Authors: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247
Webpage: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com
It was the early afternoon on the last whole day the President and his staff were to spend at Camp David. The convention was approaching swiftly. The stress of the campaign beginning in earnest was yet another thing to keep the President teetering between peaceful slumber and insomnia recently.
The First Lady had not joined him on this trip--thus making the hours spent at the retreat his dislike of the retreat even more arduous. His Chief of Staff insisted he stay and the senior staff remained there as well for the weekend. It wasn't much of a getaway with half of the minds that ran the country breezing into the President's office to briefing him. It seemed a most inefficient way to run the country and a horrible way to take a vacation he neither needed nor wanted.
"What the hell is this, Leo?" the President bellowed as he slapped a copy of the day's Washington Post on the desk in his office at Camp David as Leo entered the room.
"It's nothing," Leo said with a firm shake of his head. "It's Gamsby being Gamsby. He and Brentwood were..."
"Taking me out for a little casual beating," Bartlet cut him off. "Can't your Deputy get anything right?"
"Sir," Leo said calmly, "we talked about this. This is one..."
"It's an OpEd piece in the Washington Post shredding my record on education," Bartlet seethed. "You sent Josh to Brentwood's office to smooth things over after he was asked to...."
"Mr. President," Leo shook his head, "it's not like it's the first time you've been accused of working for the teacher's union rather than students. This is nothing to worry about. It's a political tactic."
"You don't say," Bartlet scoffed. "Was that scintillating assessment arrived at by your Deputy, or are you quoting a seventh grader's civics paper? Honestly, Leo. I don't know what his problem is, but it seems to me that your deputy's recent incompetence might just be long-overlooked ineptitude."
"Sir," Leo said firmly. "You yourself told me that talking to Brentwood would make the guy mad, but that we had to do it. You knew it would result in a little thing like this editorial."
"Little thing?" Bartlet raised his voice. "You call this little?"
"In the grand scheme, yeah," Leo said.
"Fine," the President scowled as he pulled a briefing memo from his folder. "What is this about NAFTA?"
"I'd like you to sit with Toby and Josh on that," Leo said. "It might be a thing."
"If Josh is part of it, I have no doubt," Bartlet replied as he spied Leo's questioning look. "Don't defend him to me, Leo. He can do it himself. Rumor has it he went to law school--though recent actions of his leave me wondering if he actually made it out of high school successfully."
Leo said nothing. There was no use having this debate. The President's mood was combative and any discussion on the subject of Josh would be counter-productive. Leo was dismissed and the President called to his personal aide.
"Yes, sir," Charlie appeared in the doorway.
"Where is Toby?"
"He's with the rest of the senior staff," Charlie said. "They're in the west meadow having a lunch meeting, I think."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, I just spoke with Donna and Ginger; they were leaving to go back to Washington, and they said that's where everyone was," Charlie informed his boss.
"Okay, then let's go," Bartlet said in a jauntier mood. "I need to see Toby."
"We could call them back here, sir," Charlie offered.
"Nice day for a walk," Bartlet shaking his head.
"All right," Charlie said with a stifled sigh.
"Something you want to add?"
"No, sir," Charlie said. "It's just... Well, sir, if you don't mind my saying, you don't seem to have a good rapport with everyone lately. I would think that a little time and space is what everyone needs."
Bartlet looked at his aide and bit back a comment. He wasn't angry with Charlie. He didn't agree with his aide's assessment, but that didn't merit a sharp comment. Though the President didn't feel he needed to justify his urge to take a walk, he did feel a certain need to clarify his aide's perception of recent events.
"If I seem displeased with certain individuals, that's only because I am displeased with certain individuals," Bartlet explained as he rose from his chair and headed out of the office. "I'm being scoured in the press; they're painting me as being anti-education. Me. The man who Governor Robert Ritchie, calls an over-educated, intellectual elitist. How I can be both baffles me, but somehow a member of my staff has managed to let that perception get printed in the Washington Post. That's a considerable talent."
"But Mr. President," Charlie said cautiously, "it's my understanding that it was a Senator who arruanged that."
"As retaliation for the brusqueness of one of our own," Bartlet said, picking up the pace as he left the lodge with his Secret Service detail circling him. "I don't care what Leo's theories are about necessity."
"To do a great right, do a little wrong," Charlie offered.
The comment stopped Bartlet in his tracks.
"I'm sorry?"
"I read that someplace recently," Charlie replied. "I can't remember where."
"It's Shakespeare," Bartlet informed him.
"Well, I haven't read any plays recently," Charlie said. "It wasn't at the production in New York, was it?"
"No," Bartlet said distantly, the words seeping into his mind and churning with others. "It's from The Merchant of Venice ."
Bartlet pondered the statement. There was something to it. It was not that he agreed morally with the concept. A little wrong was still a wrong and that wouldn't change. But pragmatically, there was merit. It was a question unresolved by the ages. How much of a wrong was acceptable--if any--if the right it eventually generated benefited many. He was about to pose the rhetorical question to Charlie, when his aide's memory sharpened.
"It was Mr. Lyman," Charlie said suddenly. "I mean, Josh's father. That's where I read it. It was in those newspaper clippings and magazine articles you wanted to see--the ones that were complied about the staff for the convention press packages. It was part something a reporter quoted Mr. Lyman as saying about Josh. I remember it because he sounded like... I don't know, someone who really loved his son, you know. You just knew from that article that his father even was proud of Josh's mistakes."
"Right," Bartlet scowled with coldness in his eyes that he focused on the ground as he stalked off to his destination.
****************
The staff sat at a picnic table adjacent to a stone fireplace where Sam was stoking the dying embers. They were finishing a lunch meeting at which he had displayed his culinary talents by cooking hamburger over open flame. Toby, while nervously scanning the trees to the east, offered to pick up an application at Burger King for his deputy should the election go south on them.
"Did we ever get an answer on whether or not there are there bears here?" the Communication's Director asked seeing leaves rustle in the distance.
"I think the Secret Service's has finished vetting most of them," CJ said rolling her eyes.
"They put one in a headlock and gave the others visitor's passes," Sam said emptying his water bottle over the coals, producing a wave of steam.
The hiss of the steam shrieked in his ears but he was glad his self-imposed headache was subsiding. He didn't recall much of the end of the previous evening, but as everyone seemed to be speaking to him, Sam determined he had done no damage in his compromised state.
"Toby, how can you be scared of Camp David?" Josh asked. "You grew up in Brooklyn."
"In Brooklyn, there were noises," Toby argued. "Gunfire, screaming. This... this is too quiet."
"Quiet unnerves you?" CJ ventured. "So, what you're saying is that like having Josh around."
"I'm saying no such thing," Toby sneered. "Did you hear me say that? No. Josh is... Josh is annoying."
"That's true," Sam nodded.
"Hey!"
"I was gonna say that's true, BUT..." Sam back peddled.
"Aren't we the testy outdoors man?" CJ chided Josh with a laugh.
"Who tripped over a gopher and nearly broke her neck then yelled at me for it?" he retorted.
"It was a gopher hole and I nearly broke my ankle," CJ countered.
"And let me say, you were quite graceful when doing it," Sam said. "Like a giraffe doing ballet on a patch of ice."
"Who screamed like a little girl over a fallen branch, claiming it was a snake?" CJ said, turning her sights on Sam and raising her voice to aggravate the hangover he was nursing.
"You scream like a girl by the way," Toby offered to his deputy.
"I do not," Sam protested. "I do NOT scream like a girl."
"If your pitch got any higher, only dogs would have heard you," Josh said.
"Who the hell cares about Sam's girlie voice," Toby said tersely as he spotted more movement in the tree line. "Tell me again why we're all sitting out here in the elements instead of back at the lodge?"
"In the elements?" Josh questioned.
"Air is an element," Toby replied tersely.
"We're here because we wanted to be outside," Sam explained. "And because CJ wanted a barbecue. They won't let us light a fire in the lodge."
"Some places are picky about that kind of thing," Josh offered.
"Thank you, Yogi and Boo-Boo," Toby growled.
Sam turned instantly to Josh.
"You're Boo-Boo."
"I am not," Josh disagreed.
"You know, when it comes to outdoors kind of things, most people actually are not smarter than the average bear," Sam continued.
