Something Sweet to Look Forward To
Glynnis
"I'll be here in the office when you're done."
Leo walks quickly, keeping ahead of me. As I follow him away from
Toby's office my mind flashes back on Toby's expression and his words.
Leo is not saying anything. Toby is waiting for me in his office. I
suddenly break out in a cold sweat. Something really big is coming at
me. I can feel it. As we pass people in the hallways they murmur
greetings to both of us, some seem to pick up a feeling of tension
from us. Some don't notice us. They all begin to blur together.
My thoughts turn to selfish concerns. Am I about to be fired? Should
I have included that awful line in the speech after all? No.
Certainly not. I was right. And Toby just found out and said he
trusted me. And if anyone were going to fire me it would be Toby.
Except… would Batman fire Robin… or have Alfred do it? I shake the
bizarre thought violently out of my head. Batman would do it.
OK. I'm not about to be fired.
I'm on my way to the Oval Office. Leo is not speaking. Toby has been
on the warpath for weeks now. And for the past week he has been in a
much tighter, darker mode than usual. I haven't seen Josh much over
the past few days. My thoughts race over my other coworkers. Their
moods and actions have been off, somehow. And I'm about to find out
why. Something wicked this way comes… My heartbeat quickens with
dread. We arrive at the door to the office. Mrs. Landingham is not
at her desk. Charlie nods to us and says he's waiting for us. I look
at Charlie for a second longer than I normally would. His expression
is unreadable.
The President is sitting, reading. When I enter the room he sets the
papers aside and takes off his glasses. Leo points me to the sofa
nearest President Bartlet and remains standing. President Bartlet
clears his throat and says, "I'm looking over a draft of the SME
speech. Well done, Sam."
I lick my dry lips and reply softly, "Thank you, sir. The ATJ and
Progressive Caucus had some concerns about verbiage that I refused to
include…"
He waves his hand dismissively and says softly, "Sit down, Sam. I
trust your words. I trust you." He looks at me so seriously that my
heart begins pounding even faster. Toby said he trusts me, too. I
realize that something is about to happen now and that it's not so
much about me as it is about the President. And trust.
I know concern shows in my face. Unlike every other moment of my
career, I don't try to hide it now.
He smiles slightly and takes a sip of his drink. "Would you like a
drink, Sam?" I feel the blood drain from my face. The President
doesn't offer me a drink as a habit. He treats me more like a son,
not a peer. He sees my face and says, "Please, Sam. Calm down. I…
Well, I need to tell you something. " He clears his throat and I see
sorrow in his eyes. I feel a chill of fear cut through me.
Then I see something that is very familiar and usually comforting, but
which offers me absolutely no comfort in this moment. He puts his
'Speech Face' on. A bead of sweat runs down my spine.
I write his speeches. I've written hundreds of them. For three years
I've listened with joy and wonder, and sometimes sorrow, as he's
brought my words to life. I know what he looks like when he's about
to deliver words he's committed to his incredible memory. I nearly
panic as I wonder what he is going to tell me that he has obviously
said before, and obviously memorized. Sound seems muted. Time seems
to slow.
And, once again, my world tumbles end over end. I have nothing to
hold onto, nothing to look forward to but pain and heartache.
"See, about 10 years ago, for a period of a few months, I was feeling
rundown and had a pain in my leg. They both subsided, but 8 years ago,
the pain came back, as well as numbness. My vision would become blurry
and I'd feel dizzy. During an eye exam, the doctor detected abnormal
pupil responses and ordered a MRI. The radiologist found plaque on my
brain and spine. I have a relapsing, remitting course of Multiple
Sclerosis." The President holds my gaze as silence fills the room.
Multiple Sclerosis.
I break the gaze and look down at my hands. They are strangely still
considering the way I feel they should be shaking. My stomach is
tight. My mouth is dry. The hairs on my arms and neck stand on end.
Another bead of sweat runs down my spine. But my body is strangely
still.
The President has Multiple Sclerosis.
Without thinking, I ask, "How do you feel?" My voice sounds tight and
strangely pitched. I feel a wave of heat flush up my neck. My
emotions are definitely beyond me at this moment.
