Chapter Six
A half hour later, and his head was still spiraling.
Granted, having a job of such prestige and recognition was bound to come with the added promise of restless nights. This was the year for restless nights. First with the mess with Laurie—fighting his frustration with the innate assumption buried beneath his knowledge that having such a relationship would never bode well for a man of his position. Never mind the fact that they weren’t sleeping together. Never mind the fact that the most he did was buy her lunch and offer advice on how to better her situation, whether or not such interference was welcome.
It amazed him how small-minded Americans could be. Give them an expert on CNN and they still believed what they read in the tabloids. The story had yet to break, of course. CJ and Toby had done their damndest to keep it from the press. Danny Concanon sniffing around, finding what God Himself could not find, but cutting him a break because he was a good guy.
Well, that wasn’t necessarily fair. Sam had not been too discreet when it came to seeing Laurie. And therein was the problem. People didn’t care about the truth, and when the story about his relationship with the call girl inevitably broke, they would discard the truth to see nothing but a sleazy politician and his whore.
Sam couldn’t stand that. And the thought that he had to hand over the file detailing every aspect of his personal life upon entering the White House still made his blood hot.
That wasn’t all. One thing or a million things. Anyone was welcome to step up to the plate. Right now, the man he respected as a father was being torn apart in the media, by Congress; by every fundamentally and radically conservative movement in the country. And all because six years ago, he had endured a problem with alcohol and Valium. It wasn’t so much that Sam didn’t understand why it was wrong—but six years had passed. The man had willingly put himself through rehab and gotten his life back on track. And all for what?
Soft on crime. Soft on drugs. In favor of burning the Flag in protest. In favor of putting condoms in schools while throwing Bibles out the window. High taxes, new taxes, reform bills. Every this, that, and whatever that could be criticized was. And not because they were wrong; because they were who they were.
It was the soft on drugs that was killing them this time around. Republicans had it figured out. Hard on drugs, so when it came out that many influential members of the party enjoyed—or had in the past—the same illegal narcotics that they were putting people away for, it was forgivable because they recognized the error of their ways. Because they were hard on drugs. Unlike the Democrats in the White House who were soft on drugs merely in order to protect one of their own.
It amazed him how ignorant the American people could be to hypocrisy. The Bushes in Florida and Texas could get stoned, eat, drink and be merry without a blink from their constituents. Leo McGarry, though, who had been clean for six years was an evil man and not fit to walk the streets.
Perhaps it wasn’t because they were ignorant. Partisan politics was unavoidable by modern standards. Perhaps people were so set on being right that they failed to see where they were wrong.
The trip wasn’t supposed to be difficult. It was supposed to be quick. Introduce a policy change, take some of the spotlight away from Leo and his problem, then go back to work. The nights here weren’t supposed to be restless. And yes, while no business in the White House aside Big Block of Cheese day was taken in stride, Sam had not anticipated being bombarded with a dilemma so soon—and of this magnitude.
Of course, he had also not anticipated getting lost.
“I think I offended her,” he said aloud, eyes glued to the ceiling. “I think she thought that—”
There was a rustle beside him. While Toby had not been asleep—nor anywhere near such a state—he did look suitably annoyed at his companion’s unwillingness to let this particular topic go.
“I mean, if you were a woman, how would you take it? She knows that I overheard her conversation. She knows that I purposefully came out of my room with a mind to seeing her. She knows I’m a man. And…what? This stranger approaches her in the hallway and asks if she’s okay?” Sam shifted slightly, worry lines scattered across his face. “That sounded like a line. It had to sound like a line. She probably thought I was offering to give her…” He paused, suddenly painfully aware of the other man’s blank and frankly uncaring stare. “She probably thought I was offering myself as the solution, like her friend suggested. Or that I was assuming she was a…well, you know.” Another silence filled the room; he sat up with sudden conviction and tossed the comforters aside. “I have to go apologize now.”
“Sit down.”
