***
"What can you tell me about the Inaugural Address?" C.J. asked from another
seat.
"Well, Mike," and here Andrew looked up for confirmation that he'd gotten the
name right, "I'm sure you understand that the contents are closely guarded -
especially since President-Elect Seaborn has written them himself."
"How does Frank Torres feel about that?"
"Probably relieved." He was good, waiting for the laugh before calling on her
yet again.
"Seriously, though, does the writing staff have any input at all into the
speech?"
"Oh, I'm sure they do. But it's not the people on the staff we have to worry
about."
***
Toby continued his circular march around Sam's private study. Just like the old
days, only he'd never have the arguments with Sam that he'd had with Jed. He
didn't think he could live through that again.
Sam, who was typing on his laptop with rhythmic precision, tried to ignore him.
He was unsuccessful. "Toby, you're making me nervous. Would you sit down,
please?"
"I'd rather walk around," Toby said. He looked over at the desk and saw Sam
looking back at him with an annoyed frown on his face. "You've got to be kidding
me," Toby groaned. "I have to do what you tell me?"
"If you don't, then what's the point of this gig?"
Casting his gaze heavenward, Toby sighed. "Yes, sir," he said as he went to the
loveseat and perched on the end of it.
"I could get to like this," Sam commented as he returned to his work.
"Do you make Nina call you 'Mr. President?'"
"That would be the First Lady of whom you speak, and you bet your ass I do." It
was a dead-on impersonation of Bartlet, which made both men laugh. "Seriously, I
don't care what you call me when it's just us. But for appearance's sake, you
know, you might need to get used to the other thing."
He could live with that. "What does Josh call you?"
Sam stopped again, his neatly-manicured fingers pausing just above the keys. "He
hasn't called me by my first name since the election."
"How do you feel about that?" Toby asked, genuinely curious.
"Weird. But I've heard it was the same with Leo. In eight years, he might have
called his best friend by name maybe five times." Sam settled his glasses back
on his nose again and resumed typing. "Did you know Margaret showed up this
morning and just started organizing Josh's office and answering his phone?"
"I've heard about that. Does Josh know?"
"He called a while ago. Sounded ecstatic. Whether it's because he's finally got
an assistant who isn't a joke or because he's finally getting the hang of the
new phone extensions is anyone's guess."
The tension was rising in Sam's voice again. Time for more distraction. "How is
Matt - sorry, Vice-President Skinner - doing?"
"He's fine. Since we had to give him an upstairs office, we're thinking of
installing a Batpole." Sam paused as he deleted a sentence from the document,
then took a breath and continued. "It's a little weird for him at the Naval
Observatory, as you can imagine. Weirder still for Gary, even though he's only
going to stay there off and on."
"A gay couple living with the Navy? What could be weird about that?" Toby waited
for Sam to laugh, which he did. "You can help change all that, you know. Is it
in the speech?"
Sam closed the laptop and took off his glasses. "You are so transparent, Toby.
No kidding. I can see through you better than I can see out that window."
"The window's bullet-proof. I'm not."
"You are not proofreading my speech, Toby, and that's final. I've written two of
these. I know how to do it."
"You wrote a few pages of the first one and about half of the second one. You
sure you want to fly solo?"
Toby realized that Sam was having difficulty restraining himself from whacking
him on the head with the laptop - or any blunt, heavy instrument that might be
at hand. Sam took a deep breath, reached for glasses he'd already taken off,
then rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I wrote for myself during a year or so as
Lieutenant Governor of California and for four years as a U.S. Senator, plus all
my campaign speeches. And the response to them was good enough to get me here.
So, what is it that you want from me, Toby?"
Toby leaned forward, looking down at the carpet. "To know that I'm still
useful," he said softly.
It was a terrible admission to have to make. But he'd finished both Jed's newest
book and his own, both off at the publisher. C.J. was handling the Media
Department, and the new guy, Torres, was incredibly adept at running
Communications. Toby had been wandering the halls all day before coming to Sam's
study this evening, hoping against hope that he'd be needed.
Just that.
He glanced at Sam, who was looking at him, or through him. "You've been at loose
ends for a while," he commented, his expression softening. "God knows I wanted
you to work here. I mean, I understand your reasons for staying in Manchester,
but if you've changed your mind, I can find you a place, a good place--"
"I'm not asking for a job. I just want to...not be stagnant. Not be left behind.
Not be without purpose."
"Is that what you think you are?" Sam asked. "Toby, seriously...?"
It was a miserable place to be, marooned on this island of self-doubt. But he
nodded in agreement with Sam's question. He truly was without purpose, and his
heart ached with the pain.
Sam jumped back in without waiting for Toby to give a verbal response. "Do you
think for one minute that I could have done anything, anything at all of
substance, before I worked with you? Do you have any idea what you did for me?"
