Where did he find her?Can you believe her?Can you believe him?
The hum of disapproval washes through the assembled staff like a wave. It doesn't take long before it sweeps over me, causing me to crane my neck to catch a glimpse of the object of everyone's curiosity.
I thought Josh was responsible for finding him someone, Bonnie hisses, sidling up to me with Ginger right behind.
Shaking her head, Ginger doesn't finish the sentence.
She' is Sam's date to the post-State of the Union reception. I'm not sure where he met her, but I presume based on his track record, it was either the gym or the bar of one of DC's swankier hotels.
The only thought I spare her is to hope she isn't a call girl. Beyond that, I don't care tonight. I've just finished riding herd on the President's guests. My back hurts, my ankles are swollen, the cub is kicking up a storm and I just want to go home.
Josh can't get back from the polling center soon enough.
Sam's speech was spectacular. Joey won't have the finalized data to me for a couple of days and it'll take me the rest of the week to compile it with the real-time response data we got. Then I'll boil everything down to easy to understand, meaningful numbers CJ can announce in her briefing on Monday. And to think I once thought the study of statistics was useless in the real world.
Anyway, it's going to be a long week as we refine the agenda for the rest of the year.
The buzz coming from the room where the reception is being held snaps me out of my reverie. Before I can find out what's going on, Toby intercepts me in the hallway.
Hey, the speech was great! I congratulate him, knowing he put as much effort into fine-tuning the speech as Sam did. The real time reaction to job creation wasCome with me, growls Toby before I can finish telling him about the numbers.
What's up? I ask, unnerved at the way he just grabbed my arm and hustled me fifteen feet away from the door.
Remember last year at the Inaugural?When I got sent to London six weeks before my wedding? I remember being furious with Leo. Come to think of it, a year later, I'm still pissed at Leo about it.
Not that one, the first one.The first one? I repeat, slightly confused for a moment. Oh, yeah! The DNC theme ball. What about it?Remember Sam's date?Rachelle, the gym queen? I smirk, recalling the furor she caused among the Senior Assistants. My face falls when it hits me. I promised them I'd work on finding Sam a suitable girlfriend. Something I've neglected over the past year. Not that I haven't had other things to do over the past year. You know, getting married and having a kid and all.
Toby clearly reads my mind. And apparently his taste hasn't improved.Oh God. It comes out as a groan.
Bonnie's on the warpath and she's after your scalp, advises Toby. He lets go of my arm and returns to the reception.
There's no way I can get out of this, but with luck I can keep my appearance short. It's nearly midnight and we promised our babysitter we'd pick David up by one o'clock. Donna's back has been bothering her lately too, so she'll probably want to go sooner rather than later.
If I'm lucky.
If I'm not lucky, the Senior Assistants, in league with my wife, will be laying in wait for me inside the door and I'll be forced to conjure up a suitable date for Sam on the spot.
The problems with finding an girlfriend for Sam are numerous and go back to when I was the floor manager for the House Democratic Whip, a congressman so thoroughly unremarkable that I've forgotten his first name. His last name, however, was Grootveld and he was from Southern California. One of his interns the first summer I was there was a young man named Samuel Norman Seaborn, whose father was a major league fundraiser for the Congressman. Sam spent the summer between his first and second year of law school learning the ins and outs of changing toner cartridges in the congressional copy machines. Mostly because the secretaries, and in 1988 they were still secretaries, liked to stare at his ass when he was bent over.
Just a couple of weeks into his internship, Sam wound up living in my apartment because his original roommates were too well slovenly. Which is not to say I wasn't, but I was Sam's boss and he wasn't about to tell me to pick up my boxer shorts when I was saving him from moving into the YMCA.
Most of the female staffers around the Longworth Building made a play for the handsome yet painfully shy young man and he had refused them all. By the time July 4th rolled around, I was nearly certain my new friend was as queer as a three dollar bill. Until I came home from a party that night, having successfully picked up a willing brunette, and found Sam already there, in the company of a statuesque blonde. The night ended up being a sexual escapade right out of one of those jittery, out of focus, stag films we occasionally watched after-hours in the Crimson office. It was the one and only multiple partner experience of my life and the basis for Sam briefly thinking I might be gay a couple of years ago. It was when I also realized Sam has a very specific taste in women.
Or at least thinks he does.
I once thought I did, too. Short, forceful, opinionated brunettes were my speed until I met Donna. It wasn't long before my type was a tall, enchanting blonde with a quick wit and an infectious sense of humor. It took me 36 years to find my own soul-mate and I'm supposed to find Sam's in a year?
Hey, Donna! Sam bounces up to me, his date in tow.
This is the first time I've managed to get a good look at her since they arrived and it's self-evident what most of the fuss is about. She's young. Even younger than I was when I talked my way into running Josh's office in New Hampshire.
The speech was great. I give him a sidewise hug to accommodate my protruding stomach.
Sam blushes, as he always does when I praise his writing, and then gestures toward his date. This is Maria. Maria, this is Donna Lyman. She's the What is your title now?I'm the Deputy Assistant to the Chief of Staff, I rattle off the title and offer my hand to the young woman, unsurprised to find hers is clammy and trembling.
Maria is a research assistant with a local legal clinic. She helped me with the HIV/AIDS initiative section of the speech, gushes Sam. He's clearly smitten with the young woman.
It's very nice to meet you, I smile at her.
Maria returns it nervously, but doesn't say anything. She self-consciously tugs at the tight, clingy fabric of her dress and looks down at the floor. She really doesn't look like anyone Sam has ever dated. Outside of his brief infatuation with Mallory O'Brien, Sam has favored blondes with enough attitude to keep him in his place. I used to believe the only difference between the women Sam and Josh dated was the color of their hair and often thought the only reason Sam never hit on me during the first campaign was because Toby wouldn't let him stop writing long enough.