CJ buried her face in her hands as she stopped Sam's lecture and scolded Toby.
"Oh god," she groaned. "Toby, you just had to start him, didn't you? It's bad enough I had to listen to the President complaining about Camp David again this morning. Now, the boy scout is going to educate me on bears of the Appalachians. He's like some mentally deranged wind up toy."
"You mean Sam and not the President there, right?" Josh asked.
"Josh started it," Sam said quickly.
"You're a stupid cartoon bear," CJ said to the speech writer.
"And Josh is my sidekick," Sam said helpfully. "I always wanted a sidekick."
"Where's intelligent conversation when I need it most?" CJ sighed.
"That would be my cue to step in," Bartlet said stepping from the obscurity of the canopied trail leading to the main lodge area as the staff stood. "No, no, stay seated. Don't let me interrupted this fascinating discussion. No doubt it is of vital importance to re-election. After all, that's what Leo told me you were doing here, ironing out the final big wrinkles in the convention plans."
"Uh, certainly Mr. President," CJ said. "I was... That is, we were, absolutely doing that."
"And helping Toby get over his fear of bears," Josh offered.
The President's already furrowed brow grew more taut as the line of his lips pinched tightly. He narrowed his displeased gaze in Josh's direction.
"Could we perhaps have one meeting without the sarcasm?" Bartlet leveled Josh. "I'd hate to tax your abilities, but seeing as you allegedly work for me..."
"Yes, sir," Josh replied mildly.
"I say allegedly because it seems that you work against me more often that not recently," Bartlet continued with an acid tone.
"Sir?"
"The Post, Josh," Bartlet snapped. "Have you seen the Washington Post today?"
"Sir, if this is about..."
"That's not a yes or a no, so I'm guessing your answer is no," Bartlet said. "Well, if you can find time in-between heckling CJ and acting like a sophomore in study hall with Sam, you might want to check out the editorial about my stance on education. Apparently, your meeting with Brentwood on Friday was exceptionally awful. A new level of disasterous--even for you."
"Mr. President," Josh began calmly. "Leo and I both think that the..."
"Don't hide behind Leo," Bartlet cut him off. "It's your screw up--again. I gotta hand it to you, just when I think we've made all the stupid little mistakes there are to make, you find a litany of new ones."
"Mr. President," Sam said. "Senator Brentwood is...."
"I know what he is," Bartlet said. "He is a thorn in my side, and Josh can't see fit to not to aggravate him. It's quite a talent you have, Josh. But that's not why I'm here. Toby, talk to me about the proposed changes to the NAFTA parameters."
Toby looked at Josh. Both were heading up the White House's support for the bill expected to cause a ruckus in committee over the summer. That Josh was being dismissed by the President meant nothing in and of itself, but Toby knew the President's tone. He was on the receiving end of it often enough himself. The difference was, Toby knew, the President only used it with him when they were alone. With Josh, the President didn't seem to care who heard the seeming disrespect.
With a nod and a quick step, Toby joined the President on his way back to the main lodge. Josh watched them depart and sighed. He could feel both Sam and CJ's questioning glances. Josh said nothing.
*****************
The weekend ended and the days that followed leading up to the convention were taken at a breakneck pace by the staff. The latest polls put the President neck and neck with his Republican opponent. The convention would give them a momentary edge--as much as a 15 point bounce in their numbers--if it went off without a hitch. Scrambling to make it so was the order of the day.
Most of the staff arrived in advance of the President: First Josh and Toby. Sam followed a day later with the assistants. CJ trailed soon after; as arranged during the primaries, the immediate family members of much of the senior staff was slated to arrive the day before the President. The President wanted to thank them for their contributions to his administration in the form of their patience and willingness to endure the trials of caring and for and dealing with his closest advisors. A formal dinner with the President was scheduled for the evening he was due to arrive at the convention--the night before he was to give his acceptance speech.
With the greatest tasks finished and nothing left but the stage managing--most of which would be done by the DNC heads--the staff attempting to take what time it could before the President's arrival to reacquaint themselves with family or their sanity (which ever was willing to take them back).
Unsure of his outcomes in that category, Josh went to the airport.
"Baggage for flight 1588 from Palm Beach can be retrieved from the baggage return near Gate 9A," the bored voice over the intercom announced as he hurried through the terminal.
Josh looked at his watch as he quickened his step. The plane had landed 20 minutes early, and he had been stuck in traffic. His discussion with Leo that morning had gone fine, but the phone conversation with the President....
He shook his head and put the thoughts in the back of his mind. The conversation was terse, but there was no outward disagreement, no scolding, no... He wouldn't use the word insult. Josh knew the President had many things besides the convention on his mind. The acceptance speech would be given in two days time and other than a strange message from Chris Lambert, a reporter from the LA Times, things were going well. That the President wasn't happy with Josh yet again was not something Josh was willing to over-analyze.
It wasn't like Josh couldn't deal with difficult people; he could, and he didn't precisely mind it, but revisiting the cold aspect of the President's personality was not something he relished. The early days of the first campaign had been a chore, but he knew the man now. He respected him, but... No, Josh told himself, no buts . Only thing to do was to not take the current situation personally and get his job done the best way he knew how.
And his job at that moment was to find a passenger in the sea of people flooding the airport. If he messed up picking her up at the airport, that would be something he would not hear the end of and it would most certainly be personal. Thankfully, he spotted her, half way down the terminal, pulling her carry on bag behind her glancing about her in search of her escort.
Josh caught up with her quickly, forgetting most of his awful morning because she would certainly read into his expression if he didn't.
"Joshua," she gasped, as if surprised to see him as he touched her on the elbow.
"You thought I'd forget you or be too busy to pick you up," he said smugly.
"I did no such thing," she replied, but the look on her face said otherwise. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"I raised you better than that," Anna Lyman declared. "Offer to carry my bag and kiss your mother--and not in that order."
Anna looked at her son. She never liked how tired he looked during these campaigns. But there was more than fatigue she saw in his eyes, as they embraced.
Oh Joshua, what are you hiding from me now, she wondered with a sinking feeling in her stomach.
*****************
"Mr. President, you had a call at the residence," Charlie said upon entering the Oval Office.
It was nearly 11:30 and the President's Personal Aide was hoping to go home soon so he could pack for his trip with the President the next day. This was to be Charlie's first national convention and, despite all the amazing things he had seen and done since starting to work for the President, the convention was something he was oddly eager to see. It's not that the political intrigue was great--it wasn't: Everyone knew the President had the nomination. It's not that there were to be famous people around: There would be, but Charlie didn't think you could get more famous than the man for whom he worked.
It was the electricity in the eyes of the senior staff when they talked about the convention that intrigued Charlie the most. They were some of the smartest and most dedicated people he had ever known. Anything that gave them a charge had to be worth seeing in person.
"Who is it?" the President asked without looking up from the papers on his desk.
"A Mr. Stanley from San Francisco," Charlie said. "Mrs. Bartlet forwarded the call. She said you'd want to take it."
"Mr. Stanley?" the President paused then nodded. "Ah, yes. All right then. Charlie, I think we're done. I'm going to take this then call it a night. What's first tomorrow?"
"Security briefing and then Mr. McGarry," Charlie said from memory. "The Vice President will be here at 10 before he leaves for the convention."
"Right," Bartlet said moving toward the phone. "Line two?"
"Yes, sir," Charlie said as he left. "Good night, Mr. President."
Bartlet nodded to him and took a deep breath before taking the call.
"Mr. Stanley?" Bartlet said as a greeting.
"That was your wife's idea, Mr. President," Dr. Stanley Keyworth said.
"I'll bet," Bartlet replied. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this conversation?"
"I take no pleasure in this conversation," Stanley said. "Sir, my office was broken into."
"I retired from my detective work year ago," Bartlet said.
"I wanted to let you know," Stanley said. "A few of my patient files were rifled through. It doesn't appear anything is missing, but someone might have gotten a look at a few of them and my other records."
"I see," Bartlet said with eerie calm. "And you identify people with their names in the files and you keep them sitting in a desk drawer for anyone who wants to waltz in to read?"
