Authors: Enigmatic Ellie and Westwinger247
Webpage: http://wing_nuts.tripod.com
The autumn rays painted the landscape with a golden hue. The fading cries of summer filled the air along with the solid sound of bat on ball, the boisterous chatter of players on the field and the good-natured ribbing of friends in competition.
"Sam, you throw like a girl," Toby Zeigler sneered as he trotted in to the bench.
"I do not," his deputy protested with a scowl.
"He's right," CJ agreed with Sam as she joined them while she readjusting her cap. "Girls throw better than that."
"Touché," Toby acknowledged.
Donna sat at on the first row of bleachers, scant feet from her co-workers, as they entered the final inning of the Sunday afternoon softball game. The game was a fundraiser, though for once not one for the Democratic Party. It was the benefit for the Young Scholars of America, a program that raised money for scholarships given to underprivileged students across the country. The White House had been invited to play the House Democratic Caucus in front of a crowd of onlookers ranging from local high school players to retired major league stars.
The President, a long-time, vocal proponent of the scholarship program, had put together his team swiftly--signing himself on as the pitcher. Leo was designated as the manager, which meant essentially that he stood by the bench glued to his cell phone working on country business the entire day; fortunately, Cal Ripken, honorary chairman of the scholarship's Mid-Atlantic chapter stepped in to run the roster. CJ lobbied the blue-eyed former-star and was awarded first base, earning her the uncreative and unwanted nickname Stretch from her teammates. Charlie agreed to catch, but only because he figured he was likely the only person who could keep up the charade that the President was actually reading the signs he was allegedly giving. Sam was relegated to right field after a careless remark about the Boston Red Sox--who knew the pitcher/captain and native of New Hampshire rooted for a Boston baseball team? Toby sewed up his spot as shortstop merely by walking to the spot at the start of the game--no one dared challenge him for the post. Carol, bragging unabashedly about a high school state championship, landed centerfield and dragged Ed with her to take leftfield. Josh, while sputtering quietly about CJ taking his preferred post, accepted the consolation of second base. Larry took third and openly prayed the ball would never get to him.
The score was low, 5-3, in the White House's favor due to a solid double by Toby in the bottom of the second and a solo homer by Sam in the third. Josh and Rep. Chris Wick got into a shouting match about whether Wick was tagged in time or not. The Umpire, a dour and unplayful Senator John LaBarge (founder of the Michigan scholarship chapter), ruled in the White House's favor but not after scolding both players for acting like unruly seven-year-olds.
Donna watched the game with wavering interest. They were playing on a high school field in Alexandria, and it was a peaceful afternoon full of good humor. On the other hand, it was on the warm and sticky side weather-wise, and she had not been asked to play. That she wasn't interested in playing and wasn't any good at the game didn't seem to matter. She was disappointed that she wasn't even considered. So, she sat on the bleachers, cheering for her team--primarily the President who would break every so often to announce a bit of trivia about the history of baseball or the physics behind certain aspects of the game. The look on some of his staff's faces was priceless at those moments. Particularly Josh's.
She hid her pleasure at his displeasure. In fact, she was hiding a lot lately, she knew.
She had agreed to, even suggested, their current arrangement. She had convinced Josh that it was not a thing--to use his words. She had convinced everyone that nothing had changed between the two of them--not that anyone asked, but since they hadn't she considered the rouse a success. Hell, she reasoned, even Josh was unaware. It had been a little awkward the two days following the trip to Vermont as they joined Toby; Josh kept getting a deer in the headlights look whenever something in the conversation with Toby could have a double meaning. Donna hid her smirks then and let Josh grapple with his composure. Toby appeared not to notice; their non-affair remained a secret.
Donna knew it was her nonchalant approach to the arrangement that convinced Josh the charade would work. As the days passed, his nervousness faded. A rule evolved that part of their agreement entailed location. They would never be together in Washington. It was permissible when they were on the road only and time and arrangements permitted.
And that's where Donna found it hardest to hide her feelings. They would be in the final legs of the campaign soon. That meant a lot of time on the road. She could not deny it to herself; it pleased her. Being with Josh pleased her; more than pleased her: it excited her and enthralled her and made her tingle in ways she never imagined possible. Josh was her drug. She had known it for a while and these quick fixes of being with him would get her addicted fast.
She knew the whole scheme was a bad idea; if it wasn't, why would she have lied to him? She had lied when she said it meant nothing to her. It did. It was a thing. To her. She knew from the moment she suggested it. She never dreamed she would talk him into it. She secretly harbored a hope, farfetched though it was, that he felt the same way about her. But she could see from the way he looked at her--or maybe it was the look he didn't give her when he looked at her--that to him it was precisely as he requested: not a thing.
Beggars can't be choosers, Donna's grandmother used to say. Donna never understood that in a practical sense until this situation materialized. She knew this time with Josh was a season in the sun, soon to pass, but she would enjoy it while it lasted. She tried to keep her feelings for him from growing any stronger or deeper, but it was near impossible. She even found it difficult to watch him play this stupid game with a passive eye. There he was, dirty from stealing a base in the fourth inning, standing in the on-deck circle stretching his shoulders behind his back with the bat.
They're good shoulders, she mused to herself. Great arms. Really, really great arms.
She shivered as she watched him. Then she shook herself back to reality. Today she was his assistant--just like she was most days. They were in Alexandria, Va. That meant they were basically home. She scolded herself. She tried not to think about seeing him out of the office when they were home. She couldn't see him out of the office while there. Home was off-limits.
"More of the press covered Ritchie's horseshoe match," Toby commented as he stalked by Donna.
"True, but that was in Texas," Sam said then paused. "That didn't help much, did it?"
"Not so much, no," Toby replied.
"They had more local coverage and all he got nationally was a couple sidebars at the back of the news section," CJ pointed out regarding Ritchie's contribution to the education fund two weeks earlier. "Most of those started off with the fact that he nearly maimed his political director with one his tosses."
Donna listened to the banter and made herself focus on politics again. There was press here, she noted reaffirming CJ and Toby's observations. Though she thought Josh was seriously over-estimating his importance to the administration and campaign with his paranoia, Donna now felt guilty whenever they were at a public function, as though someone would catch her watching him and know their secret. It could hurt his career. And that was another thing she was becoming acutely aware of: Josh was a professional politician; he had a real career. She had only a job; anything that happened to him would affect her. There was a touch more at stake in their liaison than just a few side-glances should word of them get out and not find favor with certain individuals.
While Donna mused on the new complications in her life, game drew to a close as Sam slapped a blooper into the black hole of right field, sending Josh and Ginger home and securing the White House victory. The team briefly shook hands with their opponents; each declaring the next victory would be for all of the in November. The White House team then gathered at the bench. The President spoke briefly to the media about the scholarship, made a few poignant remarks about education in respect to the campaign and future of the nation. Then, as the reporters disbursed, Bartlet took a moment to thank his players.
"And, in appreciation of your hard work and hard play, Leo's going to give you the night off," Bartlet grinned.
"It's Sunday, sir," Toby pointed out.
"And you don't work on Sundays?" Bartlet retorted.
"Know what I forgot there?" Toby noted. "Never argue with the Captain."
"See that it doesn't happen again," Bartlet said in a jaunty manner then departed with his Secret Service detachment.
As the motorcade sped away, the staff settled into discussions about the most serious business of the day: the evening plans.
"Where are we going?" CJ asked, stripping off her cap to run her fingers through her flattened hair.
"We're going home," Sam commented. "Right?"
"I think she meant where are you going to celebrate," Ed offered.
"Mulligan's," Toby said quickly. "Who's driving me?"
Donna, without being asked, dropped Josh's keys in his outstretched hand. She was sure he didn't even recall handing them to her when he arrived. Toby caught the motion then nodded, taking it as a signal that his taxi had arrived. The offer to meet at Mulligan's--a pub located in Georgetown--was extended to all via a shout from Sam across the field to the departing House members. Donna hung back, not sure if she should follow. However, when Ginger beckoned her to join, she reluctantly did so.
Josh, she noted, had not said a word to her all day.
*****************
"I have the first round!" proclaimed Toby as he motioned to the bartender.
"You've got the second, too," CJ added as she retrieved her frothy grasshopper.
Sam nodded to the bartender. "Just run a tab under Ziegler. That's Z -I- E-G-L-E- R."
Toby began to protest, but refrained as he lifted his glass of scotch.
"I don't give a damn," Toby proclaimed. "Bartender! You heard the man. I taste victory in my mouth, and I intend to keep it there. So, a toast! To Senator LaBarge, my favorite umpire and curmudgeon."
"Toby, you're my favorite curmudgeon," Sam said.
"Don't spoil my mood, Sam," Toby grumbled.
"Fine," the deputy conceded. "May the people of Minnesota re-elect the SOB until he's 105."
"Minnesota," Josh corrected. "He's from Michigan, Sam."
"Well, it started with an M," Donna pointed out as she took a sip of her daiquiri.
Josh turned towards her. "Don't help him. It makes it worse."
CJ craned her long neck over her bar mates. "Is that Karen Cahill over there? Maybe Sam can fall down in front of her."
"Give him time," Toby smirked.
"When did it become Bash Sam hour?" Sam asked as he took a long drag of his beer.
"Right when you walked in the door," the Communications Director answered.
"I won the game," Sam pouted. "I did it."
"No one likes people who brag," Josh commented.
