Chapter 8
I wake up early today and do my Richard Simmons' "Sweating to the Oldies" tape. I know, I know, it's practically ancient, but I don't have the time nor the money for a gym membership and Richard has always been helpful when I've needed to lose a few pounds. So get off my back.
Anyway, I exercise and then have a fairly decent breakfast of two scrambled egg whites and a cup of strawberries. It's not as good as a cinnamon crunch bagel with honey walnut cream cheese from Panera Bread would be, but sometimes you've got to do what you've got to do. I've got six days until the state dinner, I can't go soft now. But I've decided that next Sunday Josh is taking me out for pizza… or Chinese… or Mexican… or pasta… yes, pasta.
Once I shower and dress in appropriate Sunday work attire, which is really just a contradiction of terms, seeing as how I shouldn't have to work on Sunday, I grab Josh's keys and head outside. I walk up and down my block twice, not finding his Audi, and I start to get worried. I finally find it around the corner, mere seconds before freaking out that I got his car stolen.
The drive to work is lovely. I'd never say this in front of The Beast, but Josh's Audi is incredible. It's all leather inside, it's comfortable, it has a great stereo system, it… oh… it has these little hooks in the trunk that you can hang grocery bags on so they don't tip over on your way home from the grocery store and spill all over the trunk. I don't have proof, but it's pretty clear to me that a woman designed it.
I'm pretty much coming to terms with the fact that I'm buying a new car, if for no other reason than Josh's unreasonable fear of me driving The Beast. Last night, after he dropped me off and took my car home so I couldn't drive it, basically holding it hostage, I got online and checked out my savings and checking accounts. As much as I complain, they're both in fine shape. My student loan will be paid off in five months, and it seems that in the last year, I've put more than $2000 into repairing The Beast, not including oil changes and things like that. Deleting those two things alone will make a car payment doable.
I figure a few other small adjustments might have to be made. For instance, somewhere around our second year in office I got into the habit of rewarding myself every time I got a paycheck for not throwing myself at or killing Josh (these two things being interchangeable depending on his behavior.) Those little rewards started simple; a cheap pair of earrings, a throw pillow for my couch, a cd. I'm a bit ashamed to admit that those awards have increased in value to half-days at the Piaf Spa, new outfits, and things of that nature. So I'm thinking that's going to have to change, and Starbucks might have to become a weekly instead of daily stop, but I haven't had Starbucks in the last two weeks because of the diet from hell, and I seem to be coping. And I'm not going to add another percent to my 401K withholding like I told myself I'd do once I got a raise, but after all that, I'm going to be able to handle a car payment without much of an impact on daily life. I fear I could sob like a baby when saying goodbye to The Beast later today, which will in turn make Josh uncomfortable, but there's little I can do to stop that now and it's always fun to watch Josh squirm.
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I love Sundays in the West Wing. They're very quiet; the senior staff is usually here for part of the day, Charlie's here of course, and I'm usually here. Ginger, Bonnie, Cathy, Carol, and even Margaret rarely see a Sunday in the West Wing, but here I am, very busy playing FreeCell.
The phone rings while I'm on my fourth game, which is almost strange. The phone rarely rings on Sunday. Unless something big is going down, Josh comes in for senior staff, which lasts longer than usual (just between you and me, I think they're in there drinking or playing poker or something), we kind of get things ready for the start of the new week, including what bills we're going to focus on, which members of congress we want to meet with or boss around, things like that, and then we go out for a late lunch and end the day.
So anyway, the phone rings and I answer absently while trying to figure out what move to make next in this FreeCell game. "Josh Lyman's office…"
"Is Josh available?"
"I'm sorry, he's not. May I take a message and have him call you back in a few hours?" I ask, balancing the phone between my shoulder and chin while I reach for my message pad and a pen.
"There's no hurry. I was just following up on some information he asked me to research for him. He said he needed it right away, but I haven't heard back from him." Someone's researching for Josh other than me?
"Alright," I say hesitantly. Everything in the White House is top priority, but this can wait? "And who should I say called?"
"Oh, sorry," the man says chuckling a little. "Just let him knowJohn Murphy called."
Secretary Murphy? "I'll let him know, Sir. Are you sure you don't need him to call you back right away?"
"Not necessary. I just called to make sure he got the e-mail I sent him last week. It sounded important to him. Have him call me if he didn't receive it or if he has any questions about it."
"Absolutely, Sir." I hang up puzzled; it's odd that a cabinet member would contact Josh. They usually go through Leo.
Carol calls a few minutes later, interrupting my game once again, which is what I blame for having to play the same one seven times before beating it. Apparently CJ needs something right away, and thought to call Carol at home for it from the oval office. We assistants do this; watch out for each other. It's absolutely ridiculous that Carol should have to come into the office simply to pick up something off her desk and take it to CJ in the oval office, and although CJ's better than Toby, Leo, and Lord knows Josh, she's still helpless in that way that very powerful, busy, smart people are when it comes to the everyday things like changing light bulbs and thinking that probably just about anybody could find a simple envelope sitting on top of Carol's desk.
Anyway, Carol talks me through finding it and I take it to the oval office where apparently Josh has told everyone that I'm on the cusp of buying a new car, because Charlie congratulates me on it as I walk into the outer office and then kind of softly reminds me to get the tow package. I don't really know what a tow package is, but Charlie seems a little melancholy about it, so I just smile and tell him I'll make sure to do that. He nods and takes the envelope from me, walking into the oval office with it.
