Part 7
May 14, 2000
Trixie was on the bed in the room across from Zoey’s at Georgetown University, chatting with Bobby on her laptop, when a knock came at her door.
“Come in,” she called out.
Zoey poked her head in. “Busy?”
“Not really. Everything okay?”
Zoey nodded as she came into the dorm room and flopped onto her stomach on the end of Trixie’s bed. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Chatting with my brother.” She typed a quick “BRB” to Bobby and set the laptop aside. “I hope you aren’t here asking for help with your homework,” she joked.
“No. I kind of have a favor to ask.”
Trixie narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Zoey was being just a little too casual. She didn’t meet Trixie’s eye as she tucked her arms under her chin and let her legs bounce off the side of the bed.
“Okay, but remember that I’m not your big sister and I’m not your best friend. I may not be able to grant your favor.”
Zoey sat up and tucked her legs underneath her. “It’s not that kind of favor. It’s a Secret Service kind of favor.”
Trixie frowned but nodded. “Okay, shoot.”
“Tomorrow is Charlie’s birthday.”
“Yeah, I know. I was going to get him a gift but he called me Scrappy again yesterday so I’m not.”
Zoey giggled. “I want to take Charlie to dinner.”
“Okay,” Trixie said with a shrug. “That’s not a problem.”
“Yes, it is. I don’t want it to be some huge production with a car following us and an agent on every door and someone in the kitchen tasting my food to make sure it’s not poisoned and somebody accompanying me to the bathroom and agents with dark glasses standing guard at every door and window.”
Trixie arched her brows as she tried not to laugh. “It’s really not that bad.”
“You know what I mean. I just want it to be low key.”
“Well, what can I do about that?”
“I want you to convince Agent Butterfield that I don’t need a whole fleet of agents coming with us.”
“Zoey, that isn’t my call to make. Did you have a place in mind?”
Zoey hesitated then mumbled, “Sequoia.”
Trixie immediately shook her head. “No way will Butterfield agree to that, even with a fleet of agents.”
“Why?”
“Multiple floors, waterfront access, crowded dining room—”
“We won’t go to the terrace, just the restaurant. I promise. And how crowded can it be on a Monday evening?”
“They won’t let you go anywhere without an agent and you know it.”
“This place is less than ten minutes from the White House, so they can easily swarm the place if they need to. I only have one agent with me on campus all day. If they’re convinced the restaurant is safe then there’s no reason it can’t be just you and no one else. Or at least no one else in the restaurant.”
A thought other than Zoey’s safety managed to root itself in Trixie’s mind. “Wait a minute. So, you want me to sit there with you and Charlie like a … chaperone?”
“No, of course not. I thought you could—”
“No way,” Trixie interrupted. “If you manage to convince Butterfield and your father that one agent is okay, I’m going to have to be glued to your side, five feet maximum distance.”
“I know. I thought we could go … on … like a … double date.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please, Trixie. Charlie and I both like you. You’re so cool. It wouldn’t be like there was an agent at the table at all.”
“Zoey, I’m married.”
“I know,” she said with a dismissive wave. “I’m not saying we’re going to fix you up with a blind date. Just … ask Sam or somebody.”
“Seaborn?”
“Sure. He’s single and God, Trixie! He’s just sinfully good looking.”
“I thought this wasn’t a date?”
“It’s not. He has a girlfriend. He might have two of them, actually. Anyway, he knows you’re married so he won’t hit on you. What do you think?”
“I think it sounds like a really bad idea.” Gleeps, when did I become such a spoilsport? Jim and Brian are the ones who should be doing this job. She made a sudden mental note to thank them for trying so hard to keep her out of trouble all the time when she was a teenager.
Zoey’s eyes were bright and pleading.
Trixie sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this.”
“You’ll do it?” A smile curled the edges of Zoey’s mouth, just begging to be set free.
“I’ll only agree to it if Butterfield says it’s okay. And you have to have a couple of agents outside in a car and I will have to accompany you to the restroom and you have to carry your panic button.”
“I can live with that.” She jumped off the bed and moved quickly to the door. “You’ll talk to Butterfield this afternoon? And ask Sam?”
“Yes,” Trixie said. “If he says it’s okay, I’ll call you. And let me make the reservations. It’ll be just one less thing to worry about if they’re in my name instead of yours.”
