Disclaimer: "The West Wing", the characters and situations depicted are the property of Warner Bros. Television, John Wells Productions, NBC, etc. They are borrowed without permission, but without the intent of infringement. This site is in no way affiliated with "The West Wing", NBC, or any representatives of the actors. This site contains stories between two mature, consenting adult females.
Author’s Notes: I am on a quest to cheer up harlowbabe. This is what happens when you let me listen to too much Stevie Nicks. ;) I wrote it pretty quickly, so I apologize for any errors. Oh, and they're not mine, they're Sorkin's, yadda yadda yadda.
She closed the door behind her, hoping to shut out the distracting sound of fingertips on computer keys, only to realize that the office still clicked with the rhythm of CJ’s own typing as the press secretary hovered above her desk chair, phone tucked under her shoulder, right hand typing and left hand holding a cup of coffee big enough to drown someone in.
The press secretary spoke without looking up from her computer screen.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I’ve got about a million things on the go at the moment. Would it be possible for you to come back later?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind, just when we’re not quite so busy… ”
“When would that be?”
“Say, after lunch?”
“You really think you’re going to be miraculously less busy after lunch?” The First Lady cocked an eyebrow. CJ sighed and informed whoever was on the phone that yes, she was still holding, and no, she didn’t want to just leave a message. She took another swig of coffee before setting it down to pinch the bridge of her nose in an attempt to stave off another headache.
“How does after lunch in November of 2056 sound?”
“I think you just pulled that date out of your ass.”
“That’s entirely possible.”
She was still typing.
Abbey was not fond of being ignored. She’d have to up the ante. Casually, she began to draw the blinds as she walked along the perimeter of the office, cursing the inconvenient glass walls. She hoped whoever thought that they were a good idea had been fired by now.
“Really, ma’am, I do apologize, and I’m not saying that what you have to say isn’t important, but I’m trying to get the official release out to the press corps about the White House’s position on corporate tax write-offs, I’m already late for a meeting with Leo, and I’m still holding for the Speaker of the House who won’t pick up his damn phone!”
“Yelling at the phone is going to convince him though, you figure? I wasn’t aware inanimate objects had any say in the matter.”
“Yes, well, it’s all that I have to yell at for the moment.”
“CJ, I just spent the gross domestic product of Cambodia-”
“You spent over 3.5 trillion dollars, adjusted for inflation as of 1995?”
“Out of curiosity, do you have anything useful memorized?”
“I play a mean game of Trivial Pursuit.”
“Good for you. Anyways. Thing is, I spent more on lingerie than some people pay in rent every month, and I’m not going anywhere until it gets the attention it deserves.” She dropped her suit jacket onto the couch and came to stand next to CJ’s desk, content, finally, to have her full attention. She took the phone from under CJ’s chin as the other woman remained frozen in place, half out of her desk chair.
“Now we’re just going to put the Speaker on hold,” she tapped a button and set the phone back in its cradle, then picked up CJ’s mug and set it on a shelf out of harm’s way. “And we’ll put this up here - do they design these special for you guys? Gallon and half gallon sizes?” She turned to take CJ’s hand, drawing her index finger from where it still lingered, motionless over the L key, to her lips, and then into her mouth.
It took a full week for someone in the press corps to tell CJ that “justifiabl” wasn’t actually a word, and could they assume by context that she had meant “justifiable”?