Sunday Always Comes Too Late

Sunday Always Comes Too Late

Luna
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"Did you feel the earth move last night?" Josh asked, pulling his car into the restaurant parking lot.

Sam squinted painfully against the sunlight and considered this as they got out of the car. "No."

"No?"

"Well, I was sleeping alone, so--" Sam frowned to himself. "Who were you sleeping with?"

Josh kicked a pebble aside as they crossed the concrete. "No one."

Sam tilted his head. "Okay, so do I really want to know about--"

"I meant literally, Sam."

He raised an eyebrow. "You literally felt the earth move?"

"I'm saying. I think there might've been a minor quake."

"You were smashed."

"We were all smashed," Josh pointed out.

"I wasn't--"

"Then why do you keep looking at the sun like it kicked your dog?" Josh wondered, as he opened the restaurant door. They walked inside.

"How would the sun have kicked my dog?" Sam replied squeakily.

Someone groaned loudly to their lower right. "Shut up."

Sam turned and saw C.J. sitting on the bench by the door, her face buried in her hands. "Are we a little tender this morning?"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up."

Josh rubbed his eyes blearily. "Did you feel the earth move, C.J.?"

She shook her head miserably. "I felt the earth move under my feet, Josh. I saw the sky come tumbling down. Stop. Talking."

Toby ambled up and looked them over. "Schoolgirls."

C.J. glared up at him. "How long were you just in the men's room for?"

"Thirty seconds."

"You were in there so long I'm not even sure it's still Sunday."

He shot her an irritable look. "Are we going to sit?"

"Don't we wait?" Sam asked.

"What does that sign say?"

"My eyes hurt."

"Read the sign."

"It says we seat ourselves."

Toby held out his hands. "Can we, then?"

"I can't take you anywhere," Josh sighed as they trailed toward a table.

"This," C.J. said, easing herself into her chair, "from the man who got up on a chair and sang 'Daydream Believer'."

"I did that?"

"We had to hold you back from doing it twice."

Josh looked to Sam for confirmation. "I didn't really--"

Sam nodded. "Davy Jones's mother invented Wite-Out."

"It was Mike Nesmith's mother," C.J. corrected.

A waitress walked up to their table. "Can I get you something to drink?"

Toby rested his head in his hand. "Do you have some sort of heavy object with which I could bludgeon myself?"

C.J. nudged him with her elbow. "I can take care of that."

Toby ignored her. "We need coffee."

"And mimosas," Sam suggested.

Josh blinked. "Mimosas?"

"Yeah. To go with the coffee."

"Delicate system," C.J. mumbled, almost as a reflex.

"Donna's not here," Josh protested.

The waitress shook her head in confusion. "Four coffees..."

"And four mimosas," Sam said firmly.

"Okay."

"Oh, God." Josh slid down in his seat, resting the back of his head against the top of the chair. "Did we, you know, break any laws or reveal any state secrets last night?"

"We had a deal," Toby reminded him dourly.

"Hmm?"

"No talking..." Sam rubbed his temple with two fingers. "No shop talk. No talking about the thing."

"I could go with no talking, period," C.J. said plaintively.

She folded her arms on the table and put her head down. They were all silent briefly before Josh spoke again. "'Daydream Believer'?"

C.J. raised her head fractionally. "And if you call me Sleepy Jean even one time, you're going to wish you had never been born."

"Also, it's way too bright," Sam said.

Toby glanced around at the softly lit room. "In here?"

"In the world."

"Let's get right on fixing that."

Josh lifted his arm and stared at his wrist for a long time. "Something's wrong with this."

"I think that's pretty well established," Toby muttered, as the waitress returned with a tray.

"Four coffees..." She handed them around. "And four mimosas."

"What time is it?" Josh asked, still looking at the place where his watch wasn't.

"Sunday," Sam said.

"Time, not day."

"Morning," C.J. offered helpfully. She gulped down some of her coffee and chased it with her mimosa. "Oh, this is good. This is what I need."

"Orange juice and champagne?" Josh took a sip of his drink and winced. "Oh, wow."

"Too strong for you?" Toby asked, amused.