"Then explain your fan club," Donna deadpanned. "Oh wait, I can do that. Medication."
The nasty curl to her lips both pleased and saddened Sam. It was her tone that told the story. There was no more flirt in her voice, no more playfulness. She wanted to sting Josh. He hardly seemed to notice--something else that Sam was happy to see and felt guilty about. The subtle wedge he had worked between them was effective, he could see. Their one time genuine, budding feelings for each other had apparently grown cold and forgotten, he assumed. That part of their relationship was now over; Sam mourned it. He knew they could not. They hadn't been given a fair chance to see it grow and possibly blossom into something both could enjoy and cherish. He had squashed it, like a roach and done so without hesitation. Sam looked at them, as did the others after Donna's jab, and then rolled his eyes upward.
Forgive me, he thought.
CJ caught the movement in interpreted it differently.
"Put away the claws, children," CJ directed Josh and Donna.
A brief silence fell over the group. CJ was in no mood for silence. With silence came contemplation and then strategy discussions and the inevitable rehashing of the latest polls. She didn't want any of that for the evening. This was a celebration; a moment to savor a sweet victory. She scanned her colleagues again then spoke.
"Okay, so it's my turn," she said abruptly. "Let me just say you boys are so bad at PR. I believe we were going to make a toast. So, try this one: To Josiah Bartlet, pitcher and captain extraordinaire who will appear on the news tonight, playing tirelessly in the hot sun for the entire game."
"Yes, and he didn't maim anyone," Sam brightened.
"Not even me," Josh whispered to himself.
He and the President had slipped into a new phase of the one-sided feud. The President did not make eye-contact with him unnecessarily and when there was communication, it was done in short, terse bursts of orders which required no comment from Josh other than: "Thank you, Mr. President."
"To the President," Toby proclaimed as he raised his glass.
CJ joined him. "And four more years."
"Here, here!!" Sam echoed and pounded on the bar.
The others also raised their glasses in toast of the President and the campaign. They were counting the time to Election Day in weeks rather than months now. September was almost a memory; October was on the horizon.
CJ set her glass down. "Okay, know what? I need music! Someone get the guy to turn the music up."
"CJ, it's loud enough already," Josh pointed out.
"What?"
"It's loud enough already."
"What?" she repeated again. "I can't hear you, it's too loud!"
Josh rose from his stool and went behind the press secretary. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders and leaned in.
"Claudia Jean, I'm mad about you."
"I read the papers," CJ responded. "You're just mad, so get off me Spunky."
"You're completely in love with me, aren't you?" Josh asked as a dimple appeared with his smirk.
"Oh yeah," CJ replied. "I want you like I want another root canal."
Donna remained on her stool, quietly sipping her drink. She knew that this was another occurrence of Josh being Josh. And it was with CJ. There was nothing between them but a friendly rivalry of sorts – like that of college friends who often wondered who was smarter and never wanting to know the answer for certain. Donna shook her head, chastising herself for being jealous of CJ. CJ was her friend and held no designs on Josh. What Donna was jealous of was their ability able to portray their feelings in public without any awkwardness or fear of a gossip columnist writing about it.
"Donna, where are Ginger and Carol?" Sam asked, breaking Donna's thoughts. "I thought they were coming out, too."
"Ginger is behind you," Donna informed him and pointed.
Sam felt a tap on his left shoulder. "Hi Sam!"
"Oh, hi there."
"And Carol is..." Donna scanned the area, looking for CJ's assistant. "Um..."
"Carol went home to shower," CJ explained. "She's got a date with William Sorensen's new guy... Bill something or other."
"Sorensen," Sam finished. "Representative William Sorensen's new guy is Bill Sorensen, his son."
"Really?"
"Yeah," Sam nodded. "That's why they all call him Junior."
"Hey, are we're all set for travel arrangements on Thursday?" Toby interrupted. "The last time we all went en masse they screwed up my hotel room."
"Donna's too," Josh remembered. "She got Sam's room."
"I'd have settled for Sam's room, but I'd prefer mine," Toby grumbled.
"Why get a room, Toby?" CJ chuckled. "You never sleep."
"I do," Toby corrected. "A lot lately. And mostly in my car."
"Yeah, I find it less scary if I close my eyes when you drive as well," CJ replied, waving her glass at the bartender, signaling her want of another.
Toby set his glass down. "Seriously, I'm so tired lately. I've gone back and forth across the country so often in the last six weeks..."
"That you just used the phrase 'back and forth across the country' in a sentence," Sam noted, shaking his head at the poor construction.
"Yeah," Toby agreed, running the sentence over in his mind with visible rue.
"It's that flu thing," CJ pointed out.
"What flu thing?" Toby asked.
"The one that's all over the news this week," CJ answered. "The thing that's closing all the schools in New York and Connecticut. It's not the flu really. It's this flu, cold-killer thing."
"I'm fine," Toby argued.
"Headaches."
"None."
"Watery eyes," CJ continued, ignoring his response.
"Both are fine," Toby replied.
"Achy joints."
"Did you see the double play I turned an hour ago?" Toby retorted.
"Fever."
"I'm getting hot under the collar because you're not listening to me," Toby scowled.
"And FATIGUE," CJ finished with a flourish. "Unrelenting fatigue. It's the first symptom. Watch it, Tobus. In fact, don't breathe my air. We're going to Atlanta this week, and I don't have time to be sick."
"'Cause I do?"
"I don't know your schedule," CJ answered.
"You're going to Atlanta?" Donna asked.
"Yeah," CJ responded, focusing her attention on the
blonde assistant. "I'm going with the President and Sam. Then we're
in
Texas on Friday. You guys are there on Thursday?"
"Yeah, Josh and I," Sam confirmed. "We're there a day early for the health care conference. The President speaks Friday evening."
"Right," CJ said. "Then it's on to San Francisco Monday and Raleigh Wednesday."
"Oregon then Minnesota the following week," Toby added.
"Then New York," Sam said.
Josh let out a full dimpled grin. "Just in time for the NLCS."
"Why do you care?" Toby asked.
"'Cause the Mets are going to be in it, and they will sweep," Josh responded in a tone that implied the answer should have been obvious.
Toby turned to CJ. "Are delusions part of this illness? Someone should check Josh."
"Will everyone be in Kansas the last full week of October?" Donna asked, trying to get the group back on topic.
"Yes," Sam answered, finishing his beer. "The final debate."
"Final?" Toby snorted. "It's the only one; Ritchie declined every offer for a series and only capitulated to the last one because he thinks the World Series will get more coverage."
"The World Series will get more coverage," Sam confirmed.
"There is no game scheduled the night of the debate!" Toby huffed.
"We know that, Toby," Josh replied.
"Irritability," CJ observed. "That's another symptom."
Josh smirked. "Of what, the illness or Toby?"
"It's the only debate and it's one week before the general election," Toby snarled. "One. One chance to face him on TV and show everyone that he's..."
"Toby, we know," Sam answered, trying to calm his boss down. "You're preaching to your own choir here. And, in my own defense, since it is the only debate and it is just before the election, that does make it the final one."
"He's got a point," Josh nodded. "Albeit an asinine one."
Ginger spoke up. "Weren't you guys just in a good mood giving toasts?"
"Yes, they were," CJ said. "I need to keep them on task. So, where were we? Oh yes, now, to the best manager in unprofessional softball: To Leo McGarry!"
"I thought I was going to make a toast this time," Sam pouted.
"Then you should drink to spell check," Ginger chuckled.
Sam removed Ginger's martini from her hand. "Bartender, cut her off. She's a cranky drunk. Now, where was I? Oh yes. My turn. To history!"
The group turned and looked at Sam. "What? Can't I make a toast?"
"Apparently not," CJ laughed.
"Don't you have a goldfish to feed?" Sam shot back.
"Yeah, CJ," Josh leaned against the bar. "You're sitting here scarfing down goldfish, and you've got one that you feed sitting on your desk. Doesn't it seem kind of strange?"
"No," CJ replied as she popped the small orange cracker into her mouth.
"Oh, can I say 'to goldfish'?" Sam begged. "Please! I wanna propose a toast."
CJ gave Sam an evil grin. "How does it feel to want?"
"Pretty good actually," Sam admitted. "I want to win in November. There. To November!"
Josh raised his beer. "Okay, we have to go with that."
Toby picked up his glass. "Sam... Well, all right. To November."
"To November.... and goldfish," CJ said.
Sam glared at CJ. "Hey!"
"Spokeswoman's prerogative," CJ stated. "Hey, guys. I'm going to go powder my nose or whatever it is I'm supposed to say. Don't leave for another place without me."
Donna rose from her stool. "I'll go with you."
"They always take a partner," Sam observed. "Why is that?"
"No one really knows," Josh replied.
CJ turned and pointed at the boys. "Guys, don't ditch me."
"We wouldn't think of it," Toby replied as he pulled out his wallet.
"You usually lead the pack, Toby," CJ pointed out.
Toby nodded. "I am a natural leader."
"I thought you were a natural brunette?" Sam remarked.
****************
Tuesday afternoon
Donna lightly tapped on the Press Secretary's door. "CJ?"
"Yeah," came a sniffled reply. "Hey Donna. Is that ice cream?"
"Yes," Donna answered as she made her way inside the office. "I picked us up some while I was out. My mom always gave me ice cream when I wasn't feeling well. Works wonders."