He smiles an ironic smile, almost bitter, almost surprised I would
ask. He says, "Fine, thanks. I appreciate you asking. You?"
My head swims and I whisper, "Could I have some water?"
Leo pours some from a pitcher into a glass and brings it to me. I
look up into his eyes and see him measuring me. They've done this
before. Toby knows. Josh knows. CJ knows. Who else? Everybody in
the White House? Everybody but me? How out of the loop am I? Why
didn't I know sooner? I search for a logical reason to mollify my
ego. The speech. They must have held off on telling me because of
the speech. It's done… and now that it's done, I know that the
President has Multiple Sclerosis. I down the contents of the glass in
one swallow.
As I set the glass down, the silence weighs on us all. I finally meet
the President's gaze again. He looks as though he expects me to yell
at him or something. I don't understand that. On some level I'm
horrified as my eyes fill with tears. Seeing this, his eyes become
moist. I pick up the glass again. I hold it up in a silent plea for
more water. Leo obliges. When he hands back the glass I take a small
sip and set it on the coffee table. I sit back and wipe the back of
my left hand over each eye.
I take a deep breath. "Are you okay, Mr. President?" I choke out.
He nods.
"Are you… is it… fatal?" I feel foolish as I ask. Unsure. Scared,
like a child asking about the monsters in the dark. I don't know much
about Multiple Sclerosis. Never needed to. Wish I wasn't about to
learn. I usually hate not knowing about something, but for one moment
I wish that I could remain ignorant of MS.
He shakes his head. "MS is not fatal. It can become physically
debilitating and affect cognitive function, but it is not fatal." I
feel my face twist and look down.
Debilitating. Cognitive function. No.
"Why are you telling me now?" I ask. "Why now if not before?"
He sits back and sighs. "I will announce it soon. Toby figured it
out last week from 'clues' Hoynes gave him. It's time to tell the
People. It's time."
Last week. Toby. Clues. Hoynes knows. Time.
I blink rapidly and nod. "Is there anything else, Sir?"
What will this mean for him? What will this mean for the Presidency?
Is it all over for us? How will we overcome this? What about me?
What will I do? I grow disgusted with myself for the selfish
thoughts.
He shakes his head and then leans forward, obviously having changed
his mind. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry I didn't tell you years ago. I
believed I was doing what was best at the time. But now I'm sorry."
Again, I blink back tears. He's apologizing to me because he's facing
a debilitating illness. "That's okay, Mr. President. I'm sorry you
have it."
Debilitating. Cognitive function. Jed Bartlet unable to speak,
unable to bring my words to life.
No!
He licks his lips and looks down. "Thank you, Sam." Then he stands.
I stand, too, and now my body has caught up with my brain. My legs
shake. I rasp, "Good evening, Mr. President."
He repeats, "Thank you, Sam." As I move toward the door, I hear him
say to Leo, "I wish we'd gauged reaction with that one, Leo." Then he
turns away and I swear I hear him choke back a sob. I don't look
back. I can't.
Leo puts a hand on his shoulder and responds, "He's not the only one
who will react that way, Mr. President." He says, "Sam, please get
with Babish at 5:30 a.m. and then come by my office tomorrow
afternoon. There are some things we need to get your help on. By the
way, we've got room B-WW 280 set up as a 'war room' of sorts. You'll
need to use the code word 'Sagittarius' to gain entry. Why don't you
call it a night now?"
I nod and close the door behind me as I leave the Oval Office. I
stare back at the door for a moment. I see Charlie look up at me. I
look at him. Now I can read his expression. He knows. I nod and
say, "Good night, Charlie."
He replies evenly, "Good night, Sam." I think about his quiet
strength as I walk away.
I vaguely hear people speak as I pass. I don't speak in return. I
look at their eyes as I pass. I do an unintentional survey. He
doesn't know. She doesn't know. They don't know.
I pass Oliver Babish. He knows. Well, I guess he would. He IS the
White House Counsel… bet he's cursing Tribbey for leaving him the job
now. I wonder why he was in the West Wing… and where he's going.
My brain is whirring. What can I do to help? I guess Babish will let
me know tomorrow what he has in mind, but what can I bring to the
table? I bump into a door frame and mutter a curse. Actually I guess
he'll be vetting me in the morning and then Leo will tell me what they
want me to do. What can I bring to the table? Think.
