Chapter 6: A President's Demons and His Better Angels
I can feel myself being rudely shaken awake. I can also feel myself being intermittently poked by some kind of sharp object. I have a headache and probably a bruise the size of a nickel on my left shoulder. Finally, I open my eyes and squint at a blurry apparition in the form of Leo McGarry. Wait, no, that is actually Leo. He's not doing a very good job of staying in focus, but has taken it upon himself to wake me up and he's not being gentle about it. Things are slowly becoming less fuzzy, and I find myself staring at Toby's floor. I sit up, more from a healthy sense of self-preservation in the hope that he'll stop trying to rouse me using brutal force if I actually show some signs of being conscious than from any desperate need to be vertical.
"Ow." I rub my arm, shove my feet into my shoes, and glare at my boss.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm sleeping. Correction, I was sleeping until you decided to try out ancient methods of torture on me at…" I look over at Toby's clock. "Five forty-five on a Saturday morning. Leo? Why are you even in the office?"
"I've got some work to do." He waves a hand vaguely. "You still haven't answered my question."
"I was sorta hoping you wouldn't notice that."
I leave Toby's office, loop round the newspaper rack in the bullpen, and go into Sam's office where I borrow two Tylenol and a glass of water from his desk. Leo's followed me and closed the door, and has now sat himself down and is looking at me expectantly.
"Leo, exactly how much do you want to be involved in my love life?" I sit on the end of the desk and watch him turn an interesting shade of purple.
"Let's assume that the less I'm involved in your love life the happier I will be."
"Then let's also assume that you really, really don't want to know why I spent the night in the office."
"Let's assume that." He looks relieved that I didn't get into details. "You need to call…"
"My mom, yes, I know."
"Senior staff at eight-thirty," he reminds me as he heads off in the direction of his office. "You might want to avoid reporters until after CJ's briefing."
"I'm entirely comfortable with avoiding reporters until well after that, Leo, but whatever you say."
I leave the bullpen and cut past the Roosevelt Room to my office, going via Donna's desk so that I can look for my mother's phone number. I've got a couple of hours to kill, and she's usually awake at 6am anyway, so I can do what I've been putting off for the last two weeks and talk to her before this thing hits the wires. I finally stumble across her cell phone number, more by accident than design, filed under J and written on a piece of paper with a yellow sticky note stuck to it. I give up on locating the landline number and hope that she'll have her cell switched on, and I sit down at my desk to make the call. The phone rings twice, and I hear scuffles, a bump, and some muttered cursing before her voice comes on the line.
"Hey, Mom."
"Josh?" I can hear her moving around. "Why in the name of God are you calling me at 3am?"
Oops. I search my desk for the yellow sticky note, which I've peeled off and ignored, and find it stuck to my shoe. I squint at Donna's barely legible handwriting and make out something that looks like Sn Francsquiggle, then vaguely remember a conversation some weeks ago when my mom mentioned that she would be going out to San Francisco to stay with a friend of hers.
"You're in California."
"You didn't get my message?" She sounds surprised, knowing as well as I do that Donna still hasn't got a message wrong in the four and a half years she's been my assistant. "I spoke to Donna…"
"She probably told me. She also wrote it down and stuck it to your cell number, but I still have to learn that I should probably read Donna's notes. Do you want me to call you back?" I ask contritely.
"God, no. You've woken me up now. What was it you were wanting to talk about?"
"Ah."
My mouth is suddenly very dry. Please understand here that my mother is a liberal Democrat from a very long line of liberal Democrats. She met my dad at a pro-choice rally in the forties. They took me to a civil rights march when I was six. She called every single Republican she knew to gloat when then-Governor Bartlet won the 1998 Presidential election. And when she read in the Washington Post that the President had stuck the Marriage Recognition Act in a drawer, she called me and ranted for a solid forty minutes about exactly how much he should have vetoed it. And when she got no joy from me - I had been dating Sam for six months at that point, even though I had spent half of that time being practically held under house arrest by Donna, and was having to work very hard to not appear too fired up about gay rights - she rang Leo and yelled at him. Unfortunately, being a gay rights supporter is a lot different from having a bisexual son, and I'm suddenly not all that sure how to say this.
"Mom… okay…" Oh, God. "There's going to be a story on the news for, I imagine, most of the day and probably in the papers tomorrow, and I didn't want you to find out from the New York Times or CNN or NPR or Mrs Bradshaw, for that matter." Mrs Bradshaw, my mom's very Republican neighbour who I met when I went out to Florida last Thanksgiving and who talked loudly about MS and how Governor Ritchie was going to be the best thing ever to happen to America. "And I thought you should…"
"Josh, you're rambling."
"I know."
"What's going to be in the papers?"
"It's, ah… it's about me and Sam." I take a deep breath. "Sam and I have been - are - involved. For two and a bit years."
"Involved how?"
I'm going to kill her. The woman is not dense. She knows exactly what I mean by involved. She just loves to imagine me squirming. I absolutely refuse to describe my relationship with Sam as romantic. Because it's not. Hence my utter horror when Donna suggested I bring him flowers. And I'm a little bit squicky about describing it as sexual, just 'cause I'm a little bit squicky about using the word 'sexual' in a conversation with my mom. So I come out with possibly the lamest sentence ever to escape my mouth.
"Involved like he's my boyfriend involved."
"Thank you."
I blink.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Half an hour later, I'm still on the phone. My role in this conversation has been reduced to grunts, nods, and the occasional 'uh-huh' when she pauses for breath. So far, I've been called 'idiot boy' six times, I've been admonished for keeping my sexuality a secret from my parents for twenty-six years, I've been informed none too pleasantly that my mom couldn't care less who I'm sleeping with so long as I'm treating them right and it's not Mandy, and I'm currently being lambasted for hiding what she insists on calling her son-in-law for the last two years.
"You've got senior staff in an hour," Donna announces, breezing into the office. "You should probably get changed before that. Who are you on the phone to?"
"Mom, I have to go." I butt into the middle of a sentence. "I… yeah, I'll talk to him… and I'll call you tonight… uh-huh." I hang up and turn my attention to Donna. "Staff isn't until eight-thirty."
