Chapter 2
President Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III, at the beginning of his second term, is not the man who stepped foot in the Oval Office for the first time four years ago with a youthful bounce and wide-eyed naiveté. He's seen too much, from gridlock in Congress, to an activist Supreme Court, to a wife who refuses to leave, a girlfriend who refuses to stay and a Chief of Staff he cannot trust. Gone is the idealist, the reluctant leader who wash forced into politics. Today, standing in his office, waiting for his Chief of Staff is President Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III, a man seeing clearly for the first time, someone beaten up by life, still standing and somehow, somehow, a man still filled with hope.
Cyrus enters his office, annoyed as usual, in already articulating his latest thought, "I was on a call with the new Majority Leader and he said-"
"Cyrus-"
"I think there's some goodwill there. Of course, he's a Democrat and you can't really trust them, and everyone plays nice in the beginning, but I think he can be bought if we figure out-"
"Cyrus-"
"What he wants and we'll dangle a carrot or two-"
"CYRUS! SIT DOWN!" Cyrus stomps his foot and hesitates as he tries to read Fitz's mood, something he used to do quite well. Now, as he looks at him, he sees a poker face that rivals his own. So, instead of fighting, he sits. Fitz drops a folder onto his lap, then sits across from him. And waits.
Cyrus opens the folder and immediately recognizes Olivia's handwriting. His eyes roll, then widen as and he slams it shut, "With all due respect-"
"With all due respect, Cyrus, this is the agenda for the next 100 days. So you get all the ideas you have about YOUR agenda out of your head-"
"Mr. President, it will take us at least a week, working 24 hours to come up with a plan-"
"Funny you should mention that. Liv's already written the plan-"
"Here we go."
"Yes, here we go, Cy. Your best student, who is brilliant by the way, came up with a plan and you are going to implement that plan and I am going to sell it to the American public." Cyrus looks as though he's going to be sick. "Cheer up Cy, the band is back together. Isn't that what you always wanted?"
"Sir, the rumors of your affair aren't even cold and you're bringing her back?"
"This is not up for discussion."
Chief Justice Michael Jeffries is Olivia Pope's least favorite member of the highest court in the land. When he appeared before the Senate Judiciary Committee for his confirmation hearing, he spoke passionately about family values, personal responsibility, stare decisis. When confronted with excerpts from various speeches, he smiled and gave appeasing answers, frustrating the left and energizing the right, ultimately winning confirmation by an overwhelming margin.
He was the last appointment by Fitz's predecessor. The last "fuck you" to a country that seemed to be moving left while its leaders continued moving further and further to the right. There was something about Justice Jeffries, beyond the boyish charm and sneaky eyes, that rubs Olivia the wrong way.
As she reads through the all the information culled by her team, even she could never have imagined the secrets he held. This family man, who has been known to speak in coded language at events that are meant to further divide the country by race, had a child in college, born shortly after he married the woman the media calls his "college sweetheart".
That in and of itself is not scandalous, in poor taste, surely, but it won't bring him down. So, Olivia keeps reading. The child's mother, Angela Weston, an African-American woman, was a fellow student. A rival of sorts, as they competed for the highest grades in their class. She too was on law track and when they saw each other the first time, according to an interview she gave years later and without naming names, it was love. She loved him. And he loved her. But it was a different time, she said. It was a sacrifice they made so they could pursue their dreams.
Olivia forces herself to block out her personal feelings, the personal pain she feels for her own sacrifice. Angela has never married. She works; that is where she finds pleasure. Even on paper, her words are filled with the sadness that comes with watching one's love from afar. Watching someone live the life you so desperately want.
Raising her son, Justin, as a single mother was a challenge. She had little help from family, some of whom abandoned her, and friends, most of whom judged her. Yet, she was successful and a shining example of what is possible.
Her son though, has a history of trouble. Of acting out. Of crying out for help, attention and the love his father would not provide. OPA is his last resort, he said during a phone interview with Quinn. He discovered his paternity quite by accident, when he stumbled upon a box of letters from father to mother, written during the time she was pregnant with him, and the early years of her life.
The letters were written, even he had to admit, from a man who loved her. He was in an impossible situation, a phrase written over and over again, followed by reassuring words of kindness. The letters, over time, became less frequent...sad...then they stopped coming entirely. His promise to be there in any way he could, came to mean he would not be there at all.
Justin had no bitterness toward his father, he said in the beginning, but his words dripped with nothing but. And pain, there is so much pain. He wants to be acknowledged. He wants to get rid of the "bastard" label; wants to be able to tell people who his father is. He also wants to give his father a chance to acknowledge his existence publicly, before blowing up their entire world.
Olivia's cell phone buzzes on her desk and she sighs loudly when she sees the name Cyrus on the display. She takes a deep breath before answering, holding the phone a slight distance from her ear in anticipation of the man yelling on the other end.
"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!"
"Hello to you too, Cyrus."
"Don't you dare take that tone with me. What the hell is wrong with you two? A plan!? Are you two running a shadow government?"
She leans back in her chair, resting her feet on her desk. Though she should be upset with this tone and words, she is energized more than anything. Their friendly debates have always given her a rush. "As though you and Mellie haven't tried-"
"To what?"
"Run your own little operation. What Fitz and I do-"
"President Grant. What you and President Grant do."