Josh rolled his eyes. "Is the top of my head still on my head?"

Sam peered at him. "Yeah."

"Doesn't feel that way."

"I'm confiscating this." C.J. reached over and snagged Josh's glass. "Just to protect you, you understand."

"And not because she's a drunk in any way," Toby said to no one in particular.

"You shouldn't call people names," Sam said reproachfully.

"It wasn't a name, it was a term of endearment."

Josh blew on his coffee to cool it. "So none of you felt the earth move last night?"

Sam shook his head. "We're not on any of those things, right? Fault lines or what-have-you?"

"How would I know?" Josh shrugged. "I'm telling you, I was lying there--"

"Where?" C.J. interrupted.

"What?"

"You were lying where?"

Josh lowered his eyes. "On my bathroom floor."

"I thought so!" She looked around triumphantly. "I called that."

"You're drinking that pretty fast," Toby noted.

"Leave me alone." C.J. held up two fingers on each hand. "I am not a drunk."

Sam groaned. "You're awful."

"Doesn't anybody care that there may have been an earthquake last night?" Josh demanded.

"No," Toby replied.

"Well, I do."

"So do I," Sam assured him, downing some of his coffee. "Tell about the earthquake. You were lying on your floor, and you felt the earth move..."

"...That's about it," Josh finished lamely.

"This is why you're not allowed to write things," Toby concluded.

C.J. looked suspiciously at Toby's glass. "Are you going to drink that?"

"Truth be told, I don't like mimosas."

Sam made a face. "But you let me order one for you?"

"Who am I to stand between you and the way you want to spend your money?"

"You're a Democrat!"

"Maybe I'll become a fiscal conservative," Toby mused.

Josh grinned. "And maybe monkeys will fly out of my--"

"Josh."

C.J.'s hand crept toward Toby's drink. "I'm starting to feel better."

"So am I," Josh said, raising his coffee mug.

"Me too," Sam agreed. "You think they have any good food here?"

Josh grimaced and set his mug down. "...And there it went."

"Omelets," Toby said. "Also, they do this peach crumble thing."

Sam looked askance at him. "You've been here before?"

"I'm a professional political operative; you think this is the first time I've had a hangover in Washington on a Sunday morning?"

"You admitted it!" C.J. crowed. "You always try to act so superior, like butter doesn't melt in your -- peach crumble?"

"Don't they feed you at home?" Josh wondered wryly.

"When am I home?"

"I'm assuming you were home last night during my earthquake. Unless..." His eyes widened teasingly.

"I was home," she said in a cool tone. "I just meant in general."

"I know what you mean." Sam looked at her with sympathy. "I think my philodendron doesn't even recognize me."

Josh nearly spit out a mouthful of coffee. "You still have that thing?"

"I have a nurturing personality," Sam said proudly. "And they're hard to kill."

"I'm no good with plants." C.J. tipped her chair back as she drained her glass. "One look and they wither into dust."

"You need to eat something." Toby signaled to the waitress. "Could you bring her some toast?"

"I'm not hungry," C.J. insisted.

"Bring her some toast, and bring me an omelet, please."

Josh moaned. "I can't watch you eat that."

"So close your eyes."

"That's not actually such a bad idea." He placed his elbows on his knees and covered his face. "I'm taking a ten-minute time out."

"You could take care of a philodendron," Sam told C.J. "Or maybe some nasturtiums."

"I think we had marigolds in the kitchen when I was little," she said thoughtfully.

"You do strike me as a marigold person."

"Can we move on from Martha Stewart Living?" Toby put in.

C.J. stared at him. "Don't mess with me. I can make plants wither with my eyes."

"I'm just saying, if we could bring up a topic--"

"And how do you know about Martha Stewart anyway?" Sam asked.

"--That wasn't something out of Better Homes and Gardens--"

"He probably tapes it," C.J. chuckled.

"--It would be nice," Toby finished.

"Do you tape Martha Stewart?" Sam persisted.

"I once saw her take a blowtorch to a lemon meringue cake. I don't want to hear a word." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop. "Change the subject."

"My head hurts."

"Change it again."

