
His hands trembled as he thought back on the myriad tasks Leo performed every
day without getting so much as a wrinkle in his immaculate suits. "I can't do
it," he whispered to himself. "I can't be Leo."
"No, but you can be Josh."
The unexpected voice startled him, making him jump. "Donna, Jesus, don't do
that!" he sputtered, holding his hand over his heart. He peered around the baby
grand piano and found Donna sitting on the bench, her hand caressing the ivory
keys in respectful silence. "You've been here all this time?"
"I didn't want to go to bed. I needed to think." She looked up at him. Mascara
had pooled beneath her eyes from the half-dozen times she'd cried for joy. Her
lipstick was gone, and her blush was streaked with tears.
She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"I need to think, too," Josh said, sitting next to her and plunking out the
first few notes of "Heart and Soul."
"Yuck, don't." Donna closed the lid, then reached for Josh's hand and held it in
hers. "I meant it. You can't be Leo, but you can be Josh."
"I'm just not sure how much good a 'Josh' will be," he said. He tilted his head
to one side. "I could use a good Deputy," he said. "Want to work for the
second-most-powerful man in the nation?"
"I already do, Josh," Donna replied, holding her chin up a little more. "Matt
asked me to be his Chief of Staff."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
Josh pondered the idea for a moment. "So you'll be at the O.E.O.B. That's not
too far away from my office."
"My office will be closer than you think. Sam wants Matt to office in the White
House."
His laughter surprised him, coming from deep in his chest. "Where the hell will
they get an office for Matt in the White House?" he demanded. "We couldn't fit a
hamster cage in there by the end of the Bartlet administration!"
"I told Sam that Matt's office should adjoin the Oval."
Very funny.
"Matt's not getting my office."
"I'm just saying..." Suddenly she stopped talking and threw her arms around his
neck. She kissed him, hard, for a long, long time.
He didn't feel inclined to question his good fortune.
Donna broke the kiss and got up, her fingers trailing along Josh's jawline.
"Don't forget where we had our first kiss, Josh. Piano bench, the St. Germain in
Dallas, the night Sam got the nomination."
"It won't be our last, will it?"
Damn, he sounded like a teenager.
She smiled at him, the smile that always turned his knees to oatmeal and removed
every drop of saliva from his mouth. "That depends," she responded cryptically.
"Depends on...?" he asked, his mouth all but hanging open.
"Whether Sam wins the election. So do a job, Josh, okay?" She patted him on the
cheek, then turned and walked toward her room.
Josh sat for a long time on the bench. He wanted to buy the bench. Hell, throw
the piano in there, too. And the hotel. And the sweaty, smelly hellhole that was
Dallas in the summer.
Because, come what may, Sam Seaborn was going to be the next President of the
United States.
***
Part Four
April
Manchester
***
C.J. wrapped the blanket tighter around her bare shoulders as she read, sneaking
an occasional glance at Toby. He was either napping beside her on the hearth rug
or playing possum.
He opened one eye. Possum. "You're not going over this all again, are you? It's
a dead end, C.J."
"The dead ends have dead ends that have dead ends so dead that they can't have a
wake because everything's dead." She held her hands out toward the fire. "It's
freezing. How the hell can it be so cold in April?"
"Just lucky, I guess." Toby sat up and ran a hand through C.J.'s disheveled
hair. "This will be the last fire of the season. We really should enjoy it."
Leaning into the caress, C.J. smiled. "I've enjoyed it twice already."
Toby always looked so damn smug after they made love, and tonight was no
exception. He waggled his eyebrows at her. "I say we go for three."
"Later. I'm still going over the R.N.C. expense reports." She shuffled the
papers, wishing she had her glasses but unwilling to get up from the warmth of
this spot, unwilling to remove Toby's fingers from her back.
"I really don't think you'll find anything that leads directly to the
Internationalist Party. They're stupid, but they're not that stupid. It'll be
buried somewhere, if it's in there at all, but it's more likely that a few deep
pockets put Jeffrey Sawyer in the running."