Toby waved the question away. "Past tense, Sa--Mr. President. I have no idea
what to do for you now."
"And that's what's eating at you?" Sam sighed and re-opened the laptop. "Come
here. Bring a chair, don't hover." He waited for Toby to bring a chair, then
scooted to one side so Toby could read over his shoulder. "Comment on my
punctuation, and you'll be sent to Upper Volta first thing in the morning."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Toby glanced at the opening paragraphs. Beautiful. Sam's
writing had always been just this side of visionary, but in recent years he'd
learned to temper it with facts, rounding it out, bringing it within reach of
his listeners - although they'd still have to strive to comprehend its many
levels.
Sam glanced at Toby, and his smile was a little hesitant. "I didn't mean that
about the punctuation."
"Good, because I was going to pack my bags and risk your wrath - look at
paragraph seven..."
***
"Andrew, what are the First Couple's plans for this evening?"
"He's having dinner with close friends, following which he will go over his
Inaugural address and get a good night's sleep. Photo ops are not available
tonight, due to the private nature of the gathering, but if you can't get some
good shots at tomorrow's inauguration, then you are just not having enough fun
in show business."
"I'm going to be late for that dinner," C.J. commented, looking at her watch. "I
brought my clothes with me so I won't have to back home and change. There are
still Secret Service agents at Sam's house, and I think they think I'm stealing
Nina's dresses."
Sam had offered C.J. the use of his home for the next four years in exchange for
C.J.'s New York apartment. "Nina and Helen will need to get away now and then,
and I'd like them to have a place that feels familiar," he had said, but C.J.
knew damn well that he made the offer so she wouldn't have to lose her
pied-a-terre because of the massive salary cut.
Andrew chuckled as he put the loose papers in his folder. "I can't imagine that.
You're like a foot taller than she is."
"Think that matters to the Treasury Department? I came into the White House one
time with the wrong ID card, after working here for three years, and they
stopped me and pulled guns. Guns, they pulled on me. So take them seriously."
She extricated herself from the chairs and headed for the door. "Think you're
ready?"
He smiled at her. "We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?"
"That's about the only answer you can give, Andrew." He opened the door for
C.J., and she reached over to switch off the light.
***
Soft light, quiet music. Calm. Possibly for the last time in a long, long while.
Donna tried to enjoy the relaxed atmosphere, even though she had an disagreeable
premonition that something odd was about to happen. She glided into the living
room of the Residence with a glass of wine in one hand, early enough to be alone
for a few minutes before going in for dinner.
Donna hadn't meant her ensemble to be an indicator of her mood, but in a
powder-blue sweater and faded jeans she had garnered more than her fair share of
"are you feeling blue?" jokes as the day had worn on. Of course, the real joke
was going to be when C.J. got there in an evening gown when everyone else was
informal. There had been a point to this prank somewhere along the line, but
Donna wasn't in the mood to dig up the memory.
There were plenty of other memories. Other gatherings in this place, with other
people. The first was while Josh was in the hospital, when she'd come to the
White House on a summons only to find herself having a quiet chat over brunch
with the President, First Lady, and Leo. Not to find out about Josh, but to ask
her how she was holding up. Another, an impromptu wake the night they found out
about Mrs. Landingham. A third, a special party for the support staff following
the resolution of the M.S. scandal. "Just because," Abbey had said, and she'd
tried so hard to keep her expression happy when her whole life was collapsing
around her.
Please, God, Donna beseeched, don't let anything like that happen to Sam and
Nina. Let this course be a smooth one.
Sam, his radar as finely-tuned as ever, sidled up to Donna and refreshed her
wine. He set the bottle on the table and draped his arm around her shoulders.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, smiling as much as she was able and setting down the
overfilled glass. "Just a little tired. Overwhelmed. I thought it would be
easier this time, but really it's not."
"Exactly." His own smile faded a bit, and his eyes held more world-weariness
than Donna had seen in a long time. "I don't know if I'm going to be good at
this, Donna."
"Don't say that!" Indignation won out over lethargy. She turned around and threw
her arms around his neck. Two Secret Service agents strode forward but Sam waved
at them. "Oops," Donna mumbled as she backed away. "I keep forgetting."
He laughed, and the melancholy in his eyes melted away. "They'll get used to it
after a while. I refuse to lose this part of what we've all shared. I can get
used to not being able to go out with you for drinks, to having you call me
'Sir' instead of 'Sam' and 'Mr. President' instead of 'Hey, when are you going
to finish the thing I asked for?' What would drive me crazy would be if none of
you could ever touch me again."
"No chance of that," Donna said as she brushed her fingers over the wings of
gray at Sam's temples. Suddenly self-conscious, she picked up her glass in both
hands and took a sip of the delicate wine.