Can I? With you? Sam jerks his head to one side, drawing me a few feet away from Maria without waiting for an answer.
Would you keep her company for a few minutes? he pleads in response to my raised, questioning eyebrow. I've got to return a call from Senator Hunt and she doesn't know anybody and I sigh. But hurry, Josh is due back any minute and we're going home once he gets here.You're a life-saver, Sam grins, bouncing back to Maria and quickly explaining the situation.
The way he casts a quick glance around to see who's looking before giving her a quick peck on the lips reminds me of Josh's reticence at public displays of affection when we first started dating.
Is something wrong? Maria asks, giving me a curious look.
I tear my eyes from Sam's departing back and return my attention to Maria. Not at all. Why?He just seemed in a big hurry to get out of here. I think I'm embarrassing him, she admits softly. The expression on her face is equal parts humiliation and defiance.
I shake my head with a small chuckle. I mean, yes, he's in a hurry, but he's got a senator waiting on his phone call. It doesn't have anything to do with you.Because I have ears, she continues bitterly. I can hear what everyone is saying.I'm sure you can, I nod, knowing exactly how she feels. Try not to take it too personally. Once people get to know you, they'll base their opinions on you and not on Sam's track record in dating. Which to be completely honest, is less than stellar.How long have you known Sam? Maria asks.
About six years. He and my husband have known each other for twenty years though, so it seems like longer sometimes. Speaking of my husband, I reply, catching a glimpse of his brown curls bobbing through the crowd. Sticking my arm in the air to catch his attention, I call his name.
Before I can respond to Donna's beckoning call, someone else wanting my attention sidetracks me.
Josh Lyman, right? the man verifies, sticking out his hand.
I shake it absently, unsure who he is or what he wants.
F. Philip Rogers, he introduces himself. The use of his first initial and middle name immediately ups his slime factor. I'm with the American HMO Alliance and I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time.
While his name doesn't ring a bell, his organization does. The American HMO Alliance is currently lobbying Congress to maintain HMOs' immunity from lawsuits by the people enrolled in them. An extension rider got tacked onto the Aid for Families with Dependent Children appropriations bill last month and Donna has been working feverishly to get it removed. I wonder in passing what this guy is doing at the President's State of the Union reception.
You can call my office in the morning and make an appointment, I reply, matching the insincere smile on his face and starting toward Donna again.
Actually, Mr. Lyman, I was hoping to talk to you off the record, so to speak, he says, stopping me by placing his hand on my chest. Your wife needs let this rider go through and the President needs to sign the AFDC bill. If that happens, the American HMO Alliance would be well positioned to support you down the road. If it doesn't I'm sure we can find any number of people who will make your life difficult when the time comes. Like in 2006?Are you threatening me, Mr. Rogers? I growl, keeping my voice low so we aren't overheard. Or are you trying to bribe me with contributions to a campaign that doesn't exist?
Rogers gives me a self-satisfied smirk. Take it for what you will, Mr. Lyman.
Before I can respond, he melts into the crowd, leaving me stunned at his audacity. Before I can recover from F. Philip Rogers, Bonnie accosts me.
You've got a problem, she states. Toby was wrong, Bonnie isn't not happy,' Bonnie is livid. You promised you'd find him someone, Josh.What's the matter with her? I ask wearily.
It's just We think I mean, the consensus is he can't the Senior Communications Assistant stammers before she finishes lamely. She's not appropriate.You just think his taste is questionable. I could set him up with the same woman and you'd be fine with her as long as Sam didn't pick her out, I surmise.
Bonnie purses her lips together and frowns. Do you blame us?Not particularly, I shake my head remembering Laurie. As nice a woman as I'm sure she might have been, there was no escaping how she chose to put herself through law school. Which wouldn't have been an issue if Sam wasn't a senior advisor to the President of the United States. Not that I have any room to talk, I chastise myself. My mouth has run away with me more times than I care to think about.
Fortunately, Donna has helped cure my tendency to speak before I think.
I've always considered myself an easy to talk to person with enough social skills to maintain a conversation with just about anyone.
Apparently, I've been deluding myself. Every question I ask Maria, while waiting for Josh, is met with a terse yes or no or as brief an answer as she can politely give. I've resorted to babbling about Sam's antics during both of the campaigns.
Bonnie's pissed at me, Josh announces, interrupting whatever vapid story I was telling. He continues before I can introduce Sam's date to him. Sam's dating someone completely unacceptable and somehow it's my fault? I hiss, smacking him upside the head at his uncouth comment.
The object of his remark stifles her gasp by clamping her hand over her mouth and then bolts to the door. Direct confirmation of what everyone has been saying behind her back is clearly more than she can take.
Who was that? asks Josh blithely as he grabs a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.
Sam's date, I snarl, smacking him upside the head again before leaving him standing in my wake, gaping.
Donna manages to catch the young woman at the intersection of two major hallways where she's casting confused glances each direction, unsure of which way to go.
Let me walk to you to Sam's office and apologize for my idiot, tactless, moronic husband, I hear Donna suggest as I skid to a stop on the marble floor.
Actually, why doesn't your idiot, tactless, moronic husband apologize for himself, I pipe up, earning myself another smack to the back of the head from Donna.
Sam's date straightens up and fixes me with an angry, yet proud, glare. It is not necessary for you to apologize. I know what everyone thought of me.Not you as a person, but well, I stammer, attempting to explain. Sam doesn't have the greatest track record with women and several people judged you, incorrectly apparently, based on his previous tramps.Are you insinuating Laurie was a tramp? Donna turns to me with her hands on her hips. I'm not sure if she's trying to help me or not, but her opinion of Sam's dating habits is in line with everyone else's, so it's pretty rich for her to argue the point.