C.J. hated Jeffrey Sawyer almost as much as she hated Gregory Schiller. She felt
her heart increasing to an angry tempo at the very thought of this kid, barely
old enough to run, who was siphoning votes from Democrats at an alarming rate by
playing to the ultra-liberals unhappy with Matt Skinner's moderate views.
"His numbers don't look good," Toby whispered into her ear, followed by an
enticement that made her shudder.
"Down into the low forties - almost a sixteen-point drop. Schiller's
pulling...oh, God, Toby, please don't do that...almost even, without moving a
notch. It's Sawyer who's going to kick our asses."
"It won't last, C.J. These guys never do. He's just a good-looking kid willing
to spout off whatever he's fed. He has even less gray matter than Robert
Ritchie, and I really didn't believe that was possible."
True. Young Mr. Sawyer, a small-town public defender who'd inherited the job
from his late father, had an alarming array of malapropisms at his beck and
call. Still, even as a few older Democrats started to wise up, the numbers in
the 18-21 demographic - both male and female - were skewed toward this upstart.
"At least Schiller's not gaining," C.J. said softly. "But it doesn't matter.
Even if he doesn't gain, Sam's going to lose." And that was the one thing she
had never thought possible. She called in favors from every muckraker she'd ever
met. Every day she'd get some leads, and every night Josh or Donna would call
back to say they'd gone nowhere.
"Makes you wonder why they're allowed to vote," Josh had groused during C.J.'s
recent visit to Washington, only to be elbowed by Donna as she reminded him that
the vast majority of college-age citizens were far too intelligent to be duped
by this slick young man and his canned rhetoric.
The upper management at NBC threw every available obstacle into her path. She
was an interviewer, not a reporter. They were short-staffed. She'd already
slapped the conservatives around with the "Hell on Earth" interview and the
exposure of the C.A.P. It was time for her to do something else, something
like...interviewing the oversexed cook Leo used to love watching.
Something else. That's what she longed to do. Something...else.
Toby began to plant wet kisses on her shoulder, and his hands slid under the
blankets and down. Down. Ooh. So much for paperwork, not when he was...
C.J. made a point of only taking Xeroxes to Manchester. After all, she was only
human.
Her breathing quickened, and she felt blood pounding in her ears. Ringing.
Ringing. Oh, for God's sake, not the phone. Please, please, not the
phone...please, Toby...don't answer...let the machine...get it...
"Toby, it's Josh. Where the hell are you?"
"Die screaming," Toby groaned, his voice so full of sex that C.J. was glad they
weren't on speakerphone. But the moment was well and truly gone, and Toby
reached for the phone with a higher level of grouchiness than normal. "I'm here,
Josh," he said, scrabbling for the speaker control. "Wait a second. Okay, you're
on."
"Is someone there with you?"
"Yes, it's me," C.J. called out, croaking a little after all the vocalizations
from earlier in the evening.
"You sound hoarse - are you getting a sore throat?"
"Not yet," Toby said dryly, and C.J. started to laugh so hard that she almost
choked. "What do you have for us?"
There was a pause, during which C.J. imagined a small light bulb going off over
Josh's head. Then she remembered that this was Josh at his most politically
focused, his most driven. His ability to decipher subtleties, never his best
feature, was surely deactivated.
Poor Donna.
"You'll love this. Matt's been getting phone calls from people pretty high up in
the Republican Party - please come back, we love you, we need you, you don't
want to work with Seaborn. So Matt was curious and he went to a meeting. At the
White House, no less."
"Really?" Toby's eyes opened wider. "What was it about?"
"Turns out that they wanted Matt to run for Vice-President."
"He's already running...oh, my God," C.J. sputtered. "They're going to replace
the Vice-President. That's unheard of! Well, I mean, we thought about it, but--"
"Exactly." Josh chuckled. "Anyway, Matt told them where to stick their offer. He
said he wasn't willing to be the token gay guy on the ticket, that they'd never
be able to offer him the opportunity Sam had."
