***

I walk out of the hotel room, my feet automatically leading me down the hall to the elevators. The carpet is soft. I can't hear my own steps.

I lied. I just lied to the Vice-President of the United States.

I round the corner and find the elevators. I'm going to go to my room. See if I can't catch an hour of sleep before the bus leaves for the first stop.

I push the button. The light turns orange.

I've lied before. I've lied plenty of times. I did it all the time, every day, every hour at Gage Whitney. It was part of the job.

I hated that part of the job.

There's a bell, ringing, and I glance up. The doors to the elevator glide open. I step inside, watch the doors close again.

I lied. The speech is done. I finished it before we landed this morning. It's done, completely rewritten. It's good.

I lied. To the Vice-President of the United States.

The doors open again, and I stand still. This isn't my floor. This isn't my floor, it's the lobby. I rode down to the lobby.

"You going back up?"

I turn to my side. There's a man in a suit, briefcase swinging in his hand, looking at me impatiently.

I shake my head. "No."

"Care to get out then?" He makes a sharp gesture.

I nod at him. I take a step and trip a little over the elevator jamb. I recover and walk toward into the lobby, towards the entrance of the hotel. I should try to sleep, but I just want to walk around for a few minutes.

I lied. I really didn't need to lie, but I did.

I step outside, feel the cold air. I'm not wearing my coat, just my suit jacket, but it feels good. I cross my arms and look around.

The sky is blue here, very blue, and there are big white clouds.

I feel something vibrating, and I look at my belt. My cellphone. I unclasp it. My fingers fumble a bit, and I turn it on. "Seaborn."

"Hey."

Toby.

"Hey." I look around. I can see the Vice-President's bus in the parking lot. Big bus. Black with tinted windows.

"How's it going?"

"How's what going?"

"Uh…the speech? You know, Detroit, American Auto Workers' Union-"

"Yeah. I don't have that done yet."

I did it again. I lied.

"You get started on it yet?"

They're loading the luggage compartment on the bus. "No."

And again.

There's a pause. "You haven't gotten started on it?"

"No."

"Is there a problem?"

"No problem. Just haven't had the time."

But I did. I did have time. I had the time on the plane, on the car ride to the hotel, in my room before meeting with Hoynes. Plenty of time. So much time, in fact, that the speech is done. It's done, and I'm lying.

I can hear Toby breathing over the line. He clears his throat. "It's a long speech."

There are black-suited Secret Service agents watching the luggage being loaded. "Yeah."

"Maybe you should just do a drop-in instead of rewriting the whole thing."

"Maybe."

"You need help? Cause I could help-"

"I don't need any help. I'm fine."

"Okay."

I stamp my feet; it's cold. "Okay."

"This a talent issue? Because, you know, it's never lost, so much as misplaced –"

"Talent's fine. Just haven't had the time."

I listen to him sigh. "All right. How about I call back later, see how you're doing?"

I can't feel my nose anymore. "Fine."

"'Kay. Talk to you later."

"Yeah."

I don't wait for him to hang up before I shut off my phone. I stare at the bus a moment longer, holding the phone in my hand. I shove it in my pocket and walk back to the hotel. My feet hit the ground hard and fast.

Strange, but I never noticed: I lie a lot in this job, too.

***

"…special coverage of 'Crisis on the Road: The Vice-President's Accident' here on Channel Seven. I'm Gwen Tremaine, and we're continuing to bring you live reports on the condition of Vice-President Hoynes and the accident that took him from the highways of Michigan to a guarded room at Ann Arbor Memorial Hospital…

"…We now have Trisha Talbott, reporting live from the site of the accident, some seventy miles outside of Detroit. Lacey, can you tell us what's happening?

"Thanks, Gwen. Well, as you can see, it's quite a mess out here. There are state troopers, officials from the fire department, officials from the Michigan Highway Patrol, a small contingent from the Federal Bureau of Investigation…all of them combing the accident site to see what caused this dangerous and fatal wreck. I talked with Lieutenant Conroy Williams of the Michigan Highway Patrol just a few minutes ago, and he told me that so far, it's believed that the icy conditions on this stretch of highway were probably the cause of this crash. No foul play is suspected, and nearly everyone I've talked to agrees that the terrible weather we've been having here is the likely culprit…

"…we're going to try to get a shot of the wreck now. Yes, as you can see, it flipped over. Quite dangerous. If you can see just to the right…there…some windows are broken. I'm told that's the result of some frantic efforts to escape the bus after the crash. Apparently, shortly after the bus skidded off the road and crashed, smoke could be seen coming from the engine. There were still people trapped inside the bus, and the Vice-President, I'm told, the Vice-President himself ordered that the windows be broken to help people get out of the bus more quickly…"

"Trisha, it sounds like the Vice-President, despite his own injuries, was involved in rescuing those still trapped on the bus."

