Author's Note: I usually don't connect with Toby, but somehow this story sprang to mind when I heard a Beach Boys tune on the radio. I'm not sure if I've captured Toby, or everyone else for that matter, so reviews are always appreciated.
Disclaimers: I don't own The West Wing, the characters or the Beach Boys song lyrics that are peppered throughout this piece of fiction.
Don't Worry Baby
The Beach Boys. There's something so happy and innocent about their music. Sure, they've had their problems, but their music just projects a feeling of fun and sunny days at the beach. I hate the Beach Boys.
It's not the type of hate that I verbalize, which is unusual for me. I verbalize my hatred for just about everyone and everything, but somehow the Beach Boys are off limits. I am not a 'fun in the California sun' kind of guy, but to openly mock the Beach Boys makes me crotchety, and while I know I'm a cantankerous man, I'm not willing to embrace the title of crotchety just yet.
So why the hatred for the Beach Boys? It's the first sunny day that we've had in months and everyone seems to believe that spring is in the air. The National Weather Service is predicting more snow for three days from now, but sunny and forty-eight degrees apparently signals spring for people in the west wing. Apparently this weather also requires the incessant playing of the Beach Boys, hence the hatred. If I hear California Girls, Surfin' Safari or Good Vibrations one more time I swear I will walk out of the building. A repeat of Kokomo and I may just set fire to my office while I'm in it. Why does the hint of spring obligate everyone to turn on the oldies station and listen to the Beach Boys?
I hear a knock on my door and before I speak the door cracks open. "Toby," Josh says. The vacuum seal I've placed myself in has been broken by Josh and now I hear strains of Little Deuce Coupe in my office.
"Did you hear me say come in?" I ask testily.
"No," Josh says pushing the door open a little wider. He is now standing in my office with the door completely ajar.
"And yet here you stand, in my office when I didn't tell you to open the door or come in," I reply.
"Wow, you're in a mood today," Josh says a little too cheerfully. "Come on Toby the sun is out, the snow is melting and we're one vote away from closing the package on social security."
"And yet," I said pointedly.
"Toby," Josh says exasperated as he sits on my couch. "The sun is out, the Beach Boys are on the radio, you should be thinking of California girls and rag top convertibles."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why should I be thinking of California girls and rag top convertibles? I don't drive a convertible and I don't live in California."
"No, but it's what people do when then weather is so nice," Josh suggested.
I give him a hard look and he is trying to fight the smile I know is forming behind his lips. He knows if he smiles now he'll regret it and yet his eyes have that glimmer of hope that I might smile back. I will soon beat that hopeful optimism out of him. I just need a little more time.
"Is there a reason you're here?" I ask him.
"Yeah," Josh says. "Sam wanted me to tell you that Johnson was open to the idea of adding the amendment onto the anti-terrorism bill."
"Good," I reply.
"Did you see CJ's flowers?" Josh says standing up and walking to the door.
"Yeah," I reply remembering her mock irritation and the suppressed smile she gave me when I inquired about the vase of wildflowers on her desk.
"Danny Concannon has it bad," Josh said.
"Yeah," I reply.
"Girls like flowers," Josh said.
"Yeah," I say with a hint more irritation in my tone.
"She should go out with him," Josh says.
"Excuse me?" I reply incredulous.
"I think she should go out with him," Josh replies. "He's nice and she deserves to have someone in her life."
"And the fact that she's the Press Secretary and he's a reporter doesn't bother you at all?" I almost shout.
"Well admittedly there are a few complications," Josh says.
"A few complications? How about a few colossal issues that could compromise the entire administration?"
"I wouldn't go that far," Josh says casually. He must sense my frustration because he pauses to stare at me for a moment. "This really bothers you doesn't it?"
"No," I lie.
"She's not going to go out with him," Josh tried to reassure me.
"I know she's not. She wants to have a job tomorrow," I say forcefully.
"You wouldn't fire her for it," he tells me as if he knows me so well.
"The hell I wouldn't," I grumble.
"She's not going out with him," Josh says again.
"Yeah," I reply. "So we've got Johnson in line and everything is good?" I clarify.
"Yeah," Josh says.
"Fine, now get out and close my door," I tell him.
"Can I just say that I'm not picking up Good Vibrations from this room?" Josh says with a smirk.
"You've been waiting ten minutes to tell me that haven't you?"
"Maybe."
"Go annoy Donna," I tell him.
"Oh, I would, but she's out having fun, fun, fun until her daddy takes her T-bird away."
