IF THE STARS STILL SILENTLY BLESS YOU
In and out. In and out. I focus on the steady rhythm of my cigar smoke. Breathe in, breathe out, Sip of Scotch. If I focus on that, everything seems okay.
There's a bar only a few blocks away from the White House. I go there sometimes after a long day of work. It's been a long month at work, actually. It's someplace that helps me unwind.
Leo's sick. He has this disease. It's not like alcoholism has never been a problem for us, but I think there are times when we forget he's sick. Mallory visited the White House today. There are very few reasons for her to come now that Sam's gone, but she's worried for her father. She offered to take him out for coffee and dessert after work today.
There was really no one to ask me if I wanted coffee and dessert and to hug me and tell me everything's going to be okay. I'm on my own a lot of times.
As if to break me out of my reverie, a tall woman wearing red sits down next to me. How did I know I'd find you here? comes CJ's voice. She sounds amused.
Thanks for finding me, Sherlock.
She snorts and gets the bartender's attention. I've been drinking a lot lately, she informs me. God, I wonder what it's like to drink and not know how or when to stop. She orders a drink and turns her attention to me.
We both fall silent after her last comment. I think about what it must be like to be Leo. Sam once told me he'd run into the fire for Leo at any cost. Josh and CJ have both expressed similar sentiments. The need to protect Leo is something we've all understood, without speaking about it too much. We've all said things to that effect in passing, but it's been sort of ingrained in our minds.
I just don't think Leo understands that.
When CJ gets her drink she says, It's only a matter of time before the press gets a hold of this, you realize. I'm trying to figure out whether it's best to come clean right away, or if we should wait until someone asks us. She takes another sip and holds onto her glass tightly. Her knuckles have become white. Toby, we are exactly where we were four years ago.
I've known CJ for many years, but I don't think I've ever heard so much anger and frustration in her voice. It frightens me.
At least we're no longer unwittingly lying about MS, she adds, and her voice cools down for the moment.
Yeah, the press knows about it this time.
We're unraveling at the seams, Toby.
Yes, we are. I wish I could tell her otherwise, but it's true. The President is on borrowed time. We're just waiting for him to be deemed incapable of running the country, and his chief of staff is starting all over at trying to become sober. Leo's sponsor used to be Hoynes, until he left, and now Leo is going through a minor depression.
I want to quit so bad, she whispers. And then she stands up. Well, the tree lighting ceremony is tonight. Would you like to escort me?
You want me to go to the tree lighting ceremony, where I expect there will be people dressed up as Santa Claus, singers who can't sing, and an overly perky First Lady?
Okay, Mr. Scrooge, you don't have to go.
I never said I didn't want to go. I drain the last bit from my drink and stant to my feet. I think it should we well noted that I'm doing this under sufferance.
This, my friend, could be our last Christmas in the White House. CJ holds out her arm and I take it.
I say as we walk outside into the night.
****
No parking, I say, exasperated, as we come up to the outside center where the ceremony is being held. You have to walk most of the way. The rest of the staff is already there, standing in the cold. Josh is bouncing on his feet to keep warm, and Donna is blowing into her mittens.
And he's back to being his normal self, CJ says. He was almost cheerful back at the bar. That is to say, he wasn't complaining,
Donna gives us a half smile.
What is that caterwauling in the background? I ask.
Oh, that's Britney Spears, Donna says cheerfully.
She is ruining O Holy Night. O Holy Night is about Christ's birth, shepards seeking redemption for their sins, the salvation of mankind, and peace on earth. This, this is an abomination to shepards and mankind everywhere! I yell.
I thought you were Jewish. What the hell do you care about Christ's birth? CJ asked, looking far too amused for my liking. Besides, it's humankind, she says, accenting the first syllable.
You're missing the point entirely.
We turn our attention back to the stage. Now a group of young men are dancing around on the stage singing Feliz Navidad. Girls towards the front are cheering.
CJ, make it stop.
Toby, I had nothing to do with the opening acts. It was all CBS. They're airing it tonight.
Yeah, but Will and I just wrote a long speech about Christmas time. The President is going to stand in front of that tree and welcome Christmas, and Congressmen and future presidents are going to shake my hand. Why? Because it'll be a good speech. This? This music is ruining Christmas!
Donna turns around and rolls her eyes. Toby, it'll all be over soon.
Suddenly, Zoey comes up, bouncing up and down and grinning from ear to ear. Like the musical line-up much, Toby?
Everyone laughs, but I just scowl at her. She laughs with them and talks to Josh and Donna for awhile.
She's radiant tonight, which is a far cry from how she was months ago. Just as we became used to the pale, frightened, traumatized young woman, she rebounded. It took her quite a few sessions with the psychologist and the combined efforts of her mother and father to make her happy again. I think Zoey will never be completely healed, but this is a start.