The traumatologist laughed in spite of the dig. He did not fear letting the President know this news. In fact, of all his patients, Jed Bartlet was the one who Dr. Keyworth dreaded telling the least. It was interesting that he was also the man for whom disclosure could do the most damage.
"No," Stanley said. "There are no patients named in my files. They are identified by numbers only. I am calling as a courtesy so that you know. In fact, there were no files of any personal concern to you in my office."
"Okay then," Bartlet said, unsure why he was called. "Listen, Stanley, why--assuming I should--would I care about any of this?"
"I didn't know if you needed any heads up for political reasons I couldn't possibly fathom," Stanley said.
"I couldn't fathom any either," Bartlet said. "That's what I pay the staff for."
"I've heard," Stanley said, cautious not to say too much.
The doctor's call prior to the one to the White House had been to another Washington player--one who's files were compromised. The reaction on that end had been much different from the President's and had prompted this call--not because Stanley thought he should make it--but because the other man thought so.
"Was there anything else?" Bartlet asked.
"No, sir," Stanley said. "I will be in Baltimore in three days though, if you wanted to reschedule dinner. I know we had to cancel last time because of conflicts."
Conflicts, Bartlet chuckled: An American student being held in Liberia, accused of treason. The all-night session at the White House with State Department officials and a clandestine call to the Canadian ambassador to play messenger had canceled Bartlet's last appointment. Not that Bartlet felt the sessions were doing much for him, but he was not adverse to talking with Dr. Keyworth.
"I'll be at the convention," Bartlet said. "I don't think it'll work out this time."
"Thought I'd offer," Stanley said. "Then I will see you in three weeks."
"Three weeks it is," Bartlet disconnected.
*****************
The day of the President's arrival dawned with no complications on the horizon, leaving some staffers jittery. Crisis was a drug and without it, one could go into withdrawl. Sensing their anxiousness, the Chief of Staff ordered them to take the afternoon and do nothing--no work and no hard play (he knew they could create problems without trying).
The blazing afternoon sun beat down on the hot sands. Temperatures were soaring into the mid-90s, and the sunbathers and beachgoers welcomed the ocean breeze. CJ, in a red swimsuit, and Donna, in a coral bikini, relaxed in lounges on the private beach outside the hotel.
The convention was in full swing, but there was nothing to do that afternoon--something the staff found unnerving. The President was giving his acceptance speech the following evening and was throwing a private dinner for the staff and their families that evening. CJ's parents were unable to attend--something she found more relaxing than disappointing. Sam had spent the previous evening chaperoning his father. He appeared worried with the way Mr. Norman Seaborn smiled at Anna Lyman.
"So, Donna," CJ said ignoring a rather well-tanned, well-toned figure walk by; the ache over Simon Donovan was still sharp--sharp enough she wasn't sure it would ever fade completely. She found it easier to bury herself in the concerns of others lately rather than think about where her own life was going. "You've been quiet too long. What's wrong?"
"Nothing," Donna answered. Her gaze was fixated on a pelican as it dove into the ocean, trying to catch its lunch.
CJ let the answer pass. These were the first hours of peace she had experienced since the previous May when the President made the devastating announcement of his illness. A sultry afternoon spent on a beach watching waves and seagulls did not necessarily require conversation, she kewn. However, in quiet moments, her mind would stray and the pangs in her heart would grow. She wanted to avoid that.
"It's nothing," Donna continued after a moment of silence. "Childish, if you think about it CJ."
"Okay," CJ ventured, glad for the offered distraction. "What am I thinking about?"
"Josh."
"Lyman?" CJ asked, tipping her sunglasses down to observe Donna with a critical stare. "I don't think so. We agreed this was going to be two hours of relaxing. Relaxing. Josh. Mutually exclusive events, sister."
"I'm serious," Donna sighed.
"I can see," CJ replied. "Why?"
"Why? Does it worry you?"
"No," CJ continued. "That is, everything about Josh worries me. What I'm asking is, why am I thinking about him?"
"Well, you're not," Donna said.
"But you are," CJ said. "And so therefore, so am I?"
"Right."
"Okay, you can do this kind of thing with him--not me," CJ said, shaking her head. "It's like talking to a savant... or, well, Josh, which can kind of be the same thing, in my experience... Anyway, just say... whatever and be done with it."
CJ tried to search Donna's face, searching for any indication of what might logically follow. Then again, she reasoned, a conversation about Josh with Donna probably had no logic; so little about them did. Every once in a while, CJ would wonder about their odd relationship. It was more like some bizarre twist on the Corsican Brothers--if you hurt one, the other would feel it. It was hard to think about one without thinking about the other, yet there was no doubt in CJ's mind that they were very separate individuals who did not view or define themselves in terms of the other. CJ knew the Josh/Donna pairing wasn't strictly professional, and at the same time, it certainly wasn't personal in the private sense--yet, after observing them for so long, she could not shake the impression she was watching a Tracy and Hepburn film when they interacted.
"He's just...," Donna began then stopped. "What do you make of his behavior?"
"Fun, whenever the chance presents itself," CJ replied with a flip tone.
She continued to study Donna, though it was difficult under the sunglasses and oversize straw hat Donna wore; even Donna's tone was guarded. CJ couldn't tell if Donna was concerned or annoyed.
"I don't make anything of his behavior," CJ continued. "Is this about the thing with the President at Camp David?"
"No," Donna said. "I didn't think that was anything. Was it?"
"No," CJ said firmly. "The President needed some space from all of us that weekend. Josh and he just... . They don't have the same approach to politics. They hold similar views, but they look at things a little differently. Josh can be exceptionally pragmatic and..."
"CJ," Donna interrupted. "I'm not a reporter, and this isn't the briefing room. I know what Josh is and isn't. I know he and the President have been on different sides recently. Of course, the only way I know it is from what I heard from Ed and Larry or what you get asked during briefings. Josh never says a word, which is normal because he'd never.... Well, you know."
"Right," CJ sighed. "Okay, so you said it yourself. Josh is Josh. If he seems a little more... whatever lately, its just the convention. That's all. He's like Toby when it comes to the convention. His personality gets amplified at the convention--it's where his ego goes to get the pressure topped off. He lives for this kind of stuff. Me, I hate the convention. It's all about the media--something that's supposed to be my domain--but I have no control over anything, though I'm expected to do it all the same. So, the convention is not my thing. There lies one of the many, bone-deep differences between Josh and myself. He loves this barely controlled chaos. To him, and Toby too, the convention is a pilgrimage to their mecca. The Promised Land or their Disney Land... or, since we're talking about Josh, Baseball Fantasy Camp with the Mets."
"I suppose," Donna sighed. "The convention just isn't fun it this time, and I don't think I'm the only one who thinks that way. Josh isn't... being..... I don't know. Josh loves his job--I know he does, but lately...."
"We've been through a lot in the last year," CJ said needlessly. "That's one of the reasons Leo ordered us to take personal time today. And so far, I only see you and I following his orders."
Donna nodded. Sam had called them from his room where he was holed up writing the 99th draft of the first major address the President was to give after the convention; he promised to join them shortly--though that had been 40 minutes earlier. Toby was sitting in a dark corner of the VIP lounge at the hotel, wringing and bouncing the life out of a rubber ball waiting for Sam to cut the three paragraphs he had been rewriting since the weekend at Camp David. Josh was MIA, but allegedly Joey Lucas had arrived in town to discuss some specialized polling conducted in recent days.
Donna knew it was pointless to try to analyze Josh based on a few sighs and his lack of overall communication to her about things she really didn't need to know. She reminded herself that his moods were always fluctuating and big events always brought out the easily agitated side of his personality. But she couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed, she felt. She wasn't sure what it was, but after the staff returned from Camp David in early July, she caught Josh pausing often when he spoke to her. He had been doing it even more the previous evening after a phone call he refused to discuss with her.
Pausing in and of itself was nothing. Meant nothing. Except that it did, Donna knew. Josh Lyman only paused when he was deeply distracted or afraid he might say something he ought not. Both equaled the same thing: He was hiding something. That worried Donna. Josh's secrets were never good.
However, she forced herself not to dwell on it too much for that afternoon. She knew she was apt to over-think a situation. It did no good to hypothesize about what Josh might be thinking. In fact, the whole concept of delving into the inner recess of Joshua Lyman's mind was a tactic she felt was best left to professionals.
