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I didn't know he was married.
I was in the bar, having a drink (one at a time, anyways), trying to forget about my day. I needed to unwind a little, that's all. I'd just spent 11 hours in a conference room trying to get money from a bunch of uptight Republicans. That mere fact alone is enough to make me crazy; add to it that they were all men, none of whom were used to looking up to a woman-literally or figuratively-and I'm sure you can understand why I appreciated the alcohol. It was all they could do to keep from checking out my ass every time I turned my back. You'd think I'd be more used to it by now.
A guy sits down next to me, and immediately I can tell he's a politician-I work around enough of them to recognize them on sight. He's not bad looking, though...
I swear to God, if this man is a Republican, I'm throwing my drink in his face.
He leans in, and offers to buy me another drink. I probably shouldn't; my flight back to L.A. leaves at 6am, and I hate flying with a hangover. For some reason, I accept anyways.
Sometime after my third shot of bourbon (don't ask how I ended up drinking that-I hate it), we wound up in the elevator, and both of his hands were in my hair. By the time we got to his room, I'd lost two buttons off my shirt. Luckily, they were the two top ones, which I usually never bother with.
It wasn't until after, when I saw what a mistake I'd made. I shoved his pants off the chair while I was trying to find my shirt, and his wallet dropped out the pocket.
It flipped open to a picture of him, his wife, and their two kids.
It occurs to me then that I never even asked him his name. Well, now his license is right there...why does that name sound familiar?
Oh. Oh god. He's...Amy-our political director...her boyfriend is this guy's...oh, god.
What have I done?
~~~~~
An hour after President Bartlet told us he was putting Hoynes on the ticket, Toby found me in my hotel room, throwing up everything I'd eaten for the past two days. I had no choice but to tell him; it's Toby, and I've known him too long to lie to him.
"Toby, I swear, I had no idea-"
The worst part is that Toby doesn't say anything; he just wets a cloth for my face and sets my toothbrush next to the sink.
I almost wish he'd yell at me, tell me how foolish I was, something. But he doesn't.
~~~~~
He'd been walking through the bullpen, and I happened to look up at exactly the wrong moment. There was a vague recognition in his eyes, but I could tell he wasn't sure about it. Luckily, his assistant came up then with a message, and he left quickly.
I usually never get out of the office before 9, and tonight isn't any exception. The only difference is that the Vice-President just walked in.
"Good evening, sir." Don't panic. After all, he might just be here to talk shop. Forget about the fact that the man has his own Press Secretary. Just be civil, make him get to the point, and maybe he'll go away.
"CJ, I think we need to talk."
"About what, sir?" Hey, what do you know, he did get right to the point. If this keeps up, I can be home soaking in the tub before the opening sketch on SNL.
"New York."
That's a surprise. I didn't even think he remembered being in New York at all. He certainly didn't remember me.
"How have you been, CJ?"
"I'm fine, sir." I've gotten about twelve hours' sleep in the past 7 days, dinner tonight consisted of a handful of goldfish crackers between phone calls to CNN and NBC, and I have no idea why you're standing in my office doorway at 8:30 on a Saturday night. Other that that, I'm just peachy. What do you want?
"That's good. You've been finding your way around here? Getting to know everyone?"
"Mr. Vice-President, I'm afraid I'm a little confused about where this conversation is going." He doesn't say anything then, just watches me with this thin little smile on his face. What the hell is he...oh. We're playing that game now.
"I'm settling in just fine, sir. Everyone seems to be adjusting well. How is your family getting along, with your move up from Texas? Your kids are making friends at school, I'm sure." Also, I'm sure your wife is great. I bet she keeps dinner warm for you whenever you come home late, and I'm sure she hardly ever asks where you've been, regardless of the fact it's 3am.
"Yes, my children are doing just fine."
"I'm glad to hear that, sir." I feel bad for them, having such a dirtbag for a father. I hope your son never takes after you.