A baritone takes the center stage and sings a song in Latin, then immediately begins singing In Excelsis Deo.
You can't complain now, Toby, CJ says.
You wanna take a bet on that? I retort.
She laughs just as the baritone gets off the stage and the announcer gets on. And with that, I'm pleased to announce the President of the United States!
There's rapturous applause, and Bartlet climbs up the stairs and waves. He's smiling, but he looks out of breath.
Dad doesn't look so good, comes another voice from behind us. It's Elizabeth, with Annie and Greg behind her.
Zoey looks concerned. Is Mom there?
I don't know, she responds.
Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, Bartlet begins. I know you kids are eager to see the magic of Christmas come alive, but you'll have to excuse the blabbering of an old man before we can proceed.
There's laughter, and I can tell the crowd is warming up towards him.
No matter what your religious affiliation may be... he pauses and takes a deep breath. I'm not sure from this distance, but I think he closes his eyes for a moment.
Good God, says Elizabeth. Annie, can you give me the cell phone? I'm going to call your grandmother.
No matter what your religious affiliation may be, Bartlet continues, Christmas is a time for family and looking towards peace on earth... He closes his eyes again, and hunches over. For a second.
CJ says, he's not going to make it. I'm going to run back to the office. The press will be asking me questions. She pushes herself through the crowd, and I watch helplessly as the President clings to the microphone. There's murmuring throughout the crowd.
...a time of sharing, a time of joy, and a time where we come together as the human race to... and he falls to the floor of the stage, much to the surprise of the crowd. The front row screams with shock, and Josh looks back at me with a pale expression.
We're going back to the office, he says. Elizabeth, have you gotten hold of your mother?
She nods and puts the cellphone back up to her ear. I'm going to keep this with me until I find her, with this crowd.
A Secret Service woman quietly says to her, Call your mom. We're going to take you to a safe place. It's just a precaution. Tell your mom to meet us there.
Elizabeth gets back on the phone, and a small group of us hurry back to the White House.
****
We regroup in Leo's office.
What should I tell the press? CJ asks.
There's a long pause, and she looks slightly embarrassed that the first words out of her mouth are about the press.
Tell them the President passed out, Leo says firmly. Tell them the Secret Service are investigating but they're pretty sure it's related to the MS. He looks pale and tired, but resiliant at the same time.
Have you gotten a hold of Abbey? I ask. We've got to keep updated on the President's condition.
Leo says. She'll tell us when there's a new development. Toby, Will, we need you to write an official press statement. I'm assuming as the night wears on the press will want to hear from Abbey or another member of the family.
The path from Leo's office to mine is hectic. Many of the staffers came back after hearing about the President, if for no other reason than that they're curious about the recent developments. Bonnie and Ginger stand by my office, waiting.
Oh, my God, says Ginger. Toby, I was-- I took my nephew and it was--horrible, she says.
I stand there awkwardly. I never know what to do when people become emotional. For some odd reason I've always been able to understand CJ, but usually I'm at a loss. So I do the first thing that comes to mind. I do what I did with the shooting, and after Zoey returned safely: I hug Bonnie and Ginger in turn.
Then I sneak into my office and turn on CNN. ...about fifteen minutes ago, when President Bartlet passed out, giving the traditional Christmas speech. White House Correspondent Daniel Meadows reports.
The camera pans over Daniel Meadows, who's standing outside on the front lawn. Thank you, Marissa. We don't know too much about what just happened. No gunfire was shot off before the president collapsed, so witnesses are telling us they believe he fell over from some internal nature. The Secret Service is investigating to make sure there's no terrorism threat. They assure us it's standard procedure. President Bartlet is being taken to George Washington Memorial Hospital. We're expecting a statement from the White House in the next few minutes.
I turn off the television and walk down the hall. Will is standing there in his office, looking crestfallen, and staring at the television.
Will, we need a brief statement. Get in contact with the hospital and see what the President's condition is. I'm going to go talk to Leo for a moment and see what's going on.
This seems to break Will out of his reverie, and he turns from the television and nods. he whispers.
I hurry down the hall, and Josh is already in Leo's office. Has Abbey called yet? I ask.
Leo says. Did you get started on a statement?
Yeah. I just told Will to call the hospital.
Suddenly, the phone rings. Josh, Leo, and I jump. We wait expectantly as Leo answers the phone. Yeah. Okay. Okay... we'll be there. Thanks.
He hangs up the phone and says, That was Abbey. For the moment, the President is unconscious. She wants us to come down to the hospital. Be sure Will knows that, Toby.
I hurry back to my office, and Will is holding the phone with one hand and typing with the other, trying to get someone at the hospital to tell him what's going on. By his face I can tell it's not going well.
