A Lot To Learn

Monday Morning, February 18, 2002, 5:30 a.m., Chief of Staff's Office

A thin artificial glow from the security lights and street lamps
seeped through the wooden blinds and washed over the lone figure
sitting at the walnut desk, rifling through piles of paper. Head
bowed over the blotter, fingers constantly plucking, counting,
sorting, and stacking, eyes missing nothing, lips moving in silent
inventory. The only light within the office was the desk lamp turned
to its lowest setting, it's beam glancing off the red hair of the
Chief of Staff's assistant as she continued to sort through the work
her boss had accomplished late the previous Friday while she was home
recovering from surgery.

`How does that man *do* it? He can make a mess faster than a toddler
with finger-paints!' Margaret thought to herself, making notes in
the margins of a bill summary she needed to retype. Swiveling the
chair around, Margaret turned on her boss' computer and pulled yet
another stack of files from behind the flat screen monitor. Dropping
them on the center of the desk, Margaret began reviewing the files,
her full attention given over to the contents of each manila folder.

The sudden glare of the overhead light fixture caused Margaret's head
to snap up from the documents she was scanning, her green eyes wide.

"Margaret, what the hell are you doing here?" Leo said, as his
eyebrows reached for his hairline.

"I work here." Margaret replied, standing up and walking around
Leo's desk to help him off with his black cashmere overcoat.

Dodging Margaret's hands, the Chief of Staff spun around to face his
assistant. "Leave it Margaret, I can take my own coat off. You
shouldn't be here, let alone sitting in the near dark, organizing my
desk. You trying to ruin your eyesight?"

"So, that's what this about." Margaret said with a slight
grimace. "You've appointed yourself my mother hen. Well, stow it
Leo. I am perfectly fine. You know I've followed doctor, and
Presidential, orders ever since Friday. I am more than capable of
doing my job. And your office is will be a certified disaster area
if I don't."

"Margaret, someone has to watch over you."

"Leo, I am 37 years old, I can take care of myself!"

"That's not what I meant. I'm concerned that you're gonna overdo it
and be exhausted. You probably need a few more days of bed rest."
Leo crossed his arms in front of his chest, the look in his eyes
daring her to contradict him.

Never one to back down, Margaret drove her point home. "It was a
lumpectomy, not a lobotomy Leo. I'm not supposed to lift anything
over 10 pounds or drive for a couple more days and I won't. But
other than that, I can resume normal activities and that includes
working."

"Okay, okay, you win. I'll stand down, this time. But if I catch
you lifting anything heavier than a briefing book . . ."

"There'll be hell to pay I'm sure." Margaret replied. "You have
staff at 7 and a meeting with Rogers and Macmillan after that. The
President wants you in the National Security briefing at 9 and CJ
needs 10 minutes after the morning gaggle."

"Got it." Leo replied, turning his head at the sound of someone
tapping on the door to his office. "It's open."

Charlie walked into the office nodding at Leo and smiling at
Margaret. "Manha boa Margaret. Como sao voce que sente?"

"Manha boa Charlie. Nao mau, toda as coisas consideradas."

"What the hell?" Leo looked at his assistant and the President's
body man with utter confusion brimming in his eyes.

"I just told Margaret good morning and asked her how she was
feeling." Charlie translated for Leo.

Margaret broke in. "And I told Charlie good morning and informed him
that I didn't feel too bad, all things considered."

"And would you like to share with me exactly which form of gibberish
you two were using?" Leo asked, crossing the floor to his desk.

"Portuguese," Charlie replied. "Margaret's been giving me lessons on
the side."

"Is this gonna be a thing with you two?" Leo sat down in his chair,
pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Does it bother you?" Charlie asked solicitously.

"Yeah."

Tossing an evil grin at Margaret, Charlie replied, "Then yes, it's
going to be a thing."

"Lucky me." Leo moaned. "Did you come in here specifically to
torment me or is there an actual reason why you're standing in the
middle of my office speaking in tongues?"

"I came over to carry these stacks of papers into Margaret's office
for her."

"That's nice of you." Leo replied.

"I'm a nice guy." Charlie said, reaching forward and lifting the
first stack that Margaret indicated.

"Just put those on my desk Charlie, I'll be in as soon as I get Leo
some coffee."

"I can get my own coffee."

"Remember Leo, lumpectomy, not lobotomy." Chuckling to herself,
Margaret exited the office and went down the hall to the kitchen.



Monday Morning, February 18, 2002, 7:20 a.m., Oval Office


President Bartlet, Leo, Toby, Josh, CJ, and Sam were completing the
first Senior Staff meeting of the day. Half finished cups of coffee
mingled with revised schedules and briefing books on the coffee table
situated between the two sofas.

Scanning down a list of upcoming events, Leo looked across the room
at his best friend. "Mr. President, Bruno and his people are making
noise about your campaign schedule."

"What kind of noise?" Bartlet replied, only half paying attention to
his Chief of Staff, more intent was he on trying to pry the
childproof top off of a pill vial.

"Want some help, sir?" Sam asked, extending his right hand toward
the President.

"Please, Sam. Damned vitamins, takes a blowtorch to open the
bottle." Bartlet dropped the bottle into the younger man's upturned
palm.

"Flintstones Chewables? Really Mr. President, I don't think that's
the sort of thing you want the public finding out about. You
probably ought to leave those in the Residence." Josh cracked,
giving his colleagues a typical face-splitting grin.

"You're a regular Jack Benny, Josh," the President replied, taking
the now opened container back from Sam. "Perhaps you'd like a
lecture on the importance of vitamins and supplements after you're
done working this evening?"