Toby grinned. "How did Schiller take that?"
"Not well. He shouted something about not allowing Sam Seaborn within a hundred
yards of the Oval Office, whereupon Matt reminded him that Sam used to work a
lot closer than that. I think his credentials may be pulled for a while."
"I'd have paid, you know, money to see that meeting," Toby said. "Anything yet
on the Schiller-Sawyer connection?"
"I'm not finding anything. There are some people I'm going to call, and Donna's
got a few ideas, too."
"Is she there? I'd love to talk to her," C.J. said as smoothly as possible.
Mostly she just wanted to know if Donna was at Josh's apartment at this ungodly
hour.
"It's the middle of the night!" Josh squeaked. "Of course she's not with me!"
Toby rolled his eyes at C.J. and mouthed the word "putz."
"Anyway," Josh continued blithely, "Matt just called me and I wanted to pass
this along to you. When are you going home, C.J.?"
"Monday," she sighed. She didn't relish the prospect. "But I'm hoping to get a
lot done by then."
"Excellent. Night, guys."
"Night, Josh." Toby ended the call and turned to C.J. with a delightfully feral
look in his dark eyes. He looked so good in the amber firelight, so vital. So
sexy, even after all these years, and C.J. felt the liquid warmth pooling inside
her again as he crept toward her, smiling lasciviously.
"Still want to go for three?" C.J. asked coyly.
"Nuh uh," was his muffled reply as he lifted her hair and kissed each vertebra
in her neck. "Five sounds like a better number for you."
C.J. tackled him, turning him over so that she was on top. She never took her
eyes from his as she reached out with her long fingers, grabbed the phone cord,
and yanked it out of the wall.
***
July
Dallas
***
"We couldn't have the convention someplace cooler? Like Hell, for instance?"
Even in the limousine with the air conditioning on full blast, it was incredibly
hot. Josh felt sweat trickling down his back, down his chest, under his arms,
across his upper lip. He stared glumly at Donna, whose second coat of powder for
the day was starting to clump in the curves of her neck and elbows.
"It'll cool down in a while," she said.
"When? December?"
"Josh. Please." She sat forward on the leather seat and fanned the back of her
neck with a folder.
Squirming only made the sweat spread, so Josh tried to sit still. "It's a lock.
I mean, he has all but about six delegates. This is going to be the easiest
convention in the history of politics." He paused, running his finger across his
lip and wiping the perspiration off on his pants leg. "So why do I feel like
there are a hundred Cossacks marching through my chest?"
"Because tonight it's for real."
"Donna, we spent six months campaigning. It's been real for a long, long time."
"True." She didn't seem interested in the verbal sparring. A welcome blast of
cold air went through the passenger area, making them both sigh with relief.
"We're here."
The hotel was a welcome change from the Convention Center. Josh had practically
lived at the Democratic National Convention - small, stuffy room after small,
stuffy room after small, stuffy room, talking to delegates, talking to platform
committees, talking to campaign staff. But tonight he'd be on his way to the
vast auditorium to watch the first part of his dream come true.
In a few hours, Sam Seaborn would be the official Democratic Party candidate of
the 2010 Presidential Election.
The thought made Josh sweat even harder.
"Your tux came back from the cleaners this afternoon," Donna said, looking at
him with some concern as he got his damp, clammy body out of the car. "And for
God's sake, take a shower. You're way past ripe."
He looked at her as she walked ahead of him into the lobby. Just a little damp
around the edges, but delectable. And untouchable.
Still.
Watching their steps had become a full-time occupation. Nothing could happen
during the campaign, especially when Jeffrey Sawyer had made his first splashes.
Nothing could happen on the long bus trips, because of the media, nor anywhere a
camera might be. And since they spent most of their time with Sam - who spent
most of his time in front of cameras - there had been no prayer of taking their
newly-mended friendship to the next level.