“Thanks, Trixie! You’re the best!”
Trixie chuckled under her breath as she picked her laptop back up to see if Bobby was still online.
SSMangan: I’m back.
NotSoLittleBrother: ‘bout time.
SSMangan: Don’t tell D. but I have a date Mon. nite.
NotSoLittleBrother: D … Dan or Dad?
SSMangan: LOL. Either!
NotSoLittleBrother: K, but u have to tell me why.
Trixie smiled, pleased to be doing something she truly liked to do.
SSMangan: Just helping out a friend.
Trixie lingered outside the communications bullpen. She looked like a nervous teenage girl hanging out near the football field just hoping the cute quarterback would look her way. That’s not how she felt, however.
She felt just plain stupid.
“Can I help you Agent Mangan?”
Trixie managed to maintain her professional composure but inside she jumped like a cat. “No, I’m fine, Mr. Ziegler.”
Communications Director Toby Ziegler was as smooth as his bald head and as prickly as his full beard. Words were his art but he wrote words for others and used them sparingly himself, as if carefully hoarding them for his next great speech.
“You’re hovering.”
“I’m sorry.” Trixie took a step back then thought better of it and decided to assert herself. “No, I’m not.”
Toby stopped and turned, staring evenly at her. Although Charlie insisted that Toby was not as cantankerous as he appeared, he hadn’t been exactly friendly to Trixie since she had started working at the White House. Not that he had been unfriendly, just not ... friendly. And he had somehow found out, probably from Josh Lyman, that Dan was a Mets fan. That made her a Mets fan by association and probably didn’t sit well with Toby, who was a Yankees fan. A fanatical Yankees fan.
Resisting the urge to put her hands on her hips, she said simply, “I’m a Secret Service agent. I’m supposed to hover. Hovering is my job. I hover.”
Slowly, Toby turned his head to the left and stared into the bullpen. Then he slowly turned his head to the right and stared down the hallway. Finally, he brought his gaze back to Trixie. “Where’s Zoey?”
“She’s not here. I’m not on duty. I mean, I’m sort of on duty. I’m here for a meeting. I’m early. I’m not on duty right now.”
Without taking his eyes off Trixie, Toby called out to his assistant. “Ginger, are you in need of protective services?”
“No,” she replied casually, never taking her focus off her work. Clearly, she was used to Toby’s off-the-wall questions.
“Bonnie?” he barked at his other assistant.
“No,” she answered as she walked quickly past them and down the hallway.
Trixie felt her face heating up. “I’m not protecting anybody. I just need to—”
“Hover?”
“No. I need to speak to Sa—Mr. Seaborn ... Sam.”
“Then speak. Stop hovering.”
Having apparently used up his quota of words on her, he turned on his heel and strode briskly into his office.
Trixie followed a few steps behind him, passing by his open doorway to Sam’s office right next door.
Sam was typing madly at his computer. He was almost as good a speechwriter as Toby and his outgoing idealism balanced Toby’s reclusive cynicism perfectly. Writing came naturally to him. Even now, as his fingers flew over the keyboard, Trixie saw no sign of stress on his handsome face. He didn’t pause to review or to agonize over just the right word. He just wrote.
Trixie waited for a moment but when it became clear to her that Sam was totally engrossed in his work and completely unaware of her presence, she gently cleared her throat.
His eyes flickered upward and right back down to his computer screen again. His fingers continued to type relentlessly.
“Sam?”
“One second.”
Trixie waited approximately twenty seconds before she tried again, “Sam?”
“One ... second...”
Sam finished his train of thought, giving the keyboard a final flourish worthy of a concert pianist. He stared at the screen with satisfaction for another moment before turning his attention to Trixie.
“Agent Mangan!” he greeted cheerfully, as if just realizing she was in the room.
“Oh, you can call me Trixie. Is it okay that I called you Sam?”
“Of course, of course. Come in. What can I do for you?”
Trixie took a seat and said, “I have a favor.”
“You need a favor.”
“Yes.”
“No, you said you have a favor but what you should’ve said was you need a favor.”
Trixie didn’t get flustered. She had grown up with Mart. Mart loved words. Mart loved to correct her grammar and her vocabulary. And as she had matured, she’d learned to combat his teasing.