*******************
The afternoon rolled through the balmy region. CJ and Donna were eventually joined by Sam, depressed and dejected over the most recent drafts (the102nd and 105th from the look on his face) of the President's speech. It just didn't sing, he kept saying. He wanted the Alleluia chorus but Toby's reaction to it left him feeling that words droned the monotonous refrain of "row, row, row your boat."
Sam sat in a beach chair in the shade of an umbrella hammering away on his laptop computer, furiously deleting every other sentence he wrote. While Donna lounged in the shade reading a trashy paperback borrowed from CJ, CJ lofted ice cubes at Sam after each of his explosive sighs. Every chilly projectile missed him, much to her dismay, but had formed a ring of wet sand around his chair where the cubes were melting in the hot sand.
As she ran out of ice, she craned her long, yet graceful, neck around in search of a waiter to refill her glass. What she found instead was another member of the staff approaching with a guest. They were linked, arm and arm, as they approached at a leisurely pace.
"Whatever you're thinking, you can stop," CJ said as she tipped her sunglasses onto her nose to hit Josh with her full glare.
"The paranoia you exude is phenomenal," Josh replied then turned to his companion. "CJ thinks I plot against her throughout the day for my own juvenile pleasure."
"Yeah, she always struck me as a smart woman," SJ Rixon replied.
At the sound of her voice, Donna turned her head in surprise to spy the couple. Well, one mystery solved, she thought with a touch more scorn that she was prepared to feel. To hide her reaction, she sunk further in her chair. She told herself to let go of that feeling which some might mistake for jealousy. She didn't care, she told herself, that Josh had disappeared for the day to spend it with an ex-, well maybe still ex-, girlfriend, a woman who was supposedly no longer teaching at Georgetown but allegedly working a movie script adaptation of one of her books. And what better place to work on a story about Washington than in Miami, alone for a day with Josh...
"Where did you disappear to?" Sam asked in an accusing tone.
"I've been right where you can find me," SJ grinned at Sam. "It's just that you never call."
"I didn't mean you," Sam said unnecessarily as he caught a smirk on CJ's lips. "Tell me something, what is it with you women an initials?"
"Power," SJ said instantly.
"I can live with that," Josh replied with a nod. "SJ is down here doing... uh... I have no clue what. She tackled me on the golf course and made me buy her lunch even though she owes me money."
"Shut up," the writer scowled as she glared daggers at him.
"You went to play golf?" Sam said sounding hurt. "I wanted to play."
"I thought you did," CJ questioned.
"I did," Sam replied. "With Anna."
"I'm sorry," Josh remarked.
"You ditched your mother?" SJ asked him accusingly. "Your own mother? Josh that is low. I mean, low even for a man. Low even for... well, you."
"Okay, I'm having dinner with her tonight, and yesterday she told me she had plans for this morning," Josh argued.
"They were canceled," Sam explained. "Some friend of hers wasn't feeling well. She was looking for you."
"How do you know?" Josh asked, the guilt in his face made the regret in his voice more apparent.
"She asked me to look for you," Sam replied. "I was on my way to play a round so I invited her. Anyway, your mother and Ed and myself and Ginger played at the hotel course this morning. Ginger had never played and Ed was going to teach her. So we all.... Well, it turned into a thing so we played the front nine."
"Who won?" CJ asked with a sadistic grin.
"I did," Sam said with a pout.
"You mean your team," the Press Secretary corrected him. "You and Anna..."
"Why do you all call her Anna?" Josh asked. "And don't say because it's her name. I know that."
"Stop being a baby," CJ chided. "You should be crowing. Sam only won because your mother was his partner."
"That's not true," Sam argued. "CJ, we played best ball. I had the best drives; she just...."
"Was the one able to sink putts," CJ finished with a laugh.
"Where did you play and why didn't you ask me?" Sam asked, turning his attention from CJ to Josh.
"Morgan Green is here and he caught me in the hall last night," Josh informed him. "He was putting together a foursome and needed one more. That was about 2 a.m. and tee-time was 6 a.m."
"You've been playing golf all day?" CJ asked astonished. "It's three o'clock! We have been..."
"Sitting in the sun?" Josh ventured.
"Discussing and reviewing plans," CJ huffed.
"Yeah," Josh nodded. "Nice tan. Look, the President and Leo said take a couple hours off. I was just following orders."
"He took a meeting with someone named Joey," SJ chimed in, defeating his superior smirk.
Oh, of course, he'd have to see Joey, too, Donna thought, sinking further into her chair and wanting to disappear entirely. The harem follows him; they're like groupies! Could this week possibly get any better? Maybe I'll be sitting with Amy Gardner at dinner tomorrow night--that would be the perfect end to a rotten week. Or maybe the sprinkler systems will go off in my room and my whole wardrobe will turn moldy or I'll get food poisoning... Why not all three at once?
"That's when I saw him," SJ continued to explain to Sam about how she met up with Josh that morning and telling him bare details of some bet she had apparently lost to him. "Then Josh and this Joey person started haggling over some polling stuff, I think. She's deaf so regardless of the content of the discussion, she wins. She doesn't have to listen to his yapping."
"Have I told you lately that I don't like you?" Josh countered.
"SJ, how did someone like you you end up being a member of his fan club," Sam asked boldly. "You strike me as someone with taste."
"Don't invite me to strike you," SJ said. "My heritage is that of people in low places. But, to answer your question, the statute of limitations has run out on bad choices I made in college. So, I neither admit nor deny your allegation."
"You've been pleading no lo contendre all your life," Sam said. "When will it stop?"
"About the same time you ax the faulty parallelism in your speeches," SJ said with with a smile tinged with an acid glare. "Well, I'd love to stand here and be underwhelmed by Sam's political prose, but I have a studio to fleece."
She kissed Josh briefly on the cheek as a farewell as she prepared to leave.
"Josh, I'll call you after this thing is over," she said.
"Damn right you will," Josh scoffed. "You owe me money, sweetheart. No mulligans."
"It was my first time," she replied.
"Yeah, I heard that before," Josh smirked. "There are no mulligans. Ask Sam. Sam, are there ever any mulligans?"
"Playing golf with Josh, no," Sam replied. "A gentleman would give a lady a couple do-overs, but you're out of the running there too, SJ. The gentleman and the whole lady thing, you know?"
"Just for that, I'm glad you didn't have lunch with us," SJ said with a wink. "Our lunch companion asked to meet you, but now I'm saying no."
"Who?" Sam asked, attempting to sound non-chalant and failing.
"Julia Roberts," SJ said.
"You did not," Sam protested as he glared at Josh. "You did not have lunch with her!"
"She's supposed to be in the movie they're making of SJ's trashy, little book ," Josh replied.
"We were discussing changes that I oppose to my Pulitzer Prize winning novel," SJ countered. "Anyway, it turns out she's sort of a fan of you two, and I dropped a few names. I'm not proud or modest."
"It shows," Josh said and received a swift swat to the back of his head for the effort.
"Well, I have to go pick a fight so my story doesn't get mangled further by a Hollywood hack," SJ said. "They're bringing in a new guy named Sorkin. They claim he can write political drama and good dialogue. We shall see. Wish me luck. CJ, good to see you. Hey, Donna, you have to dig a big hole in the sand if you want to drop out of sight completely. See y'all."
Donna peered around the edge of her chair and watched SJ toss off a brisk wave then depart alone.
"You had lunch with Julia Roberts," Sam pouted.
"Yeah, but you won your round, right?" Josh said. "All I had was..."
"Lunch with one of the most beautiful women in the country," Sam scoffed. "Yeah, I feel so much better. You really selfless, Josh. You're all about sacrifice."
"I know," he agreed with a sigh as he took a seat beside Sam. "It's not easy being humble, either."
"Don't talk to me-- ever again," Sam scowled.
"You didn't miss anything," Josh said honestly. "SJ kept trying to argue her way out of paying me."
"She was in your foursome?" CJ asked.
"No, we met outside the clubhouse as Joey was leaving," Josh said. "Somehow we got into a thing about golf... Anyway, it turned into a bet that she couldn't.... Doesn't matter. She's a sore loser."