Donna! Laurie was a prostitute and Mallory was the boss's daughter; Ainsley Hayes was a Republican and you can't tell me you actually liked Rachelle! I fire back, ticking off examples of Sam's questionable dating history. Pardon me for being shocked he actually asked a nice, normal woman out on a date! Especially since last year you told me he wasn't allowed to pick his own dates anymore!
Sam's date looks horrified.
He dated a prostitute? she asks, preempting Donna's retort, her face taking on a look not dissimilar to the one Donna wears when I've done something exceptionally stupid.
Laurie was a law student, explains Donna.
Laurie was putting herself through law school by working as a call girl, I clarify. Can we start over, by the way?As long as we're clear on the fact I'm not a prostitute, Sam's date agrees icily.
Crystal clear, I nod, putting out my hand. I'm Josh Lyman. I understand you've met my wife, Donna, already.I'm Maria Gonzalez, she replies, her tone warming somewhat.
Please allow me apologize for what I said earlier. Clearly, I was misinformed and despite Donna's best efforts, I sometimes speak before I have all the facts.
I can't help snorting at Josh's description of his tendency to stick his foot in his mouth. At least he's learned the benefits of apologizing expediently. Fruit baskets are a last resort these days.
Maria seems to accept Josh's apology, but the conversation falls flat and she starts glancing between the two of us and down the hall toward the ballroom. It's self-evident to me she doesn't want to return to the reception.
Why don't I walk you down to Sam's office, I offer in an effort to mitigate the awkwardness. Josh, you can go pick up David.
Josh continues to look suitably chagrined. Sure. Maria, it was nice to meet you and I really am sorry about, you know, what I implied.I understand. It has been an enlightening evening, the young woman says.
The two of us head down the hall toward the West Wing proper. The trip is short and quiet. Neither of us speak until I usher her into the Communications bullpen. Sam must have just wrapped up with Senator Hunt, because he nearly runs into us dashing out of his office.
Oh, hey! I was just on my way back. Sam's bright smile fades marginally when he sees the expression on Maria's face. Is something wrong?
She opens her mouth to reply and then closes it wordlessly, leaving it to me to explain the situation.
Josh and I are heading home and Maria didn't want to be alone at the reception, I stretch the truth ever so slightly.
Sam replies nonplussed. I, umIt is pretty late, Maria picks up the ball. And I have to work in the morning. I think I'm ready to go too.I can't leave yet. Sam looks stricken and his simple words remind me of the protocol to which by which he is bound tonight.
Now, Josh and I can execute this minor breach of social etiquette and get away with it by saying we need to get David home. Sam, on the other hand, has to stay at the reception until the President makes his appearance and says glowing things about the speech Sam spent untold hours crafting.
Why not? his date asks in confusion.
The President isn't back yet, Sam and I answer together. I let Sam continue. I can't leave until he shows up at the reception.
The pathway leading to the Residence is dotted with Secret Service agents still clad in their uniformly black wool overcoats, a sure sign the President has returned from the Capitol. I probably ought to take the time to brief him on the numbers we're looking at, but I don't want them to leak and there is any number of overly talkative members of the Party leadership with President Bartlet right now.
Besides, I can hear the sound of my son screaming his head off filtering through the corridors and he's my priority. It's simple enough to follow his crying to the Presidential kitchen. I hope he hasn't been fussing all night. He's a handful for Donna and I to deal with in this state, I doubt Ellie Bartlet has much experience with an inconsolable baby.
I push the kitchen door open to find Ellie pacing back and forth, trying to quiet David.
It's okay, sweetie. See? Here's Daddy, she tells him, crossing the kitchen in two strides and thrusting my bawling child at me. He woke up about ten minutes ago and was not happy to see me. Otherwise, he was pretty good all night.
The incessant squalling eased as soon as he saw me, but David continues to cry, scrunching up his red, tear-soaked face and rubbing it back and forth against my shoulder.
Thank you for watching him, I tell the Bartlets' middle daughter over the noise. I'm sorry he got like this on you.
Ellie smiles shyly and zips shut the diaper bag. It's okay. I used to watch Annie all the time when Liz went to Dad's events. I'll take a screaming baby over a public appearance any day.
She drapes the bag over my shoulder and pats me on the back on my way out the door.
Maria and I wait patiently for Josh in my office. It was clear she had no intention of returning to the reception, even with Sam, so I offered her a ride home. She tried to refuse at first, saying she'd catch a cab, but relented when she realized she only had $10 in her purse.
Fortunately, it isn't long before Josh appears, trying to comfort David as he wends his way through the bullpen.
Overtired, I think, Josh answers my unspoken question. Ellie said he woke up crying about fifteen minutes ago, but he was okay most of the night.He's drooling an awful lot, I note with a frown. Drooling is one of the first signs of teething and I'm not looking forward to teething.
Are we ready? Josh changes the subject. He clearly wants to get home. He's got a long week ahead of him and tonight is his only chance at four uninterrupted hours of sleep.
Sam couldn't leave, so we're giving Maria a ride home, I explain, leading the way to the parking lot.
Josh just nods in understanding and slips into the backseat with David, struggling to get Bear's flailing arms and legs strapped into the car seat. Once he succeeds, the motion of the car quickly lulls David to sleep, leaving only NPR's dissection of the State of the Union speech and Maria's whispered directions to break the silence.
It's nearly one o'clock by the time we get home. David stays asleep through the removal from the car seat and the trip upstairs. Ellie, bless her heart, put him in his pajamas at some point tonight, which saves me the aggravation of changing his clothes.
I put him down and make sure the baby monitor is on before going to make sure the one in the master bedroom is on as well and that it's on my side of the bed. I'm on duty for the next couple of nights.