Then there was the other factor, the one Donna quietly called "Amy's ghost,"
even though Amy was very much alive and had returned to Africa to work with
Maendeleo Ya Wanawake. Josh didn't know what he could do about the specter,
other than to be respectful of Donna's hesitation - whether or not it drove him
crazy.
And here, in Dallas, ensconced in the cozy little St. Germain Hotel, with only
their own entourage to worry about, they had found themselves with literally no
time whatsoever. In the week they'd been in Dallas, Josh had managed to have
only three meals with Donna, and one of them was standing up in a hallway
outside a women's caucus meeting. The ride from the Convention Center to the
hotel was the longest time he'd spent with her in a single location, and all
she'd had to say was that he was "past ripe."
Whoever said that sex and politics went together should be taken out and
executed.
Josh watched glumly as Donna went to her room, which was at the other end of the
hall from his and which adjoined Matt's. Grim irony, thought Josh, recalling all
the wasted trips when he'd used the connecting door to Donna's room as a means
to bellow late-night orders which she'd summarily ignored.
This line of thinking was getting him nowhere. He shook it off and meandered
into his own room, which was a shambles of paper, discarded clothing, and more
paper. Taking a shower alleviated his sour mood a little, as did the phone
message telling him that Toby had finally arrived.
At least they were all going to be together for the big event. C.J. had been
forbidden to cover the convention as a journalist because of her close
relationship with Sam, so she'd come as a private citizen and was enjoying the
hell out of being asked to sit in on all sorts of policy meetings. Matt was
keeping a relatively low profile, working quietly with Donna as plank after
plank of the platform fell into place. All working toward this night.
Nina had spent her week safely ensconced with Helen in what was usually the
bridal suite. "I love being trotted out for state occasions," she said as she
joined Josh in the lobby. She wore a stunning, simple gown of dark purple silk,
and Helen's frillier little-girl dress was pale lilac. The resemblance between
mother and daughter was growing more pronounced all the time, except that Helen
had her father's intense blue eyes. Photographers couldn't get enough of them,
and Carol made sure that every photo op made the best of Nina's quiet grace and
Helen's arresting beauty.
Mother and daughter posed for a couple of pictures with campaign staffers. Josh
admired Nina for making the best of the impossible conundrum: her love of
privacy versus the need to be in the public eye for Sam's sake. Concern for
Helen was the couple's top priority, and so far the press had been very
respectful of the boundaries placed around a little girl about to become famous
because of her father.
The last cameras were put away and the staffers went ahead to the Convention
Center. "Nervous?" Josh asked Nina, as he fiddled with his tie for the tenth
time.
Nina walked over and straightened the knot, looking up at Josh with the same
rapturous expression she'd had on her wedding day. Her brown eyes sparkled as
she patted him on the chest. "I don't have to do anything but stand there and
wave. Sam's got the hard part."
"He is going to kick ass and take names," Josh declared. "But first he needs to
come downstairs so he doesn't miss the limo."
"He's just putting the finishing touches on his speech." She looked over Josh's
shoulder and waved.
Josh turned around just in time to see C.J. and Toby emerge from the elevator,
holding hands and whispering to one another. Like teenagers. Sickening.
He was so jealous he could vomit.
C.J. wore her Emmy gown, the one that had caused the fracas between Toby and
Joan Rivers. "For luck," she said as she twirled in front of Helen to make her
laugh. Toby looked at C.J. as if he could eat her alive.
Scratch that thought.
Matt arrived next, holding the door for Donna. She wore a simple black dress,
nothing fancy, but Josh thought she was the most elegant woman in the very,
very fine group. He caught her eye and smiled at her, which made her smile back.
A flurry of dark-suited men heralded Sam's arrival. He wasn't somber, exactly,
but he had...what was the word, the one Toby loved so much?
Gravitas. Yes. And he carried himself like a man who could bear the weight of
the world upon his shoulders as easily as the little girl he picked up and held
in his arms as he led the procession to the limousines.