"Seriously, though," Sam continued. "If something's wrong, you'll tell me? I
can't have my guests of honor standing around with red eyes tomorrow when I'm
being sworn in."
"No, sir," Donna said, lifting her chin and tossing her hair back. Sam started
to laugh again, and that got her going, and by the time C.J. came in and
shrieked that she was going to kill whoever sent her the invitation saying
"black tie," her mood had improved enough for her to make it to the dining room
without the ghastly feeling that she was about to cry.
The table was set for six: Sam at the head with Nina at the opposite end. C.J.
was on Sam's right, with Toby next to her, and across from them were places for
Josh and Donna. It was an intimate gathering, meant to be an oasis of quiet
before what was sure to be a sandstorm over the next few days.
Everyone waited for Sam, who blushed a little as he took his seat and motioned
for everyone else to sit down as well. C.J.'s gown glittered in the candlelight.
Toby held her chair out for her, probably because he was to blame for the
outrageous amount of time she had spent getting dressed. Donna took her seat
opposite Toby, who raised his eyebrows at her. "Where's Josh?"
"I have no idea. Matt went downstairs to see him on his way out. That was at
least two hours ago."
"I hate to start without him," Sam began, but he was interrupted by Josh's noisy
entrance.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I got stopped by about sixteen thousand people, all of
whom seem to have been hired by the White House despite having no measurable
brain activity." He sounded winded and tired.
He looked absolutely edible. All in black, from the turtleneck sweater to the
jeans to the butter-soft loafers, and even at his age - was it possible, truly
possible, that Josh was crowding fifty? - he cut a dashing figure.
"You know what? I just realized...I'm sorry," he said, sounding chastened. "Good
evening, Mr. President, and please accept my apologies for being late."
"Oh, for God's sake, just sit down so the rest of us can eat," Sam grumbled, but
he was grinning at Josh's abject apology. "If you turn into Uriah Heep, then I'm
done for."
Josh took the seat next to Donna. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear by
way of greeting, a proprietary gesture that should have annoyed her but instead
left her wanting to put her head on his shoulder.
She settled for nudging his knee under the table.
"Anyway, now that I have you all here, I just wanted to say a few words," Sam
said. "I mean it. A few. I have to save my voice for tomorrow."
At that, everyone smiled their goofiest, happiest "I can't believe this is
happening" smiles. Josh reached out for Nina's hand and clasped it. She looked
absolutely radiant, despite the dingy Princeton sweatshirt she had doubtless
stolen from her husband, despite the hairband holding her curly hair away from
her face. Nina squeezed Josh's hand, holding it as if it were a lifeline.
"And now, if my Chief of Staff would unhand the First Lady, I'll continue." Josh
flashed his dimples at Nina, then settled back in his chair. Sam got up.
Everyone else got up. "No, no, sit down, we need some sort of signal or
something," he sighed. When his guests had seated themselves again, he
continued. "I know this should've been something elegant and formal..."
C.J. glared at Josh, who shrugged and pointed at Toby.
"..."but that's really not who we are. There will be nights when we have to get
decked out and put on a show, but not for one another. So, that's why we're
making this as normal as possible, and why I'll do this whenever I get the
chance."
"Please tell me we're not having chili," Toby moaned.
"Lemon rosemary chicken, actually. But that's beside the point. You all have
impossibly full schedules for tomorrow, and so do I, and I'm just afraid that in
the middle of everything I won't have a chance to talk to you - although Donna
and C.J. had better save me some dances." He looked around the table, smiling at
each of them, his gaze lingering on Nina. "I can't believe my good fortune. So
many men go through life not knowing that they're important to another living
soul. I can't imagine...I don't dare to think about my life turning out any
other way.
"Ages ago, when I was a Congressional aide, I met Josh. Enthusiastic. Brilliant.
Brash, with a heart of gold."
"And a full head of hair," Josh put in, patting the gray-tinged waves that,
really, hadn't receded all that much farther.
"You can be replaced," Sam declared evenly, then he shook his head. "No,
actually, you can't. Because you took me to New Hampshire, and you introduced me
to Toby, who introduced me to C.J. Donna, I think, introduced herself."
Donna shook her head. It amazed her, sometimes, to look back on that day and
realize the enormity of what she had done - just walking into someone's office
and starting to work. And that someone was now the White House Chief of Staff.
And the man she adored, even though she'd kept him a little distant for entirely
too long.
"Let's not mention your introduction to Nina," C.J. needled, bringing Donna back
to the present. "Although the look on her face when you dumped champagne on her
head was not to be believed."
"I was okay once I knew my viola wasn't hit," Nina said, propping her chin on
her hand. "Then I looked at Sam, and I thought he was pretty good-looking, and
the way he kept apologizing was disarming. And now...here I am."