"Thanks," CJ smiled as she received the treat. "I have never felt this awful in my life– ever. And don't you dare repeat this to Sam, Toby or Josh."
Donna chuckled as she took a seat opposite the desk. "Because you'll never hear the end of it. I understand. Why is that?"
"Because they're men," CJ answered simply.
"My grandmother used to have a saying," Donna said taking a bite of ice cream. "There are very few men in this world – the rest are just males."
"Your grandmother's a very wise woman."
Donna nodded. "I learned a lot from her."
"How's the rest of the Moss clan doing?" CJ asked. "How long has it been since you've seen them last?"
"I haven't seen them since before the Iowa Caucus," Donna replied. "At my cousin's wedding. I spoke to my mother last night. She's none too pleased with my father."
"How so?" CJ could tell by the look on her face that Donna was concerned about something.
Donna set her cup of ice cream on the desk and sighed. "It seems that my mother is trying to get him to go to the doctor's office. He had a dizzy spell a couple of days ago and it freaked her out; it seems it's not the first time this has happened. My father's not the type of person who likes doctors, and he keeps telling her that he was just dehydrated or something. She's trying to enlist myself and my siblings to try and talk some sense into him."
"And how's that working out?" CJ inquired.
"We've been basically told to mind our own business," Donna answered. "And that my father's old enough to know when something's wrong with him."
CJ nodded. "Sounds like my father."
"How is he?" Donna asked.
"He has his good days," CJ replied. "And a good day for him is remembering where he left his glasses or what day it is."
"I'm so sorry, CJ," Donna whispered. "I know this is rough on you. If there's anything I can do…"
CJ smiled. "Thanks. It means a lot to me that you would offer. And that goes for me too…with your dad."
"Thanks."
"Donna?" came a roar down the hall. "DONNA!"
Donna sighed and rose from the chair. "Duty calls."
"I can hurt him for you if you want," CJ offered. "I'll just blame it on the medication."
"Tempting offer," Donna smiled as she walked toward the threshold. "Rain check?"
"Anytime."
"Are there any changes to the itinerary that you know of for Texas?" Donna asked over her shoulder.
"I'd be the last to know," CJ answered then sunk back into her work.
*****************
Houston, Texas
7 p.m.
Sam made his way to the hotel room office of the Chief of Staff. His step had a little more bounce than normal. He received word that morning from his father that his mother was near completion of her chemotherapy treatments. While her hair had left her, her spirits hadn't. She was volunteering to help organize an exhibit at the gallery where she work to display art work done by cancer patients in order to raise money for research.
Another reason that had Sam in a good mood was the campaign – all aspects of it. While the Bartlet campaign had slipped in the polls, so had Ritchie's camp. There were now four candidates making the news regularly. Some moneyed ultra right conservatives found Ritchie not conservative enough and were backing the Reverend Dr. William Mitchell, a cable TV preacher and political scientist who taught at the University of Missouri; he was also a former Representative from and one-time Attorney General of that state. He was gaining some steam in the polls--taking tiny nibbles at Ritchie's base. That was a reason to celebrate, if not for the emergence of the political left's own other-party candidate--complete with Amy Gardner serving as one of his political directors. Amy had the campaign running better than expected and was taking shots at both Ritchie and Bartlet on the environmental flank and the social security platform. Sam likened her to a gnat buzzing around and through the Bartlet strategy. Negotiations were underway to get her and her candidate to stand aside and throw their support behind the President. The staff--except Josh who proclaimed weekly she was more certifiable than he ever was--was still optimistic about the plan even though Bruno had falsely predicted both alternative candidates would step aside two weeks after the respective conventions.
Even the low points had some good aspects; Sam was determined to focus on the positive. The President had excelled in the previous week's speech on energy conservation, and the health care summit being held in Houston was earning positive points in the media. Sam also scored a personal achievement, even though it guilted him constantly – the separation of Josh and Donna. He had noticed for the past few months a distance between the Deputy and his assistant. They were not as close – as flirty - as they once were. Without the insinuation of any interests on either person's part, both were able to focus their energy on the campaign and keeping their respective jobs.
Sam arrived at his destination and knocked on the door.
"Yeah," Leo replied.
Sam entered grinning widely. "Hey, CNN and USA Today have Ritchie's camp at 48 percent."
"Yeah," Leo replied as he studied the report in his lap. "But we're at 46. I don't call that a success, Sam."
"Right," Sam nodded. "But, on the success front Mitchell has two percent and Amy's guy only one."
"I'm still waiting to hear the success in this, Sam."
"Their renegade is drawing more support than ours," Sam said. "Sure, we're second on the polls now, but with a three percent margin of error, we're actually just about even. It's a dead heat, Leo."
"Again, when you come to the good part, let me know so I can listen," Leo continued to read.
Sam nodded then sat down. Leo looked up and looked at Sam over his glasses.
"Anything else?"
"Well, I'm having a reasonably good week," Sam said. "I've decided it's about perspective."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Sam said. "Not everything is bad, even those things that are. I mean, not entirely bad. Like mold on bread. Yeah, it's not a great thing, but there's penicillin, so..."
"Are you starting some medical research or a bakery?"
"Neither, I just feel pretty good and wanted to share," Sam said.
"You feel good about deadlocked polls, a campaign that can't seem to overcome gravity, a situation in...."
"Yes, I do," Sam cut him off. "I don't feel great about it and I'm not turning cartwheels in the halls, but I'm hopeful. Hope is a good thing, Leo."
"Yeah," Leo said, returning to his reading.
"I even feel okay about Josh and Donna," Sam said.
"What about them?"
"Well, Josh doesn't seem to be as interested in Donna as he once thought he might be," Sam explained. "That's what I wanted, but then I felt bad about the things I had done."
"Things?"
"Little things, like swapping their hotel rooms around so they wouldn't be as close to each other and telling Josh that Donna would never be interested in him and that he wasn't interested in her," Sam said.
"You did that?"
"You sent Toby with him through New England as a chaperone," Sam reminded Leo. "You've also...."
"Okay, I made some decisions," Leo said. "It's not a conspiracy. And, why the hell are we talking about this if it's not a problem anymore?"
"Because I've made my peace with it," Sam said.
"Congratulations," Leo said flatly. He wasn't happy that the thought of manipulating his staff's personal lives ever crossed his mind. He didn't dwell on it, but it was something he thought he would ever do.
"Josh," Sam began as he sat opposite the elder man, "is totally focused on the campaign. I don't think he's had thought one about pursuing anything outside the professional realm with Donna. So our intervention worked."
"Sam," Leo replied as he removed his glasses, placing them on the desk. "Is that really important right now?"
"Is it important?" the Deputy inquired. "Leo, you just told me that we're running at 46 percent. If Josh had other things occupying him, we might not be cracking 40 percent. What he did, that thing about him and the psychiatrist, it helped us. Everything he does is about the campaign now. We need that."
"I agree," Leo admitted. "He gets a gold star from me in his permanent record. Anything else?"
"No, it was just that I had been thinking," Sam sighed. "Sometimes I think he's sacrificed too much."
Leo picked up his glasses and resumed his reading. "Yeah."
"I decided that wanting him to do that isn't wrong because in the end it achieves a greater good," Sam began. "I know all about the ends justifying the means, but I've come to terms with it and this time I might be okay. Don't you think? Do you think we've overstepped our boundaries?"
"Such as?"
Sam sat back in the chair and slumped his shoulders. "Such as… never mind. It's the right thing to do. Yeah. We're going about it in the right way. Josh will understand in the end."
"Whatever," Leo responded as he turned the page in his report. He paused for a moment. "Hey, Sam, how's your mother doing?"
Sam smiled.
"She's doing great," Sam replied enthusiastically. "Her last chemo appointment is set for next Tuesday. Her oncologist says that it's looking promising."
"That's great," Leo answered.
"She might be able to fly out to Washington in January," Sam continued. "So, it'll be either for the Inaugural Ball or to help pack."
"Either way, she'll be happy to see you," Leo said.
Sam stood and headed for the door. "And I got her a cowboy hat. Or I guess since she's a woman it's called a cowgirl hat. You know, when it…uh, well Houston."
"Yeah."
"It's kind of corny, isn't it?" Sam admitted.
"A little," Leo replied as he turned another page.
"She'll like it," Sam concurred.
"She has to."
"Because she's my mother?" Sam assumed.
"Pretty much."
"Okay then," Sam replied and exited the room to find
Toby and Josh for dinner.
*****************
Houston, Texas
7:25 p.m.
Toby stared at the contents of the bag.
He opened it because he thought she had gone to a store and bought junk food. There might have been pie in that bag.
Only there wasn't.
"CJ...," Toby gasped as his eyes grew wide and fixed on the box in the paper bag. The words "pregnancy" and "test" burned in his sighs.
She snatched the bag from his hands and glared back at him.
"Do you mind?!"
"Actually, yes I do," Toby replied heatedly. "Who is he?"
"Who is who?" CJ asked confusedly. "And what are you doing here?"
"I'm collecting the dinner you owe me," Toby explained. "And... that... is..."
"That is none of your concern, Toby," CJ replied with a roll of her eyes as she placed the bag back on the desk beside her. "I'm not ready for dinner just yet. Come back in half an hour."
Toby began to pace, his hand rubbing his head as he ignored her command to vacate the room.
"I'll kill him," he murmured.
"What?"