Sam thought for a moment. "When I was talking to the First Lady--"

C.J. and Toby simultaneously balled up their napkins and hurled them at him. Without lifting his head, Josh kicked him under the table.

"Ouch!" Sam reached down and rubbed his shin gingerly.

"No shop talk," C.J. reminded him.

"Was the abuse part of the deal?"

"It is now," Toby said.

C.J. swirled the liquid in her glass. "If we start having a conversation about work, we won't be able to stop. And pretty soon we'll all be shouting at each other and ranting and making ourselves miserable. And there have to be times when we're not doing that. And this has to be one of those times."

"Which is all by way of saying you should just be glad we only threw napkins at you," Toby added.

The waitress approached with the food. "Jam or butter with your toast?"

"No butter," Toby said authoritatively.

"I like butter," C.J. complained.

"Know your limits. You need dry toast. Or else you can give me back my mimosa."

C.J. threw her hands up in defeat. "Why do we listen to him?" she asked Sam.

"Force of habit?"

"Habits," C.J. said darkly, "can be broken."

"So can bones," Toby said. "That doesn't mean it's a good idea."

"You're borderline chipper today," Sam noted.

Toby looked horrified. "If I ever cross that border, you'll put me out of my misery, right?"

"What you are is breezy. You're in a shockingly breezy mood."

"I'm a damn zephyr." He took a bite of his omelet. "Don't blame me because you can't hold your liquor."

"I shall now rejoin the conversation," Josh announced, sitting up. He looked pained. "Slowly."

"Do you want your mimosa back?" C.J. asked.

"God, no."

"Good." She tossed some of it back. "This is improving into an excellent Sunday morning."

"I think it's afternoon," Sam said mildly.

"An excellent Sunday morning," she repeated. "My spirits are lifting."

"That's the champagne," Toby said.

"A slice of dry toast, a glass of bubbly orange juice, and thou." She gestured expansively with her glass, spilling a little orange juice onto her toast. "Or thee. Which one is it when you're talking about a group of people?"

"That's enough." Toby gently took the drink out of her hand and set it on the table.

C.J. looked at Sam. "Are you going to finish yours?"

He put his hands around the glass protectively. "Yes."

Her eyes narrowed. "Really?"

"Maybe."

"Give," she ordered.

He drew it closer to himself. "No!"

"You know, nobody thinks twice about withholding drinks from me," Josh said.

"That's because we know what happens when we don't," C.J. said. "I recall a certain occasion in South Carolina involving a steam room--"

"You swore you wouldn't tell anyone!"

Sam looked interested. "The senior staff shouldn't have secrets from each other, you know."

"But we do," Toby said suddenly.

"Yes," C.J. agreed, sobering. "We do."

Sam studied C.J.'s face for a moment and pushed his mimosa toward her. "You can have the rest."

"Thank you!"

Toby frowned. "Enablers."

"I'm entitled," C.J. countered. "And anyway, you all owe me."

"For what?" Josh quirked up an eyebrow.

"Aside from my silence about the steam room incident?"

"It was a full-blown incident?" Sam inquired. Josh flushed and looked away.

"You just need me," C.J. continued. "You need my influence, because Toby's Martha Stewart thing notwithstanding, none of you are women. And there has to be a woman."

"If you're about to use words like 'balance' or 'kismet'..." Toby shook his head warningly.

"I wasn't. I just mean... I'm the Dorothy to your other three Wizard of Oz guys. I'm the Elaine to your Seinfeld and George and Kramer. I'm the Wendy to your Lost Boys." C.J. nibbled at her toast. "You have to love me. I have precedent."

"And we do," Josh told her, laying an arm along the back of her chair.

Toby shrugged. "I don't know, I think we could get along with just Sam."

Sam was taken aback. "What?"

"Since you have a nurturing personality."

"Sarcasm will get you--"

"Everywhere," Toby quipped.

"Yes," Sam admitted.

"The fact is, we need all of us," C.J. said. "And I don't know what we'd do if, what we'll do if -- what the hell?"

Sam had picked up one of the wadded napkins and bounced it off her forehead. "No shop talk," he reminded her.

"I think that was a little premature."

"Well, you can't be too careful."