"Leo bumped it up to eight."
"'Kay." I scoot out from behind my desk and follow her out the door. "Is Sam in yet?"
"Don't know, Josh, I'm not his keeper. How'd your mom take it?"
"She was pretty pissed at the wake-up call."
"Yeah, well, it's three-fifty in the morning in San Francisco."
"I just got my head round her not being in Connecticut, Donna. She had to complicate things by taking a vacation?"
"You're the third most powerful man in the country and you can't read a bright yellow note when it's put in front of your face?"
"You're the senior assistant to the third most powerful man in the country and you file my mother's phone number under the letter J. Not to mention, I still can't read your alleged distinctive penmanship."
"The J would stand for Josh's Mom." She conveniently ignores my jibe about her handwriting. "Besides being woken up by her idiot son in the middle of the night, how'd she take it?"
"She called me idiot boy a few times and made me promise to take Sam down there for Thanksgiving." I grab Bonnie as she walks past us. "Is Sam in?"
"Ten minutes ago."
"Thanks." I run a hand through my hair, making it stand even more on end than it already does. "I have to go out for a few minutes."
"Looking like that?" Donna stares at me.
"Sure."
"You're getting changed before Staff!" she yells after me.
"Donna, I'm running across the street. I'll be five minutes. It's very, very early Saturday morning and anybody with any sense is still in bed. Who am I going to see?"
The answer to that question, in case you're interested, is Danny Concannon, who joins me in the queue at Starbucks with no warning.
"So, what's the deal with you and Sam?"
I jump five feet in the air. "I'm so not answering that question."
"Come on, Josh. I was a nice guy. I could've had that story in the Post this morning, but I held off and I gave you guys a heads up."
"You wouldn't have done it for this morning's paper anyway," I note. "Tall cappuccino with extra foam. One, you're too good to write a story based on something given to you by a right-wing rag whose reputation is murky at best. Two, you would never do something like this without having it confirmed, which I would remind you we haven't done, by the White House. Three, you write about it on a Saturday then you lose the story 'cause nobody reads the paper on a Saturday, but if you wait until Sunday then you have the scoop because everyone reads the paper on a Sunday and more people read the Washington Post than read the Dallas Morning News. Four, you're a nice guy."
"You've been hanging round CJ too long."
I collect the coffee, add sugar, and leave with Danny still tailing me.
"Are you going to confirm it?"
"Nope."
"Off the record?"
"Danny, you're not gonna come close to getting a quote from me."
"Fine."
Danny can be stubborn but he knows when to back off, and he leaves me in the lobby as I'm about to turn off to Communications. I arrive at Sam's office to see him typing furiously as I knock on the door.
"Hey."
"Hi." He pulls his glasses off and looks up from the computer, remarking caustically, "You look like you slept in that."
"I did, more or less," I mutter, sitting down. "I slept on Toby's couch."
"Oh."
"I talked to Danny."
"What did he want?"
"He spent five minutes fishing for a quote."
"What's that?" He nods at the Starbucks container in my hand, and I can't believe how uncomfortable this conversation is.
"Peace offering." I hold it out to him. "I'm sorry about last night, I was an idiot…"
He takes the coffee and waves the apology off. "You don't have to say it."
"Yeah, I do." I look at my shoes. "I was an idiot. I never should have said what I said, I never meant to say it, and the only reason I did say it was because I have a not entirely irrational phobia that someday in that not too distant future, you'll wake up an realize that you're wasting your life on a rapidly balding 42 year old political pitbull with an ego the size of Montana and no tact, when frankly, you could do a hell of a lot better than me."
"Doesn't mean I want to," he replies. "I gather from your utter mortification and the way you broke the sprint record getting out of the apartment last night that you realized why what you said hit me in the gut like a sack of potatoes."
"I did and I'm sorry."
"It's just that there are some things you're sure of, and I didn't want you to think that I was something you couldn't be sure of."
"I know."
"Think we can kiss and make up?"
I'm busy taking Sam's request literally when CJ appears in the door, waving her cell phone and looking agitated. She stops dead when she sees us and addresses a point above our heads.
"Okay. I know we said we were all fine with this, but that does not by any stretch of the imagination mean that the entire bullpen wants to watch you making out."
I step back in a hurry. CJ has a way of sneaking up on people without them noticing. I'm straightening myself up as much as a person can possibly straighten a slept-in suit when Sam notices the phone in her hand.
"What's going on?"
"Oh." She remembers why she was looking for us to begin with. "Looks like Toby's hunch was right."
"What hunch?"
"Ainsley's little elves."
"Huh?" CJ is making very little sense to me right now.
"Your favourite Christian Right spokeswoman…"
"Her God is still being indicted for tax fraud," I mutter belligerently.
"She's on Newsweek today."
"Doing what?" I demand.
"Talking about you two."
"Talking about…" Sam's brain seems to be processing information about as well as mine is.
"I have to brief Leo before Senior Staff, I just thought you should know." She looks at me a little more closely. "Also, Josh, you should change. You're wrinkled and you smell."
"Thanks," I call after her rapidly retreating back as she disappears in the direction of Leo's office.
"Sam, Staff in five minutes." Ginger pokes her head in the door. "Josh, that's you too."
"Yeah, I'm going back to my office and changing my clothes because I've just been informed that I'm wrinkled and I smell."
"Yeah, and your suit looks like you slept in it," Ginger agrees. "I'll tell Donna you're on your way back."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Donna began keeping a clean suit, a pair of jeans, and a razor in my office after that small incident which we don't talk about anymore but which involved me, Joey, and Sam's wet weather gear. The result of this is that when I show up in senior staff fifteen minutes later, I'm clean, shaved, as uncrumpled as anyone ever sees me, and nagged to death, something that prompted me to tell Donna that I really thought a nice byproduct of dating a guy would be that I would escape the nagging which seems to inevitably ensue whenever a person gets involved with a woman. She told me I must be kidding and kicked me out of the office, that particular argument having made me ten minutes late, a fact which Leo doesn't hesitate to point out when I sit down. I offer up my excuse.