“I have a favor to ask,” she countered with a smile.
Sam smiled back and chuckled. “What do you need, Trixie?”
“A date.”
Sam’s face still held its pleasant expression but he cocked his head slightly to the right in question. “A—?”
“Date, yes.”
“But aren’t you—?”
“Married, yes.”
Sam leaned back in his chair and gazed curiously at her.
Trixie flushed and tried to explain. “It’s a favor for Zoey.”
“Zoey wants you and I to go out on a date?”
“No, she and Charlie want to go out on a date. And she doesn’t want it to be a big thing but she has to have an agent and she wants me to be, I don’t know, double dating not chaperoning.”
“Secret Service okay this?”
“Yes. Two agents in a car outside, I maintain radio contact, and the reservation is under my name.”
“Zoey’s a good kid,” Sam said. “She and Charlie have been taking a lot of media crap and I know those threats don’t just slide off their backs, either.”
Trixie nodded in agreement, furrowing her brow momentarily. “If we could just nail down something concrete, maybe we could—”
A loud thump to her left made her jump and instinctively reach for her sidearm. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that Sam barely flinched. She relaxed her posture somewhat but kept her eye on the window that separated Sam’s office from Toby’s. A moment later she saw a small red rubber ball sail through the air in Toby’s office, smack against the window, and bounce back toward Toby’s desk.
“You’re lingering,” Sam explained simply.
“He’s cracking the whip?”
Sam nodded.
Trixie rose to go, wishing she had the gumption to glare at Toby through the window. But the man was more intimidating than the President.
“What time?”
Turning back to Sam, Trixie asked, “What?”
“What time is dinner tomorrow?”
Trixie smiled at him. “Thank you, Sam. The reservation is for seven thirty. I’ll be with Zoey on campus, so maybe…?”
“Charlie and I will meet you at the restaurant.”
Just as she stepped out of the office, Sam asked, “Trixie? Isn’t your husband NYPD?”
“Yeah, why?”
“He’s not going to come down here and arrest me or … kick my ass or anything is he?”
Trixie grinned. “No. I won’t tell him.”
“Why doesn’t that make me feel any better?”
The
rubber ball smacked against the window again. “Lingering
and hovering!” Toby barked irritably.
Trixie laughed as Sam cast his eyes heavenward and shooed her out of his office.
May 15, 2000
“Turn right here,” Charlie instructed from the backseat of the copper-colored Dodge Dart.
“I think this car is older than me,” Trixie remarked from her seat in the front next to Sam.
“What year were you born?” Sam asked.
“1977.”
“Yep. Older than you.” He glanced to his right and when he saw Trixie staring at him with a bemused expression on his face, he asked, “What?”
“Nothing. I just didn’t peg you as a car guy.”
“It’s not my car. It’s Toby’s.”
Trixie’s eyes widened. “Toby? He let you use his car to go on a double date?”
“It wasn’t a date,” Sam reminded her.
Charlie poked him in the shoulder. “Right here. Pull in here.”
“Where are we?” Trixie asked warily. “I thought we were taking you home?”
“It’s the Arboretum.”
“But I already passed the gates,” Sam remarked as he cautiously pulled the car up to the service gate and parked it. “And it’s way after hours.”
“Why are we at the Arboretum?” Trixie asked.
Charlie held up a bottle of champagne and smiled broadly at his girlfriend. “For this.”
“Zoey’s not old enough to drink,” Sam said, momentarily stunned that the President’s sweet little girl would consider breaking the law.
Trixie eyed the bottle apprehensively. She wasn't sure if Charlie intended to share the champagne with anyone but Zoey but she was thankful she had the excuse of being on duty so that she could refuse without anyone batting an eye.
“Can we get out, Scrappy?” Charlie asked. When Trixie glared at him, he hastily amended, “Trixie ... Agent Mangan.”
“Scrappy?” Sam said in a bemused tone.
Trixie ignored him, responding instead to Charlie. “Why are we getting out?”
“Because I can’t do this in Toby’s Dodge Dart,” Charlie answered cheekily.
“Do what?”
“Scrappy?” Sam repeated.