"I said I'll kill him," Toby repeated. "With... with... a hockey stick."
CJ fixed him with a perplexed expression as a curt rap sounded on her door. Before she could respond, the door swung inward. Sam appeared, looking curious and hopefully.
"Hey, were we going to get dinner?" he asked.
"I'll bash him into next week," Toby continued to seethe. "And then have him audited!"
"Who?" Sam asked.
"Whoever did this to her."
"Who her?"
"Her her," Toby growled pointing at the Press Secretary.
"CJ?" Sam asked. "What happened? CJ, are you alright?"
CJ's scowl was slowly melting into a grin and her eyes were already laughing as Josh entered through the partially ajar doorway.
"What's going on?" he asked, looking at Toby with interest. "Sammy, are we going to eat or not?"
"Sam, I'm fine," CJ chuckled. "It's nothing."
"Nothing?!" Toby shouted. "You call that nothing?"
"What the hell's going on here?" Josh asked.
"Well, Toby's having someone audited for... well, I don't know why, but its something about CJ," Sam explained.
"Audited?" Josh repeated. "What they hell did the person do? Insult Brooklyn?"
"CJ," Toby sighed. "Just give me his name. Hell, give me his initials. I'll find him. Just give me a minute and I'll find a stick."
CJ burst into laughter, sitting at her desk in order not to fall over. She guffawed for several moments, unable to get an intelligible word out of her mouth. When she finally caught her breath and found her composure, she attempted to restore order.
"Toby, take it easy," she commanded.
"Would someone tell me what's going on?" Sam asked.
"Take it easy?" Toby gaped. "This guy has gotten you pregnant and you want me to relax?"
In unison, Josh and Sam uttered their surprise: "WHAT?"
"Guys."
"Well, this is just....," Sam began to sputter as a scowl drew on his lips. "I mean.... I really don't know how to react to this. Except... that is.... I'll kill him."
"Okay, I'm still a little lost here," Josh said waving his hands. "What... What..."
CJ sighed exasperatedly.
"Toby, it's not for me," she said forcefully. "If you had kept your nose out of that bag we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"Okay," Josh interrupted. "And again, let me ask: What conversation are we having? CJ, what are you talking about? What's not for you? What bag?"
"This," Toby said as he snatched the bag from the desktop and thrust it into Josh's hands.
Josh peeked into the bag and felt his eyes grow as wide as Toby's looked.
"Uh, that's a....," he paused as he searched for the words. "One of those things."
"Yeah, Einstein," CJ said, taking the bag back. "One of those things. Also known as a home pregnancy test."
"That's what I meant," Josh defended.
"You just couldn't remember the words," CJ snapped.
"You bought one?" Sam asked.
"No, I stole it," she said. "Of course I bought it!"
"He's going to take some responsibility for this,"
Sam ranted. "I mean, whatever you do, he's going to... to.... Oh,
I'll see
that he does... you know... yeah."
"I'M NOT PREGNANT!"
"You didn't even open the test," Toby pointed out. "How do you know?"
"Yeah, unless the test wasn't for you, how....," Josh began then stopped. "The thing isn't for you, is it?"
"No," CJ said simply.
"So, you're not....," Toby surmised with helpless hand gestures.
"Nope," CJ answered with a flat expression.
"Well, of course not," Sam said in a flustered tone. "So, this is all done. That's... good. Great. Wonderful."
"Sam."
"Right," he nodded. "I'll shut up now."
"Thank you," she replied.
"I would have used my stick," Toby said with a shrug.
"Oh, I think you should go get it," CJ intoned. "I want to use it to beat you for making this scene. And, for the record, I do NOT owe you dinner, Toby. Now, you owe me."
"How do you figure that?" the speech writer asked perplexedly.
"I was trying to have a nice peaceful evening until Larry, Moe and Curly decided to invade my room," CJ said. "For that, I blame you."
"Okay then," Toby shrugged. "Well, that's one less thing to do this evening."
"Uh, CJ," Josh interrupted. "If you didn't need that thing, why did you buy it?"
"I bought it for someone else," she said simply then turned her head away. She wanted to have that conversation even less than the one just ended.
"Who?" Sam asked instantly.
"It's none of your business," CJ stated. "Just like it wasn't 10 minutes ago when you all started acting like my brothers. This person chooses to remain anonymous and will stay that way. She's a little embarrassed at this whole situation, and now I've got you guys wanting to play amateur gumshoes and try and solve the mystery."
"Well, it's a woman," Josh surmised.
"Hard to believe people think you're an idiot sometimes," Toby chided. "How did you ever deduce that Sherlock?"
"Just, you know, came to me," Josh shrugged.
"Is it Carol?" Sam asked. "It's not Bonnie is it?"
"I'm not telling you," CJ said firmly, fixing them with a pointed stare. "What part of none of your business confuses you, Sam?"
"It's not that I didn't understand," he replied. "It's just that I was still curious."
"It's someone on staff," Josh added.
"A woman," Toby summed up. "On staff. I've got the best minds in the country running this campaign."
CJ turned swiftly to Toby.
"And the lunatic with his hockey stick is running this asylum," she said. "Guys, it's a dead subject. Move on."
An uncomfortable pause followed where each took turns staring at the walls, the floor and the ceiling. After the extended silence, Sam broke the tension.
"I am hungry," he said, receiving stern glances from each of his colleagues. "Hey! She wanted to change the subject. I was hungry. I thought it was a good time to announce that."
"Good," CJ said. "Why don't you guys go on and..."
Before she could finish, there was a light rapping on the door. Carol entered with an expectant look. She and CJ exchanged glances.
"Is that the thing?" Carol asked, eyeing the bag.
"Yeah," CJ said, handing the package to her. "Here."
Carol took the bag and nodded. She smiled briefly at the others then exited the room without another word.
"So, it's Carol?" Josh asked.
"No," CJ said firmly.
"But Carol is taking it?" Josh noted. "Why didn't she buy it if it's not for her?"
"Okay, that makes no sense--in case everyone else was following along," Toby sighed.
"I was heading to the drugstore to get some shampoo and said I would get it," CJ explained. "Carol is just dropping it off."
"So, it's not CJ and it's not Carol," Sam deduced. "That narrows the field."
"So, who is with us this time?" Josh asked.
"Not me any longer," Toby said abruptly. "CJ, you owe me dinner--at least a scotch after this. I'll see you in the bar."
"Feel free to start a tab," she replied. "In your name, of course."
"Yeah," Toby sighed as he left, thoughts of a stiff whisky on his mind.
"Are we still doing dinner?" Sam asked those remaining.
Josh rolled his eyes, dug his hands into his pockets then left the room. Sam remained standing in the room quietly with CJ. She looked at him then the door and back to him.
"I should go now," he said.
"Yeah," CJ nodded.
"Right," he said. "Of course. Yeah. Okay then."
Sam departed as CJ shut the door heavily behind him. He caught up with Josh at the elevator.
"So, you don't think its Bonnie, do you?" Sam asked Josh as they waited for the car to arrive.
"Really hadn't thought about it," Josh said mildly.
"I don't think so either," Sam nodded. "I mean, she's not seeing that guy... Frank, Fred, whoever. Or was it Jimmy?"
"I have no idea," Josh replied, looking at his watch.
"I can't think of anyone else who's seeing anyone or is married and in the age range to be having kids," Sam continued, as the car arrived. They entered together. "Which, if you think about it, might be the reason why we can't figure this out."
"I really don't," Josh sighed.
"Don't what?"
"Think about it," he said.
"Oh, because it would make the most sense," Sam said. "It's someone one staff who is not a likely candidate for children. I think it might be someone who is on the outside edge of childbearing years. Then again, it could be someone who just had a one-night stand or something. Or is not in a stable relationship. CJ just said the woman was a bit embarrassed about it."
"Yeah," Josh said, as the doors to the elevator opened to his floor.
"Because, that opens up the field," Sam said.
Oh no.
Josh felt any icy stab in his stomach. Not a stable relationship? An unexpected and unwanted pregnancy?
This is not happening to me. Right. Because the unexpected and unthinkable never happen to me.
"Hey, are we....," Sam began.
"Sorry, I forgot something," Josh said hurriedly.
"What?"
"Uh.... Leo's.... thing about the....," Josh struggled for an excuse. "Nothing."
Rather than finish, he pushed the button to close the doors, abandoning Sam. He then hit the button for the lower lobby where he had left Donna to finish putting together a briefing for the morning.
*****************
Donna sat at the card table the doubled as her desk for the afternoon and evening. She was tired and achy. She had been staring at the same four reports for nearly two hours and the knots in her neck were tightening.
"Donna," Josh said, suddenly behind her.
"God, don't do that," Donna jumped, dumping her pretzels all over the table and floor. "Now look what you did? I just got the last package out of the vending machine. They cost me two dollars."
"Pretzels cost two dollars?"
"No," she corrected. "I pretzels cost 75 cents. The machine ate the first dollar and 25 cents I put in it."
"Okay."
"Okay?' Donna fumed. "You ruin my snack and all I get is okay? Josh, I really wanted those. I've been thinking about them all afternoon."
"You have?" he said, swallowing hard, the word 'craving' popping painfully into his mind.
"Yeah," she sighed then picked up two from the table and ate them remorsefully. "What do you need? I sort of wanted a little time to myself here."
"Why?"
"Why?" she repeated. "Because I did."
