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Title: 10 Summoners Tales: Something the Boy Said
Author: xSaBx
Spoilers: Season One
Disclaimers: In my alternate universe Sir Peter O'Toole, Bill Pullman, Alan Parker and Terry Gilliam are drinking mates (it's okay, they'll be round soon with the straightjacket and the pills) I don't own them in this world, but use their names simply because I am an admirer. Similarly anyone mentioned in passing, any organisations or any films mentioned are great classics and would undoubtedly exist in both Universes. However, I have no rights on them and never claimed to have any. The West Wing lot are owned by you-know-who. Everyone else is mine.
Thanks: This one's for you, Iain, oh and Tim too. The Toby/Evie two hander will follow after a commercial break. Cathy, hope you have recovered from your trials. Dave again wields red pen with gusto. ==
Something the Boy Said
I am walking across a vast expanse of sand. The sun beats mercilessly down upon my body, wrapped in white cotton robes, as I make my way across the dune sea. I am a million miles away from anyone and anything, it is just me and the desert, and I am totally at it's mercy... It's late on a cold and grey Thursday evening three weeks before Christmas and I am in my office: the main theme to "Lawrence of Arabia" plays quietly on the stereo in the corner. I can at least dream of exotic locations and great adventures. The last vacation I took was five years ago; Richard and I went to Seattle, and it rained every day. Morag has taken a weeks vacation herself, and she and Charlie have flown to Florida to see her daughter in law and her family, who live in Miami. They are having Christmas Dinner tonight, and the temperature outside the house is 73 degrees.
There must be a way for me to escape this oppressive heat... I need excuses not to work today. I have a problem that I don't want, but I am forced to solve. On Monday morning Leo called me into his office and announced that henceforth I was to be known as White House Media Director. The promotion comes with a not unacceptable salary raise and an enhanced healthcare and benefits package, both for me and for Morag. However, I now get a whole new level of responsibility. "That's what we pay you for" Leo cheerfully reminded me this morning, before handing me the file on Louis Wright III. Louis Wright III is a Democratic campaign contributor of significant note. Don't ask me how much he gave to the Party last year because I'm not entirely sure: CJ tells me there are lots of zeroes on the end, so it's not an inconsiderable sum. Believe it or not I don't know every little detail on the workings of the Democratic Party. On Tuesday night, Louis was interviewed by his local radio station somewhere in Montana, and went on the record as saying he would encourage teenagers who became pregnant to have abortions as opposed to running their pregnancies to full term. Suffice it to say that President Bartlet was less than impressed by Louis' remarks (and indeed by Louis himself), and when asked at a public appearance at Gettysburg on Wednesday afternoon what he thought of the comments he referred to Louis "exactly the kind of person the Democratic Party could do without". The resulting argument has now produced an unpleasant stalemate. The President refuses to capitulate in public and Mr Wright III is threatening to withdraw his funds unless he does. I need to find a solution and as quickly as possible
I can see ahead of me a huddle of white tents, with camels grazing outside. The oasis is the only sign of civilisation for miles: everywhere else is sand. I walk into the largest tent and am met by a bevy of sleek tanned male models, who stand ready with massage mitts and lightly chilled chocolate delicacies, ready to attend to my every whim... "Dreaming of warmer climes?" CJ is standing in my doorway. She's wearing the dark blue Donna Karan with a blue velvet wrap and looks, as she always does on such occasions, remarkable. It's the extra inches she has on me that do it, even without heels. Tonight the American Film Institute is welcoming the Bartlet Family into its "Presidential Lives" archive. As has been the case since J. Edgar Hoover, the Institute will select footage of the President's time in office to include in the collection, plus it will accept the gift of twenty-six home cine and VHS movies of Josiah Bartlet and his family covering a period of nearly thirty years. Everyone who's anyone in the East Coast's film and acting literati has converged on Washington for the evening, and the main networks are covering the whole evening live. It's going to be a great evening, and I'm not going to be there. I'm the only real film fan amongst the senior staffers and I'm the one who gets to be on call. There is an irony here that I don't want to even think about. "I am officially depressed CJ, so I am consoling myself with the fact that although I will not be able to meet Sir Peter O'Toole in person tonight I can at least imagine him strolling across the sand to meet Omar Sharif" CJ looks at me sympathetically. She had offered to Leo on several occasions to trade places with me, but her pleas have, it would appear, gone unheeded. "It's a test," I tell her as I walk past her to refill my coffee mug "It's like water torture only more painful and dehabilitating" "Well, consider yourself lucky that you don't have to suffer Josh on a hot date." CJ sits down in the guest chair and starts playing with my CD's. "If I hear one more word about Shelley Patrick I'm gonna bust some heads" This is the woman who, according to Joshua Lyman, is "hot for my superior political ability". I feel sorry for her if she's obviously that deluded. From the fragments of gossip I've been able to string together from Margaret and Donna it appears that Shelley is the daughter of one of the Napa Valley's leading grape producers (who also happens to be a campaign contributor) and a stunning six foot blonde Amazon who attended UCLA and Columbia. There is a trail of battered, exhausted men from the Pacific to the Atlantic who have tried and failed to reach the dizzying heights that Shelley Patrick demands be scaled. On second thoughts maybe being stuck here is a good idea. CJ spies my dress hanging on the back of the office door. "Is this the one you were telling me about?" She gets up and extracts the Katherine Hamnett from its cover: a pale blue georgette dress with a cowl neck and a hand-beaded hem and sleeves.
