To Dance the Sky
It is often wondered whether Franklin Roosevelt would have been elected had he had to run the veritable gauntlet of television reporters and public scrutiny that today's politicians are subjected to. Would the American public have elected a president who was confined to a wheelchair?
Perhaps the closest that we can come to answering that question is to look at the second Bartlet campaign. The American public elected a president with a potentially debilitating medical condition that had been originally concealed from them. This was in no small part to the tireless work of the original members of the Legacy.
It is perhaps this campaign, more so than the first, which truly founded the Legacy.
"Josiah Bartlet," Abbey began sternly, a suppressed grin lighting up her eyes, "if you wouldn't go traipsing about the house in the middle of the night you might be able to drag your sorry self out of bed in time to read your paper before breakfast."
"Me?" He pointed to himself, assuming an air of innocence.
"Don't even try that with me," she answered, lovingly swatting him upside the head with the confiscated paper. "You can read your paper after breakfast."
"Sarah is having her article published today. Danny gave her a chunk of prime editorial space in exchange for an exclusive about studying under a former president," Jed explained, reaching out in an attempt to take the paper from her. "It's not every day that a former student gets something published in the Washington Post."
"In that case…" Abbey snapped the paper, flipping expertly to the editorial section. She looked at Jed over the top of the paper.
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"Eat your breakfast."
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"Who needs breakfast?" Toby growled, squinting at the sun pouring into the kitchen in their California home. "All I need are a couple of gallons of black coffee."
"Eat," CJ ordered pushing the plate across the small table towards him. "Or I don't give you the paper."
Toby waved his newspaper in front of her. "Empty threat, Claudia Jean. I've already got my paper."
"Not that paper," she said, pulling another one out from underneath her chair. "This paper. It's got Sarah's thing in it." Toby grabbed at it, but CJ was faster, shoving it behind her back. "Now eat your breakfast."
"You've been taking lessons from Abbey Bartlet," he grumbled, sinking a fork into his eggs. Beneath his breath, he muttered something uncharitable about the former first lady and his wife.
"Who do you think made sure we got the paper?" CJ asked sweetly. "And who do you think controls said paper at this moment?"
Toby grumbled something else around his mouthful of eggs.
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"What was that? I couldn't quite make it out."
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Donna spit her mouthful of toothpaste into the sink. "I said, Sarah's thing was in the paper today. You should read it."
"I hope she took my advice and did an Op-ed piece on what the Republicans are optimistically calling their new strategy," Josh called from the bedroom, buttoning the cuffs on his shirt.
"She's been aiming to get a job at the Post since she graduated. You really think that with a Republican president and a Republican Senate Danny could take her on with a trial piece like that?" Donna pointed out, wandering over to loop Josh's tie around his neck.
"Danny's the editor. He can do whatever he wants." Josh fumbled with the fabric for a moment. "You wanna come and do that thing you do?" He gestured to the wrinkled strip of fabric hanging around his neck.
"You used to be able to tie a tie before I came along," she pointed out, making short work of the knot. "I've spoiled you, Josh Lyman."
"You still don't bring me coffee," he whined. "And now you don't bring me the paper either."
"Not when I want to read it first I don't," she retorted, evaluating herself in the mirror. "You'll have the Post waiting for you in your office."
"You have the Post at your office, too," he griped, shrugging on his suit jacket.
"You know very well that I've got a meeting with the Minority Leader first thing and then I'm in committee meetings all day," she said sweetly. "You'll make sure that Joan and Noah get their lunch money?"
"I don't see why you won't let me make them lunch," Josh complained.
"Josh, I don't trust you to make your own lunch, never mind lunch for our ten-year-old children. Just give them their lunch money and make sure they make it to school on time." Donna gathered up the papers she had spread around the room, neatly slipping them into her briefcase.
"I'm betting that when Leo was Jed's chief of staff he never had to take the girls to school or give them lunch money."
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"Last time I checked the two of them weren't married."
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"What do you mean the last time you checked?" Leo asked with an air of suffering and grudgingly lowered his paper.
"I mean, the last time that I asked him they weren't married yet," Margaret explained, peeling the paper off her bran muffin.
"You don't think that getting married would be something important enough to tell people about?"
"Eat your grapefruit. And remember that we didn't tell anyone for nearly a month."
Leo sighed and jabbed at the offending piece of fruit with a spoon. "There were extenuating circumstances," he sighed.
"If by extenuating circumstances you mean not wanting Jed to win the pool," Margaret returned.
"There was a pool?" Leo asked.
"Don't try that innocent thing on me, Leo," she warned. "I've been your assistant for more years than I've been your wife. I can tell when you're faking it."
"What about Donna going into labour? Was that not extenuating enough?"
"Donna went into labour two weeks into your little charade. You even made me take off my wedding rings when I went in to visit so that Jed wouldn't find out." Margaret accompanied her words with a look that used to stop diplomats in their tracks.
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"It wasn't that bad."
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"Did you read it?" Sarah moaned, burying her face in her hands. "What ever made me think that I could possibly write for the Post?"
"Perhaps the fact that you've dreamed of it your entire life?" Alex asked, waving a doughnut near her face. "Now come on, you've got to eat something."
Sarah showed her face for long enough to take a bite of the pastry, not even bothering to take it from Alex's hand. "Mark'll see it," she groaned around the mouthful of cream filling and chocolate frosting.
"You didn't attack him. You didn't attack the Republican Party. You attacked a piece of legislation that is never going to pass because it's just plain bad politics," Alex explained, taking a bite herself before offering it back to Sarah.
"It's a piece of legislation that's the pet project of President Nicholson. There's no way that I'll ever get a job at a respectable paper now."
"And Inside Politics isn't a respectable paper? Its editor is a former presidential press secretary, not to mention a Pulitzer Prize winner."
"Inside Politics is just a newsmagazine. And if I want to go anywhere with this thing, it's not Inside Politics or the Washington Times that I need. The Post is THE newspaper in this town. And I just blew my one big chance."
Alex reached for the phone, threatening, "Wait until I tell CJ that her baby is JUST a newsmagazine."
"You wouldn't dare," Sarah asserted, grabbing at the phone nonetheless.
"I'll consider not telling CJ what you said, if you go take a shower and get dressed. We're going out to celebrate." Sarah opened her mouth to protest but Alex just shoved the rest of the doughnut in. "Now go."
Sarah sighed, removed the excess food from her mouth, and traipsed off toward the bathroom of her small apartment. The water had no sooner started running in the shower when the phone rang.
"Hello?"
"Is this Sarah Sutherland's residence?" the voice on the other end of the line asked.
"It is; may I ask who is calling?"
"This is the human resource department of the Washington Times calling in regards to your job application," the woman answered, mistaking Alex for Sarah
"Could you hold on for one moment, please," Alex answered breathlessly. "I'll just go and get Miss Sutherland."
Carefully putting the woman on hold, she set the phone down and sprinted for the bathroom door. "Sarah, get out here right now. The Washington Times is on the phone."
Not even bothering to turn off the water, Sarah flew out of the bathroom, a towel hastily wrapped around herself.
Just as she was picking up the phone, the second line beeped. She hesitated for a second before taking the call, but hit the flashing button to pick up the second line. "Sarah Sutherland," she answered, trying to feign a calm that she didn't feel.
"Please hold for Daniel Concannon of the Washington Post."