|
TITLE: "The Flood" (3/8) AUTHORS: Luna (lunavudu@aol.com) and Jessica (bolander3@aol.com) See notes on part one. * * * "A police officer?" C.J. asked incredulously, her coffee mug paused halfway to her mouth. "On top of everything else," Josh said. "The Vice President's boyfriend is a police officer." "You may not want to start the briefing off with that information." "Seriously, Joshua?" C.J. snapped, setting her coffee down. "Because I was all set to go in there and provide explicit, graphic details--" "You don't need to bite my head off, you know." She looked contrite. "I'm sorry. You're right. It's just that... It's five o'clock in the morning and we're living a complete nightmare. I'm dreading the headlines we're going to see in a couple hours. 'Secret Vices of the Vice President!'" Josh suppressed a chuckle. "Do we know who's running this?" "The morning papers aren't out yet. They were probably held up to rush this onto the first page. My line is, until we see the picture, we're not confirming its existence." "What about who took it?" "So far, all the usual sleaze hounds are proclaiming their innocence. Toby's on it." "He'll find out eventually." "When he does, he'll probably tear them limb from limb." C.J. stood up. "I have to go do this. Keep your fingers crossed for me. God, I just -- I can't imagine how Hoynes could have done something so incredibly, unequivocally stupid." "Neither can I," Josh said. "But you know what's weird? I think they actually cared about each other." C.J. looked askance at him. "Okay, but it's not my job to know that. I'm trying to keep this from being a total embarrassment to all of us." "It's going to be an embarrassment no matter what you tell the press." "I know. I have to go." She gathered her files, brushed past him and then stopped in the doorway of her office. "You think they care about each other." Josh met her gaze. "Yeah." "Hmm." C.J. turned and walked down the hall to her briefing. The overcrowded press room exploded when she entered, in a chaotic rush of flashing cameras and competing voices. *Well,* she thought, *that answers the question of who knows about it.* "Good morning," she said, acerbically. "I see the weather and the early hour didn't keep anybody home." At least a dozen voices called her name at once. "Easy there," she replied. "I'm only going to take a couple of questions right now; everything else will be covered at the regular noon briefing. Victor." A young reporter stood up. "Does the White House have a comment on this photograph of Hoynes kissing another man that's floating around?" "Now how did I know that was going to be the first question?" C.J. answered lightly. "You guys are so predictable." "C.J.--" "We haven't seen this picture, if it exists," she said, having memorized Sam's prepared statement during the last half hour. "At present, we're inclined not to dignify dubious gossip about the Vice President's personal life with a comment. If someone actually produces this picture, we'll consider making a further statement on the subject later in the day." The young reporter opened his mouth to protest. "I hope that answers your question," C.J. said. "Danny." He stood up. "You have no comment on this picture?" "Gee, I think I made it pretty clear, Danny. At the moment, the White House has no comment on this supposed--" "It's a real picture," Danny interrupted. C.J. was thrown. She glared at him. "We've seen no evidence of that." "Every paperboy in the city's carrying a bag full of evidence of that," he told her, a trifle smugly. "Early edition should land on your doorstep any minute now." She cast a fierce glance into the wings. Someone scurried away down the hall. She tried to recover her poise. "Danny, what--" "I'm saying it's not some kind of unfounded rumor. I'm saying someone took a photograph of the Vice President kissing a man, and I was wondering if you might want to think about making some kind of comment on that now." "We'll consider making a further statement later in the day," she recited, coldly. "Does anybody have any questions on any other subject?" There was a brief pause. "We're done. I'll see you all this afternoon." The room broke into a loud chorus of complaint. "We're done," she reiterated, picked up her papers, and stormed out. Her assistant Carol was standing just inside the hall, waiting apprehensively. "Do we have it?" C.J. asked. "Ginger went to find out if the paper's here yet. Do you want--" C.J.'s eyes were glowing with rage. "Danny," she hissed, her teeth clenched. "Five minutes." "I'll send him in." She was seated at her desk, focused on the blurry photo and the blaring headline, when Danny appeared. "Shut the door," C.J. ordered, without looking up. He obeyed, then stood awkwardly just inside her office. "C.J., we've had this argument before." "No, Danny, I don't think we have," she said bleakly. "Are we off the record?" "Sure." "I mean completely, really off the record. No anonymous quoting, no--" "I said we're off the record." "Good, because I'm not exactly predisposed to trust you today." He waited for her to continue. She whipped off her reading glasses and looked up at him. "The front page, you son of a bitch?" Danny was taken aback. "That's uncalled for." She jumped to her feet. "*Uncalled* for? This article isn't uncalled for? You had to do this. You couldn't have held off on it for a few hours? You couldn't have kept it back until this afternoon?" "By this afternoon it would have been all over the Internet!" he retorted defensively. "I have a responsibility--" "You have a responsibility to the truth. Journalists are supposed to have ethics." She held the newspaper towards him like a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse. "What's ethical about this?!" He moved forward. "While you were reading that front page, did you happen to notice the motto under the masthead? 