Put it away CJ, you're just making it worse... Maybe it's because I'm due on in a few days, and I'm suffering from a stronger than usual hormonal imbalance: I just want to cry. I want to deposit huge big salty tears of frustration on this folder and shed enough to wash away this problem and to flood out the office so Leo has no choice but to send me to the Kennedy Centre. Instead I just stand with my coffee in my hand and say nothing. CJ looks at me with gentle understanding. "I'm sorry kiddo, I did try" "I know." My voice sounds dangerously close to giving out. "Have a good time" At that CJ gets up and walks away. There's no way a solution to my problem is going to appear if I just stand here and feel sorry for myself. I sit down, flick the CD back to Track One and try to figure out what I can do next. == The last of the cars will leave in about ten minutes. The Presentation is in thirty-five minutes, then there'll be a finger buffet and the opportunity to talk about...well, I suppose they all talk about each other's latest projects. I don't know what film people talk about, and as I'm not ever likely to know- "How's it going?" Leo is standing in my doorway. Behind him Sam and Toby loiter suspiciously. Both of them are in tuxedos, but strangely Leo is not. "Aren't you participating in tonight's celebrations?" "You gotta be kidding. I can't stand half these people, it's all stuff I've got no interest in anyhow" I look at him and smile "We could order take-out later if you want..." "I could order take-out, but I won't." It takes a moment for the implication to register. Leo is playfully disapproving, shaking his head. "I've lost count of the number of times CJ and Sam have pleaded your case over the last four days, but you've not been to see me once. If it's that important to you..." "Why didn't I come and see you myself?" I close Louis Wright III's folder and look the Chief of Staff squarely in the eye "You gave me an extra level of responsibility on Monday, I thought it would look pretty lame if I promptly turned around and tried to shirk that responsibility on the basis that I just happen to be the only member of the senior staff who's paid to see a movie in the last three months, and who really has any burning desire to attend this function anyway" "How do you manage sentences that long?" "I breathe from the abdomen..." Leo is smiling broadly now. I'm in the home straight. "You didn't make any effort to stop either of them" "They've both been here longer than me, they know how much pleading is acceptable" It'll take me ten minutes to change; maybe I can cut it down to eight if I get Sam to hold my make-up mirror in the car... Leo is already walking back to his office "You'd better not cause any trouble" "Promise I'll be home before midnight..." I'm already out of my work shoes and heading for the dress. == From daywear to nightwear in a little under fifteen minutes...not bad for me. I am still fiddling with my hair in the car; Sam obligingly holds my compact mirror as I apply the finishing touches. Toby watches as I fix the last beaded hair slide in place. I indicate that I'm done to Sam, who then hands me back the mirror and nods approvingly. I turn in my seat and look at Toby who has remained silent thus far in the corner of the limo: I give him my best "what do you think?" expression Lots of people believe Toby doesn't smile very often: well, that's partially true. Most of the time he's too busy being terse and objectionable to remember to do so, but on moments like this he's actually a pushover. He appraises me first as he always does, and then he smiles at me. A genuinely warm and somewhat mischievous grin, if truth be told. I suspect it has a lot to do with the low cowl neck. "What are you thinking, Toby Ziegler?" He leans back in the car seat, considering. "When's the last time you went out on a date?" The question is so out of left field it totally unbalances me. I have to spend a moment composing myself, much to Toby's amusement. "God...er, it was a long time ago. Um...I dunno, at least seven years, maybe longer." "This is why I enjoy talking to you, you make my love life look healthy" I look around quickly to see if I can find something to throw at him Sam is quietly amazed. "You've not been out with anyone since Richie died?" "I know it's been nearly two years...I'm just not comfortable about the whole dating thing yet. Anyway, when would I have the time to fit a relationship in?" "I know that feeling," Sam readily agrees. Toby is considering something else to throw at me. I prepare myself. "So what do you think about Josh's date?" I look at Toby and shake my head. "What Josh does with his life is entirely up to him. Let's face it, he wouldn't know a good woman if she hit him in the face at sixty miles per hour" Sam and Toby exchange a look at this, the meaning of which I am uncertain. There is a conversation that I've missed somewhere along the line: something is most definitely afoot. I eye the pair with suspicion. "What are you two up to?" Sam is the picture of innocence "What makes you think that we're up to anything?"
