AUTHOR'S NOTES: (1) From here on out, the shuttle/leak thing didn't happen. – Why? Because it's boring, stupid and this is my story. (2) Leo as VP candidate didn't happen. – Why? Because I can't suspend disbelief quite that far and it doesn't work for where I plan to take this story. And this is my story.
Writing this chapter forced me to have to re-watch that god-awful season finale. (And no, don't e-mail me to tell me how good it was. I've heard the arguments. All of them. And I still think they strapped on the skis and leather jacket.) Anyway, I suffered through it again to get the dialog and time frame right. For you, I did this. And after this chapter, John Wells can go to hell.
This is for my three sisters - Suze, Birdie, and E. I love you guys!
Slimwhistler has been betaing/musing for me. She knows the "big picture" for this story and still lets me e-mail her all times of the day and night. She is a goddess.
Outtabreath has been the best damned bus driver I have ever met and the MSM Road-Trip may make a stop near some of you soon, so keep an eye out for us!
PHOTOGRAPHS (19)
It was 3:00 a.m. Most of the staff was asleep around the table and Josh found himself dazed in his chair, sitting ramrod straight, with his hands on top of his head.
This can't be happening.
The white board against the wall showed that Governor Baker was sweeping away months of hard work in just a matter of hours. The days and nights on the road, the bad food, the buses and trains, the strange people, the hours of begging and pleading for money and time. It all came down to this.
Josh stood up wearily and walked over to the board. Baker was taking away their big states and Hoynes was sitting on his delegates. Rubbing his eyes, Josh studied the numbers.
There has to be something...
They had been calling. All day and into the night. They cajoled and threatened. But Baker still gained on Santos and Russell with no end in sight.
"We're 'this' close."
"That doesn't count, Josh," a tired voice said from behind him. Josh hadn't realized he said the words out loud and turned to find Rhonna standing up from her chair and stretching.
"What?"
"It doesn't count. 'This' close," she said, holding her index finger and thumb an inch apart, "counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. Not here."
Josh rubbed his eyes again. "I need some air."
Rhonna looked around the room at her sleeping colleagues.
"I'll go with you. If I sit there any longer, I'm going to turn into a pretzel."
The two grabbed their security badges and left the war room. The campaign staff for each candidate had been given space in the conference rooms that ringed the top floor of the convention center. Spaced far enough apart that fist-fights wouldn't break out in the hallway, the staffers pretty much kept to themselves.
Stepping out of the elevator they found themselves on the ground floor of the center, dodging cleaning crew and other staffers dazedly wandering around. Cooped in the building all day, it soon became difficult to tell day from night, one day from the next, and everyone involved on the back-end of the event soon developed a shell-shocked expression – it became the manner in which they recognized one another.
Josh led Rhonna through the security gate and outside into the summer night. San Francisco was never quiet, but the hum of the street and the flow of traffic were certainly muted at this time of the early, early morning. Walking over to a bench, Josh sat down heavily, leaned against the back of the bench and closed his eyes.
What did I do wrong?
There had to be something. It was all about the win. It has always been about the win. Matt may not have seen that, and the staff may not have acknowledged that, but Josh always knew it in his heart. It was about the win.
Because without the win, what do I have left?
Rhonna was sitting quietly next to him looking up at the night sky. She knew her boss was tired, edgy, and completely overworked and if sitting next to him quietly was what he needed, she'd do it. He was the genius that got them this far. Well, Josh and Matt, but it had been Josh's idea.
"There has to be someone we haven't called," Josh said softly.
"We can't call them now," Rhonna replied, never taking her eyes off the sky above her head.
"What?"
Looking over at Josh, she said tiredly, "We can't call them now. Calling someone at 3:00 a.m. is a surefire way of getting a resounding 'fuck you' and losing a vote."
Josh turned to Rhonna and said, "What did you just say?"
"It's something Natalie used to tell the volunteers who did the evening shift calls. Call someone at ..."
Rhonna's voice disappeared as Josh remembered hearing Natalie say those words at the Philadelphia headquarters.
Natalie.
Josh tried to think back to the last time he had seen Natalie, but couldn't remember. In the last month of the campaign, things had gotten so hectic and confused that he couldn't remember where he had been on any given day. He knew he hadn't seen her for a few weeks at least and thought that he needed to ask around to see what had happened to her.
When this is over...
Groaning, Josh rubbed his eyes and looked at his watch. He knew he should go back to the hotel to shower and get an hour or two of sleep, but the effort that required seemed much better spent in trying to find a way to grab more delegates from the floor.
"We've got to go upstairs and wake everybody up. We need to find a way to get this," Josh said standing up and stretching. "I don't care if it takes gallons of coffee and special visits from the tooth fairy, we've got to find a way."
"Josh..." Rhonna said from her seat on the bench.
Turning toward her, Josh said vehemently, "We can't give up. Not yet. If the time comes when we need to get out of this, we will, but not now, not yet."
Rhonna studied his face and knew that he was serious and would take it down to the wire, if need be. She admired the tenacity of this man, his ability to get something in his teeth and fight for it until he was all but drained. But this...
Sighing heavily, Rhonna stood and started walking toward the door to the Convention Center, "Okay, boss. Let's go wake the troops."
Smiling, Josh scurried to catch up with her and felt his second (or was it fifth) wind coming on.