"CJ, I swear, if you tell anyone about what happened in New York..." Whoa, hey, hang on. Don't advance on me like that. Where the hell are your agents? Shouldn't they be here? Hey, look, Ron Butterfield is out there, asking Donna where Josh is. Come on, Ron, look up. Look up, dammit! Okay, good. Thank you. Now please, get over here and help me. I do not like where this could be headed.
"Good evening, sir. Hey, CJ, do you have those security notes from this afternoon? There are a few things I'd like to add before you do your briefing in the morning." He sounds like he has no idea that anything is wrong, but I know better. He's been doing this job since before I could legally vote. He even knocked on the door, before he stepped in. Give this man an Emmy, would you?
"Sure. Carol typed them up a few hours ago. Would you like a printout?" Please say no, please. Don't leave me alone in here.
"Actually, it would be faster if I just typed them in now. I don't think Carol can read my handwriting." Ron smiles a little, and I know that part isn't acting; his penmanship is rather...distinctive. I'm one of the few people around here who can read it without a translator.
"Unless, of course, you're having a private conversation?" Ron raises an eyebrow at me, and it's all I can do not to shake my head so violently that I lose an earring. Fortunately, I manage to control myself.
"No, Ron, we're finished. We are finished, aren't we, sir?"
"Yes, CJ. Goodnight." He leaves quickly, with a nod to Ron, and a pretty dirty look to me. Ron doesn't see it, though. He's too busy watching me.
"Goodnight, Mr. Vice-President." He doesn't look back at me, which is good. Still, I think I'll be inviting myself to a lot of meetings this week. I wonder if Ron could get me into a few more briefings with the Secret Service. Or maybe something at the Pentagon. The Pentagon would be good.
I shut the door (not as hard as I want to, sadly), and turn around. Ron's sitting at my computer, but he's not typing. I don't think he realizes that the screen is reflecting off of the window behind him.
"Stick the red nine on the black ten, then move that jack over." I even manage to smile a little when I say it.
"Sit down, CJ." Oh, okay. Ron's never taken that tone with me. He's either really pissed at me or…I don't know what.
Now he shuts off the game, and closes my laptop. He comes over and sits next to me, and I suddenly have the feeling that I'm about to get yelled at. It feels a lot like the time I was sent to the principal's office when I was 12, for beating the hell out of Matt Fisher. It wasn't my fault; he called my best friend-well, he called her a few things that would shock Admiral Fitzwallace.
"CJ, what the hell was that? And don't say it was nothing."
"I..." I can't look at you while I say this, for starters. "A couple of years ago, I was in New York, and I'd had a really bad day. I was in the hotel bar, and this guy came up to me. We started talking, and he bought me a couple more drinks, and then we...we ended up in his room."
Ron doesn't bat an eye. It does take him a second to process what I'm trying to say, though. "CJ, are you telling me that you and…you and the Vice-President...?"
"Yeah." Well, he wasn't the Vice-President then, but same deal.
"What did he say to you right before I came in?"
"He said that if he found out that I'd told anyone about it..." I realize suddenly that he never actually threatened me; he just alluded to it. Of course, I don't think I want to know was he would've said, had Ron not come in when he did. "Well, he didn't say anything, specifically. But he certainly implied that I'd be in deep shit, if word got out."
Ron stands up then, and faces me. "Okay. Let's go."
I don't even have the question out of my mouth when he answers me. "We're going to tell the President."
"No. I can't."
"CJ, I'm not asking you."
"He'll be so disappointed in me. He and Leo both."
"You'll be fine. Let's go." One look at Ron's face tells me that he's not messing around.
~~~~~
"A few years ago, when I was in New York, doing some work for EMILY's List, I...I spent a night with Vice President Hoynes, sir." I can't believe I just said that out loud. In the Oval Office, no less. I feel like I'm going to pass out.
President Bartlet doesn't say anything, and that's when I start to get nervous. The feeling intensifies when Leo knocks on the door and comes in. Thankfully, he doesn't ask what's going on, and I don't have to repeat myself. I'm not sure I could say all that again.
"And, a few minutes ago, Mr. President, he came into my office and told me that if I said anything about that night to anyone..." I don't even try to finish that sentence.