Probably the fact that you couldn't lie your way out of a paper bag, Sam. Toby leans forward and stage-whispers in my ear "We have a book running. I stand to win $250 if Josh doesn't make a night of it" I find myself laughing at them both. "If this is what you two find entertaining then you are undoubtedly not getting out enough" I am suddenly struck by a thought as we pull into the Kennedy Centre underground car park: I quickly look from one to the other. "There aren't any bets on me this evening, are there?" == I have officially died and gone to heaven. The foyer of the Kennedy Centre is now packed with hundreds of people. Many of them are obscenely famous. The Ceremony itself was ten minutes from start to finish, and now everyone is ready to eat, drink and mingle. I've just seen Alan Parker and Terry Gilliam complaining to each other about the lack of decent beer, and have almost backed into Bill Pullman who is now heading for the Buffet. I'm a mess, and normally I'd have a drink to steady my nerves. However, considering how little I've drunk of late, plus my present hormonal state I suspect even a sip of champagne would render me incapable. I choose instead to stick to mineral water and stand away from the main throng of people and compose myself. My nerve may be sufficient to approach a member of White House staff and ask for a job but it does not yet extend to wandering up to a lifetime idol or three and making polite small talk. I am enjoying for the moment just being here, and watching proceedings from the sidelines. CJ is talking to the President and Amanda Sawyer, the AFI representative who conducted the Ceremony. I discovered about ten minutes ago that it was the President who suggested that Leo stay at the West Wing to allow me to come here. Obviously CJ and Sam need to brush up on their pleading technique. Talking of Sam...there he is, with Mallory. They make a good couple, but there's still a long way to go. I think if they could spend less time talking about education-related contentions and more time just enjoying each other the whole thing would probably be fine...but what do I know? I haven't had a date in almost a decade. I'm probably not qualified to offer dating advice anyway. Toby's also doing okay: he's standing by the bar talking to an actress called Isobel Turner, who is as famous for her singing as she is for her acting. And there was I thinking that was a contradiction in terms... Josh is about twenty feet away with his date. She is everything that I have heard about, and more. The dress she's wearing looks as if it's been sprayed on, and I'll take a bet on the fact that she's not wearing any underwear. Shelley has a peculiar accent that I can't quite place, and a laugh that can apparently ensnare a man from several hundred yards. Josh is standing with about three other guys, and giving them all a run for their money. He looks quite happy to be at the centre of attention: maybe these two will make a better couple than I thought. I am at present far more concerned with the buffet. I think I will go and get some food, and if I happen to run into Bill Pullman in the process, then so be it. == "It's not something I've ever considered doing, though if anyone ever asked me I'd be flattered." Independent film producer Reece Stelling has asked me if I'd ever do a cameo. I have nearly his whole back catalogue at home on video or DVD: I'd kill for the chance to cameo in a film of his. I decide to err on the side of restraint. I've eaten, managed a few words with Bill (first name terms now) and am now feeling confident enough to mingle. I've found myself with Stelling, an actress called Atlanta Rhys and Matt Jones, who draws the cartoon strip "Mice and Men" for newspapers across the US. We've discussed Jones' inspirations, Rhys' audition piece for an upcoming UPN pilot and Stelling's latest offering, which I saw last Saturday and was mightily impressed with. Now, to my considerable embarrassment, we are discussing me. "You did a very interesting piece for "Manhattan Lives" on PBS." Reece has come for the evening dressed in a tuxedo that wouldn't look out of place on the set of "Saturday Night Fever" He's known as an eccentric in all senses of the word. He actually strikes me now in the flesh as a pretty ordinary guy with a peculiar dress sense "You lived in New York when you first arrived in the US?" "Until I got married, yes. My late husband then moved us both out to Long Island. I think I might have stayed there after he died, but in the end I decided that the island held too many memories. I still have lots of friends in New York: I always get a kick out of going back." Reece looks at me. "If you don't mind me asking, how long have you been widowed? "It's almost two years now" "Yet you still wear your wedding band..." I twirl the platinum ring round my finger for a moment, contemplating. "Probably why I don't get asked on