"Are you going some place?"
"Actually, yes," she said standing as she gathered her notes. "Hey, are you feeling okay? You're looking kind of pale."
"I'm fine," he said, the knot in his stomach growing. "How... how are you?"
"Starving," she said stuffing the last salvable pretzel into her mouth.
"Have you seen Carol recently?"
"Um, just a minute ago," Donna said casually. "Why? Did you need her for something?"
"Did you need to see her for anything?" Josh asked, wishing for the millionth time that he had his father's insightful knack for asking questions and getting answers. "Is there anything you think you should tell me?"
Donna looked at him with guilt filling her eyes. She hung her head and took a deep breath. She gave herself a silent pep talk then nodded.
"Yes," she sighed. "Yes, there is."
Josh took a deep breath and briefly closed his eyes. He placed his hands on the back of the chair in front of him to steady his balance and waited for the news.
"I forgot to tell you that Leo wanted you to call Joey and have her start a new poll on the Medicaid thing," Donna confessed. "He told me an hour ago, and it slipped my mind. I'm sorry. I called for you and passed the message, but I'm not sure the people at Global listen to me the way they listen to you. It was my mistake, an oversight more than a mistake really, but if you want to be mad, I understand."
Josh stopped squinting at the floor and looked up at her face.
"I'm sorry?" he said. "What did you say?"
"Leo wanted you to contact Joey," she said simply.
"That's it?"
"Yeah," Donna said with a puzzled look. "Why?"
Josh sighed with relief, needing the chair to keep his balance further. An unconscious grin grew on his face as he shook his head.
"Carol didn't come down here and give you a...," he began then nodded at her clueless expression. "You have no clue what I am talking about. Fantastic."
"Josh, what is going on?"
"Nothing any more," Josh said. "Look, we need to talk."
"Okay," Donna replied and grabbed her notepad.
Josh shook his head and took the notepad from her, laying it on the table.
"No, not that," Josh said. "This is.... not about working."
"It's not?"
"Okay," Josh said changing tracks. "I guess I should say it's about NOT working."
"Oh," Donna nodded and forced herself not to grin.
"Yeah," Josh said.
He looked briefly over his shoulders and then around the room to verify they were alone. He saw only the three folding chairs around the card table and the two wing backed chairs facing the wall in the far corner. Satisfied they had the necessary privacy, he continued.
"CJ had to go out and buy someone a pregnancy test, and it just started me realizing that... well, we haven't exactly been careful," Josh began.
"Oh, that," Donna said with a flip of her hand. "I knew about the test."
"Really?" Josh asked. "Whose is it? No, wait. Never mind. I don't care. Look, this is... It's things like that which.... I mean, we can't do this anymore."
"What?"
"We can't," he said, trying to sound professional about sleeping with his assistant. "Things like this can happen, and it wouldn't matter... I mean, it would change everything, regardless of how it was dealt with, and I'm not at a point in my life where... I just.... It's over, Donna. Not that it was anything to begin with, like you said, it wasn't a thing. But it's gotta stop. I mean. Can we just...."
Donna bit her lip, feeling the quivering in her face.
"Are you going to cry?" he asked suddenly.
Instead she loosed an unbridled chuckle.
"Okay, that's not quite what I was expecting," he said confused.
"Josh, you don't need to worry," she giggled at his serious expression.
"Yeah, I do," he replied. "We haven't been exactly careful a few times and I know we never talked about..."
"I'm saying it wouldn't happen," Donna interrupted. "I mean, couldn't. I've got it covered. Each time that we've... you know. We were safe."
"We were?"
"Yeah, I've got it covered," she said. "I know the pill doesn't constitute completely safe sex, but I know everything about you and you know enough about me...."
"Enough?"
"Yeah," she grinned coyly. "So, you know, it can still be our non-thing."
"What?" he asked then nodded with visible relief. "Oh, right. I guess, if you're sure."
"Uh huh," she nodded, hiding her relief and glee.
"Okay," he said with a nod as he scanned the room again.
With nothing more to say on the subject, Donna again gathered her work and prepared to leave.
"Where are you going?" Josh asked.
"To find dinner," she said.
"Yeah?" he replied. "I'm supposed to be meeting Toby in the bar."
"Are you guys getting dinner?" she asked. "I could go for some food. Sam ate my lunch, and you ruined my pretzels."
"Don't take this wrong, but...," Josh said uncomfortably. "Now is not a good... I mean, we're gonna get into some sensitive stuff and.... You know..."
"Oh," she said dejectedly. "Fine. You trust me with your credit cards and social security number, but I'm not supposed to be told that Indiana has 11 electoral votes and that we're not getting."
"Indiana has 12 electoral votes," Josh corrected her. She was right about not winning them in November.
"I'll be across the street at McDonald's getting a salad," she said tersely.
"Really?" Josh asked brightly.
"No," Donna said pointing a scolding finger at him before he opened his mouth again. "I am not bringing you back anything. You're having dinner with Toby in a place where the menu is printed on paper not emblazoned on a light board. Besides, it's not good for you, and you missed your last doctor's appointment."
"I'm fine," he scowled.
"I'm sure you are," she agreed. "But they're not my rules; the doctors want to see you every three months now. Stop pouting. It's better than every month."
"I still have to see them every month," he grumbled.
"But not for the blood tests and stress tests anymore," she reminded him. "It's five minutes every other week to check your blood pressure. And you like it. That red-headed nurse flirts with you."
He shrugged and grinned unconsciously. Donna held back her pointed scowl. Jealousy, she reminded herself yet again, would ruin their arrangement. Josh was an incorrigible flirt and flirting for Josh was harmless. He was rarely aware he was doing it and never did anything about the instances when it was mercilessly reciprocated by nurses, campaign workers, pollsters or even cute and perky constituents.
The duo left the office area. Once the door was closed, Charlie poked his head from around the wing backed chair facing the back corner. He had hunkered down in the chair 30 minutes earlier to read a chapter in his book, a moment of silence and solace during the chaotic trip. He had been obscured from Josh and Donna's eyesight and wished he hadn't been. He sat there, stunned at the revelations in his accidental eavesdropping.
"That was more than I needed to know," the President's dumbfounded aide mumbled, shaking his head.
Charlie rose from the chair and exited the room. He made his way to the elevator and pressed the up button. It was time for another check in with the President before he went to grab dinner. The doors opened a minute later. Charlie entered the car to find Sam inside.
"Hey Charlie," Sam said.
Charlie said nothing.
"Is anything wrong?" Sam asked.
"Wrong.... that's a.... No," the aide replied, shaking his head.
"What's going on?" Sam probed.
"I'd rather not say," Charlie said simply.
"You'd rather not?"
"No," Charlie shook his head.
"Is it about the campaign or the President?"
"No."
"Is it about me?"
"No," Charlie said again.
"Then I don't care," Sam said.
"That's what I like to hear," Charlie said. "I don't want to think about it anymore."
****************
Donna Moss' Hotel Room
9:23 p.m.
Donna leaned back against the headboard and sighed. She had completed her meal and was preparing to start on dessert. Donna hadn't indulged in a strawberry sundae in quite some time, and she was looking forward to savoring every last morsel. Josh was preoccupied in his meeting with Toby and Sam. She had spied the trio in the bar on her way back from the restaurant. Toby and Josh were arguing and Sam was leaning back in his chair, hoping not to get hauled into the debate. Donna believed that Josh would be occupied well into the night. While she was slightly disappointed of the prospect of not being with him, she was pleased that she could do something that hadn't been done in months – take a long, hot bath and watch a non-political television show.
Donna took the first bite of her frozen treat when her cell phone rang.
"What do you need, Josh?" she asked, not hiding the irritation in her tone.
"You knew it was me?"
"You're the only one who has this type of timing," Donna answered.
"What's that mean?"
"Nothing. What do you want?" Donna asked. "I thought you were tied up in a meeting."
"Done," he responded.
"Toby kicked you out?" she concluded
"No."
"What do you want?" Donna asked again.
"I need the files on the latest polling data," Josh said.
"The polling data?" she asked.
"For the East Coast and Upper Mid-West," he said. "You should know that."
"The files are located in the office area on down stairs," Donna huffed. "I'm the next floor up from you and in the middle of the last course of my gourmet meal which is currently melting right now because you are depriving me of eating it. And to answer your next question, no I did not get you one."
"I didn't ask you where they were," Josh corrected.
"I'm sorry?"
"The files," Josh said. "I didn't ask you where they were. I said I need the files--as in you need to go get them and deliver them to me."
"Josh," Donna protested.
"Donna," Josh sternly replied. "I need those files. I am getting ready to start a night's worth of reading and rethinking our strategy for the next two weeks; those files are vital to the briefing memo I'm preparing for Leo and Bruno tonight. We're working tonight or did you forget?"
"What do I get in return?"
"What do you get in return?" Josh repeated.
"Yeah."
"How about keeping your job?"
Donna glanced at her partially eaten sundae and sighed. She rose from the bed and made her way over to the trash can, depositing the dessert with an enormously loud thump.
"What was that?" Josh questioned.
"A dollar ninety-five down the drain," she replied. "I'll be there in ten minutes."
"Make it five and grab me some bottled water would you," he ordered and then disconnected.
Donna exited her room and made her way down one level. She decided to take the stairs, hoping to work off some steam that was caused, in her mind, by an inconsiderate Deputy Chief of Staff. She breezed into the room and quickly located the files in question.