Sam crossed over to where she was sitting and kissed her. "I'd like to propose a
toast," he declared. "To the wonders of working in the White House, to
friendships that will only deepen over time, and to love found in the strangest
of places."
"Hear, hear." Toby clinked his glass against C.J.'s, then saluted the people too
far away to reach. He looked at Josh for a moment.
Donna saw it coming.
"How is it that you two didn't get together, you know, the first time?" Toby
asked archly.
Josh sputtered, almost doing a spit-take with the wine he was drinking. "We
worked together at the White House! It would've...been...a public relations
nightmare. And she'd have sued my ass for sexual harassment."
"Not so much," Donna mumbled. C.J. choked back a laugh, which made Toby light
into Josh even more.
"You've been out of the White House for four years, guys. Granted, for two of
those Josh was married, but we've seen the last 24 months go by, and other than
a date to the Inaugural Ball--"
"How'd you know I asked--?"
"You asked her less than half an hour after Sam was elected. I saw the whole
thing. I'm still in therapy." Toby waved his glass at Josh. "I understand about
not wanting to begin a relationship with a colleague until after you were out of
the White House."
"And after the divorce," C.J. added. "But now you're about to start a
relationship, and guess what? You're both going to work for the White House,
starting tomorrow."
Oh, crap.
That actually had not occurred to her.
Donna turned and looked at Josh, whose expression was between a deer caught in
headlights and a little boy whose puppy had just been eaten by the Loch Ness
Monster.
Evidently it hadn't occurred to Josh, either.
"If only you'd become official sooner - it'd have made the spin so much easier,"
C.J. said. "Now, it'll be 'they got together during the Seaborn administration.'
Before would have been a good idea, image-wise. But it looks as if that ship has
sailed."
"We still have..." Josh consulted his watch, and his hands were shaking. "Four
hours before Inauguration Day." He swallowed. "Technically."
Technically?
"That's a good point," Sam said blandly. "Anyway, it's too bad, and I guess you
can wait another eight years. I'm going to tell Nathan that he can bring in the
salads."
"I'm not waiting another eight years!" Was that her own voice? And what on earth
was that...look...that Josh was giving her? That look, with those sweet brown
eyes softer than she'd ever seen them, and his mouth just a little bit open as
if he wanted so, so much to kiss her.
Which he did.
Kiss number one had been on the piano bench in the St. Germain the night of the
Democratic Convention. Kiss number two was happening at the dinner table in the
White House.
Kiss number three, directly following kiss number two, was also at the dinner
table in the White House.
"Looks as if they couldn't wait eight more minutes," Nina said, obviously trying
not to laugh. Or maybe she was laughing. Donna had trouble hearing her past the
roaring in her ears.
"Get. A. Room." That was Toby, of course.
"Or just, you know, go home," C.J. shrugged, making the strap of her evening
gown slide down her arm and giving Toby the opportunity to push it back up.
Slowly.
Josh moaned, looking hopefully over at Sam. "Thing is, we can't leave without
your permission." He almost whimpered the words.
"I should ask my advisors." Sam winked at Donna, who knew that her face must be
glowing like a stop light. "What do you think? Keep them here or let them go?"
"I don't need the bad press if they start up while you're in office," C.J. said
firmly.
"I don't need them necking like teenagers at my dinner table," Nina added. Donna
realized that Josh had his hand on her thigh, moving inexorably upward, and she
squirmed in her seat.
Nodding, Sam turned to Toby. "What do you say?"
"I say let them out. Throw them out. Whatever. But if we're having lemon
rosemary chicken tonight and it gets cold because we have to sit through an
evening of Unresolved Sexual Tension, then I will become quite irascible.
Possibly bordering on disagreeable."
"That settles it." Sam strode over and pulled Donna's chair back from the table.
"I'm giving a pre-Executive Order: go home. Make C.J.'s life easier, would you?"
He helped her to his feet, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her
gently on the cheek. When Josh rose, unsteadily, a moment later, Sam reached out
and took hold of his forearm. "Josh...don't screw this up."
Toby snorted. "An unfortunate turn of--ow!" The sound of C.J.'s foot connecting
with his shin was unmistakable.
Josh shook his head and reached for Donna's hand. "I serve at the pleasure of
the President," he said.
"Not tonight, you don't," Sam replied. "Between now and midnight, you serve at
the pleasure of Donnatella Moss."
The answer seemed to be good enough for Josh. It was certainly good enough for
Donna. She smiled, looking into Sam's eyes and seeing all the affection and good
wishes in the world written in sky-blue. She could see Nina grinning broadly,
and when she turned her head she saw C.J. mouthing "about damn time."
And she watched as Toby solemnly raised his glass to her, and to Josh, and to
what she had been wanting for so, so many years.
***
Part Three
"What can you tell me about the Inaugural Address?" C.J. asked from another
seat.