"Josh, I don't get it with you and these women," CJ said. "They're smart; most are reasonably well-adjusted; and none seem to exhibit outward signs of psychosis. How do you end up with them? How is it every woman you date breaks up with you then turns into part of your fan club eventually? You drug them, don't you?"
"You sound both jealous and envious," Josh observed.
"Get checked for sunstroke, golf boy," CJ said rising to her full height. "I'm going to walk in the surf. Donna, join me."
Donna nodded and placed her book on the sand. She grabbed a sheer wrap to protect her lily white skin from the intense rays. As she started after CJ, she looked briefly over her shoulder. Josh was sitting in a chair turned away from the view of the water, so he could face Sam for what appeared to be an intent discussion. He never turned his head in her direction, never acknowledged her in any way. Her shoulders drooped as she followed CJ to the water.
Sam stopped typing and surveyed his work. Sam huffed and deleted the entire piece, disgusted with what he wrote. He closed his laptop, removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
"Sam," Josh said, "you've been working on that thing too long. You're done."
"I'm not," Sam argued with a sigh. "I've got to have it ready by tonight so Toby can go over it after the dinner. This writer's block is the worst case since... since... See, I can't even compose a thought about how bad it is!."
"You don't have writer's block," Josh informed him confidently. "You're just neurotic. Save your sanity, Sam. Do what Toby said and just cut the paragraphs."
"I need them," Sam insisted.
"You need therapy," Josh countered. "Toby said cut 'em, so cut 'em. Look, you know what the President's going to do. He's going to skip the whole section and go off on one of his own tangents. It's a good speech--no, it's a great speech, Sam. Wrap it up."
Sam nodded and watched the waves of the Atlantic crash the shoreline.
"Have you spoken with him?" Sam asked.
"No," Josh replied. "Why?"
"Just curious," Sam said. "I talked to him today about the highway bill. I got chewed out, too. It's not personal."
"I know," Josh said, studying his hands.
"It's just... He's under stress and he needs to let it out," Sam continued. "He wouldn't do that to you if he didn't trust you."
Josh said nothing. Sam was the third person on staff to offer Josh words of support regarding his recent lack of rapport with the President. Josh had not sought their counsel--hadn't even confided in them of the bursts of temper he met when he spoke with the President lately. However, the White House was a small place. It didn't take long for word to travel--especially when the President's verbal drubbings occurred in the presence of other staffers. CJ had gotten questions in the press room about the future of Josh's career with the Administration. Though Josh did not believe his job was in jeopardy, he did long for the days when he could speak freely around the President without worry of being made a punching bag for whatever snafu had befallen the campaign recently.
"I'm not worried about it," Josh said.
"You shouldn't be," Sam continued. "He just... He knows you won't punch back, and he knows you won't take it personally. He needs that right now. So... you know... don't."
"Sam, I said I'm fine," Josh replied then made moves to change the subject. "When's your father getting in?"
"Tomorrow morning," Sam said. "My mother can't come. My cousin, her niece, is getting married next month so she needs to be at a shower."
"Things okay?"
"I guess," Sam nodded. "I just would have thought that a shower was... Well, this is dinner with the President. He's thanking our families for their support and the sacrifices they've had to make for what we do. I mean, it's not like my parents have had to make a sacrifice or anything, but..."
"It's a wedding thing," Josh said. "Women think that stuff is important."
"Yeah," Sam nodded, having coming to that conclusion himself and wanting to change the topic. "So, you do recall that this city has hosted the convention before?"
"Yeah, back in '72," Josh said. "But it never really counted."
"Why is that?" Sam asked.
"Because they nominated McGovern."
"True," Sam conceded.
The two men sat in silence. Josh glanced back over to Sam, whose face still bore the look of hopelessness. The speech writer scanned the horizon, watching the recently departed women tentatively wade in the undulating waves of the blue green water of the tidal pool. Suddenly, his frown curved upward and a devious glint took hold in Sam's eyes.
"Well, I see a perfect opportunity to strike," Sam snickered.
"What?" Josh asked.
"Well, we've got CJ," he said gesturing with a nod toward the shoreline. "We've got an entire ocean; we've got a perfect opportunity. I mean, to ignore a chance like this is... well, a crime."
Josh turned slowly and narrowed his sights on the six-foot tall press secretary.
"Yeah," Josh said blandly. "That's a pretty strong case of a moral imperative."
"Time to commence Operation Dunk You Very Much."
Josh turned to Sam with a strange look.
"Operation...? Now, I know why you can't finish that part of the speech."
"Don't start," Sam commanded. "Are you going to join me?"
"Next time," Josh said, flipping open his cellphone. "I gotta call Leo."
"More fun for me then--besides, she needs this," Sam nodded then departed in CJ's general direction with his hands suspiciously clasped behind his backs and a childish grin on his face.
*****************
"So, your mother's there?" Leo asked, turning the conversation away from the issue of possibly uncovered medical records.
"Yeah," Josh said. "I apparently stood her up for something today. I was going to find her after this call."
"Go," Leo said from his seat aboard Air Force One. "We're landing in 30 minutes. His mood is good, and tonight is going to go well."
"You got that in writing?"
"Yeah, from Toby," Leo said. "He just faxed it to me. Look, it was a break-in."
"You don't read anything into the fact that I got a call from Chris Lambert?"
"California is a big state and the LA Times is a big paper," Leo reassured him. "Look, there was nothing taken; besides, nothing pertaining to anyone of concern was in the office where the burglars entered. And, anything else there that could have been seen wouldn't have names on it, so you can stop worrying."
"Leo," Josh sighed. "I'm not worried about me."
"Josh," the Chief of Staff cut him off. "It was a burglary."
"So was Watergate," Josh replied.
"Josh," Leo growled.
"Lesson number one from Watergate?"
"Don't hire stupid people--even if they're trying to sabotage Democrats," Leo replied.
"I meant from the journalist perspective," Josh continued. "Follow the money, right?"
"I don't follow you, but as far as I know, no money was taken," Leo said.
"Better than money," Josh said. "Records. Not medical ones. Financial ones. I just got the list from Stanley this afternoon. They know when he traveled and where if they want to do a little checking from his accounts."
"Who's gonna do that, Josh?" Leo argued. "These are burglars."
"Why would you break into a doctor's office?" Josh asked. "There was no money there, but there was a prescription pad in the desk; it wasn't taken. This is not a burglar for money or drugs, Leo. This was something else. Someone wanted information. Maybe it has something to do with one of his clients in California, but I wouldn't bet on it."
"We'll talk tonight," Leo sighed. "Now, go see your mother. I don't want to get a lecture from her."
"Right," Josh said. "Like that's not gonna happen."
*****************
Donna walked down the hall toward Josh's door. When she arrived, she hesitated before knocking. She smoothed her hands over her sleek black dress. The sultry fabric was close fitting; the scooped neckline and high side slit earned her several lingering glances in the elevator. She had tried to call Josh's room twice but received no answer. She doubted he had left yet; though he claimed he could knot his tie correctly, he was usually wrong. Over the course of her work with Josh, she had adopted many unwritten aspects to her job description. She figured that seeing that the boss was presentable when dining formally with the President and his mother was one of them.
Donna removed the smirk from her face and tried to look neutral as she briefly checked that her hair was still swift up in a smooth, sophisticated French twist rather than succumbing to the humidity. Satisfied with the inspection, she rapped smartly on the door.
Donna could hear him speaking rapidly to someone as the knob turned and the door opened a crack. She stepped into the room and instantly shook her head.
Josh stood with his back to her giving his caller and earful of terse instructions. Donna surveyed the room and sighed. Disarray was an apt description. Newspapers, files and clothing littered the bed and floor surrounding it. She shook her head while his conversation continued.
"You need a full-time maid everywhere you go," she remarked. "Your mother never made you clean your room, did she?"
"Uh huh," he continued his phone conversation, oblivious to her statement.
Donna set about gathering the files strewn across the bed into a pile--figuring they would be thrust at her for organizing sooner or later anyway. From her brief perusal, they appeared to belong to major topics on the platform for the speech the next evening. The notes inside were a composite of Sam's, Toby's and Josh's thoughts (in each's handwriting). From the furious scribbling, there had been intense discussions late that afternoon.