Is he still out? Donna calls softly. She's in our bathroom scrubbing her face.
Yeah. Maybe we'll get lucky and he'll stay that way, I reply from the walk-in closet where I'm undressing.
When Donna speaks again, her voice is much closer. He did good tonight. How much of it do you think we'll be able to push through?I don't know, I sigh, turning around to face her. I have to stretch over her stomach to kiss her. Sometimes I wish I was the idealist, not the guy who has to I don't know bastardize everything to get it passed.If you were the idealist, who would Sam be? Donna points out, caressing the stubble starting to show on my cheek with her thumb.
How's your back? I ask, changing the subject and ceding the point.
She gives me with a pathetic pout that says more than her words. Sore and my feet are all swollen.Let's go to bed and I'll see what I can do.
Josh has this back massage thing down to a fine science. His strong fingers and talented thumbs exert the perfect amount of pressure in just the right places to release the tension in my lower back.
When the more stubborn knots finally give way, his touch becomes something more erotic. He strokes the full length of my back with a light, feathery touch. I moan in appreciation when his lips touch my neck. He takes his time, kissing his way across my shoulder as his fingers work their way up and down the sensitive skin of my side until he's tracing the fine white lines pregnancy has left on my lower abdomen. I'm ticklish there and reach down to guide him to a better spot.
His lips form a smirk as they brush my upper arm, but he obliges. He leisurely touches my inner thigh and caresses the skin of my hip. I can feel the heat of his erection pressing against my leg and his excitement arouses me that much more. I never thought I could feel so desirous while being this pregnant, but Josh manages to convince me I am on a regular basis.
He tucks his head under my arm to lick and nip at the side of my breast and leaves a small hickey near my nipple. His tongue then licks at the underside of my breast before he blows lightly across the wetness, raising goosebumps and sending shivers through my body.
So, Maria seemed pretty nice, Josh says out of the blue, taking his hand from between my legs and running it over the taut skin of my stomach, stopping at my belly button.
My body freezes at sound of her name, no longer tingling under his ministrations. Did you just mention another woman while we're making love?I said she seemed nice. For Sam, Josh stammers, realizing his error. I didn't mean anything other than she seemed nice. A lot nicer than anyone he's dated before, other than Mallory.
I cannot believe he would bring up Sam's date while making love to me! The arousal I was feeling drains away, leaving me feeling cold and unattractive. A complete 180 from two minutes ago. I pull away from Josh and yank the comforter over my shoulder, ending our evening activities.
Josh pleads. I didn't mean anything by it. I'm sorry
His platitudes are quickly drowned out by the sound of David whimpering over the baby monitor.
Without another word, Josh clambers out of bed and pads across the floor, closing the door on his way out.
What the hell is the matter with me? I know Josh would never look at another woman. I know he was just making small talk like we do sometimes during foreplay. Swiping at my tears, I hear his voice crackle over the baby monitor he inadvertently left on.
What's the matter, Bear? he coos. In my mind's eye, I can see him lifting David out of the crib.
It's okay From the way David's cries fade away intermittently, I know Josh is pacing the nursery, trying to calm our son with motion. Daddy's an idiot, did you know that? Yeah, you probably already did. Renewed wailing cuts Josh's self-examination short. It's okay What's the matter, son?
The tenderness in his voice, mixed with remorse has me teary for a whole different reason than I was before. I don't get to eavesdrop on any more of the conversation. The change in the creaking of the floorboards indicates Josh is now wandering through the living room and his talk with David is drown out by the sound of the heat kicking on.
Daddy's having quite the night, little Bear, I murmur, keeping my end of the conversation going while David bawls and rubs his face against my bare shoulder. I noticed a bit of a rash near his chin when I picked him up and he's probably trying to scratch it.
It all started out okay, the numbers from Grandpa Jed's speech were good. Then a lobbyist who's trying to buy my influence with Grandpa Jed on the HMO rider your mommy's working on accosted me. I made an ass of myself in front of Uncle Sam's new lady friend, then I went and mentioned her while Mommy and I were well, doing something I'll explain to you when you're a little older. Mommy didn't like that very much and then you started to cry I ramble on, explaining the difficulties of anticipating his mother's mood swings at this point in her pregnancy.
My mind is tossing around an entirely different problem as I make slow laps around the living room, jostling David against my shoulder and rubbing his back. F. Philip Rogers is actually going to turn into the biggest issue from this evening. I can't even mention him to Donna for fear of tainting her efforts to derail the HMO rider. My yet-to-be launched Senate bid took a huge hit tonight. I'll either wind up being accused of influence peddling or end up in a nasty, mud-slinging primary fight I probably won't survive. I say that realistically. F. Philip Roger's name finally clicked with me and I know for a fact he wouldn't hesitate to destroy my aspirations before they even begin. He did the exact same thing to a retiring congressman whose son was running for his seat. The kid never made it out of the primary. He drowned in the accusations and insinuations.
I'll talk to Leo about it in the morning because, more immediately, I won't survive this week if I don't get some sleep. Shoving the HMO rider out of my mind, I concentrate on trying to stop David's crying. I run down the laundry list of typical problems: his diaper is clean, he isn't hungry and he has my undivided attention. None of the typical solutions are working either: not pacing, not rocking, not talking, not a story. I even tried singing and while he did stop for a minute and looked at me in amazement, it didn't last.
If it weren't 3 o'clock in the morning, I'd consult Donna. She needs her rest, though. Her blood pressure was up at her last OB visit and between Dr. Williams and Janet, the midwife Donna picked, she was told if it didn't come down they were going to put her on bed rest.
The only person I can think of to call at this hour is my mother. She won't be thrilled, but she'll be more understanding than Donna's parents.