'News of the World,' C.J. News of the world, and this is news." "It's cheap, Danny!" She slammed the paper down on the desk. "It's supermarket-tabloid crap!" "It's a matter of national interest!" "That doesn't mean you have to pander to it," she yelled back. The anger and frustration crackled the air between them, and Danny was the first to blink. C.J. ran a hand through her hair. "Get out of my face, Daniel." "I stand by my decision, C.J., and my editor does too." "Get out of my face and get out of my office." She sat down at her desk and picked the paper up again. He lingered for a few seconds, shrugged, and walked out, slamming the door behind him. When he was gone, she leaned back in her chair, trying to shrug away the tension in her neck and shoulders. She looked vacantly into space for a few seconds, then exhaled sadly and forced her attention back to work. * * * Toby paced anxiously back and forth, pausing occasionally to read along as Sam wrote. "I think it's coming along fairly well," Sam said, hopefully. Toby peered over his shoulder. "You don't want to use the phrase 'coming out in support' there, do you?" Sam thought about it for a moment. "No, I really don't." He scribbled it out. "We'll just make it 'being supportive'." "How about just 'supporting'?" "Yeah, or that." "Simple words, Sam!" Toby reminded him. "You always say that, and then you write speeches with phrases like 'enlightened populism' and...." "Those are speeches. This is a statement to the press. Reporters need small words. They have very small brains." "And their brains are in their vestigial tails," Sam added, getting into the spirit. "Exactly. Their brains are in their tails and they breathe through their--" Toby looked up. A slender, dark-haired woman stood in the office doorway, hands on her hips, her eyes blazing. "Hello, Mrs. Hoynes," Toby said. She strode into the office. "I actually prefer Ms., Toby, but this is really not the time for formality. Call me Ruth. Hey, Sam," she greeted him. "Um. Hello." Ruth sat down on the edge of Sam's desk. "I assume that the two of you are in the process of working out how to manage my foolish bastard of a husband?" "We're working on the situation with the Vice President, yes," Toby said, diplomatically. "In other words, you're trying to manage him. I should know; I've been doing it for eighteen years." She rolled her eyes in disgust. "Personally, I find it frightening that a grown man could do something so self-destructive, unthinking, and just plain idiotic." Sam and Toby exchanged a look. "Mrs. Hoynes--" Sam began. "Ruth," she corrected, irritably. "Ruth," he said, uncomfortably. "I know it's unpleasant to have your private life torn apart by the newspapers; believe me, no one knows that as well as I do." Toby cut him off. "That being said, what your husband needs, and what the White House needs, is your public support." "I wasn't going to say that," Sam grumbled. "I know; that's why I said it," Toby replied. "I'm perfectly aware of what you want me to tell the press." Ruth affected a stoic expression and spoke as if she was reading a TelePrompter. "Marriage is a serious commitment that requires hard work. My husband and I are coping with a deeply personal struggle, but we are both devoted to our marriage and hope to resolve our problems. We appreciate our privacy during this stressful time." "That's about right," Toby said. She laughed ironically. "I can play that role out there, and I will. I'm good at it. But in here, I have to tell you, I'm pretty pissed that I have to deal with this nonsense." "You don't sound very surprised," Sam put in, cautiously. Ruth folded her arms and looked at him. "I know my husband very, very well," she told him. "It's hard for me to be surprised by anything he does, though he usually has the sense not to do it in public. Don't misunderstand me." Her tone softened. "I like my marriage. I love my children, and I do care about their father. And I know that's exactly what you need the media to hear, as annoyed as I may be." She stood up. "You do your jobs; I'll do mine." She walked out. Sam and Toby stared after her. "She's good," Sam said after a while. "Yes, she is," Toby agreed. He stood behind Sam and scowled at the hand-written draft. "I don't like the word 'understanding' there." Sam turned back to the notepad. "Should I change it to empathy?" "Empathy's good." * * * TO BE CONTINUED
|
|
|