"People were telling me that I smelled funny." I'm not letting go of that one anytime soon.
"Okay." Leo and Toby both give me funny looks. "CJ, you were saying?"
"The Newsweek producers want to know if, and I quote, the White House has any response to the allegations that Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman and Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn are involved in a homosexual relationship as made by Christian Right spokeswoman Mary Marsh, who will be appearing on the show at noon today to discuss these allegations."
"What did you tell them?"
"I told them no, but you can bet your ass they'll be watching the briefing."
"Did you also tell them that most intellectual, or even non-intellectual, national television shows make passing fourth-grade English a requirement for being on their staff?"
CJ ignores Toby's dig at the English language and turns her attention to Sam.
"What if nobody says anything at the briefing?" Sam asks. "Do we just come out and make the statement anyway?"
"Absolutely not." Leo looks horrified. "We're not volunteering any information."
"Somebody will ask though," I assure them. "Danny was following me round at seven o'clock this morning looking for a quote. He didn't get one!" I exclaim defensively, noting the 'oh, God' looks on the four faces in the room. "Exactly how inept do you lot think I am around reporters?"
"I don't know, Josh." Toby scratches his beard. "But while I think about it, can you tell me a little bit more about the President's secret plan to fight inflation?"
"That was a long time ago."
"Shut up, both of you." Leo seems to be regretting that he ever hired any of us. "CJ, you will do the briefing. You will give them the itinerary for the Convention, you will tell them anything else they need to know about anything else, and then if somebody asks about this you will tell them the truth."
"You idiot!"
Bit of a comedown from the cutest butt in professional politics. Joey storms unceremoniously into Leo's office, followed by Kenny and insulting me in her own voice.
"It took you twenty-four hours to get here from LA?"
"I was schmoozing California Democrats. I was untangling the mess somebody made at the California campaign office. I was putting together a poll to see exactly how many undecided's you've managed to ostracise. And it takes a commercial jet six hours to fly from LA to Washington."
"How come none of this is Sam's fault?" That particular rant was very much directed at me. " Come to think of it, how come any of this is either of our faults?"
"Well, actually…" Toby attempts to interrupt.
"You know what I mean."
"I don't know," Kenny translates, as Joey reverts to sign language. "But I'm almost positive I'll be able to find some way to blame it on you."
"Thanks for that stellar display of comradeship you just displayed there."
"Joey." Leo butts in. "You've got a poll you can put in the field?"
She nods.
"Do it starting after the briefing and have numbers you can show us by the end of tomorrow. Are your people going to have a problem working through the weekend?"
"It's not a problem."
"Good, 'cause they don't have a choice."
"Have you got anything more on Ainsley?" she asks.
"She's in North Carolina with her family for the weekend." Leo shrugs. "Short of yanking her back, there's nothing we can do from that angle until Monday morning."
"What happens on Monday?"
"She's meeting with me at 8am."
"Sam, Josh." CJ's been looking over some stuff, but she raises her head and joins the conversation again. "My briefing is at eleven, you've got between now and then to tell anyone who needs to know and who you don't want to get the story through the mass media. I'll be surprised if something isn't leaking through the Internet already, and I flat-out guarantee you that it's on the networks by eleven-thirty. After that, we've got the Mary Marsh thing…"
Sam fills Joey in on the Mary Marsh thing and we leave it. We can't do anything about that until we've seen the interview. We're winding down when I sum the morning up.
"So, what we're left with are the senior staffers who are coming out of the closet, the Christian Right, America still expecting us to run it, and the President's still got MS."
"What you said." Leo gives us all a long, hard look. "Sounds like a pretty light day."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
"Good morning."
I parked myself, along with what looks like half of the White House staff, in front of the TV above Bonnie and Ginger's desks at 10:57. CJ walks into the press room at eleven on the nose. She doesn't even get to the podium.
"CJ…"
"It's a light day, Steve, let me get through this and then I'll take a couple questions. As you all know, the advance team for the Convention went ahead to the Convention Center in New York on Thursday. The rest of us are scheduled to leave on Air Force One at eight tomorrow evening, absolutely no delays, which means we should be leaving around ten. You all know the drill for next week. I'll remind you that the President's main speech is on Thursday night, but on Wednesday he'll be introducing his running mate."
"Is it going to be Hoynes?"
"We're not telling you who it is, Katie, but as Vice-President Hoynes has been running against President Bartlet for the Democratic nomination, you can safely gamble your entire bank balance on him not being added to the ticket this year." She riffles through her notes. "We'll be returning 3am Friday, and if anyone has any complaints about the take-off time, don't look at me."
"CJ?"
"But of course you will anyway. Chris?"
"Why are we leaving New York at three in the morning?"
"The party might run over and the President likes flying at night. Seriously, guys, we've been here three and a half years, you'd think you would be used to it by now. We're done. Questions?"
The tension in the bullpen can probably be sensed by everyone within a five mile radius. The President and Abbey slip in as reporters' hands go up, and he motions us to keep our seats. I'm busy crushing Sam's hand.
"Danny?"
"CJ, has the President read the North Carolina conservative newspaper the Raleigh Tribune this morning?"
"On any normal day, the President reads the Washington Post, the New York Times, and the New Hampshire Daily Herald, but I haven't spoken to him this morning, so I wouldn't know. Will?"
"Sorry, I have to follow up on that," Danny interrupts. "Is the President aware of an article appearing in this paper alleging a homosexual relationship between Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborn?"
"Yes, he is. Will?"
"Does the President or the White House have any response to the article?"
"You'll have to be a bit more specific than that. What kind of response?"
"Well, to begin with, is it true?"
"The relationship itself is true, but if you're asking whether the White House, or President Bartlet personally, agrees with the Raleigh Tribune's characterisation of this relationship and of homosexuality in general, then the answer to both is no."