I pray I don't have the wrong number when a low, scratchy voice answers the phone.
She sounds much more awake. Is something wrong?I can't get David to stop crying, Mamme. Donna's asleep and I don't want to wake her and he's been fussy since we picked him up from the sitterJoshua, calm down, my mother says in a tone of voice I know better than to argue with. God, when will it be that easy for me?
I take a deep breath, knowing she's waiting to hear me exhale before she continues.
I sigh, breathing deeply again.
Okay. Now, David. Is he running a fever?No, but he's drooling a lot and has a rash on his chin. He keeps batting at his mouth, but he's not hungry, I explain, truly clueless about his behavior.
Mamme chuckles. Are his gums swollen? His gums?
Stick your finger in his mouth and feel his bottom gum. Is it kind of puffy or can you feel something hard just under the surface? she instructs.
I do as she tells me and nod to myself when I feel what she described. Yeah, both.He's teething, Joshua. Go to the drugstore and get some Orajel. Donna will know what else to do in the morning, she yawns. How is she, by the way?Better, I think, aside from the hormones.You deserve it, Mamme replies, unsympathetically. Good night, Joshua.
I have no idea how long Josh was up with David. The last time I remember looking at the clock was about 2:30 and I could still hear David crying. However long it was, they both must have just dropped wherever they were, because Josh isn't in bed with me and David isn't in his crib.
There's a CVS Pharmacy sack on the table along with discarded Baby Orajel packaging and some unidentifiable plastic wrapping. The Orajel indicates all the drooling and crying last night is what I thought it was. David's teething.
I put the coffee on and then wander into the living room. I find them asleep on the couch, David resting comfortably on Josh's chest. I'm loathe to disturb them, but Josh needs to get up and get moving. My picking David up wakens them both.
What time is it? Josh mumbles, trying to pry his eyelids apart.
Late. Almost 5:30. You need to get in the shower and get moving. Staff is at seven and you've got to get the numbers together from last night. I'll take care of David this morning. I pick up the container of Orajel and check the instructions.
I got one of those teething ring things, too, yawns Josh as he pries himself off the couch and stretches. I can hear his back popping. It's in the freezer. He ended up crashing almost as soon as I put the stuff on his gums.
Josh heads to the shower and I take David into the nursery to change his diaper and get him dressed. When that's accomplished, I haul him into the kitchen and plop him down in his high chair. My mother sent us a supply of huge bibs when we started him on solids. I grab one and wrap one around his neck.
Every attempt at getting some cereal down him is met with the same tight-lipped refusal. He's wearing more then he's eaten when Josh appears, nattily dressed in his blue suit.
He likes it when you make train noises, he volunteers as he pours himself a cup of coffee.
Train noises? I repeat in disbelief. I've never had to any kind of noises to get David to eat before. Eating is one of his favorite activities with me.
It's a new thing. Started yesterday, Josh shrugs, sipping the decaf. He makes a face and promptly dumps the coffee down the drain.
You could have warned me, he gripes over David's giggling.
And deprive our son of your ridiculous antics? I smirk.
Just remember, Donnatella. He saunters over to give me a quick kiss. Train noises. Be a good boy, Bear.
Ruffling David's hair, he returns my smirk on his way out the door, leaving me with a teething six-month-old who refuses to eat and an unborn child doing a tap dance on my bladder.
It's going to be a long day.
What the hell did you say to her?! Sam demands, bursting into my office while I'm still taking my coat off.
It was a long night last night and I'm not in the mood to deal with a wound up Sam Seaborn.
What did I say to who? I reply wearily. I'm pretty sure what he's referring to, but I already apologized to his date for being crass and insensitive and she accepted, so he's got no right to be this bent out of shape.
Maria! She left before I did last night and when I called her, she asked me if I thought she was a prostitute! Sam screeches.
Before I knew she was your date, I may have inadvertently referred to her as unacceptable. In front of her. Sam rears back to rip my head off, so I continue hurriedly. And as soon as I knew she was your date, I apologized. Then I had to explain to her why nobody you introduced her to liked her, which meant I had to tell her about Laurie.You had to tell her about Laurie? he scoffs derisively.
I sigh and lean against the edge of my desk. Sam's my best friend and it falls to me to have this conversation with him.
Do you realize what people around here think of your dating habits? How they make judgments about the woman you're with based on the women you've been with? Your track record is horrible, Sam. Since we took office there was Laurie, the call girl; Mallory, the boss's daughter; Ainsley, the Republican and Rachelle, the ditz. Just to name a few. Yes! People jump to premature conclusions about the women you date. And don't get huffy with me. You used to do the same thing to me before Donna and I got together, I finish, watching as Sam deflates before my eyes.
He's silent for a few moments, opening and closing his mouth as he considers and discards various retorts. I take the opportunity to gather my stuff together for Staff.
Let's talk about this later, I say, ushering him toward the door. We're a minute from being late to the Senior Staff meeting.
The raw numbers are greeted with a great deal of enthusiasm. Toby wants to start mapping out a Communications strategy to keep the popular stuff in the media and to talk about how we're going to accomplish everything. I nearly forget I wanted to talk to Leo until we're wrapping up and he asks about Donna's progress on the HMO rider.
She's working every angle, I tell him.
The President puts down his briefing folder and takes off his glasses, looking at me sternly. We want it off this bill, Josh. I'm willing to discuss it, but I won't have it rammed down my throat by having it attached to a bill I have to sign.Yes, sir, I reply.
Finish the numbers analysis. I want to know by tomorrow morning which proposals have the highest voter support and which are most likely to get through Congress, Leo instructs. He surveys the rest of the group. Anything else? No? Good. Get to work.