“No. I have to let her know that I had absolutely no—”
“You’re obsessing a little bit.” Toby rolled his eyes. “Besides, you think that showing up at her doorstep in the middle of the night, half-dressed, mind you, is going to make a positive difference?”
Sam frowned and glanced down at his person. He was wearing boxer shorts and a white undershirt. “This isn’t half-dressed. This is more than I—”
The other man held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say, and believe me when I tell you that any visual of the kind is not appreciated.” He breathed a small sigh. “We have more important things to worry about than your first impression on a girl you’ll never see again.”
“When you put it that way…” His gaze fell on the door again, focused and intent. “I have to go apologize.”
“You talked to her for thirty seconds, for crying out loud, and she obviously has more problems than that if she’s having an aneurysm over some guy accidentally bumping her.”
The worried look refused to waver. Sam stood in firm defiance of his position, shifting his weight from leg to leg. “No. No. We’re leaving tomorrow, and I might not get a chance to apologize. I don’t want her to think that I was trying to take advantage of a vulnerable situation and—”
“Sam, the girl was outside arguing about orgasms. You really think she gives a damn whether or not you were propositioning her?” Toby looked off with a short, dry laugh. “This trip was not supposed to be complicated. The President’s giving a speech in less than forty-eight hours, something that will be highly difficult if he doesn’t have the speech to give. I am not going to let you waste time about what some girl thinks about a guy she doesn’t know. We are above passing each other notes in the hallway. Go to sleep.”
The younger man paused again, heaving deep breaths of acknowledgment, even if his conviction remained resolute with that distinguished Seaborn style. However, despite all else, there was a certain measure of logicality in Toby’s observation.
The speech was what was important.
He drew his hands through his hair, waited, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah.”
There was nothing he could do but return to bed. The modestly-sized honeymoon bed that he was sharing with the White House Communications Director for the night. Never say life wasn’t funny—it had certainly been rolling in the punch lines these past two days.
And that was behind them. They had a busy few days ahead.
A busy few years ahead.
And yet…
“I should really go apologize.”
Toby groaned, turned over slowly, regarded him with tested frustration, and then hit him over the head with his pillow.
“Yeah,” Sam continued, voice muffled slightly. “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
There was no reply, and he was not expecting one. He released another deep breath. All else aside, it was time to go to sleep.
Only…
Only he really should apologize.
*~*~*
Eleven hours earlier
“Aha! I found it!”
“Found what?”
Josh glanced up, grinning at the look on his assistant’s face. “I’ll tell you, but first, you gotta call me Your Majesty.”
Now she was looking at him as though he was insane. “What?”
“You must call me Your Majesty, for I am the King of the Road. I am the Road King. Keeper of the streets, changer of the tires, and pumper of the gas. Such is the way of the King.”
“You’re a king, huh?”
“The King. Don’t you forget it. Finder of things obscure, fixer of state business. Don’t mess with the King, Donna. From now on, you’re calling me Your Majesty. For I am a King, and such is the way of Kings. A kingly way, if you will.”
“Question—can the King get me my money back?”
“Nope.”
Her face fell with familiar playfulness. These were moments he lived for. “Why not?”
“The King’s a Democrat.” He was having a hard time not laughing at her expression, and instead turned her attention to the map that was sprawled over the car’s hood. “I know where we are.”
The relief that poured through her eyes was well-shared. He had begun to have his doubts that Vicksburg existed—forget what history books and the like had to say about the matter. The car itself was stalled by the side of the road thanks to Sam’s navigation over a discarded nail. He and the Communications Director had turned to walk the couple miles back to the last three-house town they had passed, hoping it wasn’t as far as they remembered.
Trust rental car companies in this state not to provide spare tires.
“Well?” Donna asked impatiently.
“Well?”
She was giving him one of those looks where she either wanted to strangle him with his tie or go home and watch chick flicks. “Where are we?”