"CJ…"
"Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborn have known each other for over fifteen years. To give you a bit of background, they met in 1988 when they were both working as congressional aides in Washington, and they've been good friends ever since. They became involved sexually following the assassination attempt in Rosslyn, Virginia in May 2000, but chose until recently to keep their private life private. Their closest friends and family, including the White House senior staff members and the First Family, have been made aware of the relationship over the course of the last several weeks. President and Dr Bartlet also give their full support to Josh and Sam."
"CJ, why was this leaked to the Raleigh Tribune?"
"We're not releasing that information right now, I'll have more for you on it by Monday."
"What about Josh's relationship with Donna Moss?"
Back in Communications, I turn puce. So does Sam. So does Donna. All three of us are about an inch from decking the TV. Onscreen, CJ grins.
"What about Josh's relationship with Donna Moss?"
"CJ."
"Seriously, Arthur, what do you want from me? Donna is Josh's assistant. She keeps him alive, on time, and makes sure that the Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff doesn't collapse entirely. They're very good friends."
I'm almost blown away by the sheer cheek of it.
"How long have Josh and Sam been gay?"
"Well, first of all, neither of them are gay, they're bisexual, as if any of us who were on the campaign trail are ever going to be able to forget the disaster that was Josh and Mandy, but to answer your question, I imagine since they were born."
And there's the soundbyte.
"That's it, guys, I'll be back at three."
She collects her file, pulls off her glasses, and leaves. When she goes straight past her office and round the corner into Communications, she gets a round of applause. Sam and I are out. We'll be the lead story at every news bulletin until Wednesday night, when one would hope the press are going to get more interested in who we're bringing onto the ticket as the nominee for the Vice Presidency. Our privacy's going to be gone like snow in spring. And a hell of a lot of people are going to hate us for this. But if we wanted outing, CJ's done it for us in style.
Unfortunately, if Sam and I had a hard time restraining ourselves during the briefing, CJ, Toby, Leo, Joey, Donna, and the President, who's joined us in Leo's office, have to practically tie us down during Newsweek to stop us from throwing things. It starts off fairly innocuously; with Mark Gottfried making the self-evident point that in the last half-hour the White House has confirmed allegations blah blah blah. Then he introduces Mary Marsh. And I guess that's pretty much when the wheels fall off the wagon.
"Ms Marsh, you are senior spokeswoman for the Christian Right group Preservation of American Traditions and Values. What is your reaction to this news so recently confirmed by the White House?"
"I think that it's outrageous that we're allowing people like this to operate at the highest levels of government. This country was founded on Christian values…"
I'm trying, and failing, to remember where exactly in the Declaration of Independence anybody specifically mentioned or referred to the Bible, but she keeps right on going without bothering to check her facts.
"…and it states clearly in the Bible that homosexuality is an abomination. I can tell you, Mark, that by this evidence Mr Lyman and Mr Seaborn don't believe in any God I pray to…"
There's a chorus of voices around me, and I turn bright red as every single person in the room says loudly and belligerently, "Lady, the God you pray to is too busy being indicted for tax fraud."
"…but as we are so often reminded, President Bartlet is a good Catholic man with a strong sense of family values, and I think on faith alone, as well as for the good of American society, there is no question that he should ask for their resignations to be effective immediately."
"That's an interesting point, Mary."
"Interesting point, my ass," Sam mutters.
"I also have here with me Congressman Matthew Skinner, Republican of Nebraska. Congressman, what's your take on this?"
"First of all, I think we should recognize that the President is under no legal obligation to fire Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborn, and that if he did so and claimed religious reasons, not only would the worst fears of every non-Catholic who voted for him be realized, he would be breaking that United States law which clearly recognizes separation of Church and State."
"But personally, what do you think of it?"
"Personally, my opinion is that neither of them have done anything wrong, that their business is their business, and that they should be left alone to get on with their lives."
"Congressman Skinner." Mary Marsh rears her head again. "How can you claim to be a Republican?"
"I am a Republican, and I can claim to be one because I agree with 95% of the Party's platform. I do not agree with their stance on gay rights. Ms Marsh, I don't agree with you that homosexuality is an abomination. I'm a Christian, but I'm also gay and I don't believe that I'm going to burn in purgatory until the end of time because of that."
"The Bible…"
"The Bible says that homosexuality is an abomination punishable by death, and, as I'll remind you that Mr Lyman is Jewish, so does the Torah. They both say that a woman can be killed for committing adultery, and the Torah tells us that a rebellious child can be stoned to death at the city gates, and for all I know those writings reflect the best wisdom of their times, but they were written in different millennia. By any modern standard, it's just wrong. This country was not founded on the Bible, it was founded because the Founding Fathers and the Pilgrims no longer wanted to be dictated to, and when it began on the commons in Concord, Massachusetts, America was founded on the belief that all men are created equal, not that all straight men are created equal."
"We'll leave you with that thought," Mark announces, interrupting the catfight for the first time. "Let's take a break, and we'll be back after this."
CJ clicks off the TV as the screen fades to the commercial break and we all sit there in dumb silence. Not only do I want to wring Mary Marsh's neck, I'm now stuck trying to get my head round the fact that Matt Skinner - who had a screaming match with me not two hundred yards from where I'm sitting over the Marriage Recognition Act - just came to our defence on national television. A phone rings outside and shatters the quiet.
Pandemonium breaks loose.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Anything that is technically accurate in this chapter has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the people who point out the especially big mistakes before I have a chance to make a complete ass of myself in front of, well, the world. So, the people who are responsible for there not being a huge geographical snafu in the form of, well, let's just say I wasn't sure of the relative position of Washington to Florida; ABS from whom I stole the title and to whom I've instructed Josh and Sam (and everyone else) to send their therapy bills once I finally let them go; Krista, who gave me a two-minute crash course in which states would be more likely to elect gay men to Congress and therefore which state Congressman Skinner could feasibly represent; Ron Nyswaner and Denzel Washington, for giving me the line 'all men are created equal, not all straight men are created equal' when I watched Philadelphia last month. And, as always, to Rhiannon. For not dying when I dropped a 6,000 word chapter on her, and for putting up with more than... any beta-reader should have to, ever.
Chapter 7: For Old Friends Of Their Fathers... coming very soon.