"Yes, Gwen. That is what we're hearing from several of the reporters and others who were travelling with the Vice-President on this tour. From what we've been able to understand, the Vice-President actually stayed in the bus with one of his Secret Service agents, helping to free some of the passengers of this deadly wreck."

"We've been hearing the same thing, Trish, and what an act of heroism on the part of the Vice-President. Risking his own life to help save the lives of others."

"Absolutely, Gwen. Oh…if you'll just hang on a second, Gwen… We're going to walk over here, where I can see…yes…Toby Ziegler. As you know, Toby Ziegler is the White House Director of Communications. Mr. Zielger, as well as White House Chief of Staff Leo McGarry and White House Deputy Chief of Staff Joshua Lyman, flew out here to Michigan early this morning, right after the accident was reported...

"…Mr. Ziegler? Mr. Ziegler, would you mind answering a few questions? Oh…he's walking back to the bus…I don't think he heard me…

"Okay. Well. We'll try to get some comments from him later, if we can. Back to you, Gwen."

***

I'm in my room, six floors up and watching the bus being loaded, when my phone begins vibrating again.

I ignore it for a moment, but it's shaking on the table, in danger of falling off the edge. I put my hand on top, try to stop the movement. Doesn't work, and I lift the phone to my ear, flip it open.

"Seaborn."

"Heeey."

Josh, this time. I continue to peer out my window. "Hey."

"How ya doing?"

I can hear a door shutting on the other end.

"Fine."

"Flight okay?"

I glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes till the bus leaves. "Yeah. Flight was fine."

"How's the speech going?"

Josh is a bad liar. He always has been. Things just come out of his mouth, and then…there they are. "I'm working on it."

"I was, uh… I was just talking to Toby. He said there might be a problem."

Josh is also an impatient man, which causes him to have relatively little tact. "No problem."

"You packed your talent, right?"

"In my pocket." I, myself, am an excellent liar. A talent amply demonstrated in the past few hours. And I have loads of tact. Tact right up the wazoo, in fact.

"Listen…uh –"

"The bus is leaving soon. I don't really have a lot of time to talk."

"Sam?"

They're closing the large door to the luggage compartment, securing and locking it. "Yeah."

"I know you're not real happy about doing this-"

"Why'd you bring me on board, Josh? In '97, I mean. Why'd you come to me?"

Maybe I was wrong about the tact.

He hesitates. I can hear him standing up from his desk, his chair rolling back a few inches. He's pacing. "I knew you'd do a good job, Sam."

"Was that all? I think a lot of people would do a good job. What made you think of me?"

"You're a fantastic writer, Sam. And a good man. You've got the right ideas –-"

"I don't get to use many of them."

"That's not true. You're not seeing this for what it is. You're not seeing the bigger picture here, Sam."

I turn back to the window. I can see the sky for a few miles. I couldn't see anything bigger if I tried. "Let me tell you what I'm seeing, Josh. I'm seeing this administration kick, shove, and bully its way to the moral high ground. We're going to be alone when we get there. We're insulting our own friends; we're insulting people who are doing good things."

"You don't understand what's at stake, Sam –"

"A second term is what's at stake, Josh." I turn away from the window and pick up my coat. "Do you think I woke up dumb today?"

Oh, great. First, I lie. Now I'm plagiarizing.

And from Hoynes, of all people!

Josh sighs. "No, Sam. Of course not. But I think you…" He sighs again. "What do you want from me, Sam? You want me to say that I'm sorry – "

I walk out the door and close it behind me. I head for the elevators. "No. I just want to know what I'm doing here. Why I was sent out here. Why I was the last one to find out about Hoynes and the drop-in. Why that sort of thing seems to happen to me on a more and more frequent basis."

"This isn't about you, Sam. Try to keep that in mind. This is about a larger issue than you."

The bell rings, and I step into the elevator, pressing the button for the lobby. It's moving slower than it was this morning. I punch at the button, hoping to make it go faster.

"Very little is about me, Josh. I seem to merit very little consideration in the office. Why is that? That never happened to me at Gage Whitney, but it happens so often now that I'm just wondering: what was it about me that you thought would fit in here? What did you see in me that made you…that makes you think I can be walked all over like this?"

The doors open, and I look up to see a few people outside the elevator gazing at me curiously. I realize I'm speaking quite loudly. Yelling, actually.

I smile and blush my apologies, pushing past them to get out of the hotel.

"I didn't know you felt that way."

I can see the bus now, and the people milling around, waiting to get on. I slow my steps. "Of course you didn't."