There was no reply. He merely cocked his head at her, grinned, and waited.
It took her a minute to catch on; then her eyes narrowed in frustration. “Where are we, Your Majesty?”
The smile refused to waver, but he shifted a bit so that she could follow his explanation on the map. “We’re here,” he said, pointing somewhere that looked much further south than she thought they should be. “The last town we passed that’s on the map was Brookhaven, and that was about an hour ago. Then we got off on 84, and now we’re in this general vicinity.”
She nodded. “Okay. Well, that’s good news, right?” He looked at her and waited. She sighed and rolled her eyes. “Good news, Your Majesty?”
“Well, yes and no. See…” He shifted again. “Here’s Natchez. That’s the good.”
“Okay…where’s Vicksburg?” Another pause. “Your Majesty?”
His finger trailed a long line upward, and her eyes boggled when it landed. “Right here,” he said. “If we’d’ve gotten on 20, we’d’ve been there hours ago.”
“Oh my God, Josh.”
“Yeah.”
“How did this happen?”
“Well, I’m thinking it’s probably because Leo told me Vicksburg was south of Jackson, and Leo’s never been to Mississippi before.” He shrugged. “Mistakes happen. Anyway, I’m thinking when we get the car running again, we just go to Natchez, stay there the night, then Sam and Toby can get a move on to Vicksburg.”
She frowned at him suspiciously. “Why aren’t you freaking out about this?”
Josh shrugged again. “’Cause the President’s speech isn’t for two days, and he usually gets the final draft seconds before he actually gives it. Natchez isn’t that far from Vicksburg—we get there, we sleep, they get another car, and that’s the end of that.”
There was nothing to contest. Donna bit her lip and nodded, wrapping her arms around herself and hopping in sudden impatience. “I don’t like this,” she said, gesturing to their surroundings. “It’s creepy out here. With all the…” She frowned, glancing around. “Trees. And the…did you see any lights when we popped that flat?”
He cocked a brow at her. “I knew. I knew two seconds after I gave you that book that it was a mistake.”
“I saw lights.”
“Yeah, on the head of a car.”
“No. It was different—the book described something called an ignus fatus, which are these phantom lights that get travelers lost at night.” The funny thing was, she actually looked worried about this. “Are you sure we didn’t see any lights? Because I think I saw lights, and—”
“I swear to God, Donna, I’m gonna get a bill passed that prohibits you from reading.”
She paused, then smirked. “Oh sure. Congressman Lyman.”
“First the cat, and now phantom lights?”
“The book mentioned the cat, too.”
His eyes rolled up, but he couldn’t keep the instinctual smile from crossing his lips. “Oh, by all means,” he drawled. “It must be true.”
“And the White House is haunted. Did you know the White House is haunted? Not surprised—it is kind of eerie at night.”
“You couldn’t possibly tell me more about this, could you?”
She scowled at him defiantly. “Abigail Adams, to name one. And Abraham Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln haunts the White House.”
“Yeah. Wonder where he was during the Regan administration.”
She glared at him.
“Well, what did you expect? Listen to yourself.”
“I think that my concern is completely justifiable, especially when you consider the Southern states are rumored to be more haunted than the rest of the country.”
“That’s a great point you’re making there. Really. Not crazy at all.”
Donna scoffed and placed her hands at her hips, eyes seething with indignation. “You’re telling me that you’re so unbelievably small-minded that there’s absolutely no way within the realm of possibility that we popped that flat because of the ignus fatus?”
Josh paused a moment, considering. “Well…yeah.”
“What if Sam and Toby go missing? What if we never hear from them again? We’re out here in the middle of nowhere, our phones are getting no reception, there’s an ignus fatus out there somewhere, and they—”
The sound of a loud horn broke through the stream of her rant, followed by the quick flash of oncoming headlights.
“Oh no,” Josh whispered erratically. “It’s the ignus fatus! Run for your life!”
“Shut up.”