many dates" "I find that hard to believe" I'm blushing now, and I stare for a moment at my feet. Fortunately CJ arrives to save me from further embarrassment. I make my excuses and she leads me up towards the roped-off area reserved for Presidential guests. "I have a problem," she says as she escorts me away. "The President wants someone from staff to talk to this guy and I don't know anything about his films. I hoped you might be able to help me...?" Sir Peter O'Toole is standing with the President. I suddenly feel light-headed and sick at the same time. Both Bartlet and I put "Lawrence of Arabia" at the top of our Greatest Films of All-Time list. I suggested to CJ it might be a surprise for the President if we invited him, and we were both impressed when he accepted and flew in from London especially. Nowhere in my plan had I considered I might get a chance for an intimate conversation. I have no idea what I am going to say. It will all be a blur when I'm done, but I will finally meet one of my all-time heroes. Will it be too sad to ask for his autograph? == Another twenty-six minutes of my life have gone and I don't regret a single second. He was magnificent, a great man and a thoroughly charming companion. The President let me do the lion's share of the talking, and I think I drew a couple of good stories out of the bloke who simply asked to be called Peter. At the end, as Amanda Sawyer arrived to escort him away, I plucked up the courage to fish out the CD I had bought from the office. He wrote on the sleeve: "To Evie, from one great movie buff to another, with best wishes" There's his name. I'm scared to run my finger over the signature in case I smudge the still-drying ink. The President looks at me and smiles. "This job has its good days, doesn't it?" "Indeed it does, Mr President" Bartlet appraises me in a considered fashion, then speaks: "I want to apologise to you for the Louis Wright thing" "It's not a problem, Mr President. I'll find a solution" "I've been considering the possibility of saying something on the record" "But you don't have to, Sir. The man is an idiot; I think we can both agree on that. If you apologise in public you'll make yourself look weak and you'll make him into a local hero. I'll grant you that perhaps you could have considered your response for a little longer before you put your foot in your mouth at Gettysburg, but this is not a perfect world. It may have its small moments of perfection but for the most part it's made up of problems like this that we have to deal with" The President shakes his head: "You wouldn't have said that a few months ago, now would you?" "I only say it now Mr President because I can run faster than most of your Secret Service agents when I'm not in sling backs. I'm going to find a workable solution that appeases him but doesn't weaken you or require you to capitulate" "You believe that's feasible?" "I thrive on the impossible." Someone from the AFI is hovering behind me with CJ. It is time for the President to have some more photos taken with Amanda Sawyer. I watch CJ lead the President away and just stand for a moment with my thoughts and my signed CD. I then carefully put the now dry sleeve back in its case, and both back in my purse. I think now I probably deserve a drink. == I've come up two floors and am looking down on the party below. I was hit by a sudden wave of nausea as I made my way to the bar, so I decided to perform a strategic withdrawal to catch my breath and take some aspirin. I do a quick scan for the rest of the Scooby Gang. Toby is well on his way to being drunk, and is sitting with a couple of the AFI contingent. By the looks of it he's enjoying the female attention. Sam and Mallory are still here, and are wandering around together on the first floor balcony. The body language would seem to suggest that they're off the subject of school vouchers. CJ meanwhile is talking to Bill Pullman. I discovered about an hour ago that her favourite film is "Sleepless in Seattle" Somehow this fact doesn't register with my brain just yet; I had her pegged for something a fair deal more intellectual. Behind that righteous feminista exterior she's a soppy romantic at heart. You never can tell. The only person I can't see is Josh, and I've not seen him since that initial glimpse in the lobby: he and his date seem to have disappeared. Perhaps he's showing her some hot political action somewhere... "So you finally got to meet him" The Deputy Chief of Staff is getting very good at popping up when I least expect him. "Sorry?" I am momentarily thrown. "Sir Peter O'Toole. CJ told me she set it up with you and the President" I suddenly come over all emotional. "He is an amazing man, such a great gentleman and full of fascinating stories. I'm so glad Leo allowed me to come" Josh is puzzled by something: his forehead wrinkles as he talks. "You talk about films the same way I talk about