I can feel myself being rudely shaken awake. I can also feel myself being intermittently poked by some kind of sharp object. I have a headache and probably a bruise the size of a nickel on my left shoulder. Finally, I open my eyes and squint at a blurry apparition in the form of Leo McGarry. Wait, no, that is actually Leo. He's not doing a very good job of staying in focus, but has taken it upon himself to wake me up and he's not being gentle about it. Things are slowly becoming less fuzzy, and I find myself staring at Toby's floor. I sit up, more from a healthy sense of self-preservation in the hope that he'll stop trying to rouse me using brutal force if I actually show some signs of being conscious than from any desperate need to be vertical.
"Ow." I rub my arm, shove my feet into my shoes, and glare at my boss.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm sleeping. Correction, I was sleeping until you decided to try out ancient methods of torture on me at…" I look over at Toby's clock. "Five forty-five on a Saturday morning. Leo? Why are you even in the office?"
"I've got some work to do." He waves a hand vaguely. "You still haven't answered my question."
"I was sorta hoping you wouldn't notice that."
I leave Toby's office, loop round the newspaper rack in the bullpen, and go into Sam's office where I borrow two Tylenol and a glass of water from his desk. Leo's followed me and closed the door, and has now sat himself down and is looking at me expectantly.
"Leo, exactly how much do you want to be involved in my love life?" I sit on the end of the desk and watch him turn an interesting shade of purple.
"Let's assume that the less I'm involved in your love life the happier I will be."
"Then let's also assume that you really, really don't want to know why I spent the night in the office."
"Let's assume that." He looks relieved that I didn't get into details. "You need to call…"
"My mom, yes, I know."
"Senior staff at eight-thirty," he reminds me as he heads off in the direction of his office. "You might want to avoid reporters until after CJ's briefing."
"I'm entirely comfortable with avoiding reporters until well after that, Leo, but whatever you say."
I leave the bullpen and cut past the Roosevelt Room to my office, going via Donna's desk so that I can look for my mother's phone number. I've got a couple of hours to kill, and she's usually awake at 6am anyway, so I can do what I've been putting off for the last two weeks and talk to her before this thing hits the wires. I finally stumble across her cell phone number, more by accident than design, filed under J and written on a piece of paper with a yellow sticky note stuck to it. I give up on locating the landline number and hope that she'll have her cell switched on, and I sit down at my desk to make the call. The phone rings twice, and I hear scuffles, a bump, and some muttered cursing before her voice comes on the line.
"Hey, Mom."
"Josh?" I can hear her moving around. "Why in the name of God are you calling me at 3am?"
Oops. I search my desk for the yellow sticky note, which I've peeled off and ignored, and find it stuck to my shoe. I squint at Donna's barely legible handwriting and make out something that looks like Sn Francsquiggle, then vaguely remember a conversation some weeks ago when my mom mentioned that she would be going out to San Francisco to stay with a friend of hers.
"You're in California."
"You didn't get my message?" She sounds surprised, knowing as well as I do that Donna still hasn't got a message wrong in the four and a half years she's been my assistant. "I spoke to Donna…"
"She probably told me. She also wrote it down and stuck it to your cell number, but I still have to learn that I should probably read Donna's notes. Do you want me to call you back?" I ask contritely.
"God, no. You've woken me up now. What was it you were wanting to talk about?"
"Ah."
My mouth is suddenly very dry. Please understand here that my mother is a liberal Democrat from a very long line of liberal Democrats. She met my dad at a pro-choice rally in the forties. They took me to a civil rights march when I was six. She called every single Republican she knew to gloat when then-Governor Bartlet won the 1998 Presidential election. And when she read in the Washington Post that the President had stuck the Marriage Recognition Act in a drawer, she called me and ranted for a solid forty minutes about exactly how much he should have vetoed it. And when she got no joy from me - I had been dating Sam for six months at that point, even though I had spent half of that time being practically held under house arrest by Donna, and was having to work very hard to not appear too fired up about gay rights - she rang Leo and yelled at him. Unfortunately, being a gay rights supporter is a lot different from having a bisexual son, and I'm suddenly not all that sure how to say this.
"Mom… okay…" Oh, God. "There's going to be a story on the news for, I imagine, most of the day and probably in the papers tomorrow, and I didn't want you to find out from the New York Times or CNN or NPR or Mrs Bradshaw, for that matter." Mrs Bradshaw, my mom's very Republican neighbour who I met when I went out to Florida last Thanksgiving and who talked loudly about MS and how Governor Ritchie was going to be the best thing ever to happen to America. "And I thought you should…"
"Josh, you're rambling."
"I know."
"What's going to be in the papers?"
"It's, ah… it's about me and Sam." I take a deep breath. "Sam and I have been - are - involved. For two and a bit years."
"Involved how?"
I'm going to kill her. The woman is not dense. She knows exactly what I mean by involved. She just loves to imagine me squirming. I absolutely refuse to describe my relationship with Sam as romantic. Because it's not. Hence my utter horror when Donna suggested I bring him flowers. And I'm a little bit squicky about describing it as sexual, just 'cause I'm a little bit squicky about using the word 'sexual' in a conversation with my mom. So I come out with possibly the lamest sentence ever to escape my mouth.
"Involved like he's my boyfriend involved."
"Thank you."
I blink.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Half an hour later, I'm still on the phone. My role in this conversation has been reduced to grunts, nods, and the occasional 'uh-huh' when she pauses for breath. So far, I've been called 'idiot boy' six times, I've been admonished for keeping my sexuality a secret from my parents for twenty-six years, I've been informed none too pleasantly that my mom couldn't care less who I'm sleeping with so long as I'm treating them right and it's not Mandy, and I'm currently being lambasted for hiding what she insists on calling her son-in-law for the last two years.
"You've got senior staff in an hour," Donna announces, breezing into the office. "You should probably get changed before that. Who are you on the phone to?"
"Mom, I have to go." I butt into the middle of a sentence. "I… yeah, I'll talk to him… and I'll call you tonight… uh-huh." I hang up and turn my attention to Donna. "Staff isn't until eight-thirty."