The ignus fatus was apparently a large Chevy truck. Sam and Toby were in the back, the latter with his arm draped over a large tire, eyes dull with the bouncing weight of the vehicle as it came to a halt.
Donna breathed a sigh of relief.
“And you were worried,” her boss murmured teasingly.
“Shut up.”
Josh grinned but said nothing, instead turning his attention to his coworkers with a note of cynicism. “Took you long enough!”
“Sorry!” Sam replied, hopping out of the back as he and Toby rolled the tire to the concrete and over to the car. “It took a while to remember if we’d gotten off on Exit 187B and then—”
“We were on foot,” the other man observed dryly. “The fact that we’re back here at all should be commendable.”
“Bubba helped us pick out the tire.”
That was it. All the Deputy Chief of Staff could take. Without a thought for tact, he burst out laughing, hitting the side of the car in a display of mirth. “Bubba?!” he howled. “You actually met a Bubba?”
Sam nodded, eyes going wide. “Yes, and she was kind enough to drive us back.” With that, he began gesturing emphatically to the driver’s side door of the Chevy with his head.
Oh, this was priceless. In Mississippi for one day, actually meet the notorious Bubba, and discover that Bubba’s a little more—or less—than the stereotype had colored. It took all that he was to keep his laughter from bursting all over again.
Thankfully for all, Donna was there. “All right. All right. We have the spare. Thank Bubba for us, okay? Let’s fix this and get moving. Josh knows where we are.”
Toby stepped forward at that. “Where are we?”
“Nowhere near Vicksburg.”
At that, the man looked ready to murder someone. “Are we still in Mississippi?”
“Yeah. We got off the wrong exit in Jackson, thanks to Leo’s nonexistent sense of direction, or map-reading, for that matter.” Josh pinched the bridge of his nose in thought, leaving Sam and Donna to pay regards to the Chevy driver and thank her for her time. It wasn’t implied, but he always preferred not to be the ‘hands-on’ person with the locals, if at all possible. Especially women named Bubba who lived in Mississippi, even if the concept in itself was too tempting for words. “Look, we’re actually not that far from Natchez. Once this is fixed, we’ll head there, sleep, and you two’ll head to Vicksburg tomorrow.”
“The President expected us today, Josh. He expected us six hours ago!”
“Yes, and I will explain what happened once we get there. Really, this is nothing that merits an overreaction from anybody.”
The words had barely escaped his mouth before Donna’s accusatory, “What do you mean, you don’t know how to change a tire?!” flew out at a flustered and rightly ashamed Sam, who glanced to the ground and kicked idly at the pebbles.
“It’s just…nothing my father really pulled me aside and taught me how.”
Josh and Toby turned to the duo wearily.
“Sam doesn’t know how to change a tire?”
The man in question frowned before pointing a finger at the Deputy Chief of Staff in blatant accusation. “Neither do you!”
“Huh? How do you know?”
Donna’s eyes widened. “Josh!”
“Because the last time you had a flat, to my knowledge, we were in the car together and had to call a tow truck.”
“Josh!”
“Donna!”
“King of the Road, Josh? Changer of tires, Josh?”
“So I might’ve been boasting a little.”
Toby rolled his eyes. “Oh, for crying…”
Josh wet his lips and turned to the Communications Director in search for a quick way to redeem himself. “Well, do you know how to change a tire?”
There was a significant pause at that. Toby merely stuffed his hands in his pockets and smiled ironically.
Donna rolled her eyes and began rolling up her shirtsleeves. “Someone get me the jack.”
The three men stopped to stare at her.
“You know how to change a tire?”
“Yes. Unlike three of the most influential men in the world, I was not born in a barn.”
“When were you going to tell us this?” Josh demanded.
“I wasn’t. I was sort’ve hoping someone else would have to be the man. Where’s the jack?”
“On it.” Sam had the trunk popped and was busy throwing practically every piece of luggage they had stored onto the pavement. “What’s it look like?” At the collective groan that arose from the group, he raised his head and offered a small smile. “Kidding.”