the Mets" "You're passionate about baseball. I'm passionate about movies. We actually have something in common..." He laughs at me, a genuine laugh. "Then there's the blind devotion to our careers..." I shake my head "Not blind devotion. This is a very focussed and hard-worked at devotion. As you keep pointing out to me, I have an important position and it's vital not to make any major mistakes. I want to show everyone that I'm fully prepared for the extra responsibility Leo's now given me." "Including me?" "Especially you. You're my fiercest critic" "I think you're almost there." "But I won't be until you're completely convinced, will I?" Suddenly it's very warm in here. Josh looks at me and I'm momentarily at a complete loss. Somewhere inside me something shifts, for the briefest of instants everything slows down. My head begins to throb and I have a strange taste in my mouth, and then it's gone. I'm confused, flustered and I'm feeling distinctly unbalanced. "Are you okay?" I blink rapidly for a couple of seconds, trying to clear my blurred vision. I need something to hang onto; I put out a hand and grasp the rail behind me. "I'm...I just feel a bit dizzy, that's all. I need to get some air" Time is beginning to drag. My head feels like it's full of fluff. These moments began years ago when I used to black out during choir practice at Grammar School. Not enough oxygen in the blood and to the brain, the doctor said, "common in many pre-menstrual women." The last time it happened to me I was giving a presentation to fourteen Japanese Media Delegates. I close my eyes and breathe hard. You need to breathe deeply to get more oxygen into the bloodstream. I open my eyes again and my vision still swims. I really need to sit down. I hear myself say the words but it's like it's somebody else that's speaking. Josh reaches out and slips his arm around my waist, supporting my weight. I close my eyes again as I sense him sitting us both down, slowly but gently. His left arm holds me, whilst his right hand touches my cheek. I hear him asking me to open my eyes and look at him. It takes a supreme effort but I'm there, and I open them. He looks terrified, and that is enough to snap me back to a semblance of reality. "I just need to get outside, I'll be fine. This happens to me a lot, honestly" "You take advantage of many guys this way?" "Trust me, this is a first" Something sparks. This is a different feeling altogether, and the sudden flutter in my lower body is a complete surprise. We're no more than six inches apart, face to face and my pulse is suddenly racing. The burst of adrenaline the closeness between us has suddenly caused is helping my nervous system prevent a shutdown, at least for now. The room suddenly stops moving of it's own accord. I close my eyes again and tip my head backwards slightly, sighing gently as I regain a measure of stability. When I open my eyes this time Josh looks a little more comfortable. This is an embarrassing situation. I try to forcefully extricate myself from his grasp and stand up, which frankly ends up as being not very forceful at all. My higher brain functions haven't yet returned, so a pithy one-liner is out of the question. I'm just going to concentrate on breathing and look away from Josh. Fortunately for me it's at this moment that Sam hoves into view. "Guys, we're needed downstairs. They're about to present the Richard Patrick Fellowship...what's up?" I feel compelled to explain why I'm here in such close proximity to the Deputy Chief: it is not what it looks like. What does it look like? There's too much going on in my head, and I can't push away the feeling that now seeps up my body in languid waves. This really isn't the best time to get aroused, Evelyn. I really don't know what to say to either of them, and then I can't say anything: there's a sudden rush and my brain sensibly overloads. This is when I decide to pass out. == I can be unconscious for no more than thirty seconds, because when I come to Sam and Josh are still arguing over which one of them is going to call 911. I quickly do a mental check for pain or exterior damage: on two occasions before I've given myself a concussion when I've hit my head on the way down. No obvious damage: I'll guess that Josh caught me before I hit the floor. Now I feel a lot better. "Panic over, boys" Both of them have gone white, and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with an urge to laugh. Sam manages to find his voice first. "My God Ev, are you alright?" I've conquered the sitting position, so I slowly stand up and spend a moment re-acclimatising. "As I was about to explain to Josh before my body decided to go home without me, this is a quite regular occurrence on certain days of the month. It's a combination in this case of very little finger buffet and too much milling around." Josh is not convinced "We should take you to GW" "No, what we should do