"Leo bumped it up to eight."
"'Kay." I scoot out from behind my desk and follow her out the door. "Is Sam in yet?"
"Don't know, Josh, I'm not his keeper. How'd your mom take it?"
"She was pretty pissed at the wake-up call."
"Yeah, well, it's three-fifty in the morning in San Francisco."
"I just got my head round her not being in Connecticut, Donna. She had to complicate things by taking a vacation?"
"You're the third most powerful man in the country and you can't read a bright yellow note when it's put in front of your face?"
"You're the senior assistant to the third most powerful man in the country and you file my mother's phone number under the letter J. Not to mention, I still can't read your alleged distinctive penmanship."
"The J would stand for Josh's Mom." She conveniently ignores my jibe about her handwriting. "Besides being woken up by her idiot son in the middle of the night, how'd she take it?"
"She called me idiot boy a few times and made me promise to take Sam down there for Thanksgiving." I grab Bonnie as she walks past us. "Is Sam in?"
"Ten minutes ago."
"Thanks." I run a hand through my hair, making it stand even more on end than it already does. "I have to go out for a few minutes."
"Looking like that?" Donna stares at me.
"Sure."
"You're getting changed before Staff!" she yells after me.
"Donna, I'm running across the street. I'll be five minutes. It's very, very early Saturday morning and anybody with any sense is still in bed. Who am I going to see?"
The answer to that question, in case you're interested, is Danny Concannon, who joins me in the queue at Starbucks with no warning.
"So, what's the deal with you and Sam?"
I jump five feet in the air. "I'm so not answering that question."
"Come on, Josh. I was a nice guy. I could've had that story in the Post this morning, but I held off and I gave you guys a heads up."
"You wouldn't have done it for this morning's paper anyway," I note. "Tall cappuccino with extra foam. One, you're too good to write a story based on something given to you by a right-wing rag whose reputation is murky at best. Two, you would never do something like this without having it confirmed, which I would remind you we haven't done, by the White House. Three, you write about it on a Saturday then you lose the story 'cause nobody reads the paper on a Saturday, but if you wait until Sunday then you have the scoop because everyone reads the paper on a Sunday and more people read the Washington Post than read the Dallas Morning News. Four, you're a nice guy."
"You've been hanging round CJ too long."
I collect the coffee, add sugar, and leave with Danny still tailing me.
"Are you going to confirm it?"
"Nope."
"Off the record?"
"Danny, you're not gonna come close to getting a quote from me."
"Fine."
Danny can be stubborn but he knows when to back off, and he leaves me in the lobby as I'm about to turn off to Communications. I arrive at Sam's office to see him typing furiously as I knock on the door.
"Hey."
"Hi." He pulls his glasses off and looks up from the computer, remarking caustically, "You look like you slept in that."
"I did, more or less," I mutter, sitting down. "I slept on Toby's couch."
"Oh."
"I talked to Danny."
"What did he want?"
"He spent five minutes fishing for a quote."
"What's that?" He nods at the Starbucks container in my hand, and I can't believe how uncomfortable this conversation is.
"Peace offering." I hold it out to him. "I'm sorry about last night, I was an idiot…"
He takes the coffee and waves the apology off. "You don't have to say it."
"Yeah, I do." I look at my shoes. "I was an idiot. I never should have said what I said, I never meant to say it, and the only reason I did say it was because I have a not entirely irrational phobia that someday in that not too distant future, you'll wake up an realize that you're wasting your life on a rapidly balding 42 year old political pitbull with an ego the size of Montana and no tact, when frankly, you could do a hell of a lot better than me."
"Doesn't mean I want to," he replies. "I gather from your utter mortification and the way you broke the sprint record getting out of the apartment last night that you realized why what you said hit me in the gut like a sack of potatoes."
"I did and I'm sorry."
"It's just that there are some things you're sure of, and I didn't want you to think that I was something you couldn't be sure of."
"I know."
"Think we can kiss and make up?"
I'm busy taking Sam's request literally when CJ appears in the door, waving her cell phone and looking agitated. She stops dead when she sees us and addresses a point above our heads.
"Okay. I know we said we were all fine with this, but that does not by any stretch of the imagination mean that the entire bullpen wants to watch you making out."
I step back in a hurry. CJ has a way of sneaking up on people without them noticing. I'm straightening myself up as much as a person can possibly straighten a slept-in suit when Sam notices the phone in her hand.
"What's going on?"
"Oh." She remembers why she was looking for us to begin with. "Looks like Toby's hunch was right."
"What hunch?"
"Ainsley's little elves."
"Huh?" CJ is making very little sense to me right now.
"Your favourite Christian Right spokeswoman…"
"Her God is still being indicted for tax fraud," I mutter belligerently.
"She's on Newsweek today."
"Doing what?" I demand.
"Talking about you two."
"Talking about…" Sam's brain seems to be processing information about as well as mine is.
"I have to brief Leo before Senior Staff, I just thought you should know." She looks at me a little more closely. "Also, Josh, you should change. You're wrinkled and you smell."
"Thanks," I call after her rapidly retreating back as she disappears in the direction of Leo's office.
"Sam, Staff in five minutes." Ginger pokes her head in the door. "Josh, that's you too."
"Yeah, I'm going back to my office and changing my clothes because I've just been informed that I'm wrinkled and I smell."
"Yeah, and your suit looks like you slept in it," Ginger agrees. "I'll tell Donna you're on your way back."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Donna began keeping a clean suit, a pair of jeans, and a razor in my office after that small incident which we don't talk about anymore but which involved me, Joey, and Sam's wet weather gear. The result of this is that when I show up in senior staff fifteen minutes later, I'm clean, shaved, as uncrumpled as anyone ever sees me, and nagged to death, something that prompted me to tell Donna that I really thought a nice byproduct of dating a guy would be that I would escape the nagging which seems to inevitably ensue whenever a person gets involved with a woman. She told me I must be kidding and kicked me out of the office, that particular argument having made me ten minutes late, a fact which Leo doesn't hesitate to point out when I sit down. I offer up my excuse.