Trixie glared at him then turned a stern look on Charlie and Zoey. “You think I’m just going to let you gallivant drunkenly around the Arboretum in the middle of the night?”
“You can’t really think there’d be any danger,” Zoey said. “Nobody’s in there.”
“Nobody’s supposed to be in there at this time of night,” Trixie pointed out.
“Scrappy?”
“Sam!” Trixie barked. Turning back to Charlie she said firmly, “I can’t let you two break into the Arboretum.”
“Technically, we wouldn’t be breaking in,” Charlie said. “I mean, there’s no alarm or anything and we’re not busting down a wall.”
Trixie turned to look out the window at the wrought iron fence, which wasn’t overly high but appeared to be more than effective at keeping out unwanted guests. “So, what? You’re going to scale it?”
“How is that going to be possible without damaging the, you know...” Sam waggled his fingers over his neatly pressed slacks as he gazed at the solid iron spikes at the top of the fence line and winced.
“The clothes, Sam?” Zoey asked, her dark blue eyes widely innocent. She and Charlie burst into laughter as they clambered out of the backseat and over to the gate.
Trixie shrugged, trying to contain a grin. This kind of escapade was exactly something she would’ve done as a teenager. Something she certainly had done many times over. That was before she had joined the Secret Service.
As she started to get out of the car, Sam exclaimed, “You’re not going along with this?”
“I have to stay within physical protective distance of my protectee at all times,” Trixie replied solemnly. “Do you think Toby has anything in his trunk that will facilitate this task?”
“Task? How about scheme? Or crime? Trespassing.”
“Don’t be such a killjoy. They’re not going to hurt anything. My only job is to keep her safe.”
She walked to the service gate where Charlie was less than gracefully attempting to lift his girlfriend over the wrought iron fence.
“Guys!” Trixie called out. “How on earth am I going to explain to the President of the United States that his daughter was impaled on my watch?”
Zoey fell back into Charlie’s arms, laughing hysterically. Trixie heard the car door slam shut behind her and a moment later Sam was striding up the incline to the right of the gate.
“Okay, Charlie I can understand,” he said. “He’s a city boy. But, Zoey, you grew up in New Hampshire. On a farm! Use a little country girl common sense.”
Trixie watched as he moved down the fence line, studying the trees until he found one that was suitable. He waved to the trio by the gate and swung up to the lowest branch of a tree that hung over the fence into the Arboretum.
Trixie grinned. She hadn’t climbed a tree in years. She made her way up the slight hill, Charlie and Zoey right behind her. She paused underneath the branch Sam had used to get into the tree and looked up.
“Do you need a boost, Scrappy?” Sam teased, reaching his hand down to her.
“Bite me, Princeton. I grew up on a farm, too.” She jumped up agilely, snagged the branch and pulled herself up without assistance. “And once, I climbed our Town Hall all the way up to the cupola.”
“From the ground?” Zoey asked in awe.
“No. I climbed a tree—bigger than this one, for sure—and went from the tree to the Town Hall and then up so I could get inside.”
“Breaking and entering,” Sam said smoothly as he inched over to the fence. He carefully placed one foot on the crossbar between the spikes, awkwardly maneuvered his body over the fence and dropped down inside the Arboretum.
Charlie boosted Zoey up to the tree branch. Trixie pulled her up and let her go past her and over the fence, where Sam helped her down.
“Oh, damn!”
“Zoey?” Trixie quickly questioned. “You okay?”
“Yes, that was Sam,” she answered.
“I ripped my pants,” he groaned.
Charlie handed Trixie the bottle of champagne and swung up into the tree. “Don’t worry, Princeton. Mommy can put a patch on it for you when you get home.”
“Bite me—hey, what’s your code name, Charlie? We’ve got Princeton, Bookbag and Scrappy. What’s yours?”
“I don’t have a code name,” Trixie insisted. “And if I did, it wouldn’t be Scrappy!”
Charlie balanced himself on the fence, holding tightly to an upper limb of the tree, and took the champagne from Trixie. He dropped it gently into Zoey’s hands then jumped down inside the Arboretum as Trixie made her way out on the limb to the fence.
She leaped down without assistance and straightened up to glare at Sam and Charlie. “And don’t call me Scrappy!”