"Well, Mike," and here Andrew looked up for confirmation that he'd gotten the
name right, "I'm sure you understand that the contents are closely guarded -
especially since President-Elect Seaborn has written them himself."
"How does Frank Torres feel about that?"
"Probably relieved." He was good, waiting for the laugh before calling on her
yet again.
"Seriously, though, does the writing staff have any input at all into the
speech?"
"Oh, I'm sure they do. But it's not the people on the staff we have to worry
about."
***
Toby continued his circular march around Sam's private study. Just like the old
days, only he'd never have the arguments with Sam that he'd had with Jed. He
didn't think he could live through that again.
Sam, who was typing on his laptop with rhythmic precision, tried to ignore him.
He was unsuccessful. "Toby, you're making me nervous. Would you sit down,
please?"
"I'd rather walk around," Toby said. He looked over at the desk and saw Sam
looking back at him with an annoyed frown on his face. "You've got to be kidding
me," Toby groaned. "I have to do what you tell me?"
"If you don't, then what's the point of this gig?"
Casting his gaze heavenward, Toby sighed. "Yes, sir," he said as he went to the
loveseat and perched on the end of it.
"I could get to like this," Sam commented as he returned to his work.
"Do you make Nina call you 'Mr. President?'"
"That would be the First Lady of whom you speak, and you bet your ass I do." It
was a dead-on impersonation of Bartlet, which made both men laugh. "Seriously, I
don't care what you call me when it's just us. But for appearance's sake, you
know, you might need to get used to the other thing."
He could live with that. "What does Josh call you?"
Sam stopped again, his neatly-manicured fingers pausing just above the keys. "He
hasn't called me by my first name since the election."
"How do you feel about that?" Toby asked, genuinely curious.
"Weird. But I've heard it was the same with Leo. In eight years, he might have
called his best friend by name maybe five times." Sam settled his glasses back
on his nose again and resumed typing. "Did you know Margaret showed up this
morning and just started organizing Josh's office and answering his phone?"
"I've heard about that. Does Josh know?"
"He called a while ago. Sounded ecstatic. Whether it's because he's finally got
an assistant who isn't a joke or because he's finally getting the hang of the
new phone extensions is anyone's guess."
The tension was rising in Sam's voice again. Time for more distraction. "How is
Matt - sorry, Vice-President Skinner - doing?"
"He's fine. Since we had to give him an upstairs office, we're thinking of
installing a Batpole." Sam paused as he deleted a sentence from the document,
then took a breath and continued. "It's a little weird for him at the Naval
Observatory, as you can imagine. Weirder still for Gary, even though he's only
going to stay there off and on."
"A gay couple living with the Navy? What could be weird about that?" Toby waited
for Sam to laugh, which he did. "You can help change all that, you know. Is it
in the speech?"
Sam closed the laptop and took off his glasses. "You are so transparent, Toby.
No kidding. I can see through you better than I can see out that window."
"The window's bullet-proof. I'm not."
"You are not proofreading my speech, Toby, and that's final. I've written two of
these. I know how to do it."
"You wrote a few pages of the first one and about half of the second one. You
sure you want to fly solo?"
Toby realized that Sam was having difficulty restraining himself from whacking
him on the head with the laptop - or any blunt, heavy instrument that might be
at hand. Sam took a deep breath, reached for glasses he'd already taken off,
then rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I wrote for myself during a year or so as
Lieutenant Governor of California and for four years as a U.S. Senator, plus all
my campaign speeches. And the response to them was good enough to get me here.
So, what is it that you want from me, Toby?"
Toby leaned forward, looking down at the carpet. "To know that I'm still
useful," he said softly.
It was a terrible admission to have to make. But he'd finished both Jed's newest
book and his own, both off at the publisher. C.J. was handling the Media
Department, and the new guy, Torres, was incredibly adept at running
Communications. Toby had been wandering the halls all day before coming to Sam's
study this evening, hoping against hope that he'd be needed.
Just that.
He glanced at Sam, who was looking at him, or through him. "You've been at loose
ends for a while," he commented, his expression softening. "God knows I wanted
you to work here. I mean, I understand your reasons for staying in Manchester,
but if you've changed your mind, I can find you a place, a good place--"
"I'm not asking for a job. I just want to...not be stagnant. Not be left behind.
Not be without purpose."
"Is that what you think you are?" Sam asked. "Toby, seriously...?"
It was a miserable place to be, marooned on this island of self-doubt. But he
nodded in agreement with Sam's question. He truly was without purpose, and his
heart ached with the pain.
Sam jumped back in without waiting for Toby to give a verbal response. "Do you
think for one minute that I could have done anything, anything at all of
substance, before I worked with you? Do you have any idea what you did for me?"