Josh shoots me his boyish grin and I reach for my rubber ball. I pick it up and throw it forcefully at the door, but Josh is too fast and he quickly closes the door before the ball bounces back toward my desk. I can hear him laugh as he shoves his hands into his pockets and walks to his office. I sigh outwardly and try to put my mind back into the speech I'm trying to write.
After a moment I realize that there is a silence that has fallen in my office and I'm grateful. I can't figure out why I'm so irritated today. Granted, I usually live in a state of agitation, but today is different. Everyone is in a good mood. The winter weather has finally shown signs of ending, but I'm miserable. I try to think about what would have brought on my mood, but I come up short.
I reread the sentence I've been contemplating for the last five minutes when I steal a glance at the calendar and then I remember. It was two years ago today. It was a bright, sunny day in late March two years ago today that I was at my lawyer's office. It was two years ago today that my divorce became final.
I still see Andrea on a fairly regular basis and I still love her. The feelings I had for her never stopped just because she said she couldn't be married to me anymore. I'll probably love her until the day that I die, which is both passionate and pathetic when I think about it. There's only one other person in the world that I could ever imagine having feelings for, but she's currently receiving flowers from another man. She's receiving flowers from a man she shouldn't date. Danny and I have so much in common.
"Toby," Sam says as he cracks my door open and peeks his head around the door.
"How did you know I wasn't in an important meeting?" I ask irritated by his presumption to open my door.
"I passed by and saw you sitting here alone through your window," Sam informs me.
"Close the door," I tell him.
Sam obliges and he enters my office closing the door behind him. Now I remember why I like Sam. He takes a seat on my couch and looks at me for a moment. It's as if he's contemplating what he will tell me.
"Ginger says you hate the Beach Boys," he says. Obviously he hasn't understood my subliminal messages.
"I don't hate the Beach Boys," I lie.
"She says you've told them to turn down the music four times in the last hour," Sam says.
"Well maybe that's because we're not roadies for the Beach Boys Sam," I tell him in my most condescending tone. "We work for the President of the United States."
"Noted," Sam says in that crisp, clipped speech he has mastered.
I sigh and go back to the paper in my hand.
"Did you see CJ's flowers?" Sam asks me suddenly.
"We're not seriously having this conversation," I say letting my hand sag limply over the armrests of the chair.
"They're pretty nice," Sam continues oblivious to my displeasure.
"I guess," I reply.
"What should we do about it?"
"Do about it?" I put the speech I was reading down on the desk sensing that Sam is about to amuse me.
"Yeah," Sam nods. "Shouldn't we put a stop to it? I mean Danny is a nice guy, but he's kind of invading the hen house if you know what I'm saying."
"Invading the hen house?" I stifle the urge I have to laugh. I knew there was a reason I liked Sam.
"We should defend her honor," Sam says.
"Her honor?" I repeat. Admittedly at this point I've let a few giggles escape my lips. "While I imagine that CJ would be thrilled to hear you compare her to a hen you've forgotten a few things."
"Such as?"
"Such as CJ is a woman who knows how to handle herself," I tell him. "And also we don't have dueling pistols or swords and our band of merry men includes Josh, you and me."
"You think Danny can take us?" he asks all too seriously.
"Yeah Sam, I think Danny can take us," I say sarcastically.
"You're mocking me," Sam finally picks up on my not so subtle hints.
"I really am," I reply.
"Fine," Sam says. "I'm just saying that if you think one of us needs to talk to Danny then I'm your guy."
"You're the guy?"
"I'm the guy."
"I think we'll be okay," I tell him.
"Okay," Sam says.
"Everything is squared away with Johnson," Sam says changing the subject. "He's definitely on board."
"Good. We were counting on him."
"Okay," Sam nods. "Good. I'm gonna go work on that speech for Chicago."
"Okay," I tell him. And just because it's the kind of guy I am I decide to give him grief on his way out. "Oh, hey Sam," I say as he opens the door.
"Yeah?" he asks turning.
"You might want to clean off your dueling pistol," I tell him. "I hear Danny is one hell of a shot. He's not going to pull that crap Alexander Hamilton did and fire in the air. He's Aaron Burr all the way. Shooting to kill."
"Toby," Sam says my name in that exasperated tone. "You need a vacation."
Before he finishes his thought I sense it, but there is nothing I can do to stop him from singing.
"You should try Aruba, Jamaica…Bermuda…Bahamas," Sam starts to sing as I pick up my rubber ball. His jaunty step turns into a hurried run and he slams the door just as my ball hits the back of the door for the second time. I hear him whistle the rest of the revolting tune as he walks over to his office and gives me a bright smile through the window we share.