"Oh, god." President Bartlet passes a hand over his face, and I can't tell what he's thinking about. Probably the best ways to fire me and not have it reflect badly on the administration.
Leo sits up a bit, and looks at me. "Exactly who was this guy, CJ?"
"Hoynes." I don't get to answer; President Bartlet speaks up first, and I'm a little grateful for it.
Leo looks like someone just threw a drink in his face. I don't blame him.
"Sir, are...are you upset with me?" Because if you are, I can have my resignation on your desk in about 15 minutes, and my office cleaned out by morning.
"What? No, CJ, of course not. Why on earth-?"
"Leo?" This time I manage to look up from my lap, and I'm a little thrown by the fact that Leo's staring me right in the eye.
"Absolutely not. This wasn't your fault."
"I don't believe this! I made him Vice President, and this is how he repays me? By threatening my staff? We've been in office less than three months, and he's here threatening CJ?" Uh-oh, President Bartlet's started pacing around by his desk. Things never end well when he does that.
Ron clears his throat. I'd nearly forgotten he was in the room. "Sir, what I think you should do right now is-"
"I'm gonna to nail his ass to the wall, is what I'm gonna do!" Suddenly, this conversation is turning into a replay of the night I borrowed my dad's car, and it ended up backed into a concrete wall. President Bartlet isn't mad at you, CJ. Remember that. Take a deep breath. Don't panic.
"Sir, all due respect, but I think that if you were to reprimand the Vice President now, it would only make things worse."
President Bartlet has turned towards the window behind his desk, and all I can think of is the night of my senior prom. I snuck in the house at 5:30 the next morning, shoes in hand, and found my dad standing in the living room staring out the window. His back was to me, and all he said was 'You should have called to tell me you'd be this late.'
"Mr. President?"
"Sir, with your permission, and CJ's too, of course, I'd like to assign an agent to CJ. It will appear completely informal, and there is a new-"
"Fine." Oh, god. He sounds so…disheartened. I've really screwed this up, haven't I?
"Mr. President?"
"Set up whatever you need to, Ron. And if Hoynes gets curious, just remind him that the Secret Service doesn't comment on security issues for the President's family."
Oh, god, please, not now. Please don't let me start crying in the middle of the Oval Office. Not in front of these men.
"Guys, give us a minute, could you?" I don't look up until I hear them leave. I'm pretty sure they've gone into Leo's office, and they'll be back soon. Get a grip, CJ.
And, I can't. So now I'm crying in front of the most powerful man in the country, and he's…pulling a handkerchief from his pocket. "Hey, CJ, don't cry. Everything will be okay."
"No, sir, it's not that. It's just-" I really shouldn't be here, things are so fucked up right now, and I have very little idea about how I can fix this.
God, I don't believe this. I'm sitting in the middle of the Oval Office, crying, while The President of the United States just sits back and waits for me to get ahold of myself. This is surreal.
"Does anyone else know?"
"Yes. Just Toby. The night in South Carolina, when you announced that Hoynes was going on the ticket, I..." (Freaked out and started puking) "Panicked a little, and Toby figured out what was wrong."
"Okay." He touches my shoulder lightly then, and I'm horrified for a second, until the urge to throw my arms around his neck and sob passes. "I really do appreciate you coming to me about this, CJ."
"I didn't have much choice, sir. Not once Ron got involved."
"Well, that's why I pay him the big bucks." Yeah, right. And Ron just drives a '91 Chevy just because he likes it.
"CJ, I think what you should do right now is go home, and try to get some sleep. This all might look a little clearer in the morning."
"Yes, sir. I hope you're right."
"'Course I'm right. That's one of the reasons I got this job." God, this man can disarm every single situation he gets placed in, can't he?
"Yes, sir, it is."
"Now, are you okay to drive home? I can ask someone to go with you, if you'd like."
"No, thank you, Mr. President; I'll be fine."
"Okay. Drive carefully."
"Goodnight, sir." 20 bucks says I get a call right after I walk in my apartment door, checking to see that I've arrived in one piece.
"Goodnight, Claudia Jean."