Abbey Bartlet returned to her hotel room shortly after midnight. She quickly shed her blue strapless Gucci dress, which had been irritating her all evening, and slipped into a silk bathrobe. She kicked off her four-inch Manolo heels and pulled her hair out of the clip that held it off her neck. After drawing the curtains closed and turning on the light, Abbey walked over to the door that separated her room from Zoey's. She knocked on it lightly and waited for a response.
"Come in."
Abbey pushed the door open slowly and creeped into the dark room. The only light in the room was that of the muted television. Zoey Bartlet was lying in bed, motionless, as if she hadn't moved a muscle in hours. There were dark circles surrounding her eyes, and dried mascara below them.
"Zoey?"
"How was your date?" Zoey asked, sitting up.
"I think I'm a little too old to be calling it a date. But…it was fun. We went to the nicest restaurant in…"
"Mom."
Abbey stared at her momentarily, startled by the interruption. Zoey held up an large manila envelope.
"This came for you today."
"What is it?" Abbey asked, tentatively reaching for it.
"You know what it is. And so do I."
"You opened my mail!"
"Yeah. Why don't you do the same?"
Abbey reluctantly pulled the papers out of the envelope, her eyes quickly falling onto one thing, and one thing only.
"He signed it," she whispered.
"You sound surprised," Zoey observed.
Her eyes never leaving the signature, Abbey replied, "No."
"You're not surprised then?"
"Why would I be surprised?"
She quickly tried to pull herself together. It took all the strength she had inside her to muster up the confidence to speak with her daughter about this.
"Right. You shouldn't be. You asked for it. Literally, you asked for it."
"I know that, Zoey," Abbey said, defensively.
"Do you?"
"I know you're upset."
"Upset doesn't do it justice, Mother."
"Is that what we've come, Zoey? Calling me Mother? I thought you'd be pleased about this."
"What!" Zoey exclaimed in disbelief. "You thought I'd be pleased? What the hell would give you that idea?"
"Well, you do happen to be dating Tony's son."
"So that automatically means I want my parents to be separated!"
"Well…"
"No, Mom! I'm not pleased about this. Though, I'm sure as hell not as pissed as Liz is gonna be."
Abbey nodded.
"I'm going to bed."
"You mean you're gonna have a couple glasses of wine and drink yourself to sleep," Zoey said, cruelly.
"Let's not do this," Abbey said, distantly.
"How many bottles of Merlot have you finished off in the last week, Mom? Honestly."
"That is none of your business, Zoey."
"Wine is the new sleeping pill, I hear. Works, doesn't it?"
"Stop."
"Eleven is the answer," Zoey said.
"What?"
"Eleven bottles of wine in the last week."
"Zoey, please," Abbey whispered, on the verge of tears.
"Tell me, is wine good for easing the pain of a guilty conscience night after night? If this is hurting you so much, Mom, why are you doing it? Why cause everyone, yourself included, all the pain? What's the point? What good can come of this!"
"I don't know."
"What?" Zoey said, caught off-guard.
"I don't know."
Washington, D.C.
"No questions."
"But, Leo…"
"No questions, CJ. Not a one," Leo said, firmly.
"I think that's a mistake," Josh interjected.
"I don't care! CJ, I want you to go in there, read that statement, and then get the hell outta the press room. Are you hearing me!"
"Yes," CJ replied, her head bowed.
"Leo, the questions are going to be endless. If she doesn't answer them now, she'll just have to answer them later," Sam said.
"I have strict orders from the President of the United States. Remember him?"
When he received no response, Leo nodded and walked back behind his desk, sitting down in his chair.
"Good."
"This is a mistake, Leo," Josh said.
"Fill in the blank, Josh. You serve at the pleasure of the…."
"President," he murmured in reply.
"What was that?"
"President!"
"That's right. End of discussion. Get back to work."
The senior staff exchanged apprehensive glances, and did not move. They stared at their boss until finally, he looked up at them incredulously.
"What now?" Leo asked, letting out a heavy sigh.
"We were just wondering…" Will began.
"Is the President coming down today?" Toby asked.
"Of course he is," Leo answered, matter-of-factly.
"It's just that…he spent the entire weekend in the Residence," Sam said.
"Well, it's Monday now."
"Leo, is he okay?" CJ asked, clearly concerned.
"Sure."
"I'm serious."
"The President is just fine. He's been on his own for over a month now. The only thing that's different now, is the separation is legal and official. The last thing he needs is your pity," Leo said.
"But he could use our compassion," CJ said.
"I'm sure he could. But I would expect nothing less from the five of you."
Kent, England
Sir Anthony Prescott paced back and forth across the parlor in his Kent mansion, his eyes never leaving the telephone. He put his hands in his pockets, a nervous habit, then stopped walking. When the phone finally rang, he lunged for it without hesitation.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Dad."