"Sam…listen…"

I always listen.

"…you've got a job to do, and it's important…"

It's always something.

"…it's just a drop-in…"

It's more than that.

"…you're making too big a deal out of this…"

It *is* a big deal. It is to me.

"…we're counting on you to do this…"

I think you'll have to learn to count on someone else, Josh.

"…can you do this?"

"Yeah."

No. No, I can't.

"You gonna go work on the speech?"

"Yeah."

No. No, I'm not.

"I'll call you later. See how it's going."

"Yeah."

Do whatever you want.

"You all right? I mean, are you going to be all right?"

I take a breath, try to get myself under control. I look around. No one seems to have heard me. But I can see Hoynes getting onto the bus, escorted by his agents. He pauses, and I watch him turn his head toward me. I don't know if he sees me. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. He disappears inside the bus.

"Sam, will you be all right?" Josh's voice is loud over the cellphone.

I step towards the bus. "Yeah."

I'm lying.

***

"…I played football in college. How about you?"

"N-n-no…s-s-sir."

I'd tell him about the Gilbert and Sullivan Society, but I just don't think I have enough breath to say it. Anyway…I bet he'd laugh.

"…oh…well, you play any sports?"

Did I play any… What? Oh, right, sports. Still talking about sports. Hard to think when it's this cold.

Cold…right. "…s-s-some hock-hockey."

I try to focus on his face, but everything's a little blurry. I think he's surprised.

"…hockey, huh?…I never would have pegged you for that, Seaborn…"

I swallow, try harder to focus on his face. Anything…anything so I don't have to think about how cold I am. "Wh-what w-w-would y-you h-have peg-pegged m-me f-f-for…s-s-sir?"

Two-to-one, he says tennis. Two-to-one.

"…tennis…"

Hah! I win! I win. What?

"…stay still…you gotta stay still…they're gonna be here real soon, Seaborn…"

Who? Oh, right…paramedics. Yeah, good idea, that's a good idea. I'm not feeling too well.

Can't think about that…hurts…think about something else…something else…

I look up. I think it's still the morning…I'm not sure what time it is…and the sky's all blue and gray. Big clouds. Looks familiar.

Stupid, of course it does. I see the sky everyday…no… No, I was looking at it just a little while ago…

"…what're you looking at?…"

"…s-sky…s-s-sir…"

"…oh…yeah…beautiful day yesterday…it was so clear…"

Yeah, it was. Yesterday…I was…talking to Josh. That's when I was looking at the sky…wasn't I? There was something important about it, too…something about…

"…J-J-Josh?…"

"…no, Seaborn…Josh isn't here…stay with me…"

Josh, Josh, something about…the speech! We were arguing about the speech…about the speech…

"…it…it w-was b-bad…"

"…what?…what was bad…"

The speech, of course. The drop-in. All of it. "…th-the sp-speech…"

"…my speech?…the drop-in?…"

"…n-not a dr-drop-in…re-re-wr-write…"

"…oh...thought you weren't done with that yet…"

What? Yeah. I lied. "…fin-finished it on th-the pl-plane…"

"…on the way out here?…"

"…y-y-yes…s-sir."

"…you told me you weren't done with it yet."

"…I…I…lied…s-s-sir."

"…why'd you lie to me, Seaborn?.."

Am I in trouble? I bet I'm in trouble. Two-to-one, I'm in trouble. "…nee-needed to th-think…about it…"

Can't breathe…can't breathe…hurts…

"…hey, now…take it easy…take it easy there, son…just breathe…nice and slow…"

No, no. Listen to me. This is important. "…it w-w-was b-bad…s-s-sir."

"…oh, well…would have loved to have seen that…"

What? No, you can't see it. Don't look at it, it's bad. "…it's…it's on th-the b-b-bus…s-s-sir."

It's on the bus. You can't see it now.

"…well…hope you don't expect me to go back in there and get it…"

I try to shake my head, but there's…there are hands…someone's got their hands…on either side of my head. I can't move.

"…n-n-no…s-s-sir."

"…'cause I'm not going back in there…"

He's still laughing again. Hard to tell. "…y-you sh-shouldn't…"

"…don't worry, I won't…"

No, no. Listen to me! This is important. "…y-you sh-shouldn't d-d-do a dr-drop-in…d-d-don't do any re-re-wr-writes…no mat-matter wh-what th-they s-say…"

I can't hear him laughing anymore.

"…don't worry about that now, Seaborn…it's okay…"

No, it's not! Why won't anyone ever listen to me? "…n-no…it's a b-b-bad idea…y-you sh-shouldn't d-do it…"

"…shhh…calm down…it's going to be all right…"

No, it isn't.

You're lying.