is go downstairs and watch the Fellowship being presented. I have absolutely no intention of upstaging an event that took me and CJ a month to pull together by running off to hospital because I suddenly feel a bit faint" I'm breathing well now. They are both now looking at me in amazement. I'm not a hundred percent by any means, but I'm not about to pass out again. "What I need is something to eat and a large glass of water, both of which are downstairs, which is where the Fellowship is being presented. Could I politely suggest that the best place to continue this discussion about my health is in the lobby?" == The moment the three of us appear out of the Elevator on the ground floor I hear a squeal. Josh winces and is about to turn around and press the recall button when Shelley Patrick appears: in no more than a blink of an eye she's got his hand in hers and is dragging him away. "Joshua, I was beginning to think that you'd deserted me! I can't very well present my father's fellowship with out the help of my favourite Democrat, now can I?" The look Josh shoots us both as he's dragged away is of pure desperation. Sam and I laugh together. I give his hand a little squeeze. He puts out his arm and I take it, leaning on him more for effect than real support. I suggest that we should go find me some food and then he should go and find Mallory. == The President is about to leave: he has a breakfast meeting with the Canadian Prime Minister and is having an early night. The fact that there is a re-run of the earlier Notre Dame game on ESPN has, I'm told, got nothing to do with his early departure.
Having eaten something more than crudités and salmon I feel back to my old self. Sam has been checking back on me regularly: I made him promise not to say anything to CJ until we all get back to the West Wing. He's now off somewhere talking to Mallory about the possibility of going home with her. I hope for his benefit that she says yes. Toby is well on his way to being very drunk, and is surrounded now by at least four women. He's happy. Even CJ seems finally to be enjoying herself. She's been talking for the last half hour to Reece Stelling. I really do feel sorry for Josh. She may be six foot and stunning, but she has a grip like an octopus and won't let the guy out of her sight. There's a party starting soon at the Sheraton which I know CJ and Toby are going on to, and it now looks as if the Deputy Chief of Staff, whether he likes it or not, is also attending. I catch his eye briefly as Shelley is dragging him out of the building: he mouths "you okay?" to me, I mouth "yes, thanks" back. Then he's gone into the cold December night. Sam comes up to me: Mallory waits by the door. She smiles and waves, I acknowledge the gesture. "You going home?" "Mallory and I are going for coffee" Sam's eyes are smiling; the evening is for at least one person looking up. "If Leo asks I have no idea where you are or what you're doing" "Are you sure you're okay now?" "I'm feeling a bit tired, I'll admit. I promise that I'll go see my Doctor tomorrow, I'll go back to the West Wing and organise it with Leo, okay?" Sam gives me an unexpected hug. "I owe you one, Ev" "You don't owe me anything. I'm the one who's still a long way away from being even with you. Now why don't you go and hug someone who wants to do more than just hug you back" I smile at Mallory again as Sam walks towards her, and I watch as the pair leave arm in arm. At least that's one couple that's likely to have a good time. I find myself thinking of Josh and Shelley Patrick...there is a sudden moment of inspiration. I know how to solve the problem with Louis Wright III. == It's just before midnight when I get back to my office. It takes me two minutes to change into jeans and a sweatshirt, and then I wander over to see Leo. His door is open and the Chief of Staff is drinking coffee with a doughnut chaser. "See, told you I'd be back before midnight. I'm very careful to take notice of what my Fairy Godfather says" Leo looks up and smiles. "Good night?" "I think interesting would be a better word. The President certainly seemed to enjoy himself" "What about you?" "I had my ups and downs" I close my eyes briefly and rub the back of my neck. "I'm going to need a couple of hours in the morning, I need to see my Doctor. It's nothing serious, I just felt a bit faint this evening and I want to make sure it's nothing more than overwork" "Take all the time you need" There is a pause. I can't think of a good way to introduce it, so I go straight into my pitch. "The Louis Wright III Film Scholarship" I announce to him. He looks at me in confusion. "The President can approach the AFI and say that the Democratic Party wants to establish a film scholarship for a young filmmaker interested in learning the craft of documentary production. You call it the "Louis Wright III Film Scholarship" Wright thinks he's getting something