The President is unconscious.
He looks up and nods slowly.
This is going to be a long night.
****
After CJ gave the briefing, we went down to the hospital. I've learned to hate these walls. We've been here because of shootings, test results, and now because the President is sick.
If I never have to see this hospital again, it'll be too soon.
I sit down, and I realize how tired I am. My legs ache and my head is throbbing. I put my head back against the wall and take a deep breath. The walls are decorated with lights, and fake trees are leaning against the wall, decorated. Hark, The Herald Angels Sing is playing on the overhead.
CJ sits down next to me, and holds my hand. She looks pale and worn. CNN is playing on the television, and she watches a repeat of her press conference. You know, I've never quite gotten used to the picture of me on the screen, she says suddenly.
Well, you look great.
I had some intuition when I asked you along on the campaign.
She laughs. Sadly. Bitterly. But it's still a laugh. Remember when you came and I fell into the pool?
How could I forget?
And we went inside and I made pancakes while you told me about Jed Bartlet?
Lopsided pancakes.
Hey, don't make fun of my pancake-making skills.
Wouldn't dream of it, I say, amused. Remember that one night on the campaign bus when you puked?
Okay, why are we making fun of me?
Because it's so much fun.
You take enjoyment out of my pain.
Remember when we won? she says quietly. It's clear in my memory. Josh walked up to Bartlet and said, CNN, NBC, and countless other networks are declaring you the winner.' And remember Bartlet's face when we all started calling him Mr. President?
I do.
And remember Cheese Day? God, we've done so much together. We've seen assassination attempts, Sam losing faith, Sam leaving. Toby, why did Sam lose faith in us?
How do you answer that? He was still idealistic. He didn't want to acknowledge that humans have the power to-- What's the word? Destroy? Betray? --fail to live up to standards, I finish lamely.
I can see the meaning's not lost on her. I wonder briefly if she knows the appropriate word for it, and she nods. I want to quit, she says for the scond time this evening.
No, you don't. I've got to tell you something my mother once told me.
This is dragging up some unwanted memories, and I take a deep breath, thinking CJ is ready to hear this. When I was four years old, my cousin, his name was Stephen, died in a car crash. He was a lot older than I was. Twelve years' difference.
He was like a big brother to me. Took me everywhere I wanted to go. So when he died, I was devestated. Frightened.
CJ stares me right in the face. She's pale, sad.
My mother knew I wasn't old enough to understand about God's wisdom and what happens to us when we die. So she used the stars as a metaphor, because David liked to stargaze. She said, Look to the stars, Toby. They silently bless us. Through the hard times, remember that the stars have awesome power.'
Interesting metaphor, says CJ, eyes filling with tears. Do you think the stars still silently bless you?
Well, now I understand about God, but there's a part of me that likes to look at the stars and believe that they bless us.
She's crying now, humble, breathless, broken. I know she wants to leave it all, but she's too loyal. She doesn't want to watch Bartlet fade away firsthand, but I know there's a part of her that realizes that watching it secondhand would be much, much worse. CJ turns and smiles at me, tears still streaming down her face. If the stars still bless you, you've got it good, she decides.
Then a nurse comes in, looking tired. We, uh, just wanted to let you know, the President is awake and is expected to mostly recover.
We both stand, and I squeeze CJ's hand.
I think you may be right, she says as we head into the President's hospital room.
****
Bartlet is on medication. He looks at CJ and me. We've been hanging out all night, and the nurses have been giving us knowing glances. When we explain this to him, he says seriously, I'll bet the nurses think you two are married. You're not married, are you?
Not the last time we checked, sir, says CJ as the President leans back against the pillow, satisfied with her answer. How are you feeling?
he says. Where's everyone else?
They're coming, sir.
As if on cue, Josh, Donna, Leo, Abbey, Charlie, and Will crowd into the room.
Okay, so who the hell is running the country right now?
The Vice President's got the reigns for the moment, Josh says. Which means you should try to get better as soon as humanly possible.
I'll do my best for you there, Skippy, Bartlet says, laughing at his own joke.
The nurse pokes her head in the room. My, a little party. I just came in here to say the President should be out in a few days, so there's not much you can do here. She comes in fully. Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable, sir?
You could send me home, he says, hopefully. Any chance of that?
I'm sorry, sir, no.
She seems to be trying to decide whether the President's joking or not.
Well, shoot.
She smiles and puts some pills on the tray in front of him. Just press this button if you need anything. She points to a little red button on the side of the tray. Good night, sir.
When she leaves, I ask, Is there anything we can do for you, sir?
Leave me alone. With my wife.
We all mumble various versions of Yes, sir, and leave.
Maybe the stars have more power than I used to think.