"I don't care what Toby asked for," Josh argued. "Give him what he asks for and then give me my numbers... I know he gets his first that way... He's got his thing to do, and I've got mine.... Right and for his, he's not looking at a full sample. Let him extrapolate and postulate; I want to KNOW... Yes, raw numbers and those you've run through the rubric... I can run that by Leo later, but I can tell you now that he'll say.... Okay... Thanks."
Josh sighed and tossed his cell phone toward the bed. He shook his head and muttered several unintelligible words under his breath.
"What?" she asked.
"Why is it we must always prove Murphy's Law?" he asked, though she was certain he was being rhetorical.
"Why didn't you answer your phone?" she asked in return.
"Hmm?" he said finally turning to face her.
"Better question," she continued. "Why aren't you dressed yet?"
"I am dressed," he said. "Mostly."
"Okay, you've got one shoe on; your shirt is half buttoned and your tie is no where near your body," she said. "Do you have any idea where it and your other shoe might be or do I have a scavenger hunt on my hands?"
"I was getting dressed and my phone rang," he said.
"You didn't answer it," she pointed out.
"I was just talking on it," he protested.
"I called this room twice before I came up here," she said.
"That's not my phone," he said diffidently. "That belongs to the hotel."
"Shut up and find your tie," she commanded.
He pointed firmly toward the writing desk in the corner. Draped over the back of the chair was a black tie. She plucked it from its perch and started giving him orders: Find your shoe (it was on the floor near the bed); put it on; locate your cufflinks and tell me you remembered to hang up your jacket.
He accepted her directions, yet all the while he grumbled about being treated like a child. Donna didn't bother to hide her smirk.
If the people Josh routinely intimidated could only see him like this, she thought, they'd never quake in their boots again. Hardly anybody suspects this part of Josh exists. I'll bet only half a dozen people have ever seen this side of him. How did I get to be one of them? How often have I seen this? Dozens of times, easily. Oh Joshua, for a man with such a straightforward personality, you certainly are an enigma.
He sat on the edge of the bed and finished tying his shoe. He then looked up at her suspiciously. The questioning glance quickly melted into a grin.
"Tied 'em myself," he said.
"You never cease to amaze me," she said in flat tones. "You certainly know how to impress a lady, Josh."
"Really?" he remarked. "You know any?"
Donna bit back the urge to chastise him for the juvenile humor. She knew retaliation would lead to another comment and the whole thing would dissolve into a tit-for-tat banter session that, while entertaining, would also be nonproductive and time consuming. They were on a schedule. Josh needed to meet up with his mother before they needed to be in the reserved dinning room; and he needed to do this before the President arrived or he would be served with a healthy dose of the President's ire and he certainly didn't need to go looking for more of that lately.
Donna sighed forcefully. Any further rejoinder from him was cut off as the cell phone trilled again. Josh snatched the instrument from the bed and began speaking. As he gave the caller a litany of instructions to convey to delegates the following day, Donna looked at the clock beside the bed. They had 20 minutes to spare. She decided to get things moving.
She rooted through Josh's backpack and located his cufflinks then opened the closet and (thankfully) discovered his jacket hanging there. By that time, he was pacing around the room. She lay the jacket on the bed then grabbed his arm as he passed by her.
"You can stand, but stand still," she ordered.
"Hold on," he said to the caller then covered the mouthpiece. "Donna, what the hell?"
"Honestly, Josh," she said fastening his cufflinks into place. "Sometimes it's easier if I just treat you like a three-year-old. You can't even get dressed without my help."
He shook his head and returned to his call. Donna then turned her attention to his shirt. She worked on the buttons, but the task not as easy as it should have been as she found herself fumbling with the them. She was acutely aware of how close she was standing to him; the sound of his voice; the rhythm of his breathing....
Donna shook her head and refocused her mind on the buttons. She fixed her eyes on the buttons, but her gaze was drawn to the patch of bare, smooth, tanned skin in front of her. She blinked hard and forced her eyes several inches higher and found herself staring at his face.
As she did this, Josh could feel the tremble in her fingers. He caught the blush in her cheeks. He smirked and tried valiantly to keep his voice calm and even as he conveyed to the DNC staffer what had been decided that afternoon. He rattled off the details from memory. He disconnected soon after.
"How's it going?" he asked as she fiddled with the top button.
"Um, fine," she said distractedly.
As the final button slipped into place, Donna laced her arms around his neck and began to work on the tie. Josh looked at her closely, feeling the warm rush of her breath on his cheek. Donna could feel his eyes on her; she bit her lip in order to concentrate. Other than that, her face was pristine, Josh noted. Her pale blue eyes sparkled; her fine cheekbones and alabaster skin were accentuated by the sultry and sophisticated styling of her silky blond tresses. His eyes roamed down her graceful neck as he felt her fingers along his neck as she fiddled with the tie.
Donna tugged the knot straight and allowed herself a shallow breath. Her cheeks felt hot and her body shivered. She kept her hands on the edges of the bow and looked up from her work as Josh reached for the tie to adjust it. He placed his hand over hers. She found herself locked in the gaze of his gentle, warm, excited eyes. His mouth went dry and a wash of pink filled her cheeks as the gaze, like the moment, lingered.
"You look good," Josh said softly.
"Thank you," she replied, wrestling her eyes away. As she did, she tried to step away, but was unable as he held onto her hand a moment longer.
"Donna...."
"Hey!" Sam shouted as he banged on the door. "Josh! You there? Let's go! Your mother arrived like half and hour ago with my father and... Well, just between us I think he might have been flirting with her, which isn't to say he was hitting on her, because I'm sure he wasn't, but still...."
Donna slid her hand from his grasp and stepped away. She turned her back and managed a deep, shaky breath.
"What?" Josh called snapping from his trance. "Oh, right. Hold on."
Josh reached his hand forward to touch her shoulder then retracted. He shook his head, his mind a muddle. He looked at the bed and saw his jacket.
Dinner. With the President and my mother. Eight O'clock. Sam's father and my mother. Oh no. No, not tonight.
"I'm heading down stairs now," Sam said.
"Yeah," Josh shouted. "I'll be right there."
******************
Leo leaned on the polished surface and joked about placing a brandy snifter by his elbow to collect tips. The lounge was deserted other than himself, the bartender and the piano player. It was the individual at the ivories who held his attention. Anna Lyman was, without a doubt, a beautiful woman. Her face did not show her age and her bright green eyes sparkled rather than reflect all the tears they had cried. She grinned back at Leo, taking his joke for the compliment it was meant to be, as she finished playing the song. A music teacher by profession, the private lessons she gave during her career were more often than not on violins and cellos, but the piano was always Anna's favorite instrument. She regretted selling hers when she moved to Florida; however, the new house simply did not have the room that her Connecticut home had.
"Just open up your own piano bar," Leo recommended. "You can play all you like, meet new people. Could spawn a career in show business if you market yourself right. That should keep Josh just nuts enough so that he calls you more often. It would be your dream come true."
"I prefer to keep Joshua from worrying about me," Anna chuckled; though she dismissed Leo's suggestion, it did appeal to her on some level. "What are you doing to keep him from worrying?"
"I'm sorry?"
"My freedom of speech with Joshua does not extend to my questioning the actions of the President in regard to his treatment of my son," Anna said as he fingers unconsciously waltzed up and down the keys. "I hear things; CJ did a briefing that I saw on C-Span recently. I found a few of the questions... interesting. Leo, I wouldn't pretend to understand the pressure on the President at any time, but I am certain he doesn't need to ease his emotional anguish by giving my son tongue lashings. I firmly believe that there is no place for rudeness in this world, not even in the Oval Office."
"Anna," Leo sighed. "That's not what happened. You shouldn't worry about...."
"But I will and I do," she said as she continued playing softly. "Joshua hasn't said anything to me about it. Which is a signed in and of itself; he should have been a spy."
"Josh?" Leo gaped. "Anna, he can't bluff to save his..."
"He's good at hiding things," Anna cut in. "Very good."
Leo nodded. His deputy could keep secrets--better than most of Washington. It was one of the main reasons Leo trusted him so much.