"What Fitz and I do is always for the country first. You and Mellie, you're out for yourselves and that's fine, that's what you've always been about, but Fitz and I share a vision for this country-"
"And you also believe in Santa Claus and Easter Bunny."
"Don't forget the Tooth Fairy." Cyrus is not amused. "Cyrus, Fitz is doing what all presidents do in their second term. He is pursuing the things he thinks is best. The first four, were all about getting re-elected. He's given up too much already." She has given up too much already, but she doesn't tell that to Cyrus.
"So what? You're going to push things and fail and leave the country a mess so they'll elect a Democrat who will screw up all the progress we've made and blow up the deficit and start wars."
"Cyrus, you serve at the pleasure of the President. He is the one who sets the agenda. You can hop aboard, or you can get off and he'll find someone else. Someone who's loyal. Someone who doesn't try to snatch away his happiness."
"Olivia, everyone talks about what they're going to do. But no one is ever successful. Look back at history."
"Other presidents haven't had me on their side. Other presidents haven't planned for it the way we have. Have you read my plan?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"It's good. It's incredible. But it's risky. And the country isn't ready."
"Then it's your job to make them ready."
"Are you back?"
"Not officially. I'll advise. I'll work behind the scenes." She wants to say more. To warn him of a possible Supreme Court vacancy. She wants to discuss, in depth, her plan. She wants to get out of this office and march over to the White House, and-
"Liv?"
"Yes?"
"What aren't you telling me?"
The seconds tick by and she says nothing. She wonders if she can trust him, maybe have him do his own research. Then, she remembers, he's Cyrus. "Nothing. Study the plan. Take notes. Get back to me. Goodbye, Cyrus."
She purposely leaves no time for him to respond. It's something she's learned recently, the hard way. Something she should have learned a long time ago, but she's always given him the benefit of the doubt, even when he didn't deserve it.
She knows how this will play out; gone are the times when she hoped for a different outcome. Cyrus has shown her time and time again exactly who he is. He will study her plan, find holes that really don't exist, stomp his feet a few times, appeal to Fitz and finally, reluctantly, he'll ask her for the details she left out. Finally, he will ask her for her help.
In the meantime, she'll handle her business. She'll continue reading background information on her latest case and she'll try to resist the urge to let her emotions get involved. But she won't be able to do that; she knows. Because she is the woman left behind. The woman who threw herself into her work because she couldn't allow herself to sit still long enough to grieve for the love she has lost. She can't-
She can't do this anymore. She closes the folder, grabs her purse and leaves. Without a word, a glance, a simple wave of her hands. They will worry and speculate, and she will let them because the alternative, the thought of talking to them and letting them in...that's not Olivia Pope. She will deal with her problems on her own.
She leaves the building with no particular destination in mind. She leaves the building with a heavy heart and the thought that maybe she no longer has the stomach for this business. She's becoming weak. She leaves with a heavy heart and yes, this case is getting to her, as they all do. Coming to her at a moment in her life when she least wants it, but most needs it. A reflection.
Olivia will go home to her empty apartment, bottle of wine and bowl of popcorn. She will sit on her sofa and lament the state of her life, but she will not cry. She will hold it inside because that's what her parents would have expected of her and she misses them, God she misses them. Today is a tough day, she'll acknowledge, but she's a Pope; she is a survivor.
It's gotten to the point where Fitz cannot stand the sight of his wife. Mellie, her voice, her mannerisms her presence, the way she sucks all the oxygen out of air; every bit of her has become an annoyance. The prayer hands. The tight smile that's become an almost permanent fixture on her face, as though the cameras are always on her.
She strolls into his office, syrupy sweet. He looks at her face, more closely than usual and something is different. She's shiny and tighter; he shakes his head at her eternal quest for youth. For a brief moment, he feels empathy for her and then-
"Fitz, honey, Cyrus told me about the little surprise you sprung on him about our second term."
One, two, three, he counts to himself in his head. "Mellie, I'm going to say this one time and one time only, so listen up. I am President. It is MY agenda-"
"The one you set with your mistress."
"The one the love of my life and I created together."
Her face falls as she shifts from one foot to the other. She shakes her head, as though she's shaking off some unwanted thought, wrings her hands and then there's that smile, that goddamn smile that she's perfected. "Honey," she says, just as sweetly as she can even though his words have stabbed her in the heart again, "your legacy is at stake. You need too begin your second term with a few victories."
"And that's exactly what I'll do. You know what you can do for me, Mellie?"
"What?"
"Go back to the East Wing and let me do my job."
She stands in front of him, smile faltering, hands dropping to her sides. She should be used to his hurtful words. She should be used to his not caring because she stopped caring a long time ago too. But she had dreams once. She wanted to be more than someone's wife, so she went to the best schools and got the best grades and graduated at the top of her class. She could have been anything, but her family had other plans. She was to be an ornament, a background; she was to sacrifice her dreams to support her husband while he went on to achieve great things.
So, she stands in front of Fitz like a discarded piece of trash. Taking what he gives because that's what she's learned. She was cracked long before him. Now, she is just broken. As is he. As is Olivia. Three people whose lives are entwined; three people who are just trying to make it.
She shakes it off because that's what political wives are supposed to do and she turns on her heels and leaves her husband to himself. And his daydreams. And his great love who isn't her. Damn.