"Abbey called," Nina said as she waited for an agent to open the door. "She
asked if any of us had eaten anything in the last twelve hours." The collective
silence gave her the answer. "Just thought I'd bring it up."
Josh climbed into the car with Donna, Toby, and C.J., while Matt went with the
Seaborns. "Where's Gary?" Toby asked.
Donna's expression darkened. "He didn't come. He was afraid he'd be a
distraction, especially here in the middle of the Bible Belt."
"He's right, but it sucks," C.J. said. "So all the women are wearing his dresses
- even Helen. He's here, symbolically."
"He should be here in person," Josh sighed. "I want Sam to be President more
than I want to take my next breath, but the cost..." He glanced at Donna, who
blushed and looked out the window.
"There is a cost," Toby agreed. "And a toll that it takes on the leaders and
their families. Sometimes we don't even see it until it's too late." He folded
his hands in his lap, and Josh saw a little tremor.
"How's he doing?" he whispered, but Toby just shrugged and sat back further in
his seat, shaking his head as if saying he didn't want to talk about it, not
now. Donna's cool fingers slipped into Josh's, and he held on tightly.
They'd asked Jed to be with them, of course, but Abbey said he wasn't feeling
well. No one had the heart to ask if it had been an episode of M.S. or simply a
sign of encroaching old age. Either way, it cast a pall on the happiness they
were all feeling.
Their arrival at the Convention Center set off an explosion of flashes, cameras
whirring so loudly that they sounded like helicopters landing in their midst.
Sam smiled, Nina beamed. Helen toddled in, holding C.J.'s hand on one side and
Toby's on the other. Toby looked like Silas Marner in a tux. Matt walked in
alone, his soft eyes full of a mixture of awe and sadness, with Donna right
behind him. Josh, bringing up the rear, tried not to flinch at the noises and
lights.
The whole night was about noises and lights. About impassioned delegates
speaking up for Sam in loud, happy voices. About glitter and balloons and
cheers, about hope. About Sam, his dearest friend in all the world, taking his
place on the podium and offering himself as the people's servant.
Josh would have to read the speech later, because now he was swept up in the
moment itself. This was where Sam was born to be, and Josh was born to put him
here. He was surprised to find tears welling up in his eyes, and for a moment he
wondered if he was just being weak. But then he turned his head and saw Toby
surreptitiously dabbing his eyes while C.J.'s shoulders shook with sobs. Beside
them, Donna stood with her fingers over her mouth as a lone tear made its way
down her cheek.
Josh held his arms open and she fell into them, sobbing against his chest. "I
love him so much," she whispered. "Oh, my God, Josh. I love him so much."
"I know," he said, kissing the top of her head and rocking her back and forth.
"I do, too."
There would be art, of course, showing the former White House Deputy Chief of
Staff with his cheek pillowed in his former assistant's hair. Josh was
peripherally aware that he should give a damn about it. In reality, though,
nothing mattered but Sam's voice, strong and clear, as he proudly accepted his
party's nomination for President of the United States.
***
It had, Sam thought, been surprisingly easy. When you got right down to it, all
he had to do was what he'd done a thousand times before - speak from the heart.
He looked around the dining room at the St. Germain, where his exhausted but
exhilarated campaign staff enjoyed food and champagne and one another's company.
It was real. It had happened, and he'd accepted, and raised his hand with Matt's
high in the air while thousands upon thousands of people cheered.
Sure, his polling numbers were still lower than he'd like, with Jeffrey Sawyer -
and probably the sitting President - to blame. But he knew that eventually the
message would be too good for people to ignore. It had to be. It was what he'd
spent his entire adult life crafting. He could, and would, win this election.
Nina returned after going upstairs to check on Helen again. She slipped her arm
around Sam's waist and hugged him. Here was a First Lady to remake the mold of
First Ladies, Sam thought. She'd have Carol on her staff, and...
Staff.