He doesn't know. She doesn't know. He doesn't know. She doesn't
know.
Donna. Big smile and then a curious look as I don't respond. Nope.
Doesn't know. Ginger. No particular expression. Doesn't know.
I walk into Toby's office and close the door behind me. He's silent.
I sit down on his sofa. He gives me a beer and sips his scotch. He
definitely knows. He says, "You're gonna need to talk to the White
House Counsel. Babish wants to see you at 5:30 tomorrow morning." I
nod. He bounces a ball.
"Leo told me." I say, and then ask. "Is he representing the
President?" Toby nods and bounces the ball. "What about us?" Somehow
I know it's okay to bring up selfish concerns with Toby. He won't
think less of me for it. He'll just help me sort it out.
Toby bounces the ball again and again and quietly says, "He's going to
appoint someone from his office to review all the speeches we've
written, all the commentaries we've done and all our appearances in
the media. She'll let us know whether or not we need our own lawyers."
He looks at me evenly.
I choke on my beer. "She?" Toby nods. "She?" I stand and pace to
the other end of the office and stop, rooted there. I whirl back and
look at Toby.
Toby looks at me very intently as he says, "Babish needs to use all of
the resources we've got on this. He's going to want you to help with
some vetting and other preparation, for example. He also decided to
use all of the White House lawyers. He's informing them one at a time
and giving them areas on which to focus. Ainsley Hayes is being told
right now. He thinks that she's the best one to defend you and me."
I feel the color rise in my face. I'm suddenly furious. I know what
this is about. Babish has decided to use Ainsley's and my friendship
to keep her in check. He doesn't trust her political motives. The
painful thing is that I know she'll understand that all too clearly,
as well. It'll just be one more example of the millions of ways the
Democrats in this White House have found to let her know she's the
enemy no matter what she does. I flash back on the card in the dead
flowers Brookline and Joyce left on her desk.
But this anger is more than even that and I know it. Much more.
Toby is still staring at me. He can see right through me and I really
don't give a damn. My breathing comes faster. I want nothing more
than to charge down to the basement and throw Babish up against a wall
and beat him senseless. I want to protect her from learning about
this… scandal. I want to protect her from another slam against her
integrity as a White House employee. Now my hands are shaking
visibly. I clench fists. Without sound or expression, Toby tosses me
the ball. I slam it into the glass of his office door so hard it
cracks.
He winces and asks, "Feel better?" I shake my head. I don't feel
better. I feel drained. I feel helpless. He's telling her right
now. I pace back and forth in this cage.
Toby says, "I envy you, you know." I look at him in confusion. He
envies me? Envies me what? "I envy that you didn't get angry until
you got here." I tilt my head and look at Toby. I nod slowly. I can
imagine what Toby's reaction must have been. I've seen him seething
ever since. He's not just angry with the President and Leo. He's
angry with himself, too.
I look away and say, "She'll surprise Babish, you know. She'll take
the news like the pro that she is and dig into our defense the same
way. And she would do that no matter what aspect of the case she was
assigned."
Toby looks carefully says, "You have a lot of faith in her." He
shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "You know her better than I do. She
seems intelligent and capable, if a bit nervous. But I don't know
her." His voice rises. "Of course, on some level I find it hysterical
to think a Republican will be defending me against all that's coming
our way…"
I say, firmly, "She's more than that, Toby. She's the Associate White
House Counsel. The President appointed her because she has a sense of
duty."
He smiles slightly, "And because she kicked your ass on television."
I grin grimly and choose to ignore the dig. "A sense of duty… like in
Pinafore."
Toby bounces his ball and asks, idly, "Were you really President of
the Gilbert and Sullivan Society at Princeton?"
I shake my head. "Recording Secretary."
He chuckles darkly. "Yeah. You know… your opinion has really changed
since you yelled at Leo for sending her to clean up the mess with the
Rockland memo. Then, you were suspicious that she would leak the
problem…" He looks at me expressively as only Toby can.