"I am under no delusions of my son's perfection," Anna continued. "He's human, and he makes mistakes. But they're honest mistakes. He admits to them, he does what he can to correct them."
"I know that," Leo said. "Really, Anna. There's nothing to worry about. We're all in the same boat. Nobody's going to push Josh out or whatever you think might happen--no matter how much you want it. You think I don't know what you're doing? I think this is just your newest tactic to get me to fire him. So there, what do you think?"
"I think Joshua would have been better off if his parents hadn't been so willful," Anna sighed listening to the notes hang in the air briefly before speaking again. "Neither Noah nor I ever pushed him; we never had to--he did it himself. We buried Joanie on a Friday and moved into an apartment one of Noah's partner's owned the day after. On Monday morning, Joshua got up; got dressed; and walked to school. I got a call from Mr. Provost, Joshua's principal, around 9 o'clock. Mr. Provost said he was very surprised to see Joshua back at school so quickly. He wanted me to know that I hadn't needed to send Joshua back to school so soon after... that we could keep him at home for the rest of the week if we wanted. I was quite surprised to get the call."
"Why? Seems natural the school would make that offer."
"The offer didn't surprise me," Anna answered. "The fact I got a call at all did. I didn't know Joshua wasn't in the apartment. I thought he was in his room sleeping. I didn't even know he knew the way to his school from the apartment. But he did. He knew what he was supposed to do, and he did it--alone--without being told. He stopped being a child and accepted responsibilities that were not his to take--not at that age. He was still just a baby to me, my little boy, but when he came home that day and I asked him why he had gone to school, it was his expression that told me more than his words; there was no fear, but there was pain and acceptance that that was how things were going to be. Something had gone wrong, and he was certain it was his fault and that it was his job to do everything conceivable to fix it. That look in his eyes terrified me to my soul; it meant that I'd lost both my children. I could still see and hear Joshua, but he wasn't my little boy anymore."
"Anna, I know all about how things were for him then, but this has nothing to do with that," Leo said. "They're not the same at all."
"I see that same look in his eyes now, Leo," Anna cut in. "Joshua is good at hiding things--things that scare me."
Leo sighed. He couldn't begrudge the woman her concern for her son, but he also could do nothing to allay her worries. Josh was what he was and that's what made him good at what he did. However, Leo also knew it was also those traits which made him a danger to himself on some occasions. This was not one of them, he told himself. He believed it. The bumpy road the President and Josh were traveling was one that others had taken with the President before; Toby had traversed it so often he probably should have had a bumper sticker commemorating the journeys.
"I'll give you this mantra one final time," Leo said. "He's fine; nothing's wrong; you worry too much."
*****************
Donna walked quickly down the hallway, carrying with her two fax pages meant for Toby. Ginger had asked her to deliver them to the private conference room around the corner from the dining room where the President was meeting with Josh and Toby. They had been in the room for a solid 20 minutes and Ginger wanted to eat her dinner before it got cold. Donna agreed to play messenger. As she approached, the door opened and Charlie exited.
"Can I go in?" Donna asked.
"Yeah," Charlie nodded as he walked quickly down the hall. "I have to go give a message to the First Lady. Just make sure you close the door behind you."
"Sure thing," Donna said brightly as she knocked twice, as was the custom in the White House, then entered.
*****************
"And precisely why is this anything I should be the least bit worried about?" Bartlet said aggressively.
"Because, Mr. President, there was a break in," Toby
said. "We just wanted you to be aware that there is possibly something
that could come of this."
Bartlet scowled and sighed heavily. He had dealt
with this non-issue with Leo on the plane. Now these two yahoos were
in here telling him he was wrong.
"I disagree," Bartlet said. "Further more, I don't think this has anything to do with me. I have been assure that nothing was taken or revealed about anything over which I would have even the most remote concern."
He paused as the knock on the door sounded. Donna Moss entered with a whispered apology for the intrusion then handed some papers to Toby. Bartlet continued.
"I think this is more about someone else possibly feeling more than a bit paranoid," he said as he narrowed his gaze on Josh.
"I only wish it were that, Mr. President," Josh replied.
"Oh, you wish," Bartlet said grandly. "What an interesting and provocative approach to professionalism, Josh. That's kind of a wussy denial--even for you."
Donna had turned and had her hand on the doorknob again when she heard the President's statement. She turned abruptly to observe the scene before her: the President glared at Josh who made no move to defend himself. Toby stood between the two men, watching both with a practiced eye.
"Our point is that you should know...."
"Our point?" Bartlet cut Josh off. "You mean your point. Look, I'm not worried about my reputation, though with your antics in recent weeks, keeping you in my administration does leave me open to criticism, I suppose. No, I think what I am hearing is your point. Now, if you're afraid that something involving you might reflect bad on me or the administration, well, you've come the party a bit late. We've swallowed that pill quite a fews times recently. As for this latest thing, I'm not concerned. I can't imagine there aren't people in Washington who don't already think you need therapy."
"Mr. President," Donna said, aghast at the acidic words, the disrespectful tone in his voice and the derisive scowl in his eyes.
Everyone turned to look at her--as if seeing her standing there for the first time. Donna froze, hearing her words and feeling a sinking feeling in her stomache. The look on the President's face was one of puzzlement, as though she had not spoken English. Toby's eyes were wide and surprised. Josh's expression was eeriely unreadable.
"I'm sorry, Donna," the President asked smoothly. "Did you say something?"
"N... No.... sir," she stammered. Her face felt hot and red and she wanted to cry.
"I didn't hear you," the President continued.
"Donna, you can go," Josh said firmly.
"I'm.... I'm so...," she said, words getting stuck on her tongue. "Sorry. I didn't mean... I was... I'm sorry."
"What's..." the President began and was cut off by Toby.
"It was nothing," Toby said curtly. "That will be all, Donna. Thank you. You can go back to the party now."
"I'm sorry," she whispered again, afraid to meet Josh's eyes or glance in the direction of the President.
"Donna, please go," she heard Josh said. "Now."
She nodded, feeling prickly and dizzy. She had gone too far. She hadn't.... What had she done again, she tried to remember as she drifted out of the room and back to the hallway leading to the private dining room. She was dazed and not sure that she wasn't dreaming. After all, she reasoned, she would never scold the President. It wasn't done. Perhaps by Leo and the First Lady, but never by an assistant. The sick feeling in her stomache continued as she moved down the hall. She turned the corner to see Leo disconnecting from his cell phone and looking both bored and agitated.
"How's it going, Donna," he said in a prefunctory manner.
"Hey Leard," she began and shook her head to try again.
"I mean, Lor.... What's your name again?"
"Last time I checked it was Leo," he offered with a perplexed
glance at her comment and glazed expression. "Donna, what's wrong?"
"Nothing," she said in a shaky tone. "I was just with Josh. He was talking to the President and..."
"Oh no," Leo sighed heavily. "Give it to me, 20 words or less. What did he say?"
"Josh?"
"Yeah."
"He didn't say anything to the President," Donna said, shaking her head. "He wasn't the one speaking when I was there."
Leo felt a cold sweat break out on the back of his neck--the kind a person feels after passing by a horrible accident on the freeway
"What happened?"
"No," she insisted. "He didn't do anything or say anything. I wondered why he wasn't. And then it happened very quickly."
"What did?" Leo asked tersely.
"Nothing," she said tightly.
"Donna."
"I think what it is is that nothing happens quickly all the time with us, Leo," she said vaguely.
"I'm beginning to lose my patience here, Donna," Leo said. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Josh is not pleased with me," she said, keeping her voice from cracking and firmly clasping her hands so they would not shake further. "And neither is... It was the way I said his name."
"Donna?" Leo asked. "What are you talking about? What about Josh's name?"
"It was the way I said Mr. President," she trembled.
"You called Josh..."
"No, I called the President Mr. President," she clarified.
"Well, that's encouraging that you recognize the President," Leo nodded, relaxing slightly. "Would you mind telling me what's going on or, you know, leaving?"
"I didn't say anything wrong, but it was wrong to say it," Donna continued as the trembling in his clasped hands rippled through her muscles and toward her stomach.
"Seriously, Donna," Leo said tersely. "Do I need to go find the President?"
"Toby said it was nothing," she shook her head, not believing his words. "He said I should get some air and go listen to the music."