"I'm a person with thoughts and feelings of my own that," Donna said, mostly to herself. "I deserve acknowledgement of at least that much. Do I get it? No. He thinks I don't need those things and don't know anything. Well, I do. I know all sorts of things,"
"I'm sorry?" Charlie asked as he stopped in mid-step. He was turning in for the evening and had been making his way back to his room when he heard Donna's voice. "Did you say something to me?"
"Well, no," she explained. "Not exactly. I'm just feeling.... under appreciated. Sam and Toby have Josh tied in knots about some numbers so I had to forfeit the best part of my dinner; earlier today, Bonnie was supposed to drop off the healthcare folder to me, but she forgot it on the desk downstairs so I went down and Sam ate my lunch while I was gone. Now, Josh called a few minutes ago all impatient because he doesn't have some polling data—something he could have gotten on his own but is too lazy and self-centered to retrieve--and asks me if I had forgotten I was working tonight? As if I would. As if he'd let me. I know I'm working. I know a lot of things, things people don't need to know sometimes but are interesting and witty and generally good for a momentary break from this monotony we call life!"
Donna sighed as her rant drew to an end. The campaign swing through Texas and Oklahoma was just two days, but it was a long two days, and she was frazzled. It wasn't that she felt overwhelmed with the work--she most certainly didn't. It wasn't that she was tired to the chaos of the campaign--she wasn't. Before she could ponder the reasons further, Charlie drew her attention.
"Such as?" the President's personal aide asked.
"I'm sorry?"
"What is it that you know that's so.... I don't know, what did you say? Intriguing?" Charlie inquired.
"Oh, well," Donna paused then cocked her head to the side to gather her thoughts. "Did you know that it is impossible to lick your elbow?"
"I did not," Charlie replied then instinctively lifted his elbow and stared at it.
In that instant, Donna kicked in with her follow-up knowledge.
"Seventy-five percent of all people who hear that will try to lick their elbow," she informed him, receiving a guilty but entertained grin in response.
She accepted Charlie's nod as evidence that he was among that group. She then joined him in the elevator, feeling the stress of her overwrought moment fading.
"A crocodile can't stick its tongue out," she continued.
"That's interesting," Charlie said. "They probably never bite their tongue either."
"Probably," Donna agreed. "A shrimp's heart is in its head. I think a few of the people we work with could benefit from that anatomy."
"There's a case to be made for that," Charlie nodded as he pressed the button for his and Donna's floor.
"In a study of 200,000 ostriches over a period of
80 years, no one reported a single case where an ostrich buried
its head in the sand," Donna informed him.
"Again, something that a few folks in this business might benefit from knowing," he added.
"Touché," she observed. "Did you know that it is physically impossible for pigs to look up into the sky?"
"Why is that?"
"No cervical joint in the neck," Donna replied with a confident nod.
"Ah."
"Yes," she grinned. "A pregnant goldfish is called a twit."
"I would think most ladies would resent that term," Charlie offered. "You'd think goldfish would too, but they don't seem to be very vocal about these things."
"They should hire a lobbyist," Donna said. "More than 50% of the people in the world have never made or received a telephone call."
"Is that because no one likes them or because they don't have phones?"
"Not really sure," Donna confessed as the doors opened.
"Well, thanks Donna," Charlie said as the turned left to head to his room. "This was a conversation for which I have no use but enjoyed more than just about anything else today."
"You are most welcome," Donna said.
"You... uh, have a good night now," Charlie grinned.
Donna bid him goodnight as well and thought nothing more of his strange smirk.
She continued down the hall and used Josh's spare card key to enter his room to deliver the folder he had been whining about for the better part of half an hour. She entered the room quietly and dropped the folder in his lap where he sat in a chair with his feet propped up on the bed reading in the scant light from an ugly lamp.
"Horses can't vomit," she said sitting on the bed beside his feet.
"What?" he replied looking up, perplexed from the briefing book he was reading.
"They can't," she replied. "Like rats. They don't possess the proper muscles or something. It's a fact."
"Is it a campaign issue?"
"Not yet," she said.
"Then I don't care," he said, turning back to his reading. "Do you have the things?"
"They're in your lap," she sighed as she scooted up to the head of the bed and leaned back on the pillows.
He glanced at the folder briefly, grunted his disappointment then tossed them on the floor. Donna scoffed quietly and shook her head. She expected as much.
"The 'sixth sick sheik's sixth sheep's sick' is the toughest tongue twister in the English language," she informed him.
"Are we doing something about agriculture tomorrow?" he asked perplexed as he sifted through his notes looking for the following day's agenda.
"No," she replied.
"So this thing about horses and sheep is.... what?"
"Just something I know," she said casually. "Like, if you sneeze too hard, you can fracture a rib and if you try to suppress a sneeze, you can rupture a blood vessel in your head or neck and die. If you keep your eyes open by force, they can pop out."
He lifted his eyes slowly from his reading and looked at her cautiously.
"Okay," he said slowly.
"Explain something to me," she demanded. "If the government has no knowledge of aliens, then why does Title 14, Section 1211 of the Code of Federal Regulations, implemented on July 16, 1969, make it illegal for US citizens to have any contact with extraterrestrials or their vehicles?"
"Because there's no way to tax that," he said confidently.
"A duck's quack doesn't echo," she continued. "No one knows why."
"Uh, Donna...."
"Most commercially manufactured lipstick contains fish scales," Donna informed him. "And like fingerprints, everyone's tongue print is different."
"Is there a point to any of this?" he asked.
"No," she answered. "Just like there was no point in me ordering dinner or getting those numbers for you. There's really no point to me being in here right now even."
"So why are you?" he asked.
"Because you told me we were working," she offered.
"I just got a call from Bruno," Josh sighed. "He doesn't need to look at anything more. He, Toby and I are in agreement. We're done for now."
"So, you're done for the night," Donna ventured.
"Yeah, you can go," Josh said and tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling. He noted, after several moments, that Donna had not moved from her spot.
"I said you can go," he said looking up with a questioning expression. "Why are you still here?"
"Because we're on the road," she shrugged.
"Yeah."
"Give it a minute," she said coyly. "You'll do the math and figure this out. We're on the road and not working. Those are two of the three criteria."
"Criteria?" he asked, then caught her meaning. He kept his face in check and tried to keep his voice steady as he asked his next question. "There's a third?"
"Yeah. Interest."
"Well, would it get you to stop spouting inane trivia?" he asked, unable to hide the dimple that emerged in his left cheek. "Because, if it would, then I'm all for it."
"Never know unless you try," she whispered flicking off the light plunging the room into darkness.
****************
September disappeared like all the colorful leaves on the trees in New England. The campaigning was running, much like the eyes and noses of most staffers. CJ's prediction of the new plague, a vile chest and head cold felling much of the country, had come true starting with her. The Press Secretary suffered greatly with the ailment, thanks in part to the lack of sympathy she received from her co-workers. She wished them all 10 times worse when their turn with the germs arrived.
No one took the curse seriously until Larry succombed to a sudden fever in Nevada. His time on the disabled staffer's list was followed, predictably, by Ed who was so exhausted fighting his turn that he fell asleep while taking the Metro home one evening and missed his stop--ending up in Maryland--and was forced to take a cab home after transit authorities woke him and informed him the trains were done for the night and would not resume until 6 a.m.
While CJ reveled in both staffer's woes, her sweetest hour came when Toby dragged his aching frame into the office the second Sunday of October. His cheeks were flush; dark circles and bags hung under his eyes. His voice, what there was of it, was hoarse.
*****************
Saturday, October 12
4 p.m.
Toby sat in the Oval Office, a requested number of feet from the President, as they went over the final draft of his upcoming opening statement for debate with Ritchie.
"...with a precipice in front of us," the President read then paused. "A precipice in front? Are we sure we want to go there? Things might not be all chipper on the polling front, but I don't think we are in that kind of trouble are we?"
"I'm sorry?" Toby shook his head and attempted to focus. "Is that wording a problem?"
"Only if we don't want allusions to the second part of the quote," Bartlet said. "Seems rather negative when I'm talking about how far the country has come, don't you?"
"Second part of what?" Toby asked, flipping through his notepad then glancing at his copy of the speech. There was no second part that he could see. "What are we talking about?"
"A fronte praecipitium, a tergo lupi," Bartlet said.
Toby rubbed his head--it was warm to the touch, warm enough to toast a bagel. He stared back at Bartlet and tried to process what he believe were words that had just tumbled over the man's lips, but try as he might Toby could not locate anything that sounded remotely like those words in either his text or in his currently-limited functional use of the English language.
"This fever must be killing me," Toby said. "Now I know how Governor Ritchie feels when he listens to you. Sir, what did you just say?"
"A fronte praecipitium, a tergo lupi," Bartlet repeated. "A precipice in front, the wolves behind."
"In Ritchie-speak, rock meet hard place," Sam offered as he entered the Oval Office and handed Toby a folder. "We saw that in the speech and figured we'd to let you decide on it."
"We did?" Toby asked.
"Josh and I did," Sam replied. "It's Eramus, isn't it?"
"Gerard Didier Eramus, lived from 1495 to 1536," Barlet informed them, striking through the words on his copy. "And no, I do no like the words in this context."
"I wrote that," Toby said. "I mean, he might have used it first, but I didn't know that. I... I wrote that statement, without any help."
