"How did Josh manage to weasel his way into the preface?" Toby growled.
"It could have been you," CJ answered, leaning to peer over her husband's shoulder, "but you don't show your outward loathing for Republicans quite so much."
"Mark's just lucky that vengeance isn't Jewish," Toby scoffed, flipping the page to read the dedication.
This book is dedicated to the original members of the Legacy, the ones who taught us what it really meant and the ones who held it together after the legend himself was gone.
I'd like to extend a special thanks to Toby Ziegler whose books inspired me. And, although I know well that vengeance isn't Jewish, this hopefully saves me in case he ever decides to convert.
"So, when are we going to see this second book or yours, Toby?" Leo asked as they all filed into the large dining room and took their places around the big oval table.
Toby sighed, passing a hand over his bald head in frustration. CJ answered for him. "His publishers are being sticky about the release date this time around. I think that it's because your book and Jed's book all come out at around the same time, Leo. We aren't even getting advance copies."
"You don't think that it's because his last book almost cracked the best seller list and his wife is up for a Pulitzer?" Charlie pointed out, pushing Zoey's chair in and then settling in next to his wife.
"This isn't the kind of shop talk that I was expecting," Sam commented.
"There will be no shop talk whatsoever this evening," Abbey declared, sinking down into her seat at the foot of the table, "or you will get no pie."
"I'd be careful," Jed cautioned. "She's serious when she talks about withholding the dessert. You can usually get around the other stuff." Abbey gave Jed a warning glare, but he just grinned and wagged his finger at her. "I know you too well."
"Mark, would you like to say the blessing?" Abbey asked, passing the breadbasket down to him.
The ungainly young man stood awkwardly, extending his hands out over the basket. "Baruch atah Adonai elohynu melech ha-olam ha-mo-tzi lechem min ha-aretz," he intoned self-consciously before moving to his half-filled wine glass. "Baruch atah Adonai elohynu melech ha-olam bo-ray p'ree ha-gafen." Then he moved to hold his hands out generally over the entire table. "Baruch atah Adonai elohynu melech ha-olam sher-ha-kol neeh-yeh bid-yah-ro." His face red, he dropped thankfully back down into his seat.
"Thank you, Mark," Jed said. "Alex, your turn." Her face flushed almost instantly as she pushed herself to her feet. "You know which way."
Clasping her hands and bowing her head, she shyly said, "Benedic nos Domine et haec tua dona, quae sumuus sumturi de largitate tua per Christum Dominum nostrum." Her hand, along with Jed's and a few others, moved to make the sign of the cross as she finished, "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen."
As she sank back down into her seat, the food began to make its smooth path around the table. Sam couldn't help reflecting that it was the first time they had gathered around the big table that Jed hadn't said the grace. And Toby usually said the Hebrew blessing over bread. He and Leo had arrived only a few minutes before supper. How much had the two of them missed while they were held up at Mallory's?
"So," Sam commented, scooping out a mound of mashed potatoes, "what did we miss?"
"Girls gossiping in the kitchen," Josh told him disdainfully.
"And men making the house smell like smoke," Donna countered with a sniff.
"And all of the shop talk that you're going to hear until after we're done eating and the dishes are done," Abbey told him firmly.
"What else are we supposed to talk about?" Toby growled good-humouredly, buttering his roll.
There was a dangerous twinkle in Jed's eyes as he answered lightly, "I'm sure that I could think of something."
Everyone, from the former senior staffers to the current students, stifled their groans. They all recognized that look. "Well, sir, I was hoping that Mr McGarry could tell us something about his upcoming book," Alex said quickly. "You never know when it might come in handy as background for a thesis, sir," she added with a grin at Jed.
"Sir?" Josh questioned. "How come they get still get to call you sir? When we call you sir we get punished."
"No, Josh," Jed responded. "When you call me sir you get the privilege of being educated about the reproductive habits of the insects of the Brazilian rainforest. They call me sir because I haven't managed to convince them that I'm not their professor this weekend."
"Well," Leo answered, "I'm not telling anyone about anything until you start calling us by our proper names, none of this titles thing."
"Of course, sir." That earned Sarah a warning look from Leo. "Leo," she corrected herself swiftly.
"Sir Leo?" Margaret repeated. "Don't start calling him that or he'll get even more of a swelled head than he already has." She reached out a hand to tenderly pat her boss's hand as she teased him.
"And don't bother asking me about the book. I'm sure that it's been lost somewhere in her filing system," Leo retorted. "I tried to hire her an assistant but we went through three in the first week because they couldn't deal with her system or her computer."
"I don't need an assistant," Margaret answered pointedly. "A maid, however, I could use."
"You mean to say that you haven't hired your wife a maid yet?" Abbey exclaimed. Leo mumbled something in answer. "What was that? Speak up, old man," she directed.
"He said that he wouldn't need a maid if his wife didn't work as his assistant," Josh supplied helpfully. "Oh, Leo, you're in trouble now," he added as he realized what Leo had said.
"Leo McGarry, you're just lucky to have found a wife who's willing to work with you," Donna told him firmly. "And admit that you wouldn't want another assistant. Those first few weeks after you started helping Sam, when Margaret was still with the Justice Department, you went through assistants even faster than Josh."
"Did it ever occur to you that there might have been a reason I didn't say that out loud?" Leo questioned, ignoring Donna to turn on Josh.
"Maybe," Josh answered. "But it's fun to get them all riled up."
"Did it ever occur to you that you probably shouldn't have said that out loud either?" CJ pointed out, raising her eyebrows to look across the table at Josh.
Josh gulped a little and tried to change the topic, "So, Toby, how's the book coming?"
Toby stared at him blankly, almost as if he still couldn't believe how much of an idiot Josh was. "I thought we had moved past that in the first thirty seconds of the conversation. It's at the publisher. They're being ridiculous about it. End of story."
"Gee, sir," Jack quipped, "I hope that your book is a little more verbose than that. Succinctness is a necessary quality from time to time, but that's exceedingly far past what could ever be considered obligatory."
"Drop the titles," Leo reminded.
"He's mocking me," Toby countered. "When he's mocking me he has to call me sir."
"You know, he mocks you a lot, Toby," Josh noted. "That takes guts, man," he told Jack.
Leo leaned over to Jed as Jack and Toby started sparring back and forth across the table, the bowl of corn a buffer between them. "These aren't just any kids," he accused Jed softly.
"No," he whispered back. "Look at them. What do you see?"
"Danielle Steele writes plot-deficient stories for the barely literate and she still manages to make it to the bedside table of the majority of women," Alex was asserting. "The best-seller lists are reflections of popularity, not content or workmanship. It's a pop culture gauge, not a device for literary criticism."
"You dare compare Danielle Steele to Charles Dickens?" Sam wondered, absently twirling his fork between his fingers.
"Simply because Dickens lived in a different era doesn't mean that he wasn't immune to writing for profit and not for craft," Jack responded. "Dickens and Dumas, considered great writers now, were both paid by the word. Would their stories have been classics had they not been profit-driven?"
"The economy of fine art isn't worth considering," Toby retorted. "When you're looking at Dickens or a Rembrandt you don't want to see the financer behind it."
"I'll have to let that one go on account of the 'no shop talk' rule," Jack declared. "I want pie."
"They're us," Leo answered.