"Good idea," Leo said, ushering her toward the hallway and snapping his fingers to get Margaret's attention. "Take a walk with Margaret."
"Where?" Donna asked eagerly.
"Away from me sounds good," Leo suggested. "A little change should fix everything for you."
"Yes," Donna said, enthusiastically; the idea was miraculous. She gripped Leo's forearm warmly. "That is what I need. Start over."
"Yeah," Leo agreed, prying her fingers from his wrist as Margaret began to lead Donna away.
"I have a new dress," Donna said, turning back to smile gratefully at Leo. "You are so smart, Leo."
"That's probably why I have no clue what you're talking about," he agreed. "Go... do whatever with your new dress."
Donna drifted away, her mind fixed on her new course
of action. She reassured Margaret that she was not going nutty and promised
to return to the gathering shortly. She gave the same reassurance to
Charlie, though he did not ask for one, as they passed each other near the
elevators. He watched her disappear as the doors closed and made a
mental note to ask Josh if Donna was all right.
*****************
Toby and Josh returned to the party, the President in better humor as the rollercoaster of his moods was rising again. Toby made a bee-line for the bar and Josh scanned the room for his mother. He found her easily, dancing with Leo. After several moments of staring in their general direction, they parted. Leo offered a grin in Josh's direction that said he was enjoying this torture. Josh nodded in return as his mother approached him.
"Leo is such a wonderful dancer," she said guiding Josh back toward her seat at their table. "I could dance with him all night."
"But you're not going to, right?" Josh asked, as he scoped the room again.
"My perogative, darling," Anna replied and noticed his attention straying. "What or for whom are you looking, darling?"
"Donna," Josh said. "She was... We just had a
meeting and I thought she was coming back here."
"I haven't seen her," Anna said. "Then again, I
wasn't precisely looking either. Do you need something from her?"
"I just....," Josh shook his head and looked at his watch. "Nothing. It can wait. So, before my meeting, you were trying to talk me into moving to Florida to do something."
"You weren't listening," she chided him.
"No, I was listening, I just wasn't giving it any thought," he said with a grin. "But, by all means, continue."
It was nearing 10 p.m. His mother would be turning in soon--as long as Leo Astair didn't tempt her back onto the dance floor. After that, he could check on Donna.
*****************
"Hey Josh," Charlie said as Josh entered the lobby. "You just escort your mother back to her hotel?"
"Yeah," Josh said, pulling the ends of his tie loose and openning the buttons on his collar. "Her return flight leave at 6 a.m. so I'm not going to see her before she goes. She had to finish her pitch to quit my job."
"Was she successful?" Charlie asked as they walked toward the elevators.
"No," Josh chuckled. "Even bad days at the White House are good in my book."
"That's the spirit," Charlie said. "I knew you were a glutton for punishment."
"I am a Democrat," Josh proclaimed proudly. "Say, did Donna return to the party?"
"No," Charlie said. "Toby asked if I had seen her. I take it something went wrong?"
"No," Josh lied and from Charlie's expression he knew he'd done it badly. He pushed the button for the 15th floor, where Donna's room was located. "It was nothing. Toby took care if it. She just... I should probably make sure she's okay."
"Okay," Charlie said. "Hope everything's okay."
"It's fine," Josh said as the elevator doors openned to the 15th floor. "If you see Sam, tell him I'm gonna stop by Donna's room."
"Do you need him to check on her, too, or is there something going on that you need him for?"
"Neither," Josh said. "It's still early and he said something about meeting CJ and Toby in the lounge later, maybe shoot some pool."
"Okay," Charlie said as the doors slid closed.
The elevator rose swiftly toward the President's reserved floor. As Charlie exited, there was the expected number of Secret Service agents milling about and looking serious. Charlie approached the President's personal suite to see Sam exit looking relaxed and plaased with himself.
"I am the master, Charlie," he proclaimed. "Cincinati is done! He loved it. Toby loved it. I can do no wrong."
Charlie nodded and kept his expression neutral, but his mind flashed to the last night he had spoken with Sam late at night about what was right and wrong. He also recalled Josh's request to pass along a message.
"You seen Josh?" Sam asked.
"Yeah," Charlie said cryptically. "He just brought his mother to her hotel."
"He just left?" Sam asked, starting toward the elevator.
"He said she has a 6 a.m. flight out tomorrow and he's not going to get a chance to see her off," Charlie reported without answering the question. "She wants him to quit his job at the White House."
"Well, that's an all-night discussion," Sam chuckled. "Well, if you see him come back, tell him I'll be in the lounge hussling CJ at pool."
"If I see him, I definitely will pass on the message," Charlie replied then walked toward his room, intent upon turning in for the night.
****************
"Hey," Josh said, leaning on the casing. "What are you doing?"
He looked like his night was over--his Tony Bennett look she thought distantly as she spied his tie. He seemed neither angry nor agitated.
"Oh, nothing," Donna said, turning her head away in shame as she walked away from the open door. "I just thought that maybe I'd..."
"You changed your clothes," Josh observed as he entered her room and closed the door. "Why?"
"I.... I think... I don't know," Donna shrugged, knowing the explanation that if she changed her clothes she might be able to start her night over again and forget the awful slip up with the President wouldn't make sense to him. "Josh, I can't believe I said that. It was so awful. I sounded like... like..."
"Like me in one of my less than stellar moments," he offered with a grin. "Donna, I don't think it was quite as bad as you think."
"Really?" she turned toward him hopefully. "It wasn't?"
"No," Josh shook his head. "It was, but... well. It's over."
"I just can't believe I did that," Donna said. "I just... I've never heard him like that, but I.... I was wrong. I'm so sorry."
"I know," Josh said easily. "And, you're right. You shouldn't have said it, but thanks anyway. Donna, it's not personal when he... when things get a little less than completely civil. It's just part of the job sometimes."
Donna nodded and unconsciously adjusted the strap on her dress as it slipped off her shoulder.
"It's kind of my fault," Josh said, tugging at his collar. "I should have..."
"Stopped me?" Donna scoffed, dropping her shoulders.
"I'm not sure I could have," Josh replied, watching the thin strap slid down her shoulder again. His gaze became fixed on the line of her jaw and her neck as she cast her pale blue eyes downward. "I mean, you didn't exactly blurt it out, but... Well, you just... did."
"Yeah," Donna shrugged again and smiled demurely despite the situation. Suddenly, a thought, a horrible one, leapt to her mind. "Oh my god! That's why you're here."
"What?" Josh asked, stunned by her abruptness. "What are you talking about?"
"I guess I deserve it," Donna said, tears brimming in her eyes. "I mean, that's not the way you act to the President. I just thought... I stood up for you. Why didn't you do that for me? It was a mistake. I'm sorry. I said I'm sorry."
"And I said I'm confused," Josh replied, stepping closer to her and grasping her arms lightly. "Donna, I'm just here to see if you're Okay."
"You are?" she sniffled.
Josh looked at her startled expression and shook his head as he offered her a gentle, reassuring smile.
"You thought I was going to fire you," Josh surmised in a soothing tone. "I'm not. Just don't do it again."
"Okay, thank you; I... I don't know what I'd do if we.... that is, if I couldn't...." Donna smiled. "You're just..."
She felt giddy as she brushed a solitary tear out of her eyes. She shivered, though the room was not cool in her opinion. It was the way Josh was looking at her that made her feel that way, she knew. It made her tingly.
"Uh, Josh?" she asked quietly. "Hello? Where are you?"
His gaze was on her but the look in his eyes was distant as though hypnotized.
"Uh, your... thing," he said distractedly as he drew her strap back onto her shoulder with his fingers, caressing her smooth alabaster skin as he did so. "It slipped again."
"Oh," Donna replied softly as she gazed into his brown eyes, hypnotized by the brilliant green flecks that danced in his irises.
Without thinking, she leaned toward him, meeting his lips with her own and feeling a current between them that stunned her and caused her to pull away trembling.
"Got that out of your system?" Josh asked in a husky, breathless tone as they parted.
"No," Donna said, surprising herself with the honesty and simplicity of her answer.
"Okay," he sighed with a brisk nod.
Up Next: Chapter 21
The Lunatic, The Lover and The Poet