Josh snickered and tapped his assistant on the shoulder. “I know what a jack looks like.”
She blinked at him before offering a condescending nod. “Yes. At some point, I suppose you’re going to have to come to terms with the fact that you are a grown man.”
“Uhhh, Donna?” Sam was holding up a small can of travel-sized hairspray. “I’m guessing that this isn’t it?”
It took a minute to digest.
“There’s no jack?”
“Not unless it’s called the Superhold Three X.”
Another full minute went by; the four travelers exchanging a series of annoyed and panicked looks. It took them another thirty seconds to realize that it was still dark outside, and the truck that had delivered the tire was becoming a distant speck down the stretch of obscure highway.
And so it was that the Deputy Chief of Staff, the Communications Director, his Deputy, and Donna Moss started running as fast as they could after it, waving their arms and yelling for a return as night settled around them, and the threat of ignus fatus grew ever closer.
*~*~*
Natchez, approx. fifteen hours later
Sam had waited for a good ten minutes for the door to the young lady’s guestroom to open. He had already exchanged awkward pleasantries with the man she had been rooming with, a British gentlemen that Josh had first confused for Seaborn upon exiting his room with Donna chirping away the day’s schedule behind him. Sam supposed they did look alike, but his mind was otherwise occupied by many means.
It had to be strange for his friends, sharing a room. He knew they had done it before under a variety of circumstances, but he thought it had to be strange all the same. There were no two people on the face of the earth who knew each other as well as Josh and Donna did. And yes, while others talked, it was well accepted and—furthermore—an undeniable fact that her relationship with him was nothing of what the people would expect. They were friends. Good friends. And so helplessly in love with each other that there was nothing to do but firmly ignore it. So yes, it had to be strange for them to share a room. But the Winsel House had been booked when they arrived; Donna had forgone her room so that Sam and Toby would not be forced to seek lodging elsewhere.
He had not been able to sleep. While he and Toby were leaving after breakfast for Vicksburg, he couldn’t stand the fact that somewhere out there, someone would be thinking ill of him. Even if she hadn’t given him a second thought. Even if she didn’t know his name, or his business. Even if she thought he was the wackiest of the wackos. It didn’t matter. He could not in good faith not apologize for his shabby introduction and even shabbier attempt at consolation.
It seemed forever had passed before the door opened again.
And Sam’s world stopped.
He had not gotten a good look at her the night before, but he had seen enough to know she was pretty. And in the morning light, pretty struck him in the face for being too weak a word. She was quite unlike anyone he had ever seen. Young, to be sure, but there was wisdom in her eyes. Her eyes that met his with a flush of embarrassment and curiosity before darting down to examine the carpet scheme as though it was utterly fascinating. Her red hair was darling and curved just at her chin, complimenting her rosy face in a way he didn’t think Shakespeare could describe.
Oh no.
This was not good.
Not good. And strange. Sam was not blind; he knew many attractive women in his line of work. Moreover, he wasn’t exactly chopped liver himself. He knew many attractive women, and they often paid him the respect admiration for his physique in the subtle ways he did for theirs. And even if he never actively pursued any offers or notes of interest that might come his way, that didn’t mean he didn’t see them.
He more than saw this girl.
“I…uhhh…” And, of course, despite all the speechwriting talent in the world, his customary bumbliness had a way of interfering with the simplest tasks, and he fell all over himself. “I bet you’re wondering why I’m out here. And I have a reason—a good one. You see, I just wanted to apologize for last…I really didn’t mean to—”
The girl held up a hand and offered a kind, however forced half-smile. “Really. No. It’s okay. I’m sorry I woke you up.” She gave a little nod and moved to push past him. “I have to go to breakfast now.”
She was gone in half a blink. And he was left alone in the hallway.
“Well,” Sam murmured dejectedly. “That went well.”
TBC