Toby waved the question away. "Past tense, Sa--Mr. President. I have no idea
what to do for you now."
"And that's what's eating at you?" Sam sighed and re-opened the laptop. "Come
here. Bring a chair, don't hover." He waited for Toby to bring a chair, then
scooted to one side so Toby could read over his shoulder. "Comment on my
punctuation, and you'll be sent to Upper Volta first thing in the morning."
"Wouldn't dream of it." Toby glanced at the opening paragraphs. Beautiful. Sam's
writing had always been just this side of visionary, but in recent years he'd
learned to temper it with facts, rounding it out, bringing it within reach of
his listeners - although they'd still have to strive to comprehend its many
levels.
Sam glanced at Toby, and his smile was a little hesitant. "I didn't mean that
about the punctuation."
"Good, because I was going to pack my bags and risk your wrath - look at
paragraph seven..."
***
"Andrew, what are the First Couple's plans for this evening?"
"He's having dinner with close friends, following which he will go over his
Inaugural address and get a good night's sleep. Photo ops are not available
tonight, due to the private nature of the gathering, but if you can't get some
good shots at tomorrow's inauguration, then you are just not having enough fun
in show business."
"I'm going to be late for that dinner," C.J. commented, looking at her watch. "I
brought my clothes with me so I won't have to back home and change. There are
still Secret Service agents at Sam's house, and I think they think I'm stealing
Nina's dresses."
Sam had offered C.J. the use of his home for the next four years in exchange for
C.J.'s New York apartment. "Nina and Helen will need to get away now and then,
and I'd like them to have a place that feels familiar," he had said, but C.J.
knew damn well that he made the offer so she wouldn't have to lose her
pied-a-terre because of the massive salary cut.
Andrew chuckled as he put the loose papers in his folder. "I can't imagine that.
You're like a foot taller than she is."
"Think that matters to the Treasury Department? I came into the White House one
time with the wrong ID card, after working here for three years, and they
stopped me and pulled guns. Guns, they pulled on me. So take them seriously."
She extricated herself from the chairs and headed for the door. "Think you're
ready?"
He smiled at her. "We'll find out tomorrow, won't we?"
"That's about the only answer you can give, Andrew." He opened the door for
C.J., and she reached over to switch off the light.
***
Soft light, quiet music. Calm. Possibly for the last time in a long, long while.
Donna tried to enjoy the relaxed atmosphere, even though she had an disagreeable
premonition that something odd was about to happen. She glided into the living
room of the Residence with a glass of wine in one hand, early enough to be alone
for a few minutes before going in for dinner.
Donna hadn't meant her ensemble to be an indicator of her mood, but in a
powder-blue sweater and faded jeans she had garnered more than her fair share of
"are you feeling blue?" jokes as the day had worn on. Of course, the real joke
was going to be when C.J. got there in an evening gown when everyone else was
informal. There had been a point to this prank somewhere along the line, but
Donna wasn't in the mood to dig up the memory.
There were plenty of other memories. Other gatherings in this place, with other
people. The first was while Josh was in the hospital, when she'd come to the
White House on a summons only to find herself having a quiet chat over brunch
with the President, First Lady, and Leo. Not to find out about Josh, but to ask
her how she was holding up. Another, an impromptu wake the night they found out
about Mrs. Landingham. A third, a special party for the support staff following
the resolution of the M.S. scandal. "Just because," Abbey had said, and she'd
tried so hard to keep her expression happy when her whole life was collapsing
around her.
Please, God, Donna beseeched, don't let anything like that happen to Sam and
Nina. Let this course be a smooth one.
Sam, his radar as finely-tuned as ever, sidled up to Donna and refreshed her
wine. He set the bottle on the table and draped his arm around her shoulders.
"You okay?"
"I'm fine," she said, smiling as much as she was able and setting down the
overfilled glass. "Just a little tired. Overwhelmed. I thought it would be
easier this time, but really it's not."
"Exactly." His own smile faded a bit, and his eyes held more world-weariness
than Donna had seen in a long time. "I don't know if I'm going to be good at
this, Donna."
"Don't say that!" Indignation won out over lethargy. She turned around and threw
her arms around his neck. Two Secret Service agents strode forward but Sam waved
at them. "Oops," Donna mumbled as she backed away. "I keep forgetting."
He laughed, and the melancholy in his eyes melted away. "They'll get used to it
after a while. I refuse to lose this part of what we've all shared. I can get
used to not being able to go out with you for drinks, to having you call me
'Sir' instead of 'Sam' and 'Mr. President' instead of 'Hey, when are you going
to finish the thing I asked for?' What would drive me crazy would be if none of
you could ever touch me again."
"No chance of that," Donna said as she brushed her fingers over the wings of
gray at Sam's temples. Suddenly self-conscious, she picked up her glass in both
hands and took a sip of the delicate wine.