"That explains why the fourth and sixth paragraphs are the same," Barlet said. "Toby, you're infecting my airspace. Why don't you give up and concede defeat with this cold thing? Take two hours off to be sick. Who knows, you might even drop off into this heavenly new state people have been talking about called sleep. You should try it; I heard there's nothing quite like it to revive the mind and spirit."
"I'll be sick after we win," Toby said.
"Interesting victory reaction," Bartlet nodded.
"We'll all be sick by then," Sam told Toby. "Toby, the President has a valid point."
"Just one?" Bartlet teased as he continued to read the speech.
"I meant about Toby's illness, sir," Sam replied. "We're all going to get sick if you keep sharing your germs. Go home."
"I'm going to die and I want to take you with me," Toby said.
"Me?" Sam asked then looked at his boss' dower expression. "Of course."
*****************
Toby did go home for his recommended two hour nap. It lasted three days. His fever continued to climb and his aches deepened as the cold set further into his head and sinuses. In the end, even CJ felt pity for him. She ordered chicken soup from a Chinese restaurant and strong-armed Josh into delivering it to the ailing speech writer. He did so only after the First Lady again assured him that the common cold--even one as virulent as that consuming Toby--could not be contracted by spending five minutes in the person's presence when not wearing a HazMat suit.
Toby eventually returned to the office battle weary and more ornery than ever--much to the fear of junior staffers and interns throughout the White House. He was still ailing but functioning. The staff waited with shallow breaths for the next victim of the illness to appear.
Donna surveyed the pool of likely candidates and found herself dwelling upon one longer than the other. They were working in the afternoon, preparing for a long flight to the west coast that evening. She had seen him rubbing his eyes and heard the dry cough rattling in his chest for two or three days. Her warnings to sleep and take vitamins went unheeded. She, herself, was not feeling 100 percent, but compared to the ghostly paleness of Josh she looked like she had just returned from a trip to the islands.
*****************
October 17
2 p.m.
Donna sat in Josh's office savoring her yogurt and watching a documentary on the Maryland coastline. She was interested in the historical minutia. The program was just getting to the interesting part when the TV snapped off in a wink.
"Hey, I was watching that!" Donna cried from her seat opposite Josh's desk.
"Well, I wasn't," Josh said simply as he dropped the remote onto his desk and turned to work on his computer again.
His lunch--a hopelessly charred hamburger and pile of greasy fries--sat in its Styrofoam container, untouched. Donna noted this with some concern. He had done the same with his breakfast that morning and his lunch the day before as well.
"Josh!" she pleaded looking at the darkened TV screen. "I wanted to see that."
"I didn't," he shrugged. "And since it's my TV..."
"What are you doing now?" she asked.
He was surfing through files searching for notes on a discussion he and Toby had held a week earlier. He briefly explained this to her as he located the proper document and began reading.
"Since when can you find anything on your hard drive without my help?" she asked suspiciously.
"A little news item for you: I can do this stuff," he said.
"So why do I always have to bail you out at other times?" she asked.
"Helps me justify your salary," he replied.
"You can justify my salary?" she remarked. "If you can do that then you're a better politician than I give you credit for being."
"I'm thinking of adding dictation to your list of duties," he said.
"Are you feeling all right?" she asked.
He looked drawn and haggard in a way he hadn't in a long time. She knew he was tired; they all were. But tired was normal for Josh. She knew he didn't sleep well or often, and hadn't (by his own admission) for years. Only now, there were more than just the outside edges of exhaustion in his eyes. They looked hazy; his cheeks looked were ghastly pale, and there was an aura of weariness about him that was different from the sleeplessness hanging around everyone's neck.
He shrugged her question off. There wasn't time to be sick in his schedule. It was true, he did not feel well: There was a dull ache in his muscles and a throbbing in his temples; his throat was sore and the dry cough he picked up in Minnesota three days earlier was beginning to prevent even short periods of unhindered sleep.
"You should rest," she suggested. "CJ been sick and Toby's just getting over that horrible cold."
"Because Toby's been sick, I don't have time to rest," Josh said. "We're still picking up his slack. And don't get me started on CJ; she claims she's tough enough to play this game and then turns into a wimpy, little girl the first time she sneezes. Don't worry about me; I'll be fine."
"Yeah, and I'm picturing you in bed for a week..."
"While I'm sure it's a titillating picture for you, I'm not sick, Donna," he cut her off, then shook his head as he realized he had nearly tripped over his own mouth yet again. "I mean... I'm just saying I not going to be sick."
"And you know this because you have a medical degree from what university again?"
"I will not be sick," he stated firmly. "I don't have time for it."
"You know what?" she chided. "I keep forgetting you're the master of the universe and you get to schedule when you'll be felled by illness. Where did I place that memo?"
"Donna, this is how it works," he informed her. "You push yourself hard, and unfortunately you get run down. A lesser being than I would, of course, surrender and fall victim to pathetic ailments like Toby and CJ. However, I know the trick."
"There's a trick?"
"Yes," Josh said haughtily. "I won't get sick until I stop and give myself the chance. These things only get you when you slow down and stop fighting them. That's what happened to Toby. He took a nap on the plane when we left Duluth and by the time we landed Minneapolis, he was sick. It's a matter of stamina."
"Wow, that's amazing," she said dryly. "Have you called the AMA? Because it sounds like you've found a miracle cure. Who would have guessed that by not eating or sleeping regularly, you could prevent Influenza, the common cold and probably pneumonia?"
"I'm just saying that's how it works, Donna," he said. "People like you, who coddle yourselves and run to your beds at the first sign of a sniffle, succumb to every little germ you come in contract with. Basic Darwinian Principle: The strong survive. I figure if a bullet didn't get the worst of me, why should I fear something as pathetic as the germs that cause the common cold? I am smarter than them; I am stronger than them. Face it, I am... impervious."
*****************
Somewhere Over Ohio
October 17, 11:22 p.m.
"How you feeling, Josh?" Danny Kincanon asked as he strolled out of the Press gallery on Air Force One.
Josh was slumped in his seat shivering as he waited for Donna to return with Tylenol and a glass of water. He looked at Danny, feeling the searing heat in his eyelids from the fever. He mustered his strength to answer.
"Never better," he said hoarsely.
"Aw, that sounds like a line," Danny said. "CJ said you're dying. Or no, whining. Yeah, she said you're whining."
"I don't whine," Josh said. "Don't know how."
"She says this is Divine retribution for the grief you gave her when she got sick a couple weeks ago," Danny continued.
"That's absurd," Josh replied. "She's still delirious from her measly cold if she thinks I'm sick. I'm just fine; I'm thinking about asking to fly the plane the rest of the way."
"There you go," Danny said with gusto. "Women say men are babies when we get sick; they hit us with that whole martyr thing when they get sick, but we know better. We're men. We're tough."
"As nails," Josh agreed, nodding slowly in his exhaustion.
Danny nodded deftly once as Donna approached bearing a bottle of water and two packets of pills. The reporter excused himself and disappeared from the cabin. Donna took her seat next to Josh as she opened the bottle and handed him the medication.
"Here you go," she said softly. "How are you feeling?"
"Awful," he whimpered as he swallowed the medication.
"Josh," she sighed.
"We'll be in a couple hours," she said. "When we get to the hotel, you can get some real rest. Leo is meeting with Sam and Toby now. There is nothing more to do tonight."
"It doesn't matter," he said. "I'll be dead by morning."
"Josh," she said rolling her eyes.
"Donna, you can't feel this horrible without it being fatal," he told her.
"Uh huh," she said softly. "So should I ask Sam to pen your eulogy or Toby?"
"Sam, he'll be nicer," Josh replied. "And see that Leo delivers it. Then see that he gets whatever it was that did me in--but wait until after the election."
"Sure," she said. "I'll even make sure we remember you fondly at the Inauguration."
"It's the least you could do," he murmured.
Sam came down the hallway. He paused as he saw them. Donna was speaking quietly to Josh, who appeared to be asleep except for the occasional nod of his head.
This does not look good, Sam thought. They're supposed to be…. well, not like this.
"Hey, Donna," Sam said as he approached. "Could I talk to you for a sec?"
"Now?" she asked. Sam nodded and jerked his head to the side as a signal for her to follow.
"Hey, Sam," Josh said. "You're writing my eulogy. Use some big, nice words like… like… You know…"
"I'll break out the new thesaurus," Sam nodded. "Strings of polysyllabics… that rhyme."
"But make it quotable," Josh pleaded. "I want write ups with good pull quotes in all the major papers."
Sam shook his head and turned away. For being someone who pretended getting shot didn't affect him, Josh was a wimp when it came to like things like a simple cold.
"What's going on?" Sam asked. "That looked a little... How's he doing?"
"He's doing horribly," Donna said sharply. "He needs a break, Sam. He's being a baby right now because he's trying to be funny."
"That's funny?"
"I said trying; I didn't say he was being successful," Donna replied.
"I thought you said he was just being a baby," Sam inquired.
"He is," she answered in an exasperated way and tried to hide her worry for fear someone might read more into it than professional interest. "He's doing it to make it seem like he's not as sick as he is. It's actually pretty stupid, but it seems to work for him. But despite his act, he is sick, Sam. Just like CJ and Toby were. He'll deny it, but he's got a fever. He needs to get some serious rest or you'll lose him for a week just like you did Toby."