I remember. I wince and look down. She knows about this by now and I
can't do anything to stop it or to stop Babish from hurting her. And
I can't do anything to cure the President. I'm stunned as the sense
of helplessness hits me.
Why cognitive function? Why? Please, no.
Softly, Toby say, "I hope your faith in her is justified, Sam. I
really do." Doubt shows in his eyes, and dread of the pain he sees
ahead for me if his doubt proves justified.
I finish off the beer and crush the can viciously. I tell him, "It
is, Batman. It is." He smiles slightly. I get up and say, "I'm
going to call it a night. Early… and long… day tomorrow."
He nods and says, "Yeah. Good night, Sam." I reply in kind.
In my office, I hit save on the document that's up on my computer. I
glance to see how many new emails I have. And then I just close the
door and leave. But I don't go to my car. There's no question where
I'm going now. I'm going to find some doughnuts.
-------------------------------------------------
In the Steam Pipe Trunk Distribution Venue…
"I thank you for this assignment, Mr. Babish. I will complete it with
all due scrutiny and care, while also proceeding with all possible
speed. You can count on me… and my discretion… completely, utterly
and without fail." I stand here and, without any obvious display of
emotion, calmly enunciate the pledge. If looks could kill, Oliver
Babish would be dead on my floor.
He moves to the door. He turns back. "Do you do some sort of
breathing exercises that keep you from needing air between sentences,
Miss Hayes?"
I simply shake my head. I am not amused. He shrugs. "Well, good
night. I'll expect you at 5:00."
I nod and reply, "Yes, sir."
The door closes behind Oliver Babish. Bastard.
Now that he's gone I allow my eyes to mist and the color to return to
my cheeks. I sit down weakly. I'd like to kick and scream and throws
things at Babish. I'd like to… I run my hand over the outline of
speeches and tapes I need to unarchive for review. With my free hand
I search my desk drawer for a snack.
Sam.
I push thoughts of violence against Babish away. I pick up the
outline and begin to guess at the volume of material I'll be
reviewing. Judging from times I've helped to condense position memos
down, I'm guessing I'll be sifting through several tractor-trailers
worth of stuff.
Sam.
Damn Babish! Even if I did have the traitorous tendencies he
attributes to me, to Southerners, to Republicans, to blond woman
lawyers in general… he would prevent me from leaking this before they
are ready by throwing Sam in the path of my potential treachery.
Bastard.
And that's a good thing. He's smart and mean and observant. It makes
me feel good about the President's chances of getting through this
thing intact.
But then there's the Multiple Sclerosis. The opposition is nothing
next to that. Dear God, why? I've only met President Bartlet a few
times… and one of those I try very hard to forget about… but I like
him. It was his spirit and his integrity and his passion and his
sense of duty and honor that called me to this job. Why him?
I can't do anything to help with that, but I can help immensely with
the battles to come.
My first day here, Leo told me I was in their foxhole now. I
wondered, at the time, if the war analogy was appropriate. I know now
that it was. And it seems that even then he knew the truth of the
situation, that this war was inevitable. A doubt creeps through my
mind. Did they hire me only so they'd have a Republican as a part of
their defense on the cover-up? I banish the thought. Jed Bartlet is
a good man.
Now, Oliver Babish, on the other hand… I try to resist grinding my
teeth at the thought of him and fail. I stand and pace. I turn on my
CD player. Chopin. Lovely. Relax. Relax. Grind. Relax. Sam.
Oh, Sam.
I could go on and on to myself all night about duty and honor and
integrity and spirit… but I'd only be hiding behind the words. Babish
said they were telling Sam tonight. Said he was with the President
and Leo as we spoke. I had an insane urge to run up there and pull
him into my arms. Sam has that affect. And I've always been weak for
that. A man in sincere distress. A strong, passionate, intelligent
man in distress? My toes practically curl at the thought. And more
that it's Sam. It's infuriating, liberal-minded, stubborn,
opinionated, dear Sam.
I will decimate anyone who tries to hurt him. They want a war? Well,
they'll get one.
One concern I have is to wonder how Babish could know how much I'd
want to defend Sam. He thinks I have traitorous potential. What gave
him the idea that Sam would be more important to me than the
opportunity to make this secret public before the White House can
control it? I would never betray this White House that way. I'm
their lawyer. But more than that, I WILL protect Sam. I'm surprised
at the intensity of my feelings, so how could Babish know more about
them than I do?