"Damnit!" Tony exclaimed.
"I must say, I'm really feeling the love right now," Oliver said.
"As well you should. What the hell do you want, Ollie?"
"Just wanted to call and tell you how much I enjoy being your son."
"Whatever it is, make it snappy. I'm expecting a call," Tony said.
"You don't have call waiting?"
"Call what?"
"Waiting…nevermind. Who are you expecting the call from?" Oliver questioned.
"Abbey. She's supposed to come up this weekend."
"Oh. Uh. Well, I don't think she'll be phoning you today, Dad."
"What? Why?"
"I spoke to Zoey earlier. The separation papers came in the mail yesterday. Signed."
"All right. Well, that's what she wanted, right?" Tony said.
"I don't know. You know better than I do. But I'm sure that even if it was what she wanted, it's still hard. She's separating herself from the past thirty-seven years."
"Yeah," Tony said, with a sigh. "You're right. Are you bringing Zoey to the house this weekend?"
"If she wants to come. She might want to hang around with Abbey. But then, Abbey may change her mind and come along too. Is Daphne coming?" Oliver questioned.
"Daphne AND Charles. We're going to have a house full."
"Yeah." Oliver rolled his eyes. "I can't wait."
Washington, D.C.
"Calm. Controlled. Cool. Composed. Collected."
Amy Gardner walked around her office, absentmindedly whispering to herself. She alternated inhaling and exhaling between words, and closing her eyes every so often.
"Composed. Cool. Collected. Calm. Controlled. Find a happy place. The beach, the sand, the sun, the water…ahhh…"
A loud knock on the door brought her out of her reverie. Her movements stopped and she took a deep breath for speaking.
"Yeah?"
The door creaked open and one of the interns popped his head into the office.
"Amy. Phone call, line two."
"Who is it?"
"It's Mata Hari."
Amy narrowed her eyes in confusion, then finally understood.
"You watch the way you refer to her, kid. I don't care what your opinion of her is right now, she is still your boss and you will treat her with the utmost respect. Do you understand me!"
"Er…yes, ma'am."
"Get out."
The intern nodded and quickly made his exit from the Chief of Staff's office. Amy walked behind her desk and sat down. She placed her hand on the phone, then stopped herself.
"Cool. Composed. Calm. Collected. Controlled. Tanning at the beach. Margaritas. Cabana boys…okay. Let's do this, Gardner."
She grabbed the phone and brought it to her ear.
"Mrs. Bartlet, hi."
"How you doing, Amy?"
"Fine, thank you, ma'am. How are you?"
"Fine. Listen, I just wanted to check in with you, regarding the…you know…"
"Right," Amy answered, quickly.
"How are you…handling this?"
"How would you like me to, ma'am?"
"I saw CJ's press conference," Abbey said. "She didn't take questions."
"No, ma'am. Both my staff and the President's staff have been instructed not to take questions in relation this particular topic."
"Who's the mastermind behind that one?"
"The President."
"Ah. Well, that's probably for the best."
"Yes, ma'am," Amy agreed, more dutifully than honestly.
"So you're doing all right then?"
"Truthfully?"
"Yes…"
"I wish you had told me about the garden party beforehand," Amy admitted.
"I am sorry about, Amy. I am."
"Next time…?"
"I'll tell you."
"Thank you."
"So how many magazines am I gracing the cover of right now?" Abbey asked.
"Uh…I have a list somewhere," Amy said, rummaging through the drawers in her desk.
"That many, huh?"
"Yes, ma'am. Here it is. People, US Weekly, Star, InTouch, Cosmopolitan…"
"Cosmopolitan? Really?"
"Yes, ma'am. Also, Vogue…"
"Vogue!"
"Apparently they admired your dress a great deal," Amy said.
"I see. Go on."
"Time."
"Time? I feel important!" Abbey commented.
"Good Housekeeping, Harper's Bazaar, Redbook, Ladies' Home Journal, and AARP."
Abbey gasped.
"AARP! Are you kidding me!" She exclaimed, appalled.
"Yeah. Pretty funny, huh?" Amy replied, with a chuckle.
"No!"
"I'll be sure to remember that next time. No old age jokes. The First Lady has no sense of humor."
Then, for the first time in well over a month, the First Lady of the United States and her Chief of Staff experienced a completely carefree moment full of much-needed laughter.
Laughter had been a foreign thing to Jed Bartlet these last few days. He smiled and put on a front when around others, but when he was alone (which was often nowadays), he experienced neither laughter nor a smile. The truth was, his entire world was crumbling before his very eyes. Though he came off confident in public, inside he wasn't so sure he would be able to fix it this time. Sitting alone in the Oval Office in the middle of the day, Jed decided to devise a plan that would close the gaps, repair what was broken and, most importantly, bring her back to him.