important that'll keep his name remembered for posterity from the President and the President gets away without the need to apologise. I'll organise it when I get back in tomorrow" Leo is suitably impressed "Next time I'll give you something harder" "I won't be surprised when you do." "Go home and I'll see you when you get in" "Goodnight Leo" I go back to my office and tidy up. I'll drop the dress by the cleaners tomorrow, so it can stay here tonight. There's a couple of books I've been meaning to take back home with me, so I pack those and the soundtrack CD's into my shoulder bag and make my way out of the building. As I pass through the bullpen I notice that Josh's light is on: the obsessive in me feels the urge to go and turn it off when at that moment it goes out, seemingly of it's own accord. Obsessive quickly turns to curious. I head over to the door and push it open. "Could you go away, please?" He is sitting with his back to me: He sounds upset, almost as if he's been crying. I wonder whether it's wise to say anything. I decide to just apologise and leave him be. "I'm sorry, I just saw the light go off and-" He turns at the sound of my voice. Jesus, he has been crying. I almost expect him to turn away again but he just sits, looking lonely, lost and scared. I take a breath and walk in, closing the door behind me. It's not totally dark, as enough light comes from outside to make it possible to see. I put my bag down and walk round his desk gingerly, conscious of knocking something over. I'm now no more than a foot away from him. I encourage him to turn his chair around so we face each other. "Is there anything I can do, Josh?" I'm at a total loss. What on Earth could have caused this? He suddenly comes to life and uses his hands to wipe away the remaining tears. He's visibly shaking, and I'm literally feeling around in the dark. I reach out and take his left hand and hold it in both of mine. I concentrate on even breathing in the hope that some of my calm might radiate through my hands and into him. I'm not sure how long it takes but eventually I feel him relax. He shifts his weight in the chair, and I sit down on the floor next to him. I am still holding his hand. The curiosity burns like halogen. I feel compelled to say something, so I do. "Do you want to talk?" He breathes. "I got a letter from my mom." "Is she alright?" "Yeah, she's fine" "There's no family problems?" "No, everyone's okay."
So...? "Josh, what's the-" "I miss my dad" There it was. "I was at the hotel, and we started talking about the Illinois Primary. Suddenly I'm back in the hotel room in Chicago and Donna's standing there and telling me that my dad's dead...I lost it. I dunno what happened, I just needed to get out. I had to come back here as I'd left my keys in my jacket pocket, when I did, I just saw the picture Mom sent..." His voice trails away. "Can I see?" I'm trying to be as non-threatening as possible. Josh reaches over onto his desk and picks up something. There's enough light to see what he passes over to me, and even though I can't pick out the detail it's clear that I'm looking at a family snap. Josh is unmistakable, he's probably about twelve, and is being hugged by a man who I assume is Noah Lyman. I suddenly remember the last picture I had taken with Richard. We're sitting on the stoop of Max's apartment: he's on the step above and has his arms wrapped around me in much the same way. Seven days before he died. I feel an instant swell of emotion, and it's exactly what I don't need now. I close my eyes and put my head down. Josh immediately squeezes my hand. I feel I should say something. "It still gets me when I think about it. Just because someone isn't here any more doesn't mean you have to forget about them. It's okay to be scared, to be upset, they're all perfectly normal emotions in this situation. It's better that they're out than in." The lump goes from my throat, and I open my eyes again. Josh has leant slightly forward in his chair and is looking at me. I'm not sure what else to say. He suddenly gives me his other hand and I'm confused for a minute, until I work out he's offering to help me up. We both stand and before I'm able to say or do anything Josh pulls me towards him. There's a second of panic as I try to work out the twenty-five or so conflicting signals my brain is sending me: then he's holding me. I bury my face into the side of his neck and close my eyes, bringing my arms up and across to hug him back. It is the most natural thing in the world. We stand in Josh's office, he and I, and we both just hold each other. In a few moments our breathing has synchronised, and I'm more relaxed that I've been in an age. My mind is blank: there's no rampaging hormones, no unexpected reactions. I just stand here and feel safe. It feels like I've been here for hours. Part of me thinks that maybe I've lost consciousness again for a moment; I'm