The waitress walked up to their table. "Can I get anything else for you?"

Sam shook his head. "I still can't eat."

"The eggs are good," Toby said.

Josh looked queasy. "Hide me."

C.J. giggled. "Beneath the wings of the bluebird as she sings?"

"You never let me live anything down, do you?"

"I think we're done," Toby told the waitress.

"I might want something," C.J. said.

"Count the glasses in front of you," Toby admonished her.

She looked puzzled. "So I had three--"

"Four," Josh informed her.

"I'm fine."

"Finish your toast," Toby instructed her and turned to the waitress. "We'll take the check."

"I was going to order a peach crumble," C.J. muttered.

"And boot it all over my car when I drive you home," Toby said.

Sam wrinkled his nose. "I'm not loving that mental image."

"You should've had more to drink," C.J. told him.

"I'm dizzy," Josh said.

"You should've had less to drink."

"I'm not making it up about the earthquake," he insisted.

"Josh, have you ever been in an earthquake in your life?"

"Have you?" Josh replied defiantly.

"I lived in San Francisco," she reminded him.

"Ah."

"A big truck probably just drove by your building," Sam said.

"Or you were drunk and hallucinating," Toby said. "My money's on drunk and hallucinating."

Sam snorted. "It's not out of the realm of possibility."

"I felt the earth move," Josh insisted again.

"He's right."

All of them looked up.

The waitress nodded. "I was up giving my daughter her four a.m. feeding. They said on the Weather Channel this morning it was a 2.9 on the Richter Scale. They said it wasn't enough to wake anyone up, but..."

"Ha!" Josh clapped his hands. "Ye of little faith."

C.J. scoffed. "We're having earthquakes now? Things weren't complicated enough?"

"Was that shop talk?" Sam asked.

"No."

"Toby?"

"She's off the hook," Toby decided.

"I'm beginning to think there's some kind of bias at work here."

"The point is, I was right." Josh grabbed Sam's coffee cup and took a sip, then made a face when he realized it was cold. "Look on my rightness, ye mighty, and despair. And who's paying for brunch?"

C.J. rummaged in her purse. "I drank breakfast; I'll get it."

Toby took out his wallet. "I'll match you."

"I was going to--" Sam began.

"Next time," Toby said.

"Thanks."

"No, I mean it, you can pay half next time when we eat more."

Josh stood up and stretched, yawning loudly. "I love feeling vindicated."

"You're going to be unbearable now," Sam said.

"Aren't we all?"

"Yes." C.J. got up unsteadily. She put her hand on the top of her chair for support. "We all are. I know I am. How have you put up with me all these years?"

"Therapy," Josh answered immediately.

"Scotch," Toby replied.

She sighed. "I walked into that one, huh?"

"Like Sam walking into a call girl," Toby told her as he stood up.

"Hey!" Sam squeaked.

Toby waved him off. "Are we all set?"

"I think so."

They filed through the restaurant. "It's still bright," Sam said disapprovingly, opening the door and holding it for them.

"Did you think it wouldn't be?" Josh asked.

"I was holding out hope."

C.J. wobbled as she stepped off the curb, and covered her eyes with one hand. "I'm going to have such a horrific headache in a couple hours."

"You'll sleep it off," Toby told her, taking hold of her elbow.

"I don't want to go to sleep. I have so much work to do--"

"We had a deal!" Sam called out.

Josh winced. "Keep it down."

"Well, I do," C.J. said wretchedly.

"You're buzzed and you're tired," Toby observed. "How much are you going to get done?"

"But--"

He spoke with a note of finality. "Woman, you are going to get some sleep."

She bit her lip, nodded, and glanced back at Sam and Josh. "See you guys tomorrow."

"Look out for tremors," Josh replied gleefully.

Sam looked resigned. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"Hell, no." Josh opened his car door. "Not for a long time. Know what else?"

"What?"

"Aftershocks. We have to watch out for aftershocks."

Sam furrowed his brow. "Are we talking about work now?"

"Who the hell knows?" Josh ran a hand through his hair, cast a glare at the bright sky, and slid into the driver's seat. "Get in, man. I'll take you home."

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