I'll run right over anyone who tries to bring Sam down. To bring any
of them down for that matter. But especially Sam. I think of that
first day here and Brookline and Joyce. The cold reception I get
whenever I'm around my former colleagues now. Sam including me on
meetings and giving me advice. Sam, bringing me in on the speech for
the Correspondents' dinner. Sam, reminding me to remember I'm on
their side.
I realize now that he is, in fact, the only person who's been
completely on MY side all these months. He understands what I'm doing
here and has supported me… from the "Englishman" serenade on.
And tonight, for the second time in recent weeks, his world has been
turned upside down. A man he reveres told him he'd lied to him. A
man he loves told him he has a terrible disease. He was told that all
he hopes to accomplish is in jeopardy.
There's a knock at the door. I straighten both my expression and my
jacket and then call out, "It's open." I brace myself.
Oh, thank God! It's Sam and he's got doughnuts and coffee! Despite
everything I smile broadly at him. He stops and stares. I temper my
smile a bit and sniff the air appreciatively. "Are they actually
warm?" I look in his eyes to see how he's doing.
He looks serious, "I heated the box up in the microwave… and ran them
down here."
I reply, "That's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me, Sam. I
could really use something sweet about now." He nods and peers at me
sideways.
He asks, "You met with Babish tonight?"
I frown and pluck a doughnut out of the box. I take a big bite and
just nod in reply. I'm not sure I trust myself to talk about Babish
right now.
He hesitates and asks, "And he told you…?"
I swallow and murmur, "Sagittarius." Our eyes meet for a long second.
He takes a doughnut. I eat the rest of the first. He replies, "Yeah…
Sagittarius. I met with the President earlier tonight." He looks
away. I feel a surge of desire to take him in my arms and sooth his
pain. I suppress it, but not without difficulty.
I sip the coffee. He fixed it just like I like it… a bit too much
cream compared to the average person, no sugar. I'm touched. He has
quite a mind for details. And he really notices things. That worries
me for him where the case is concerned. He'd be safer if he was
dumber. I take another doughnut and say, "I was surprised you hadn't
been told earlier." At his look I feel awful. I add, "I only meant…"
He holds up a hand and says, "Nothing to worry about… they wanted me
to finish the SME speech before I became distracted." He sounds just
a little bit defensive and I can't blame him. On closer look I wonder
if he's been crying. Suddenly I feel like crying. After all that's
just happened to him he brought me doughnuts and coffee.
I say, "Thank you for this." I munch the second doughnut. It's like
a plain 'Krispy Kreme'… the kind I grew up on… searching out their
"Hot Doughnuts NOW!" signs…
He attempts to joke, "Gotta keep your strength up." He looks down,
realizing there's really nothing funny about it.
I reply lightly, "Well, that is the least you can do to help me
through my upcoming ordeal, Sam. Not only do I have to be in Babish's
office with you before dawn tomorrow; but it seems that I am going to
have to watch every television appearance you've ever done, read every
word you've written and listen to every radio program you've ever been
on. At the very least, a sugar high will be required in order to get
me through it all."
He grins, "You could learn a lot, you know, from the Master…"
I give an exaggerated sigh, "Only about the many ways in which you
err."
He raises his eyebrows, "I sincerely hope that is not the case."
My eyes grow wide. I ask quietly, "Is there someplace I should
start?" This is the closest I'll come to asking him if he's been
involved in the cover up knowingly. I'm sure he hasn't.
He looks at me solemnly, "No." He holds my gaze for a long moment and
then says, "I'm glad you're going to be evaluating Toby's and my
position in this thing."
He's sincere. He believes in me. He's grateful for my help. I can't
resist smiling at this.
He says, "Not that I'm encouraging you to call your father about it or
anything…"
I chuckle. "Perhaps I'll let you off the hook this once. I mean, you
DID bring doughnuts and coffee…"
He says, "I don't suppose you'd like to go grab a real dinner?" He is
a study in looking casual as he says this. I blink in surprise.