"People were telling me that I smelled funny." I'm not letting go of that one anytime soon.
"Okay." Leo and Toby both give me funny looks. "CJ, you were saying?"
"The Newsweek producers want to know if, and I quote, the White House has any response to the allegations that Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman and Deputy Communications Director Sam Seaborn are involved in a homosexual relationship as made by Christian Right spokeswoman Mary Marsh, who will be appearing on the show at noon today to discuss these allegations."
"What did you tell them?"
"I told them no, but you can bet your ass they'll be watching the briefing."
"Did you also tell them that most intellectual, or even non-intellectual, national television shows make passing fourth-grade English a requirement for being on their staff?"
CJ ignores Toby's dig at the English language and turns her attention to Sam.
"What if nobody says anything at the briefing?" Sam asks. "Do we just come out and make the statement anyway?"
"Absolutely not." Leo looks horrified. "We're not volunteering any information."
"Somebody will ask though," I assure them. "Danny was following me round at seven o'clock this morning looking for a quote. He didn't get one!" I exclaim defensively, noting the 'oh, God' looks on the four faces in the room. "Exactly how inept do you lot think I am around reporters?"
"I don't know, Josh." Toby scratches his beard. "But while I think about it, can you tell me a little bit more about the President's secret plan to fight inflation?"
"That was a long time ago."
"Shut up, both of you." Leo seems to be regretting that he ever hired any of us. "CJ, you will do the briefing. You will give them the itinerary for the Convention, you will tell them anything else they need to know about anything else, and then if somebody asks about this you will tell them the truth."
"You idiot!"
Bit of a comedown from the cutest butt in professional politics. Joey storms unceremoniously into Leo's office, followed by Kenny and insulting me in her own voice.
"It took you twenty-four hours to get here from LA?"
"I was schmoozing California Democrats. I was untangling the mess somebody made at the California campaign office. I was putting together a poll to see exactly how many undecided's you've managed to ostracise. And it takes a commercial jet six hours to fly from LA to Washington."
"How come none of this is Sam's fault?" That particular rant was very much directed at me. " Come to think of it, how come any of this is either of our faults?"
"Well, actually…" Toby attempts to interrupt.
"You know what I mean."
"I don't know," Kenny translates, as Joey reverts to sign language. "But I'm almost positive I'll be able to find some way to blame it on you."
"Thanks for that stellar display of comradeship you just displayed there."
"Joey." Leo butts in. "You've got a poll you can put in the field?"
She nods.
"Do it starting after the briefing and have numbers you can show us by the end of tomorrow. Are your people going to have a problem working through the weekend?"
"It's not a problem."
"Good, 'cause they don't have a choice."
"Have you got anything more on Ainsley?" she asks.
"She's in North Carolina with her family for the weekend." Leo shrugs. "Short of yanking her back, there's nothing we can do from that angle until Monday morning."
"What happens on Monday?"
"She's meeting with me at 8am."
"Sam, Josh." CJ's been looking over some stuff, but she raises her head and joins the conversation again. "My briefing is at eleven, you've got between now and then to tell anyone who needs to know and who you don't want to get the story through the mass media. I'll be surprised if something isn't leaking through the Internet already, and I flat-out guarantee you that it's on the networks by eleven-thirty. After that, we've got the Mary Marsh thing…"
Sam fills Joey in on the Mary Marsh thing and we leave it. We can't do anything about that until we've seen the interview. We're winding down when I sum the morning up.
"So, what we're left with are the senior staffers who are coming out of the closet, the Christian Right, America still expecting us to run it, and the President's still got MS."
"What you said." Leo gives us all a long, hard look. "Sounds like a pretty light day."
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
"Good morning."
I parked myself, along with what looks like half of the White House staff, in front of the TV above Bonnie and Ginger's desks at 10:57. CJ walks into the press room at eleven on the nose. She doesn't even get to the podium.
"CJ…"
"It's a light day, Steve, let me get through this and then I'll take a couple questions. As you all know, the advance team for the Convention went ahead to the Convention Center in New York on Thursday. The rest of us are scheduled to leave on Air Force One at eight tomorrow evening, absolutely no delays, which means we should be leaving around ten. You all know the drill for next week. I'll remind you that the President's main speech is on Thursday night, but on Wednesday he'll be introducing his running mate."
"Is it going to be Hoynes?"
"We're not telling you who it is, Katie, but as Vice-President Hoynes has been running against President Bartlet for the Democratic nomination, you can safely gamble your entire bank balance on him not being added to the ticket this year." She riffles through her notes. "We'll be returning 3am Friday, and if anyone has any complaints about the take-off time, don't look at me."
"CJ?"
"But of course you will anyway. Chris?"
"Why are we leaving New York at three in the morning?"
"The party might run over and the President likes flying at night. Seriously, guys, we've been here three and a half years, you'd think you would be used to it by now. We're done. Questions?"
The tension in the bullpen can probably be sensed by everyone within a five mile radius. The President and Abbey slip in as reporters' hands go up, and he motions us to keep our seats. I'm busy crushing Sam's hand.
"Danny?"
"CJ, has the President read the North Carolina conservative newspaper the Raleigh Tribune this morning?"
"On any normal day, the President reads the Washington Post, the New York Times, and the New Hampshire Daily Herald, but I haven't spoken to him this morning, so I wouldn't know. Will?"
"Sorry, I have to follow up on that," Danny interrupts. "Is the President aware of an article appearing in this paper alleging a homosexual relationship between Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborn?"
"Yes, he is. Will?"
"Does the President or the White House have any response to the article?"
"You'll have to be a bit more specific than that. What kind of response?"
"Well, to begin with, is it true?"
"The relationship itself is true, but if you're asking whether the White House, or President Bartlet personally, agrees with the Raleigh Tribune's characterisation of this relationship and of homosexuality in general, then the answer to both is no."
"CJ…"
"Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborn have known each other for over fifteen years. To give you a bit of background, they met in 1988 when they were both working as congressional aides in Washington, and they've been good friends ever since. They became involved sexually following the assassination attempt in Rosslyn, Virginia in May 2000, but chose until recently to keep their private life private. Their closest friends and family, including the White House senior staff members and the First Family, have been made aware of the relationship over the course of the last several weeks. President and Dr Bartlet also give their full support to Josh and Sam."