"Seriously, though," Sam continued. "If something's wrong, you'll tell me? I
can't have my guests of honor standing around with red eyes tomorrow when I'm
being sworn in."
"No, sir," Donna said, lifting her chin and tossing her hair back. Sam started
to laugh again, and that got her going, and by the time C.J. came in and
shrieked that she was going to kill whoever sent her the invitation saying
"black tie," her mood had improved enough for her to make it to the dining room
without the ghastly feeling that she was about to cry.
The table was set for six: Sam at the head with Nina at the opposite end. C.J.
was on Sam's right, with Toby next to her, and across from them were places for
Josh and Donna. It was an intimate gathering, meant to be an oasis of quiet
before what was sure to be a sandstorm over the next few days.
Everyone waited for Sam, who blushed a little as he took his seat and motioned
for everyone else to sit down as well. C.J.'s gown glittered in the candlelight.
Toby held her chair out for her, probably because he was to blame for the
outrageous amount of time she had spent getting dressed. Donna took her seat
opposite Toby, who raised his eyebrows at her. "Where's Josh?"
"I have no idea. Matt went downstairs to see him on his way out. That was at
least two hours ago."
"I hate to start without him," Sam began, but he was interrupted by Josh's noisy
entrance.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I got stopped by about sixteen thousand people, all of
whom seem to have been hired by the White House despite having no measurable
brain activity." He sounded winded and tired.
He looked absolutely edible. All in black, from the turtleneck sweater to the
jeans to the butter-soft loafers, and even at his age - was it possible, truly
possible, that Josh was crowding fifty? - he cut a dashing figure.
"You know what? I just realized...I'm sorry," he said, sounding chastened. "Good
evening, Mr. President, and please accept my apologies for being late."
"Oh, for God's sake, just sit down so the rest of us can eat," Sam grumbled, but
he was grinning at Josh's abject apology. "If you turn into Uriah Heep, then I'm
done for."
Josh took the seat next to Donna. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear by
way of greeting, a proprietary gesture that should have annoyed her but instead
left her wanting to put her head on his shoulder.
She settled for nudging his knee under the table.
"Anyway, now that I have you all here, I just wanted to say a few words," Sam
said. "I mean it. A few. I have to save my voice for tomorrow."
At that, everyone smiled their goofiest, happiest "I can't believe this is
happening" smiles. Josh reached out for Nina's hand and clasped it. She looked
absolutely radiant, despite the dingy Princeton sweatshirt she had doubtless
stolen from her husband, despite the hairband holding her curly hair away from
her face. Nina squeezed Josh's hand, holding it as if it were a lifeline.
"And now, if my Chief of Staff would unhand the First Lady, I'll continue." Josh
flashed his dimples at Nina, then settled back in his chair. Sam got up.
Everyone else got up. "No, no, sit down, we need some sort of signal or
something," he sighed. When his guests had seated themselves again, he
continued. "I know this should've been something elegant and formal..."
C.J. glared at Josh, who shrugged and pointed at Toby.
"..."but that's really not who we are. There will be nights when we have to get
decked out and put on a show, but not for one another. So, that's why we're
making this as normal as possible, and why I'll do this whenever I get the
chance."
"Please tell me we're not having chili," Toby moaned.
"Lemon rosemary chicken, actually. But that's beside the point. You all have
impossibly full schedules for tomorrow, and so do I, and I'm just afraid that in
the middle of everything I won't have a chance to talk to you - although Donna
and C.J. had better save me some dances." He looked around the table, smiling at
each of them, his gaze lingering on Nina. "I can't believe my good fortune. So
many men go through life not knowing that they're important to another living
soul. I can't imagine...I don't dare to think about my life turning out any
other way.
"Ages ago, when I was a Congressional aide, I met Josh. Enthusiastic. Brilliant.
Brash, with a heart of gold."
"And a full head of hair," Josh put in, patting the gray-tinged waves that,
really, hadn't receded all that much farther.
"You can be replaced," Sam declared evenly, then he shook his head. "No,
actually, you can't. Because you took me to New Hampshire, and you introduced me
to Toby, who introduced me to C.J. Donna, I think, introduced herself."
Donna shook her head. It amazed her, sometimes, to look back on that day and
realize the enormity of what she had done - just walking into someone's office
and starting to work. And that someone was now the White House Chief of Staff.
And the man she adored, even though she'd kept him a little distant for entirely
too long.
"Let's not mention your introduction to Nina," C.J. needled, bringing Donna back
to the present. "Although the look on her face when you dumped champagne on her
head was not to be believed."
"I was okay once I knew my viola wasn't hit," Nina said, propping her chin on
her hand. "Then I looked at Sam, and I thought he was pretty good-looking, and
the way he kept apologizing was disarming. And now...here I am."