Holy hell, he'd never talked about a senior staff with these people. It had
seemed like a sure jinx at first, and then later he'd been too busy to actually
do anything about it. Now, surrounded by so many people who loved and believed
in him, he knew that he could never accomplish anything without them.
He kissed Nina, gaining a round of applause and some catcalls, then went to the
middle of the room and tapped a spoon on his champagne glass. "Could I get
everyone's attention, please?"
The room fell silent.
"It occurs to me that I've just been assuming you'll all come work for me in the
White House," he said as preamble, and everyone laughed. "But since we're all
here, I'd like to ask you, formally, to take positions as members of the senior
staff." He turned first to C.J. "I can't offer you a couple of million a year in
salary, a Park Avenue apartment, or even an office that doesn't leak."
She leaned against Toby, whose arm was around her waist, holding her fast. Her
smile was brilliant, one he hadn't seen in far too long. "I don't have to fall
into a swimming pool again, do I?"
How he admired her, this bright, shimmering woman with a mind as complex and
astonishing as the exquisite ruby ring that twinkled on her right hand. "Not
unless I rip up the floor in the Press Room," he quipped, bringing back memories
of days gone by. "Name the job, C.J., and it's yours."
"I'd like to be Media Director, then. I don't know if I have Press Secretary in
me, but I know someone who does. Give Andrew Wang a call. He's been sitting in
for me on "Practical Politics" while Sarah is getting experience as a director,
and he's good, Sam. He's incredibly good."
Sam started to ask Ginger to take notes, but she was already scribbling in a
pad. He looked at her, waiting until she stopped writing so he could catch her
eye. "You didn't have much of an office, last time. Would you be willing...?"
Her expression was priceless when she finally realized that Sam was talking
about the desk right outside the Oval Office. Mrs. Landingham's, then Debbie
Fiderer's. "Administrative Assistant to the President?" she breathed, looking as
if she were about to faint. "Well, I survived eight years of Toby - the last
four without you. How hard could it be?"
"That's the spirit!" Sam declared, enjoying the look of mock injury on Toby's
face. "And for Chief of Staff I was thinking about Bruno Gianelli. Don't you
think that's a great idea?"
Boos and laughter rang through the room. Nina scowled at Sam, then burst into a
fit of giggles that left her teary-eyed and breathless.
That left Sam wanting to...
No, not in the middle of putting a senior staff together.
He searched the room for Josh, who was standing off to one side with a glass of
champagne in his hand. "You came and got me," Sam said gently. "None of this
would have happened if you hadn't turned up at Gage Whitney, soaking wet and
pointing out your incredibly bad poker face."
Josh raised the glass to Sam. His lips were pressed tightly together as if to
rein in some overwhelming emotion, but he managed to twitch the corners upward.
"Jed told me his criteria for choosing a Chief of Staff. He said it had to be my
best friend, someone who loved my enough to tell me when I was screwing up.
Someone smarter than I am. Someone I'd trust with my life." Sam walked over to
Josh and stood in front of him, his hand outstretched. "I didn't ask, formally,
last time. But now I will - I'd like you to be the White House Chief of Staff."
Clasping Sam's hand, Josh finally smiled, his dimples deepening and his dark
eyes flashing with delight. "I serve at the pleasure of the President," he
murmured.
No one spoke. No one moved. At last, when Josh finally released Sam's hand,
Nina's voice broke the stillness. "You got a more formal proposal than I did,"
she said, making everyone laugh and relax after the emotion of the moment.
"And I actually have to be, you know, elected," Sam reminded everyone.
"Not a problem." It was the old Josh, the brash, self-assured, extraordinary
Josh who had turned the Bartlet campaign around in 1998 and again in 2002. And
if Josh said it was not a problem, then Sam was inclined to believe him.
He turned to Toby. Toby, the most unlikely of mentors, the most loyal of
friends. "Would you consider..." he began, but Toby shook his head.
"It's...it's an honor." Toby held C.J. tighter, and she rested her head on his
shoulder. "And I can't begin to tell you what it means to me. But Jed...he's..."