The abrupt dismissal and the expression on his face tells me now is not the time to talk to Leo about anything.
The doors to Josh's office are closed when I get in around 8 o'clock. Staff must have gone short because I can hear him shuffling around inside. I have fifteen minutes before I have to leave for a meeting with a couple of representatives. Just enough time to admit I overreacted last night and get his advice on how to sway these two congressmen to our side.
Knocking once to avoid startling him, I enter his office quietly and wait for him to look up.
The train noises worked. I give him a small, apologetic smile when he looks up.
His lips twitch into a smile that mirrors mine, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Are you okay? I ask.
I'm just tired and there's It might be nothing, but it might be something and he trails off, gesturing toward the stacks of data on his desk. I'm just tired and busy.
Now is probably not the time to ask how to deal with my two potentially wayward congressional representatives, but I plunge ahead anyway.
I'm heading up to the Hill to meet with Delmar and Smith about the rider and I wasn't sure I've never dealt with these two before and was wondering what you thought would be the best way to approach them? I stumble over my request for his advice. I've never come out and directly asked for his help before. Normally, I can get him to play the devil's advocate for me so I can hone my argument as I do for him but there hasn't been time for a sit-down strategy session.
You'll do fine, Donna, he replies, looking back down at the spreadsheets covering his desk.
His response is not what I was expecting, causing me to take a closer look at him. The circles under his eyes are deeper than usual a combination of staying up all night with David and the stress of the State of the Union address and mapping out the year's agenda but there's something else. I can see it in the set of his shoulders. Over the past couple of years, Josh has really made an effort to not obsess over the minutiae of his job and focus his attentions where they belong and do the most good on the big picture. Now, from the lines on his forehead and his excessively disheveled appearance so early in the morning, I know he's obsessing over something.
I call quietly before I turn to go.
His head snaps up again.
If you need to talkI know, babe, but this time I need to talk to Leo first. His brown eyes tell me everything I need to know: it's work-related and he can't tell me about it.
Donna knows the score. There are things I can't tell her first as much as they might bother me and as much as she hates to see me worry. By telling her I needed to talk to Leo first, I conveyed it was work, not personal and I'll tell her if and when I can. And I will tell her, because this affects my future and she's a large part of that and deserves a say.
Once she's out of the office, I return to my brooding. I like to think of myself as an ethical guy. Granted, I've pulled some underhanded, backstabbing, sneaky, borderline stunts in my twenty years of public service, but I've never outright blackmailed someone like I'm being blackmailed right now.
The difference, as I see it, is when I threaten someone, I generally threaten to expose something they've done, something their constituency would find unacceptable, in return for what I want. Or I'll threaten to derail a pet project in return for their cooperation. I've been on the other side of the normal Washington hardball game too many times to count, but here I'm in a no-win situation. If I convince the President to accept the HMO rider attached to a bill he has to sign, I'll get a financial kickback in the form of campaign contributions from the American HMO Alliance. If I don't, they'll support whatever candidate runs against me, either at the primary level or in the general election. Even if I do nothing, they can create the appearance of impropriety by donating to my campaign and then leaking that there was an agreement.
It's not a huge scandal, but if they back a primary challenger, I'd be faced with a minor scandal and the perception of being a carpet-bagger.
I need to talk to Leo. I need the opinion of someone not sitting in the middle of the mess.
Instead, I get to spend quality time with polling numbers.
The White House is not asking you to take a position on the provisions in the HMO rider, I begin my spiel to Congressmen Delmar and Smith. All we're asking is the rider be removed from the AFDC funding bill so the issue of extending HMOs' immunity from prosecution can be debated properly and on their own merits.
The two men exchange a glance, but it's Delmar who speaks. That's the thing you have to understand. We don't want to have that debate. We'd all prefer it was attached to something we have to pass and the President has to sign.It deserves a debate, I counter. The American people are demanding a debate. You just don't want to acknowledge it.
Congressman Marion Smith is older and more congenial than his colleague from California. Ms. Moss, as much as we may agree with your position, there are a significant number of us who cannot easily afford either the loss of financial support from the insurance industry or having them turn against us. Regardless of what the American people think they want. Now, if you'll excuse us, we've both got committee meetings.Let's just let the insurance lobby run the damn country then, I mutter angrily after they leave me sitting in Congressman Smith's office without another word. With a sigh, I grab my purse and follow them out.
By the time I get back to the bullpen, my annoyance hasn't dissipated one iota.
How'd it go? Josh calls from his desk as soon as I hit my office.
Swear to me, when you run for the Senate, you won't sell your soul to the insurance lobby, I yell back as I plop down in my chair with a disgusted groan.
To say Donna's comment stuck with me all day would be an understatement. Everyone who wandered through my office got the same blank stare. I couldn't tell you what any of them wanted, even Donna although I did notice she looked increasingly concerned every time she checked on me. When she left a few hours ago, she warned me to not stay here all night. I found limited solace in the finalized numbers Joey emailed to me showing almost every initiative the President spoke about received a positive response from the American people.
My mind's been racing round and round the problem of J. Philip Rogers and his suggestion I encourage the President to let the HMO rider slip through. One of the best things about HMOs is they keep the cost of health insurance affordable for the majority of American families. That fact doesn't require much research. I can look at my own options and determine it's significantly cheaper to insure my family under the government's HMO than under the other available plans. But countering this, most Americans feel the system is out to get them and politicians are in the hip pocket of the insurance companies.
When Toby and I tried to get prescription drug coverage written into the Medicare reform bill a few months ago, the biggest problem was the drug lobby wanting us to give up the government's right to negotiate prices. How much more un-American can you get than price-fixing? Their point, however, was the same as it was during our talks about cheaper AIDS drugs for Third World countries: yes, the drugs are easy and inexpensive to produce after they're approved by the FDA, but the research and testing that goes into the first pill is astronomically expensive.