unable to work out what I'm doing here. I pull away, looking up at him. He keeps his arms linked around me. "I think...I just fell asleep standing up" "It's good to know I have this effect on you." He's laughing now, and soon we're both laughing. It is the logical point to disengage and Josh leans over to turn his desk light on. We both wince at the sudden brightness. He's back with me again, and starts packing his own rucksack. "I need to get you home" "No, I need to get me home. Then I need to see my doctor. Then I need to sleep for a week. I will manage at least two of these before I return here tomorrow" Something has now undoubtedly changed between Joshua Lyman and I; there is none of the tension that was there before. He looks at me now as a colleague. Now all I have to work out is how I get him to look at me as a friend. "You will at least let me wait with you while you get a cab?" "I think that's do-able" I have an idea: I go over and pick up my bag. I take out one of the books I was going to carry home and hand it to him. "You should try and understand why the cinema can be such a passion for somebody like me. This is a really good book about film structure: not many pictures and lots of long words to test your powers of understanding" Josh eyes me with suspicion: "What do I get in return?" he asks as we both walk out of his office. I consider for a moment. "If I can get you to understand the mechanics of film I'll take a shot at the mechanics of baseball. After all, it's just a load of blokes with bats, how difficult could that be?" == Most sane people would take the rest of the day off after going to see their Doctor on a Friday morning. I'm here, finishing up some strategy documents and waiting for Amanda Sawyer to call me. CJ spends the first five minutes on my return admonishing me, and the next twenty-five minutes filling me in on the details of the night at the Sheraton. Toby is $250 better off but has too big a hangover to care, as it appears Josh mysteriously disappeared just after midnight. Sam has been walking around all day with a large grin on his face. CJ asks me if I know what happened: as I have no idea where Mallory lives, I can lie without guilt. Leo appears as CJ leaves for the two o'clock briefing. "What did the Doctor say?" "He thinks I'm slightly anaemic. He's prescribing iron tablets and not working every hour of the day and night. They took some blood, they'll let me know if there's anything else" I know there isn't, the nagging ache in my lower back is all the evidence I need, to know that it's my hormones that were to blame. "Do you really need to be here?" "Well, once Amanda Sawyer calls me back and confirms our meeting, I suppose I'm pretty much done here" "Then you have my permission to go home and do nothing until Monday." "Thanks, Leo" "Next week is gonna be tough going" He's already halfway back to his office. == He's been with the President all morning, and now he's on a break before they start again with the Canadian Prime Minister. Donna's been sent out to buy him bagels, so I take the opportunity to look in on him before I go. "How's it going?" Josh looks tired; I wonder just how much sleep he got last night. "I think we should just invade and have done with it" He grins and puts down the copy of Iain Rae's "Introduction to Film Form" that I gave him last night. Reaching under his desk he pulls out a Barnes and Noble bag and throws it at me. Inside is a copy of "Baseball for Dummies". "How did you find the time to get out for this?" "What do you think I have Donna for? I shake my head and put the book in my music case. He seems perturbed at this. "Aren't you going to open it?" "I'll take a look at home. Leo has given me the rest of the day off" Now he's got that concerned look again. "Everything's okay?" "I'm fine, I just need a couple of hours sleep, a hot water bottle and a large piece of chocolate cake. Chocolate works wonders for the soul" The moment hangs. I think about asking him about how he felt after he left last night, about what happened. There'll be another time. I'm conscious of fatigue nipping at the edges of my brain. What I need more than conversation or sympathy is sleep. "I'll see you on Monday" "Evie?" "Yes, Josh?" "I'll call you tomorrow" == I decide to take the Metro home. On most days I'd walk but today I'm just too tired. In an effort not to fall asleep on the way I decide to take a look at "Baseball for Dummies" As I fish the book out of my bag I notice an envelope inside the Barnes and Noble carrier. It's supposed to be there because it has my name on it, in what I recognise as Josh's handwriting. I open it and inside is a battered baseball card. There's also a note: "Use this as a bookmark. Learn about him and I will be impressed" I have absolutely no idea who Jerry Koosman is. This is as good a place as any to start.
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