Sam crossed over to where she was sitting and kissed her. "I'd like to propose a
toast," he declared. "To the wonders of working in the White House, to
friendships that will only deepen over time, and to love found in the strangest
of places."
"Hear, hear." Toby clinked his glass against C.J.'s, then saluted the people too
far away to reach. He looked at Josh for a moment.
Donna saw it coming.
"How is it that you two didn't get together, you know, the first time?" Toby
asked archly.
Josh sputtered, almost doing a spit-take with the wine he was drinking. "We
worked together at the White House! It would've...been...a public relations
nightmare. And she'd have sued my ass for sexual harassment."
"Not so much," Donna mumbled. C.J. choked back a laugh, which made Toby light
into Josh even more.
"You've been out of the White House for four years, guys. Granted, for two of
those Josh was married, but we've seen the last 24 months go by, and other than
a date to the Inaugural Ball--"
"How'd you know I asked--?"
"You asked her less than half an hour after Sam was elected. I saw the whole
thing. I'm still in therapy." Toby waved his glass at Josh. "I understand about
not wanting to begin a relationship with a colleague until after you were out of
the White House."
"And after the divorce," C.J. added. "But now you're about to start a
relationship, and guess what? You're both going to work for the White House,
starting tomorrow."
Oh, crap.
That actually had not occurred to her.
Donna turned and looked at Josh, whose expression was between a deer caught in
headlights and a little boy whose puppy had just been eaten by the Loch Ness
Monster.
Evidently it hadn't occurred to Josh, either.
"If only you'd become official sooner - it'd have made the spin so much easier,"
C.J. said. "Now, it'll be 'they got together during the Seaborn administration.'
Before would have been a good idea, image-wise. But it looks as if that ship has
sailed."
"We still have..." Josh consulted his watch, and his hands were shaking. "Four
hours before Inauguration Day." He swallowed. "Technically."
Technically?
"That's a good point," Sam said blandly. "Anyway, it's too bad, and I guess you
can wait another eight years. I'm going to tell Nathan that he can bring in the
salads."
"I'm not waiting another eight years!" Was that her own voice? And what on earth
was that...look...that Josh was giving her? That look, with those sweet brown
eyes softer than she'd ever seen them, and his mouth just a little bit open as
if he wanted so, so much to kiss her.
Which he did.
Kiss number one had been on the piano bench in the St. Germain the night of the
Democratic Convention. Kiss number two was happening at the dinner table in the
White House.
Kiss number three, directly following kiss number two, was also at the dinner
table in the White House.
"Looks as if they couldn't wait eight more minutes," Nina said, obviously trying
not to laugh. Or maybe she was laughing. Donna had trouble hearing her past the
roaring in her ears.
"Get. A. Room." That was Toby, of course.
"Or just, you know, go home," C.J. shrugged, making the strap of her evening
gown slide down her arm and giving Toby the opportunity to push it back up.
Slowly.
Josh moaned, looking hopefully over at Sam. "Thing is, we can't leave without
your permission." He almost whimpered the words.
"I should ask my advisors." Sam winked at Donna, who knew that her face must be
glowing like a stop light. "What do you think? Keep them here or let them go?"
"I don't need the bad press if they start up while you're in office," C.J. said
firmly.
"I don't need them necking like teenagers at my dinner table," Nina added. Donna
realized that Josh had his hand on her thigh, moving inexorably upward, and she
squirmed in her seat.
Nodding, Sam turned to Toby. "What do you say?"
"I say let them out. Throw them out. Whatever. But if we're having lemon
rosemary chicken tonight and it gets cold because we have to sit through an
evening of Unresolved Sexual Tension, then I will become quite irascible.
Possibly bordering on disagreeable."
"That settles it." Sam strode over and pulled Donna's chair back from the table.
"I'm giving a pre-Executive Order: go home. Make C.J.'s life easier, would you?"
He helped her to his feet, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing her
gently on the cheek. When Josh rose, unsteadily, a moment later, Sam reached out
and took hold of his forearm. "Josh...don't screw this up."
Toby snorted. "An unfortunate turn of--ow!" The sound of C.J.'s foot connecting
with his shin was unmistakable.
Josh shook his head and reached for Donna's hand. "I serve at the pleasure of
the President," he said.
"Not tonight, you don't," Sam replied. "Between now and midnight, you serve at
the pleasure of Donnatella Moss."
The answer seemed to be good enough for Josh. It was certainly good enough for
Donna. She smiled, looking into Sam's eyes and seeing all the affection and good
wishes in the world written in sky-blue. She could see Nina grinning broadly,
and when she turned her head she saw C.J. mouthing "about damn time."
And she watched as Toby solemnly raised his glass to her, and to Josh, and to
what she had been wanting for so, so many years.
***
Part Three