How do we balance the expense of research and development with the unavoidable fact that over the next 10 to 15 years, 70 million Americans are about to exit the workforce and enter the Social Security and Medicare rolls?
I'm just trying to wrap my brain what that's going to cost when the President's voice interrupts my musings.
Don't we have an entire Legislative Affairs Department to decipher where individual lawmakers are going to come down on an issue?
I stand up so fast my knees get caught under my desk. My response is a grunt of pain followed by a weak Yes, sir.
He considers the two chairs on his side of the desk before emptying the least-filled one by dropping the paperwork onto my already overloaded desk. I follow his lead and retake my seat.
How's it looking? he asks.
I shuffle through my spreadsheets to find the one I want. Better than I expected, sir. Everything you proposed had a positive response and even the low numbers are high. The most promising thing right now appears to be expanding the college tax credit to include prep school tuition for low-income families. It gets a better response from the Democratic caucus than vouchers do and looks to be a possible compromise on the issue. We get to avoid vouchers and the Republicans can call it a tax cut.Good, good, he nods before sandbagging me. Now. Why are you still here? It's nearly midnight and you've left your pregnant wife home alone for five hours with the baby.
It's like being cornered by your father when you're hiding from your mother.
I'm waiting to talk to Leo, sir. I've got a bit of a situation and it sort of involves Donna, I fess up.
Does Leo know you're waiting to talk to him? Because I think he left at least an hour ago, President Bartlet replies, raising his eyebrows at me.
I close my eyes and sigh, taking a minute to decide what to do. A little voice inside my head reminds me Jed Bartlet is a politician. He's been through this sort of thing and Donna did tell me he wants me to ask him for advice. On the other hand, my quandary does involve the advice I give him in my capacity as a senior advisor to the President. Letting out my breath, I open my eyes and see his concerned visage looking back at me, telling me he's here as my mentor, not my boss.
I was approached by an insurance lobbyist last night at the reception. He intimated that if I convinced you to call off Donna on the HMO rider and sign the bill as is, he would be well placed to assist in my Senate campaign in 2006. If I don't, he'll make sure I don't make it out of the primary, I explain, feeling better just for getting it off my chest. I feel like I'm caught in an ethical catch-22.
President Bartlet purses his lips and nods slowly, steepling his fingers together and contemplating them before responding.
If you weren't planning to run for office, what would your advice to me be?To veto the AFDC bill if the HMO rider is still attached. They're two separate issues and we should be able to consider them separately. The insurance lobbyists have too much power and influence over Congress right now, I give him my honest answer.
He gives me a paternal smile. Then you've got nothing to worry about. Two years is a long time, Josh, you know that. The things we do today and tomorrow will likely be forgotten by then. The extension they want will pass whether it's as part of the AFDC funding bill or on its own merits. The end result is all that matters.I just don't want to give anyone an opening, to make it harder than it has to be. I like to think I'm above that sort of stuff, I try to explain.
The President chuckles and shakes his head. We all like to think we're above the pandering and backroom dealing, but we're not. Lots of people, you and I included, get into politics because we see a chance to fix all the wrongs in the world from inside the system. But the system is a living, breathing thing and it feeds on our instinctual desire for power. It's like an addiction.
I sigh heavily. It's one thing to be someone's advisor, to analyze the possibilities and suggest a course of action or a decision. It's entirely something else to be the one making the call I'm discovering. Not just which course of action I should take, but whether or not I can look myself, and more importantly my family, in the face. My father always made sure he could do that. He'd never take on a case just for the money, he had to know his client was in the right.
I don't want to give anyone the opportunity to question my integrity, I admit. I mean, look at Congress right now. The only reason it isn't a non-stop conveyor belt of ethics investigations is because the leadership agreed to a truce. Now the Ethics Committee is a toothless joke. They couldn't investigate a complaint if they tried. The average voter has no way of knowing if their congressman is in the hip pocket of the drug lobby and they know it, so they assume all politicians are crooked.I'll agree there's guilt by association to a great degree. Much as there is with shyster lawyers. A few unethical bastards making everyone else look bad, Bartlet leans forward in his chair.
I lean back in my own, considering his words. Like Sam's date last night. Nice young woman once you get to know her, but you're so blinded by Sam's track record you don't want to bother with her.What was wrong with her?
I have to laugh. Nothing! She's perfect for him. Yeah, she's a tad young, but I've got no room to talk. The problem everyone has is Sam found her all by himself. If I'd introduced them, it wouldn't be an issue.Maybe that's what you need, Bartlet muses. Someone to introduce you to the people of Wisconsin. I ask a bit baffled.
He looks thoughtful before continuing. This is what I actually wanted to talk to you about. I got a call this afternoon from Governor Wilson of Wisconsin. The current Secretary of State up there is a bright young guy with extensive state legislature experience. He wants to run, but he doesn't want a primary fight involving the White House. I agree it wouldn't be good for either of you. Wilson's lieutenant governor has some health issues and would be willing to jump off the ticket next go around. They want to know if you'll stay out of the Senate race and run with Wilson instead.
Taken aback by the out-of-the-blue suggestion, I recline further in my chair, contemplating the fork in the road of my future. It isn't exactly what I'd planned, but it could work and it would be an excellent way to unload the image of being an opportunist who only moved to Wisconsin to run for office. Wilson's immensely popular, I know, I wouldn't be much of a factor in his reelection.
They told me nobody else was interested, I mention, idly wondering where this guy came from.
This is the first the DSCC has heard from this guy, the President explains.
It's not a horrible idea. I'd have to talk to Donna about it, I think out loud.