When I get back to my desk I figure I should call my grandmother. Every time I go home, which isn't often, I pick her up at her condo and take her for a drive in The Beast. We reminisce and talk about my job and her arthritis and how horrible my mother is for not letting her eat sugar. It's nice. Anyway, seeing as how The Beast has always been special between us, I feel like I should warn her of its imminent death. She seems to take the news fine, her exact words being, "It's about time, honey. I've had four cars since then," but I'm pretty sure she's just putting on a brave front. I promise to take her out for a drive in the new car when I'm home for Thanksgiving this fall.
Finally, due to complete boredom, I go into Josh's office to straighten up a little and put his few messages on his desk. On the top of the pile is the message from the Secretary of Transportation, and I figure it would make everyone's life easier if I just check to see if Josh received his e-mail.
I log into his account, which is always frustrating as hell. He says he doesn't have time, but I'm positive he doesn't know how to make folders in his Outlook file. This wouldn't be a problem if he got three or four e-mails a day, but he regularly gets fifty or more. Occasionally I take ten minutes out of my very busy schedule, which usually means forgoing FreeCell for the day, and make folders for him, sorting out the read e-mails in his inbox. But it never takes long for it to start piling up again.
I scroll through the 322 read messages for one from Secretary Murphy, and when I find it, I do a double take and the subject line: Safest Cars on the Market. So, obviously I'm going to open this e-mail. You really didn't need me to tell you that, right?
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To: jlymanwhitehouse.gov
From: jmurphyus.gov
Subject: Safest Cars on the Market
It was nice to hear from you, Josh. I hope the information below helps with whatever bill or project on which you're working.
I wish I could give you a list of American made hybrids, but I'm sorry to say that although American made cars are safe, they aren't yet as safe as foreign models.
Audi is not only the safest overall vehicle brand, the A4 is the absolute safest car on the market today and has been for the last nine years. If the buyer can afford it, it's the car to buy.
The Volkswagen Passat is the second safest car according to most sources, although some, including Consumer Reports, would put the Acura TL above that. In truth, all Acura models are extremely safe.
The Honda Accord ranks just below the Acura and is the safest car in its class. The Honda Civic did very well on crash tests as well, but research shows that compact and subcompact cars simply don't hold up under extreme pressure as well as a car that's a bit larger.
The Lexus ES330 and Nissan Maxima are also extremely safe, having received a 5 star crash rating in every possible category and passing every test Consumer Reports does as well. However, no other Lexus or Nissan models received this high a rating, which tells me that their companies aren't building the safest of cars across the board like the Audi, Acura and Honda companies are.
Please Josh, take all of this with a grain of salt. As you know, all vehicles must pass through rigorous testing before they can be sold in the US. There are very few cars that I would call unsafe. Still, you asked for a list of the absolute safest, no exceptions, and I can't in good conscience give you a false report.
If you need an official report, or if you have any questions, please let me know. I'd be happy to go over these results with you in greater detail.
John Murphy
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I read the e-mail three times before turning in Josh's chair to look out the window. I suspect I know what Josh's trusty little piece of paper is, and I feel a smile tug at the corners of my mouth even as a tear forms in the corner of my eye. It takes several minutes before anything other than 'Josh loves me' can filter through my mind, and even then I can do nothing but remind myself that I really already knew that.
Do we need to talk about that, you and I? Do you doubt that this new piece of evidence means he loves me? Perhaps you think he did it out of some sort of brotherly love. Let me assure you that the many, many, many times I've caught Josh staring at me, it was not a brotherly love stare. Or perhaps you think he would've done this for any friend buying a new car. Again, let me set the record straight. Last winter, CJ bought a new car. Josh went on and on saying she should get a Chevy Corvette, because it would be fun watching her try to get in and out of it. So… it's obvious really. Josh wants me. Loves me. Wants to marry me and have little blonde curly haired children with big brown eyes and dimples who are messy and clumsy and adorably demanding and understand the constitution before the age of five and like to watch baseball with him. Oh come on, you and I both knew I was imagining a specific father last night.
I'm still sitting here in partial awe imagining the world's cutest children, Emily and Jacob, when Josh comes back from senior staff. He startles me and I spin quickly around to face him. He's smiling, but he quickly frowns when he sees my glossy eyes and no doubt blotchy face. Damn alabaster skin. "What happened?" he demands more than asks.
I smile. I can't help it. The man standing in front of me loves me. He loves me! I want to shout it from the rooftops! I want to do a cartwheel! Again I remind myself that I already knew this. It's just that… well, I don't know. Maybe it's that the proof is nice to see. "Nothing," I say as I smile even bigger and stand up.
He takes a step towards me. "But you're…" he trails off, gesturing towards my face.
I tilt my head and look at him, my smile turning soft. "You need to reply to Secretary Murphy's e-mail. He called worried that you hadn't gotten the information."
His eyes widen and he looks like a deer caught in headlights. "See… I…"
I don't say anything; I just lean in and kiss him softly on the cheek before walking towards the door. I turn around and look at him when I reach it and he's looking at me in a very non-brotherly way. "Then return those phone calls and we're ready to go buy me a new car."