Charlie took Zoey’s hand and the two of them moved off across the moonlit lawn, talking softly and intimately. Trixie and Sam followed a few feet behind.
“Did you hurt your knee?” Trixie asked, glancing down at Sam’s leg to see if he was limping.
“No, just my pride and my $700 Nick Hilton suit. What is Charlie’s code name, by the way?”
“Rebound.”
“That’s cool. C.J.’s is Flamingo.”
“Yes, I know,” Trixie said with a teasing look his way.
“She hates it.”
Trixie shrugged. “I don’t pick them.”
She kept a watchful eye on Zoey and Charlie, though she certainly couldn’t imagine any threats in the quiet gardens. Their heads bent close to each other in quiet conversation and an occasional girlish giggle would drift back through the cool spring breeze to Trixie and Sam. Charlie held Zoey’s hand securely in his, swinging the champagne bottle by its neck in his other hand.
“How long have you been married?”
Trixie turned her attention to Sam. “Almost two years.”
“Do you guys still act like newlyweds?”
Trixie smiled wistfully. “Yeah. We don’t get to see each other very often so it’s like falling in love all over again every time we see each other.”
“That sounds romantic.”
She didn’t respond, her smile disappearing into the darkness.
“It’s not romantic?”
“It is,” Trixie agreed with little enthusiasm. “We’re very passionate about each other. But I guess I’ve discovered that I’d be happy to give up a little of the romance and spontaneity if it meant I’d get to see him every day. There’s something to be said for quiet routines, too.”
They were in the Asian Gardens section of the Arboretum now. Charlie and Zoey sat down on a grassy slope just above a koi pond and Charlie set the bottle down next to them.
Sam gestured to a cedar bench next to a flowering tree that Trixie didn’t recognize. She reached up to touch one of the white blossoms. When a light gust of wind blew through the branches, it looked as if the blossoms were about to take flight.
“Davidia Involucrata,” Sam intoned. “A deciduous tree, sometimes grouped with the dogwood family, native to central China. It was introduced to Europe and North America in 1904. It grows to 20 to 25 meters in height with ovate or heart-shaped leaves 10 to 20 centimeters long and 7 to 15 centimeters wide. Commonly known as the dove tree or the pocket handkerchief tree due to the distinctive appearance of its flowers, which are at prime bloom in mid to late May.”
“How did you know all that?” Trixie asked, her eyes still on the delicate blossoms.
“It’s on this plaque here beside the tree,” Sam said with a grin.
They sat down facing Charlie and Zoey. Zoey had her head on Charlie’s shoulder and the two of them were gazing at the stars. The low murmur of their voices drifted back to Trixie and Sam but their words were indistinguishable.
Sam voice was mixed with disbelief and awe as he watched them. “I really don’t know how people maintain a relationship while working in the White House. It’s a tough gig.”
Trixie flashed him a sly grin. “And yet I hear you’re trying to maintain two relationships.”
“That is so not true,” Sam protested. “Laurie’s just a friend and Mallory is ... well, Mallory is Leo’s daughter, so that’s dangerous ground.”
Trixie thought about President Bartlet’s inner circle. “None of you are married, are you?”
“No. In fact, Leo and Toby are the only ones who’ve been married. Toby and Andi got divorced a few years ago. Leo’s going through a divorce right now.”
“Ron Butterfield is married.”
“Pretty happily, too, from what I understand. I don’t get it. The hours are just as bad and the pressure’s gotta be worse. I don’t normally worry about getting shot and killed when I come into the West Wing.”
“Not even by Toby?” Trixie teased.
Sam chuckled. “Is your husband going to move to Washington?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t really talked about it much.”
“You guys see each other, right?”
“He was here last month but ... it just didn’t work out. I had to go into work.” She sighed heavily and added, “And I was supposed to go home this weekend but obviously that didn’t happen.”
“Do you keep in close touch? Call each other a lot?”
“Yes, but... ” Trixie paused, taking a moment to restrain herself from instinctively putting her hand to her stomach. “...there are just some things you can’t talk about on the phone.”
“What’re they doing?” Sam asked, distracted from Trixie’s conversation by Charlie and Zoey.
The two of them were crouched down not far from the edge of the pond. Their backs were to Trixie and Sam and through the stillness of the near-empty gardens the sounds of scraping and digging could be heard.