Governors have a better track record of getting elected to higher office, Bartlet points out as he gets to his feet. Go home and think about it. You've got time to talk to your wife and make a decision.
My eyes snap open and I lie still, unsure what woke me.
Josh's muted curse floats through the stillness to my ears. He must have walked into something in the dark.
It's nearly 1 o'clock in the morning and while I expected him to be late, I didn't think it would be this late. He hasn't worked past midnight in months.
I wait patiently, listening to him go about his business. His first stop is the nursery, to check on David and I can hear him whispering over the baby monitor. Satisfied our son is asleep, he comes into our bedroom and strips as quietly as he can. I can hear him taking the time to hang his suit up rather than leave it in a pile on the floor of the walk-in closet. Something he's become more conscientious about since I can't bend over like I used to.
A momentary rush of cold air assaults my body when he lifts up the covers to slide under them. The heat of his body quickly replaces the chill as he wraps himself around me, his hand protectively splayed over my stomach. He kisses my shoulder and then snuggles his face into the crook of my neck, his breath a warm, moist presence on my collarbone.
Is everything okay? I ask quietly, covering his hand with my own.
He doesn't answer right away.
Not really.Is this about what you needed to talk to Leo about? If he can't talk to me yet, I don't want to push the issue.
Yeah, but he left tonight before I could talk to him. I talked to President Bartlet, though.Can you tell me about it?
He nods, his stubble scratching against my skin.
Before I found you at the reception last night, I was stopped by a guy from the American HMO Alliance, he begins, the story pouring out of him.
The ethical implications are obvious to me immediately and I understand why he wouldn't talk to me today about my meetings.
What did the President say when you told him? I'm glad he talked to President Bartlet about it rather than Leo. Josh and Leo are both campaign strategists. Neither of them has any experience actually being the candidate and the type of advice Josh needs right now is from somebody who can help him understand the consequences from that point of view.
He said it'd go away by the time the Wisconsin primary season rolls around in the spring of '06.It is two years away and by then the extension will have been renewed, I agree. After my meeting today, I know there's no chance of getting this rider off the bill and even if there is, the insurance lobby has enough pull in Congress to get it attached to something else and passed without debate.
Josh doesn't say anything and I can feel there's something else.
I prompt. What else did the President say?He got a call from Governor Wilson this afternoonGovernor Wilson of Wisconsin? I interrupt.
Josh confirms before continuing. The Wisconsin Secretary of State wants to run for Senate and Wilson called to offer a deal.What kind of deal?The kind where I don't run for the Senate. I run for lieutenant governor instead.What about the things we talked about at Thanksgiving?This would be a minor detour in the road, he acknowledges.
I don't understand, Josh. Running for Senate was your idea to begin with. I thought it was what you really wanted. I roll on to my back so I can see his eyes.
He props himself up on his elbow and I see something I'm not accustomed to seeing in my husband insecurity and fear.
You know how when you got back from the Hill you said hoped I wouldn't sell my soul to the insurance lobby?
I reach up and stroke his cheek with the back of my fingers, realizing it was at that point in the day he started to not just withdraw, but zone out. I didn't mean to imply you actually would.I know you didn't, but it started me thinking and then when I was talking to President Bartlet, something clicked. You know how everyone judged Maria last night because she was Sam's date? Josh waits for my nod before continuing. My dad would never take a case if he believed his client was guilty. When I was in law school, I asked him about it once. I wondered how he got to be a partner at a firm like Debevoise and Plimpton refusing to represent clients he felt was guilty. You know what he told me?He said even though he was a lawyer and everyone is entitled to legal representation, he was also a man with a family and he was entitled to be able to look at himself in the mirror every day and know he never compromised his ethics. I want to be able to do the same thing and I think this could help. It's a lower profile start. I can build some name recognition and learn more about what drives the Wisconsin political scene without the pressure of having to play the Washington game as well.
I know better than to argue with Josh when he invokes his father. If it's what you want, Josh, then it's what you should do.I'm scared, Donna, he admits in a barely audible whisper. We set this huge goal and I I feel like I'm stumbling all over myself before I'm even in the starting gate. I don't know if I can do this and still be You and David and the cub, you're more important to me than The President told me the system feeds on our base desire for power. It's an addiction. I don't want that. I don't want to wake up 15 years from now and not be able to look you in the eye.
I know Josh has done some less than honorable things in his career, cut backroom deals to assure victories, but he's always fought the good fight and never broken his word. He's my real thing and it's time to remind him of that.
Why did you leave Hoynes for Bartlet? I ask, reaching for his hand
Because Jed Bartlet is the real thing and John Hoynes is a man in love with the power of being a politician, Josh replies, his brow knotting in confusion.
How did you know Bartlet was the real thing? He's never told me about this, but Sam did, while we were sitting in the waiting room after Rosslyn.
A faint smile touches Josh's lips as he recollects the night he first heard Jed Bartlet speak. Leo coerced me into going up to New Hampshire to listening to him give a speech at the VFW. One guy stood up and asked him why he voted against the New England Dairy Farming Compact. Bartlet looked at him and admitted he had screwed this guy and then proceeded to tell him why. Told the guy he didn't want to make it harder for people to buy milk. That one in five Americans living in poverty are children and he thought we had an obligation to give our children better than we ourselves had.Make me a promise. I lock my eyes on his.
That you'll give our children better than we ourselves had. President Bartlet is right, power is addictive, but it also comes with the sacred trust to meet the obligation of making this world better. Promise me you'll always put the obligation first. I've got your back on the rest of it.I promise, he whispers, leaning down to seal the pact with a kiss. What did I ever do to deserve you?You got damn lucky, I retort with a chuckle.
I did, didn't I? This time when he smiles it lights up his brown eyes and he leans in to kiss me again.