I'm happy to hear that Johnson is on board and it slightly brightens my day. The only thing that could truly make my day a delight would be for a foot of snow to cover the city and ruin the Beach Boys convention taking place around the office. I sit, neglecting my work and ruminate on how lovely a blinding snow would be when I hear another knock on my door. I'm silent for a moment as I wait for the door to open without permission.
"Toby?" I hear her call from the other side of the door. "Can I come in?" I knew it was her before she called my name. I knew because, although according to Sam she may be the queen hen around here, she has manners.
"Come in," I call. She opens the door and sees me with the blinds drawn. She closes the door behind her because she can sense I'll tell her to anyway. We know each other that well.
"You should open the shades," she tells me. "It's nice out."
"So I've been told," I reply. Unlike Josh and Sam she stands behind my guest chair and rests her hands on the back. She won't sit down until I invite her to. She's in one of those moods today. It means she doesn't know how to approach what she wants to say.
"You want to sit?" I ask her.
"Sure," she says like the thought has just occurred to her. "You hate the Beach Boys?" she asks.
"Ginger is fired," I reply.
She smiles at me. "Don't fire Ginger. Josh told me and then Donna and then Ginger and, just a minute ago, Sam."
"They're all fired," I say.
"So, what's with the hatred of one of the finest musical acts of the last century?" she tries to bait me.
"One of the finest musical acts of the last century?" I ask widening my eyes.
"To each his own Toby," she tells me.
"What do you need?" I say hoping she'll come to the point. "Let me guess. You want to talk about your flowers."
"No," she scoffs, but I clearly know I'm correct.
"CJ there are three things that people are talking about today. One is my alleged hatred for one of the finest musical acts of the last century. Another is the fact that Johnson on board for the amendment. The last thing people are interested in talking about today are the flowers that you got from Danny."
"They're beautiful," she tells me.
"I've heard and seen," I tell her.
"People have been talking about it?" she asks timidly. We're friends, but we're not friends who talk about dating. It's just the way it is.
"Josh thinks you should go for it and Sam is brandishing a dueling pistol," I inform her.
"Sam has a dueling pistol?"
"He might be out buying one," I tell her.
"Because of the flowers?" she asks confused.
"Apparently Danny is invading our hen house and we have to be prepared," I tell her.
"I'm a hen?"
"According to Sam, not me," I say.
"And he's the rooster?" she asks.
"Sam, Josh and me," I nod.
"You know that hen houses can only have one rooster," she tells me.
"I'm aware of that, but Sam, the city boy that he is, is sadly unaware of that fact."
"So he's going to challenge Danny to a duel?"
"He's going to give him a talking to if he needs to," I tell her.
"So he's definitely anti-Danny," CJ nods.
"No, he likes Danny," I tell her honestly. "We all like Danny. Josh even thinks you two crazy kids should even give it a shot."
"But you don't," she says knowingly. I feel like my legs have been cut out from under me. Of course I don't think she and Danny should give it a shot. It's unethical on so many levels, but I didn't think I was so transparent.
"I don't," I agree with her.
"Because he's a reporter," she says.
"Because he's a reporter. Because you're the Press Secretary. Because we're running a government and not a dating service, take your pick," I say a little more forcefully than I want.
"I know," she says. "I'm not going out with him."
"Fine," I say.
"I just wanted you to know that I'm not because I know you're against it, but you're not the only one. I definitely have an issue with dating a member of the Press Corp while I'm the Press Secretary."
"And if you weren't?" I ask.
"If I weren't what?"
"Press Secretary," I reply wanting to know her answer.
"Would I date Danny if I weren't Press Secretary?" she asks. I see the surprise in her eyes. She can't believe I've asked her the question.
"Yes," I say simply.
She gives a moment's pause and thinks seriously about it. "Probably," she says casually.
"Okay," I say leaning back in the chair.
"Okay," she says. She pauses a moment before continuing. She's wondering if she should go on and I'm hoping she doesn't because I don't need an explanation. I'm not her ex or her brother or her father. I don't need her to justify her decision to me. "Danny and I are friends and I like him, but the situation with him is less than ideal."
"I know," I say.
"I would date him if I weren't Press Secretary though," she says more resolved than before.
"Okay."
"But not now. I want you to know that there's nothing to worry about now. I've called him and I've told him that the flowers were lovely, but I'm looking at them as a gesture of friendship and nothing else. He's clear on that. Thing are on hold. We're waiting for a different time and place."
"Fine."