Sam's throat tightened.
Toby cleared his throat, looking at Sam through heavy-lidded eyes. "There've
been problems. Abbey's not certain yet if it's M.S., or just him getting older,
but...I'm not sure how much time he has left. How much good time."
"I understand," Sam whispered. It was a double disappointment, a double
heartache.
"That doesn't mean," Toby added, "that I won't be checking every word that comes
out of the Communications Department and giving you constant feedback. And you
know that any time you need help with your writing..."
"I can come to you."
"You'd better. And you'd also better get all these people to bed, because
there's a campaign to get on the road tomorrow." Toby released C.J. and waved
his arms at the crowd. "Go! Get the last four hours of continuous sleep you'll
have for the next four years!"
"He's got a point. Everyone - thank you so much. We'll see you in the morning at
seven for breakfast." He nodded to his agents, who escorted him to the elevator
with Nina while the rest of the crowd dispersed.
***
Josh leaned against the dining room wall with his eyes closed. Finally, finally
he was alone, and he could begin to absorb Sam's offer.
Yes, he'd allowed himself to hope - but to expect it, outright, was something he
hadn't dared to dream. White House Chief of Staff.
Leo.
His hands trembled as he thought back on the myriad tasks Leo performed every
day without getting so much as a wrinkle in his immaculate suits. "I can't do
it," he whispered to himself. "I can't be Leo."
"No, but you can be Josh."
The unexpected voice startled him, making him jump. "Donna, Jesus, don't do
that!" he sputtered, holding his hand over his heart. He peered around the baby
grand piano and found Donna sitting on the bench, her hand caressing the ivory
keys in respectful silence. "You've been here all this time?"
"I didn't want to go to bed. I needed to think." She looked up at him. Mascara
had pooled beneath her eyes from the half-dozen times she'd cried for joy. Her
lipstick was gone, and her blush was streaked with tears.
She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
"I need to think, too," Josh said, sitting next to her and plunking out the
first few notes of "Heart and Soul."
"Yuck, don't." Donna closed the lid, then reached for Josh's hand and held it in
hers. "I meant it. You can't be Leo, but you can be Josh."
"I'm just not sure how much good a 'Josh' will be," he said. He tilted his head
to one side. "I could use a good Deputy," he said. "Want to work for the
second-most-powerful man in the nation?"
"I already do, Josh," Donna replied, holding her chin up a little more. "Matt
asked me to be his Chief of Staff."
"Wow."
"Yeah."
Josh pondered the idea for a moment. "So you'll be at the O.E.O.B. That's not
too far away from my office."
"My office will be closer than you think. Sam wants Matt to office in the White
House."
His laughter surprised him, coming from deep in his chest. "Where the hell will
they get an office for Matt in the White House?" he demanded. "We couldn't fit a
hamster cage in there by the end of the Bartlet administration!"
"I told Sam that Matt's office should adjoin the Oval."
Very funny.
"Matt's not getting my office."
"I'm just saying..." Suddenly she stopped talking and threw her arms around his
neck. She kissed him, hard, for a long, long time.
He didn't feel inclined to question his good fortune.
Donna broke the kiss and got up, her fingers trailing along Josh's jawline.
"Don't forget where we had our first kiss, Josh. Piano bench, the St. Germain in
Dallas, the night Sam got the nomination."
"It won't be our last, will it?"
Damn, he sounded like a teenager.
She smiled at him, the smile that always turned his knees to oatmeal and removed
every drop of saliva from his mouth. "That depends," she responded cryptically.
"Depends on...?" he asked, his mouth all but hanging open.
"Whether Sam wins the election. So do a job, Josh, okay?" She patted him on the
cheek, then turned and walked toward her room.
Josh sat for a long time on the bench. He wanted to buy the bench. Hell, throw
the piano in there, too. And the hotel. And the sweaty, smelly hellhole that was
Dallas in the summer.
Because, come what may, Sam Seaborn was going to be the next President of the
United States.
***
Part Four