XXX
The Convention Center was eerie when it was empty. Well, not quite empty. The delegates were absent, but there were random people scurrying back and forth, cleaning, and preparing for the third night. But regardless of the people moving by him, he was still alone.
Matt Santos had never thought he would get this far. When Josh Lyman came to his house that December night, he thought he would get through a couple of primaries, get lost behind the big names, and graciously bow out to go home to Texas.
Not this. Never this.
And now, he was here. He was on the verge of being able to take all those dreams and all those promises and make them real.
"You have to quit, Congressman."
Leo McGarry's words echoed in his head. He knew it would come to this. He knew when Josh had repeatedly come to him, "Take the VP spot", "We'll never get California", that the other man had been quietly pushed by powers far higher than himself to say those things.
"We have to unite behind the candidate."
Matt leaned over and put his head in his hands. If he dropped out now and threw his weight behind Russell or Baker, the Convention would be tied up neat and clean and he would leave San Francisco the darling of the Party. But that wasn't what he wanted.
These back-room dealings left a sour taste in his mouth and made him wonder why he had ever entered politics. The delegates who stood on the floor of this room should make those decisions, not men in the shadows. That isn't democracy. That may be what the big men in the power suits thought passed for democracy, but Matt was certain if the people who traveled from all over the country to represent their states knew what had been asked of him, they'd feel differently.
"...we need these last days to put our message before the American people."
Their message? Baker and Russell had no message and the Democratic Party and made no moves to emphasize a message that he had seen. Message? What message were they going to send? "Hey, America - You thought you had the right to choose, but little did you know?"
Standing up, Matt looked around the Convention Center. Never in his wildest dreams in that tiny, little Texas town did he think he would be here. He pictured the depression, the dirt, the sadness and the feeling of hopelessness that pervaded the community of his youth. And he thought of the children who still lived there.
They were the reason why he was here. They were the reason why he had come this far. And they would be the reason why he wouldn't give up. Not yet.
XXX
Josh stood backstage and gauged Santos from underneath of his eyelashes. The Congressman was inscrutable and quietly paced back and forth.
He knew that Leo had been to see Matt. It wasn't often that the President's handmaiden delivered personal messages and Josh knew that the Congressman knew the weight of the occasion. And yet Josh still didn't know what Santos was going to do. In his heart, there was a glimmer of hope that Matt would walk on stage and tell the Powers That Be in the Party to kiss his ass. But the pragmatic side of Josh knew that probably wouldn't happen. What were the odds that a junior Congressman from Texas would tell the President of the United States to shove it on national television in prime time?
"Josh, it's been a great ride," Matt said softly, fatigue resting heavily in an aura around him.
Josh felt his heart sink as he responded, "What'ya say we try again sometime?"
Reaching out and shaking his hand, Santos responded, "Anytime. You just pick up the phone. I'll be there
The crowd outside was being warmed up for Matt's appearance on stage and they could hear the noise growing. As his name was announced, Matt turned to meet Helen, who was standing aside to wish him luck. Josh stepped back into the shadows and held his breath, knowing the next five minutes would change his life, no matter what words were spoken on stage.
XXX
Helen Santos watched her husband and Josh speak quietly and while she couldn't hear the words, she could tell from the way Josh hung his head when Matt turned to approach her that he thought it was over.
To be honest, she didn't know what was in her husband's speech. He hadn't let anyone read it and while she knew what had been asked of him, she left the decision completely in his court.
But she knew what was in her husband's heart. She knew that he had struggled for years to get his hopes and dreams for America's children, for the children in his own home town, out in front of the people who could make a difference. If anything, this campaign had been a platform to make his voice heard among all the other voices ringing out on any given day in Washington.
In the moments before he went on stage, Matt and Helen stood silently together. They had worked long and hard for this moment. The sacrifices they had made would be a litany of troubles to fill hours of therapist time, she was certain. But to get to this point, it was worth it.
Helen Santos didn't know what her husband had written, but she knew what he was going to say.
XXX
He had heard the speech. He knew he had heard the speech. But in the hours afterward, and in the days to follow, Josh couldn't remember a single word of it. Just the feeling of exhilaration that rose in his chest as Matthew Santos, the Congressman from Texas, threw down the gauntlet in front of the Democratic Party and the rest of America.
People came up to him afterward, slapped him on the back and told him what an amazing guy Matt Santos really turned out to be.
I knew that, he thought, I knew that months ago. Where have you been?
When the President threw his weight behind Santos and brought them the Teachers Union, the votes started rolling in and the totals on the white board in the war room swayed over in their favor.
As the hour of the acceptance speech approached, Josh and Matt sat down with Ricki Rafferty's people and lined up the first Latino/woman ticket to run in American history. If they were going to be groundbreaking, it wasn't going to be just inches down. They were going for feet here.
And the delegates loved it. The polls showed the American public did, too.
Josh thought back over the last seven months. He had believed, doubted, and believed again. He had crawled out of bed in strange rooms 99 percent of the time and had learned that Dunkin Donuts coffee does taste different in different places. He had learned that Rhonna could sing Madonna tunes pretty much on key andNed did a great Ewan McGregor impersonation. Helen Santos liked turkey sandwiches on rye and Matt Santos played a mean game of gin rummy.
But he had also learned that everyday Americans can stand up and make a difference. That a poor Latino boy in Texas could break down barriers and do things that no one had ever done before.
And when all was said and done, seven months after this journey began, he could still say he believed.
(To be continued.)