"CJ, why was this leaked to the Raleigh Tribune?"
"We're not releasing that information right now, I'll have more for you on it by Monday."
"What about Josh's relationship with Donna Moss?"
Back in Communications, I turn puce. So does Sam. So does Donna. All three of us are about an inch from decking the TV. Onscreen, CJ grins.
"What about Josh's relationship with Donna Moss?"
"CJ."
"Seriously, Arthur, what do you want from me? Donna is Josh's assistant. She keeps him alive, on time, and makes sure that the Office of the Deputy Chief of Staff doesn't collapse entirely. They're very good friends."
I'm almost blown away by the sheer cheek of it.
"How long have Josh and Sam been gay?"
"Well, first of all, neither of them are gay, they're bisexual, as if any of us who were on the campaign trail are ever going to be able to forget the disaster that was Josh and Mandy, but to answer your question, I imagine since they were born."
And there's the soundbyte.
"That's it, guys, I'll be back at three."
She collects her file, pulls off her glasses, and leaves. When she goes straight past her office and round the corner into Communications, she gets a round of applause. Sam and I are out. We'll be the lead story at every news bulletin until Wednesday night, when one would hope the press are going to get more interested in who we're bringing onto the ticket as the nominee for the Vice Presidency. Our privacy's going to be gone like snow in spring. And a hell of a lot of people are going to hate us for this. But if we wanted outing, CJ's done it for us in style.
Unfortunately, if Sam and I had a hard time restraining ourselves during the briefing, CJ, Toby, Leo, Joey, Donna, and the President, who's joined us in Leo's office, have to practically tie us down during Newsweek to stop us from throwing things. It starts off fairly innocuously; with Mark Gottfried making the self-evident point that in the last half-hour the White House has confirmed allegations blah blah blah. Then he introduces Mary Marsh. And I guess that's pretty much when the wheels fall off the wagon.
"Ms Marsh, you are senior spokeswoman for the Christian Right group Preservation of American Traditions and Values. What is your reaction to this news so recently confirmed by the White House?"
"I think that it's outrageous that we're allowing people like this to operate at the highest levels of government. This country was founded on Christian values…"
I'm trying, and failing, to remember where exactly in the Declaration of Independence anybody specifically mentioned or referred to the Bible, but she keeps right on going without bothering to check her facts.
"…and it states clearly in the Bible that homosexuality is an abomination. I can tell you, Mark, that by this evidence Mr Lyman and Mr Seaborn don't believe in any God I pray to…"
There's a chorus of voices around me, and I turn bright red as every single person in the room says loudly and belligerently, "Lady, the God you pray to is too busy being indicted for tax fraud."
"…but as we are so often reminded, President Bartlet is a good Catholic man with a strong sense of family values, and I think on faith alone, as well as for the good of American society, there is no question that he should ask for their resignations to be effective immediately."
"That's an interesting point, Mary."
"Interesting point, my ass," Sam mutters.
"I also have here with me Congressman Matthew Skinner, Republican of Nebraska. Congressman, what's your take on this?"
"First of all, I think we should recognize that the President is under no legal obligation to fire Josh Lyman and Sam Seaborn, and that if he did so and claimed religious reasons, not only would the worst fears of every non-Catholic who voted for him be realized, he would be breaking that United States law which clearly recognizes separation of Church and State."
"But personally, what do you think of it?"
"Personally, my opinion is that neither of them have done anything wrong, that their business is their business, and that they should be left alone to get on with their lives."
"Congressman Skinner." Mary Marsh rears her head again. "How can you claim to be a Republican?"
"I am a Republican, and I can claim to be one because I agree with 95% of the Party's platform. I do not agree with their stance on gay rights. Ms Marsh, I don't agree with you that homosexuality is an abomination. I'm a Christian, but I'm also gay and I don't believe that I'm going to burn in purgatory until the end of time because of that."
"The Bible…"
"The Bible says that homosexuality is an abomination punishable by death, and, as I'll remind you that Mr Lyman is Jewish, so does the Torah. They both say that a woman can be killed for committing adultery, and the Torah tells us that a rebellious child can be stoned to death at the city gates, and for all I know those writings reflect the best wisdom of their times, but they were written in different millennia. By any modern standard, it's just wrong. This country was not founded on the Bible, it was founded because the Founding Fathers and the Pilgrims no longer wanted to be dictated to, and when it began on the commons in Concord, Massachusetts, America was founded on the belief that all men are created equal, not that all straight men are created equal."
"We'll leave you with that thought," Mark announces, interrupting the catfight for the first time. "Let's take a break, and we'll be back after this."
CJ clicks off the TV as the screen fades to the commercial break and we all sit there in dumb silence. Not only do I want to wring Mary Marsh's neck, I'm now stuck trying to get my head round the fact that Matt Skinner - who had a screaming match with me not two hundred yards from where I'm sitting over the Marriage Recognition Act - just came to our defence on national television. A phone rings outside and shatters the quiet.
Pandemonium breaks loose.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________
Anything that is technically accurate in this chapter has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the people who point out the especially big mistakes before I have a chance to make a complete ass of myself in front of, well, the world. So, the people who are responsible for there not being a huge geographical snafu in the form of, well, let's just say I wasn't sure of the relative position of Washington to Florida; ABS from whom I stole the title and to whom I've instructed Josh and Sam (and everyone else) to send their therapy bills once I finally let them go; Krista, who gave me a two-minute crash course in which states would be more likely to elect gay men to Congress and therefore which state Congressman Skinner could feasibly represent; Ron Nyswaner and Denzel Washington, for giving me the line 'all men are created equal, not all straight men are created equal' when I watched Philadelphia last month. And, as always, to Rhiannon. For not dying when I dropped a 6,000 word chapter on her, and for putting up with more than... any beta-reader should have to, ever.
Chapter 7: For Old Friends Of Their Fathers... coming very soon.