“Zoey, what’s going on over there?” Trixie called out.
“Nothing,” came her muffled reply.
“That means they’re up to no good.”
“How do you know that? Do you have kids?” Sam asked.
“No. But I was one once. When a girl says ‘Nothing’, it means something is going on.”
She got to her feet and went down to where Zoey and Charlie appeared to be digging a hole next to the koi pond. Sam was right behind her.
“You’re digging up the Arboretum?” he asked, once again shocked at the less than ethical behavior of his friends.
“We’re burying the bottle,” Charlie said simply, as if burying a perfectly good bottle of cheap champagne was an everyday occurrence.
“Why?” Trixie asked.
Zoey gave them a lovesick grin and explained, “Charlie says we’re going to come back and dig it up three years from now when I graduate from Georgetown.”
“Have you got a pen and paper, Trixie?” Charlie asked as he began filling the hole back up with dirt.
Trixie patted her jacket pocket. “Yes.”
“Write this down for me. ‘May 7. 10 p.m.’”
“That’s my graduation day,” Zoey said.
Charlie leaned over toward the brightly colored peonies to his left and read the plaque aloud. “Paeonia Japonica. Put ‘Between the Paeonia Japonica and bamboo.’”
“You’re going to spell that for her, right?” Zoey prodded with a giggle.
He did as he patted down the soil and replaced the rocks over the champagne bottle’s temporary gravesite.
“Can we go now before we all lose our jobs?” Sam complained cheerfully.
“I don’t have a job,” Zoey quipped as Charlie helped her to her feet.
“Yes, but once we’re all kicked out of the White House, you’d still have to face your father everyday,” Charlie reminded her.
“And in addition to losing my job,” Sam added, “Toby will beat me senseless if anybody steals his Dodge Dart.”
Trixie lagged a few steps behind as they laughingly made their way back to the other side of the Arboretum.
Charlie and Zoey were still young, Zoey was still in college, and yet they were making plans for their future. There were no worries about what would happen should Zoey go to France. There was no discussion about how Charlie’s job would affect their future. There were no concerns about the possible dangers they faced simply by falling in love with someone of a different race.
They set all those concerns aside and made their plans.
Trixie knew she and Dan should be doing the same.
May 16, 2000
“I’m really sorry about the weekend,” Trixie apologized yet again. She and Dan hadn’t actually spoken since she had first delivered the disappointing news Friday morning. She had texted and emailed several apologies but it never seemed to be enough for her. She wasn’t sure it was enough for Dan, either.
“It’s all right. It’s part of the job.”
His voice was distant and not just because he was using the speakerphone. She could hear other voices faintly in the background. He must be in a public place, catching a quick meal before he went to work. This isn’t how she wanted to have dinner and a quiet conversation with her husband.
“You think maybe you can reschedule for this weekend?” His voice was matter of fact rather than hopeful.
“No, not this weekend. I have to—”
“Work. Yeah, I know.”
“I’m sorry, Dan. Look, Mart’s birthday is coming up in a couple of weeks. I’ll try to get away then.”
“Sure,” he said, his tone deceptively nonchalant. “You missed my birthday and I missed yours but by all means let’s try to get Mart’s in there.”
We knew it would be like this, she thought. But she didn’t voice it out loud. She already had too many times over the past months. Knowing didn’t make the separations or missed holidays any easier.
She heard the crackling of liquid on ice as a glass was refilled, a rustling as of a napkin, a clink of silverware against a plate or glass.
“Where are you eating? McCarthy’s?” she asked, hoping to lighten the mood.
Ignoring the question, Dan said, “Did you ask for our anniversary off?”
“Yes. It’s three months away. Let’s not stress about it now.”
I’ve got other things to stress about, if you don’t mind.
Just as the thought went through her brain, Dan was echoing it.
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve got other, more important, things to stress about.”
Tears burning behind her eyes, she said gently, “Nothing’s more important than you and me. Nothing.”
An interminable silence followed before Dan sighed and said, “Yeah, I know. It’s just that sometimes ... it doesn’t feel that way.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know you are, Trix,” Dan replied, frustration tingeing his voice. “You don’t have to keep saying it. Don’t apologize, just ... just come home and see me ... soon.”