"There isn't time for any of us to be sick," Sam said, his brow furrowing with concern as he pushed his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose.
"You can't exactly reschedule these things," Donna snapped. "Sam, we're all tired, and we're all going to be in the same boat soon. Let him sleep for the rest of the flight and get checked into the hotel. I think if he gets a couple hours of solid sleep tonight, he can be functioning tomorrow. I don't know how much longer he can last though. You saw what this thing did to the others."
"Yeah," Sam nodded. "Donna, I know he's running on empty. We all are—except Leo and I'm not so sure he's really human. We've got 8 days to go before the debate, and we can't lose a single minute of any of them."
"You don't let him sleep and you won't have him for a single second of any of them," Donna forecasted. "Millicent wants to see him."
"The Surgeon General isn't his doctor," Sam pointed out, recalling that the country's top doctor was scheduled to address the health care issues in Oregon around the time of the President's speech and campaign stop.
"No, but she is a doctor and one that he has a hard time ordering to leave him alone," Donna reminded Sam. "She's seeing him tomorrow morning whether he likes it or not. This thing could be serious if he doesn't take care of it."
"It's a cold, Donna," Sam reminded her.
"It's a chest cold that comes with high fevers," Donna scowled. "A bullet played hopscotch in his chest a couple years ago so he's a bit more susceptible to pneumonia than the rest of you. Millicent is seeing him and she will make a judgment. If she says he's to rest, then I'm not going to disagree with her. You can, but then you'll be answering to her and the First Lady."
Sam sighed and looked over her shoulder again at Josh who was lying back in his seat fidgeting uncomfortably.
"Are you sure he's really that sick?" Sam said. "I mean, the whining aside, he hasn't said anything to me about not feeling well."
"Of course, he's not going to tell you," Donna said as she rolled her eyes.
"But he told you?" Sam surmised.
"I'm his assistant, Sam," she sighed. "I know everything about him. I know his driver's license number, his social security number; I know his bank account numbers, his blood type; you name it and I know it or have it written down in case I need to know it. He's a high-maintenance kind of guy when it comes to information. But it's given out on a need-to-know basis. You do not have access to this kind of information because you are part of the testosterone club. You're all invincible when you're together."
"So what are you doing for him?"
"I'm going to see that he gets some rest," Donna said. "He's been starting and putting out fires for the last three straight, that's 20 hours per day every day of the week, while others have been floundering with every bug and virus ever contracted in this country. Now, it's his turn for some slack."
Sam nodded as he looked back at Josh.
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "Well, it's an easy day."
"His morning is open and you should leave it that way," Donna said. "I think he should take it easy."
Donna returned to her charge, who was not longer resting but slouching in his seat locked in a discussion with Leo.
*****************
Portland, Oregon
9:15 pm PST
Donna quickly made her way down the 3rd floor hall. She didn't want it to appear to the average passer-by that something was wrong, but something was. Against her and the First Lady's wishes, Josh had decided to attend the conference in nearby Salem, despite the fever and chills that he had been experiencing aboard Air Force One. Donna could see it in Josh's face that he had caught the virus that had sidelined CJ and Toby. She was highly worried that Josh would continue to ignore the signs that his body was giving him and it would eventually land him in the hospital.
She sighed as she rounded the corner of the hallway. Part of her was doing this because her boss was ill and wouldn't take care of himself; but the other part – a part that was growing larger by the week – wanted the man she cared for to get better.
Donna stopped at her destination, Room 325. She rapped three times on the door.
"Good evening, Donna," Dr. Millicent Griffith smiled. The Surgeon General was in Oregon to be a part of the President's panel on pediatric care at Salem Hospital. "What can I do for you?"
"I'm…I'm sorry to bother you, Dr. Griffith," Donna apologized. "But I need you, or rather your medical expertise. See, I'm not that familiar with many signs of diseases and I figured that since the President made you Surgeon General, that…well that you were."
The doctor tilted her head and looked at Donna. "Do you need something? Are you feeling okay because you certainly don't look that well."
"I'm a little stressed," Donna answered. "I've got a lot going on. With the election and covering for Bonnie last week and Carol the week before and I may have caught a tiny strain of it and…"
Millicent cut her off. "Okay. I get it. You needed a doctor."
"Yes, but I'm not the one I'm here about," Donna said swiftly.
"Josh?" Millicent offered. "I figured you'd be by. Abbey filled me in when we had dinner. He's going to run himself into the ground if he's not careful."
"That's why I'm here," Donna explained. "He stopped whining hours ago, which isn't a good sign. He's got a very vocal aversion to hospitals."
"Understandable," Millicent nodded.
"Right," Donna continued. "He denies it, but he's got a fever and I can see he's shivering."
"That's all part of this cold thing," the doctor replied calmly.
"I know," Donna said. "But it's more than just a cold. Josh can barely keep his eyes open and I think he's delirious."
"Delirious?" questioned the Surgeon General. "How so?"
"He said he doesn't want to watch the Mets game and that Tucker Carlson is a nice guy."
"I'll be there in five minutes," Millicent replied
promptly.
************
Donna entered Josh's room. Her eyes instantly noted a problem. Josh was not where she left him. She had commanded he lay down and rest. The only thing on the bed was his suit jacket. Donna turned to see him hunched over a laptop computer on the writing desk beside the window.
"What are you doing?" she asked rushing to the desk. "Josh, get back in bed."
"This has to get done," he said obstinately. "It'll only take a minute."
His ashen complexion, the glaze over his eyes and his voice sounded meager. Donna placed the underside of her wrist on his forehead and felt the burning sensation.
"Josh, stop," she pleaded. "You've got a fever; you'll make yourself even sicker."
"I just need to do this," he said. "It should have been done yesterday, and I need to get the polling numbers for that district in California. Toby needs to see the second analysis."
"Let Toby do it," she said, grabbing his wrists and pulling his hands off the keys. "Josh, please."
He heard the tension in her voice, and he could see the worry in her eyes. She was tired. He knew she wasn't feeling well either. She was standing beside the chair, pleading with him and ordering him in the same instant.
"Okay," he said. "On one condition."
"You're in no position to bargain considering your condition," she said, but her tone said differently.
"My condition?" Josh smirked. "Am I pregnant?"
"Josh."
A knock on the door interrupted their discussion.
"You're going to see a doctor," Donna said quickly as she stood and moved toward the door.
"No," he said firmly.
"Josh, you're going to," she informed him. "The Surgeon General is here now."
"You went to Millicent?"
Donna nodded. "I told you if you didn't get better that I was going to get reinforcements."
Josh groaned wandered to the bed to sit, convinced these women were on his mother's payroll somehow.
"You can argue your medical expertise with her now," Donna said, opening the door and letting the doctor enter.
"You're not good at taking care of yourself, you know that, Josh?" Millicent smiled.
"Odd how I don't appreciate your bedside manner," he said.
"Just as odd as the fact I could care right now," the doctor said. "Let's take a look at you, shall we?"
She conducted a cursory examination of his eyes, throat and lymph nodes. She checked his pulse and his blood pressure.
"One-thirty over 72," he guessed.
"One-forty over 80," she informed him removing the cuff, and then turned to Donna. "He's going to live."
"What a shock," he said flatly.
"However, " Millicent said as she rose and made her way over to the dresser across from the bed. "You do have a nasty bug and will probably have walking pneumonia if it goes unchecked much longer. I'll call one of my colleagues at the hospital here and get you in first thing tomorrow. You need a chest film and some antibiotics."
Donna let out a tentative sigh of relief and sat down on the bed beside Josh. He hung his head in defeat. If he was one for crying, he knew he'd certainly be doing it. He felt horrible; he was exhausted and there was yet another round of doctors to be seen.
"I'm leaving you the name and number of a colleague of mine," Millicent said, looking into the mirror to see the two of them in an unguarded private moment.
Donna had draped her arm around Josh's shoulders. She then kissed him softly on the cheek and mouthed the words "it's okay" to him as she clasped his hand in his briefly.
"I'll... uh.... I'll be calling you in a few minutes, Josh," Millicent continued, keeping her back to them. "I'll let you know when they can see you in the morning--I'll get you in early. It shouldn't take long. It's just a precaution. Get some rest."
"Sure," he said. "Thanks."
"Yes," Donna said, standing quickly and seeing her to the door. "Thank you Dr. Griffith. Sorry to bother you."
"Oh, no bother," Millicent said. "I'm glad... he's got you."
Donna closed the door and the Surgeon General placed a Do Not Disturb sign on the doorknob. As she turned, she saw Charlie approaching.
"Is Josh in there?" he asked.
"Yes."
"The First Lady tried to call him, but the phone goes right to the mailbox," Charlie explained. "She wanted to know if he was doing any better."
"Well, he's not," Millicent said, fighting a grin. "But he's in good hands. Donna's with him."
"Oh," Charlie nodded and shared a knowing look with her. "I see."
"You do, huh?"
"I know nothing," Charlie said innocently.
"Well, when I tell Abbey, I'm telling her that you know," Millicent said as she started down the hall.
"You're telling the First Lady?" Charlie gaped as he followed her back toward the elevators. "Isn't that a breech of some medical ethics code?"
"It's gossip not medicine, besides it's not like
she doesn't already know," Millicent said. "She told me weeks ago
that she suspected it."
Up next: The League of Ordinary Nations (Chapter 23)