"Okay," she says standing up. She's cleared her mind and we're moving on now. "Hey Toby?" she says as she's walking out.
"Huh?" I say looking up from my paper again.
"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older?" she says.
"What?" I reply puzzled.
"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older? Then we wouldn't have to wait so long," she starts to sing.
"Out," I yell standing up as her lips spread into a large smile. I grab the ball on my desk and wait because I can see that she won't make it out the door in time. If it were Josh or Sam I'd throw it, but I can't hit CJ, not today when she's excited about her flowers. I wait until I see she's safely behind the door before I toss the ball at it and it comes bouncing back. I detest the Beach Boys.
Two hours later and I'm staring at the same draft I've been looking at all morning. The Beach Boys seem to have abated for the moment. I think I can thank the brief cloud cover for spoiling everyone's spirit. I've become so confident that the deluge is over for the time being that I've opened my door.
"Toby," Ginger calls.
"What?" I yell back.
"Congresswoman Wyatt is on line one," she says coming to my door.
"Andy?" I ask.
"Your wife," she says.
"Ex-wife," I retort. "What does she want?"
"To talk to you," Ginger says with a shrug.
"Fine," I sigh. "Close my door, will you?"
Ginger obeys without questions because she knows that I want privacy when I talk to Andy. She senses that I still love her. Everyone senses that I still love her. That's why they insist on calling her my wife instead of my ex-wife. They know that's how I'll always think of her regardless of the legal arrangement.
"Andy?" I say when I pick up the phone.
"Hey," she says and I can hear the smile in her voice.
"Is everything okay?" I ask her slightly alarmed.
"Everything's fine," she replies. "It's a nice day. I wanted to see if I could convince you to take a break and have lunch with me."
"What's wrong?" I ask again.
"Nothing," she insists.
"Andrea," I say warningly.
"Toby," she replies. She waits a beat before continuing. She knows she has to speak for else I will wait it out. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."
"Why?"
"You know why."
"No, I don't," I lie to her.
"It's technically our anniversary," she says.
"One I'd like to forget," I tell her.
"But you won't," she says. "Come have lunch with me."
"You don't think that would be weird? We sometimes forgot our wedding anniversary, but we can still get together to celebrate our divorce?"
"It's not a celebration," Andy tells me. "It's two old friends remembering the good times over pie."
"You didn't tell me there'd be pie."
"I know you," Andy replies. "Pie would have to be involved for you to come to lunch with me."
"It's cold out," I protest feebly.
"It's almost fifty degrees," she insists.
"Swimsuit weather then?" I mock her.
"Almost," she smiles. I can hear the smile in her voice. I can tell that she wishes I was the swimsuit and Hawaiian cruise kind of guy she always wanted me to be.
"I have to be back in forty minutes," I tell her. "I have a meeting with Leo. So if we have lunch it has to be nice and civil and not revolve around our issues. Everything has to be nice between us."
"Don't worry baby," she tells me. "Everything will turn out alright."
"Not you too," I groan.
"What?"
"The Beach Boys? I hate the Beach Boys. Why is it that warm weather signals everyone's inner Beach Boys groupie?"
"Somebody just drove by playing that song," Andy tells me. "I love the Beach Boys."
"I hate them," I tell her.
"Then how come you could pick out my response as Beach Boys lyrics?" she asks me.
"Because everyone knows that song," I insist.
"You love the Beach Boys," she tells me. "You're just ornery today."
"I am not," I pout.
"Fine," she relents. "Meet me in ten minutes at my office?"
"Fine," I say.
"Thanks," she says and I sense that needs this lunch as much as I do. She needs to see why she left one more time; just to be sure she made the right choice, which she did in my opinion. "Hey Toby?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you meeting me?"
"God only knows," I grumble.
"See, you are Beach Boys fan," she says. "See you in ten minutes."
I open my mouth to protest but she has already hung up the phone. I hang up my end and rub my hand over my face. God only knows why I put myself through this exercise of torture. It's torture being with her knowing I'll never be who she wants. It's agony being apart from her knowing she's the only one who I'll ever love so completely and knowing, that for a time anyway, she loved me the same way.
I toss on my coat and open my office door only to be bombarded with yet another Beach Boys tune. But this time I don't so much mind as I hear the words while I walk out of the office.
I may not always love you
But long as there are stars above you
You never need to doubt it
I'll make you so sure about it
God only knows what I'd be without you
If you should ever leave me
Though life would still go on believe me
The world could show nothing to me
So what good would living do me
God only knows what I'd be without you
The End.