“I know, I know. Dan, you have no idea how badly I need to see you and touch you, how badly I need to ... talk to you.”
“We’re talking now,” he gently reminded.
“I know, but it’s not the same thing.” I need to see your face when I tell you I’m pregnant. I need to know what you’re feeling. I need to know if you’re as scared as I am. “I’ll be home soon. I’ll try. Soon.”
It was all she could promise and Dan knew it but it didn’t make either of them feel any better. Dan’s annoyed sigh made that clear.
“I gotta go. I have to get to the station.”
“Dan, I said I’d try. I meant it.”
“Yeah, I know. You’ll excuse me if I don’t get my hopes up. I’ve heard it before.”
“Dan—”
“I gotta go, Trix.” He paused before adding, “Love you.”
And he was gone.
At least he said he loved me, Trixie thought to herself as she hung up her phone, painfully missing his affectionate “Today ... tomorrow ... forever”.
But I didn’t get to say it back.
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Author's Notes
Part 7 (4,993 words)
Thanks to the DC Jix Chix who gave me several good ideas for a restaurant that young and hip Zoey and Charlie would have dinner at. I actually had more detail on the dinner (and the restaurant) but it got cut in favor of the Arboretum scene. You can find out more about Sequoia (on the Georgetown waterfront) here.
Although I have done some decent research on the Secret Service, it should be noted that their website, (as well as several books I have read on the subject) clearly states that for security reasons they don’t discuss the inner workings of their protective system. Therefore, I cannot vouch for how I am handling the matter and beg forgiveness of any Secret Service agents who might actually read this (psst, literary license).
Zoey’s reference to Sam Seaborn possibly having two girlfriends comes from The West Wing canon storylines of his involvement with both Laurie (a law student working her way through school as a high-priced call girl), whom Sam slept with during the pilot episode (he didn’t know she was a call girl at the time) and Mallory, to whom, on their first meeting, he blurted the news that he had accidentally slept with a hooker, just before finding out that Mallory was the Chief of Staff’s daughter. I searched high and low on You Tube for this great scene but this is the best I could come up with. They call it the "cliff notes" for the series pilot (though I'd only rate it "Fair" in that regard as far as it concerns West Wing virgins), but if you don't want to watch the entire 10 minutes, skip ahead to about the 4-minute mark to see Sam and Laurie, immediately followed by the (regrettably edited...Sam's "history" of the White House is hysterical) scene where Sam sticks his foot in it with Mallory. Hee-hee.
Toby Ziegler may or may not have owned a Dodge Dart. He mentioned once that, “Women can’t get enough of my 1993 Dodge Dart”, but knowing his sarcastic sense of humor it’s debatable as to whether or not this was true, especially since Dodge discontinued the Dart in the late 70’s.
Thank you to Cathyoma and Chromasnake for gently (when they probably should have issued a big “Duh!”) pointing out the “Street View” on Google Maps to me, which let me actually see the area on New York Avenue and learn just what kind of barrier surrounds the National Arboretum and exactly where I was going to have them park the car.
Charlie and Zoey did go to the National Arboretum and bury a bottle of champagne there to save for her college graduation. However, this scene is completely from my imagination, as the event was only mentioned three years later during the Season 4 episode “Commencement”. In that May episode, Charlie says they buried the bottle “three and a half years ago” but I’ve bent that timeframe a little for my own use. It would’ve happened really fast after they met, too, so that didn’t make sense to me.
Trixie climbed up Sleepyside’s Town Hall in #18-Phantom Grasshopper.
Nick Hilton is a clothes designer and since he’s based in Princeton, New Jersey, I thought Sam might wear his suits out of loyalty.
President Obama’s body man, Reggie Love, has the Secret Service code name of Rebound, according to a blog I read online. Knowing the Secret Service’s classified security protocols, I suppose this may or may not be true, but as Charlie Young’s code name was never mentioned on West Wing, and as we know from canon he likes to play basketball, I thought Rebound was fitting. Princeton was Sam Seaborn’s code name, Bookbag was Zoey Bartlet’s, and Flamingo was C.J. Cregg’s (much to her dismay).
Except for my created characters, all characters either belong to Random House (Trixie Belden) or Warner Brothers (West Wing) and are borrowed lovingly and with full respect.