We've never deliberately gone to a restaurant together, just the two
of us.
But I can see he doesn't want to be alone. And I understand. I say,
"I'm always up for a meal, Sam. Especially when you're buying. Let's
just promise not to talk about the thing and you're on."
He smiles. "Who says it's my treat? I wouldn't want to mortify your
sensibilities with any macho assumptions…"
I close my computer and turn off the lamp. "You know it is, Sam.
Also, I think it is entirely possible that I may, in all actuality, be
the more macho of the two of us."
He stops and frowns. "Are you referring to my support of the ERA or
calling me girly?"
I laugh aloud, something I would not have thought possible a few
minutes ago. I lightly touch his arm and say, "Either one, Sam.
Either one."
He smiles mischievously at me and I just melt. He says, "I assure you
that I am not at all girly."
I believe him.
To regain my balance, I recall something Donna mentioned earlier when
I saw her in the cafeteria. "Whatever you say, Boy Wonder."
He groans and holds a hand against his head. We're standing pretty
close, facing each other. He says, "And to think I thought I might
feel better…"
I smile at him sweetly, teasing, "You thought I'd make you feel
better? How nice!"
He looks mock exasperated for a moment, but then his expression
softens and becomes more serious. His eyes are so blue. My breath
catches. I'd really like to make him feel better, I decide. But the
timing…
He moves a bit closer and moves his hand to my cheek. He looks at me
like I'm precious to him. He pulls me closer and we each put our arms
around the other. He's quite a bit taller than I am. My arms are
around his waist at first. Then I move one up around his neck and
pull his head down to my shoulder. We hold each other close. I feel
his breath catch and one of his hands stroking my hair. We take
comfort in each other. We hold each other for a lovely, long moment.
I can feel him tremble.
Then he pulls back a fraction and leans down. His lips touch mine so
lightly, then more urgently. I'm nearly overwhelmed. He feels so
good. I realize I've wanted this for a long time. I kiss him
hungrily. We cling to each other, hands caressing. He murmurs, "You
taste sweet."
I pull back, breathless. "That, my friend, would be the doughnut
sugar." He smiles and leans in for another taste.
After a few more seconds I force myself to stop. Both of us are
breathing fast and hard. Nearly whimpering, I push back from him. He
groans. I say, "I think we should go eat now…" I fear he'll take it
as a rejection until I look up at him again and see that he's hanging
his head. His eyes are closed and he's breathing deeply, regaining
control. He nods. I continue, "Sam…"
He opens his eyes at my tone and says, "Ainsley, don't. I realize that
you have just been asked to evaluate my work of the past three years
to determine whether or not I'm party to conspiracy to commit fraud in
a Presidential election. I know that. I'm sorry for the awkwardness
this will bring us now and realize I should have resisted the
temptation I feel. I'm even more sorry that circumstances necessitate
that we put this on hold for the time being." And he takes a step
back.
I can see that he wants to resume kissing me as much as I want for him
to do so. And he looks sad again. I tremble as he turns to open the
door for me and can barely stand it. As he starts to open the door I
push it closed again. He looks surprised as I push him against the
door and pull his head down for another kiss. I kiss him long and
hard. I run my hands over the muscles of his shoulders and chest. I
let him know in no uncertain terms that he's not the only one who is
tempted. We both savor the moment. Then I push myself back from
against him, catch my breath and say, "NOW we can put it on hold." I
straighten my jacket and look at him seriously.
He gasps and nods in reply, looking almost shell-shocked. Then he
grins and chuckles.
I say, "Aren't you going to open the door for me?" with a wide-eyed,
innocent look.
His grin becomes mischievous again and I hold my breath for a second.
He says "I'd really rather wrestle you to the floor and do things
with you that you'd never dare call your father about, but I'll wait."
I grin, "I'm a pretty good wrestler, by the way."
He groans and grins ruefully. "I believe you, macho woman. Now let's
leave before I go completely insane here." He opens the door. He
definitely looks happier than when he arrived.
I beam at him. Not only because he looks happier, but also because I
love the thought of making him insane like that. And mostly because
it's good for both of us to have something sweet to look forward to…
HOME |
TITLE |
AUTHOR |
CATEGORY