Title: Peripheral Vision
Author: Tinkerbell99
Rating: T
Disclaimer: The characters are not my creation, they belong to someone else.
Summary: And so it was that Donna joined the campaign, but what else happened that day? Told through the voices of those on the outside of the main event.
POV: CJ
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
"No, no I did not tell your news director he needed to order a smaller sized podium. I asked him to keep in mind camera angles for press stills and film footage." The intern on the other end of the line repeats his position regarding campaign interference in public events before breaking up in a wave of static. "Hello? Hello? Listen, you little twerp, get your boss on the line or get-" Beep. Call ended. Fantastic. In a moment of frustration, I let out a screech of rage and pound my cell against the nearest solid object - in this case, my desk.
"Bad reception?" Toby, munching on something from a Styrofoam plate, rounds the corner into my area just in time to witness the end of my tantrum.
"In a manner of speaking, yes." Where did that piece of plastic on my desk come from? "I've been on and off the phone for the last hour and a half trying to clear up the podium thing. I finally get through to the people I need and my damn phone cuts me off." Is that a crack on my-
"You're using your cell?"
"Yes." Although not anymore. I've now broken my cell phone.
"You didn't try a land line?"
"No, Toby. I thought that in the interest of the campaign I'd amass a cell phone bill of such gargantuan proportions that there is no possible way I will ever pay it off on such a lucrative salary as I am making now. Of course I tried a land line! In fact, I tried it so many times, it seems I've managed to irritate every other person in the press office who wanted to use the aforementioned land line." Maybe I can glue it back together.
He raises his eyebrows, but doesn't speak. The antennae breaks off in my hand.
Maybe not.
"In the interest of harmony I decided to use my cell and give someone else a chance at the office lines." Not to mention the fact that every time I answer a phone today it's some local crazy wanting comments on the Governor's position on bumper stickers or stolen trash cans. We may be more effective at getting our message out to the public if the public would stop trying to get its messages to us. "My phone plan was working, but unfortunately, Channel Seven, through the haze of static, seems to have misinterpreted my concerns."
"Misinterpreted how?"
"Michael Donovan, the site coordinator for this evening, is upset that I have asked him to order a smaller podium for the Governor's speech." I shove my now useless phone into the top drawer of my desk.
"You asked for a smaller podium?"
"No, I didn't ask him for a smaller podium. I asked him to keep in mind camera angles so we could avoid a repeat of the 'Little Candidate Who Could' thing!"
"You know, a smaller podium might not be such a bad thing, as opposed to the midget and dwarf references we got in the Times."
"Yeah, 'cause every time we do a public event, we really want photos a of a miniature podium being wheeled to the stage so our guy can actually be seen. William Wiley walks right up and talks, but Jed Bartlet has to use a highchair? That's the image we want to feed the public?"
"Yeah. No, you're right. Talk to them about camera angles." I'll do that, provided I can find a working phone. Toby continues to poke at the plate in his hand.
"You're eating pie?"
He chews for a moment, then swallows before looking up. "Yes."
"Where did you get pie?" Not only does he beat me to the coffee, but he also gets the pie?
"I don't really know. She just… I don't really know."
"Okay, then." He turns his fork on it's side and breaks the crust into pieces. I give up on the pie and resign myself to an overdue conversation. "Toby? The thing this morning…" He makes a little waving motion, but I need to say this. "I wanted to apologize. I should have made sure he was on schedule." For as much as this has been on my mind, I'm really at a loss for how to continue. "I was thinking…maybe you'd be better off getting someone else in this job."
The pie plate is abandoned on my desk as Toby puts one hand in his pocket and rubs the back of his neck with the other. "You think…huh…you think we'd be better off getting someone else to do your job?"
"I just mean because I've never worked nationwide and I'm not the most qualified person for-"
"Qualified? You're worried about being qualified?" He's pacing now. I shouldn't have brought this up. "It isn't…Take a look around! See where the last twenty years of qualified have gotten us! You saw the guy this morning. Twenty years of qualified sure as hell didn't do anything for him." He stops pacing and calms suddenly. "That isn't what we're about. New ideas. A new kind of campaign. A better candidate. That's what'll win it. Not qualified."
"All I mean is that maybe I'm not the best person to do this. My mistake cost us this morning-" He tries to interrupt, but I'm not finished. "-and I don't want any more of them to cost us the election."
"They're not your mistakes." He says it so quietly, I'm not even sure I heard him.
"What?"
"They're not all your mistakes. The thing this morning wasn't. It wasn't your fault." He sighs. "You're doing good work here. We can't afford to lose you."
The lump in my throat prevents me from saying anything for a few moments. Toby, meanwhile, has reclaimed his pie and is pushing the last sliver around his plate. "You really think I can do this?"
"Excuse me, CJ?" Before I get my answer, we're interrupted by Josh's assistant. "I keep getting these calls about a missing trash can? The local newspaper wants to know if we have a comment on someone from the office removing yard clippings from a street."
Yard clipping sfrom a street? As if I don't have enough to deal with. "I've had local crazies with this thing all afternoon. One of them gets an idea and the rest of them pounce like it's Watergate. Tell them to stuff their story into a trash can. I have enough on my hands with the legitimate crazies."
Donna nods and glances at Toby, who is busy brushing crumbs off my desk. With raised eyebrows, he asks, "Trash cans?"
"Last week they claimed we blocked traffic on Main Street for three hours so the Governor could take a bike ride. Just ignore the local press. Lord knows I do." Donna leaves, and Toby begins to head for the door as well.
"She's the one who gave me the pie."
"You never answered my question."
He pauses in the doorway. "Which was what, exactly?"
"Do you think I can do this?"
A pause, then, "Yeah." Without elaborating, he disappears.
Twenty minutes and four phone calls later, I've settled with Michael Donovan on camera angles and confirmed our appearance and our podium satisfaction for tonight. The Governor will be speaking to a crowd of supporters and taking questions. Local news will carry the whole event and if we're lucky, CNN will pick up the speech. Now all I need to do is actually transport the Governor to the site before the cameras start rolling. Grabbing my notes, I read through the latest updates as I head over to Leo's office. Head buried in a binder, I don't see much outside my notes until I'm at his door.
"Leo, I've been looking at scheduling and we need to have the Governor at the site by five and oh my God!" I stop myself before taking a header over the giant silver trash can in Leo's doorway. Branches peek out from under the lid and I'm almost positive there's a cricket chirping from somewhere inside.
"What the hell is that?"
"What?" Leo looks up from a pile of briefings.
"That!" I would think it would be obvious. "The giant trash can with the leaves and the sticks and 781 Spruce Street painted on the side! Leo, tell me we did not steal this from 781 Spruce Street!"
"Yeah, I meant to give you a heads up on that…"
I really thought this was just the local crazies being, well, crazy.
It would appear that I was wrong.
We are the local crazies.
Fantastic.