"Uhhhhhhhhh . . ." Josh moaned, unsure exactly how to dig himself out
of this latest quagmire.

Leo whistled loudly, causing every head in the room to turn in his
direction. "People, a little attention to the business at hand,
please! As I was saying, Mr. President, Bruno is concerned that, as
we move toward Super Tuesday, you're not spending enough time on the
campaign trail."

"Leo, we've been over this before. Bruno and his staff seem to have
forgotten, once again, that we have a country to run. I will not be
a leader in absentia. We decided to make as many one-day trips as
possible between now and Super Tuesday. After that, we can revisit
the strategy and make changes between then and the convention."
Bartlet said, closing his black leather folder, the embossed Seal of
the Presidency facing upward. "Make sure Bruno is clear on that."

"Yes sir, thank you Mr. President." Leo replied; indicating the
meeting was adjourned. The remainder of the staff thanked the
President and exited the Oval Office, heading toward the corridor.

Walking back toward their offices, Toby nudged CJ with his right
elbow. "Have you seen Margaret this morning?"

"No, I didn't even know that she was in today."

"Yeah, Ginger said she saw her at the copier about an hour before
staff." Toby replied. "I'm not surprised she's back at work,
remember she wanted to come in on Saturday."

"I remember, thank goodness the President and First Lady laid down
the law." CJ said, rolling her eyes.

"When's the gaggle?"

"In about," CJ gazed at her wristwatch, "two minutes! Later,
Pokey!" CJ ran the rest of the way toward her office, turning the
corner at near record speed.

`One of these days she's going to break an ankle pulling that stunt
in those high heels.' Toby thought to himself. Shaking his head, he
walked into the bullpen, dropping a pile of notes and memos into
Ginger's in-basket.


Monday Evening, February 18, 2002, 6:30 p.m., Chief of Staff's Office

"Margaret!" Leo hollered, not bothering to raise his eyes from the
documents he was reviewing.

Opening the connecting door between their offices, Margaret leaned
across the threshold. "Yes, Leo?"

"Who's got the latest draft of the Elementary Education Benchmarking
Study?"

"Give me three minutes and I'll have it for you."

"Thanks." Leo said. During this entire exchange, his eyes had never
wavered from the latest set of budget numbers.

A short time later, Margaret returned to her boss' office, a thick
blue folder in her hands. Setting the packet in the wooden document
box on the corner of his desk, Margaret pulled an old routing slip
from the cover, crumpling it in her right hand. "The benchmarking
study is in your in-box, Leo."

"Yeah, okay." Leo still appeared engrossed in his reading material.

"Leo?"

"Yeah?"

"The moon is made of green cheese."

"Yeah."

"Charlie and Zoey are considering eloping."

"Yeah."

Still no indication that Leo truly heard a word she was
saying. `Time to dial it up a notch.' Margaret thought. "I'm having
Lord John Marbury's love child."

Her last salvo hit its intended target. Leo struggled valiantly, but
to no avail. His shoulders began to shake as laughter erupted from
his tightly clamped lips. Leo continued to laugh loudly, finally
pulling off his glasses and using his left hand to wipe the tears
from his eyes as he looked up at his assistant.

"Gotcha." Margaret said with a self-satisfied grin.

"Touché. But don't say that last statement too loudly. It'll be the
next scandal before the Post goes to bed tonight."

"Do you need anything else? Coffee?"

"No, I'm good here. Why don't you go ahead and leave for the day?"

"Leo, I've got a desk covered with work. I'm not going anywhere for
at least the next three hours."

"Margaret, you need to take care of yourself. None of us wants you
overdoing it. Can't you staff out some of the projects?"

"It will take me as long to explain how they're to be done as it will
to do them myself. I'm not about to overdo it, don't worry. I'll be
gone by 10:00."

"Fine. Have you eaten dinner?"

"Yes, I ate dinner. Calm down – you're in mother hen overdrive."

"You could stop calling me a mother hen any minute now."

"Would you prefer that I refer to you as my surrogate Daddy?"

"Ouch!"

"All right, just making sure you know where the boundaries are."

"Oh, I'm well aware of where the lines are drawn. Get back to work
Superwoman."

Knowing when *not* to pursue a line of argument with her boss,
Margaret turned on her heel and walked back into her office, shutting
the door between the two spaces with her right elbow.

By 9:45 Margaret was back at the doorway between the two offices, her
coat on, briefcase and purse dangling from her right shoulder. She
rapped on the door four times, unwilling to scare her boss by
supposedly sneaking into his office.

"Yeah." Leo called.

Margaret entered his office, taking in the sight of the Chief of
Staff hunkered over his computer keyboard, his wire framed glasses
threatening to slip off his nose. Stacks of budget spreadsheets were
under his left elbow, several line items highlighted in vivid
yellow. Leo appeared to be cross checking the printed numbers with
the electronic version. Hating to break his concentration, she stood
in the doorway and watched him work for a moment.

Realizing that his assistant was waiting for him to acknowledge her,
Leo marked his place on the printout and swiveled his chair toward
the front of the office. "You heading out?"

Margaret walked across the office and placed a small sheaf of papers
on the gray and black blotter. "Here are the budget and policy
summaries of the Education Benchmarking Study along with your
schedule for tomorrow. If you need anything else before you come in,
just leave me a note."

Leo reviewed his schedule, which sat on the top of the
stack. "Okay. Big day tomorrow."

Margaret nodded, knowing that Leo was referring to the fact that
President Bartlet would sign the new trade legislation into law
Tuesday afternoon. "It is indeed. We'll have a West Wing full of
guests."

"Is everything set?"

"Secret Service has vetted the guest list, all security clearances
are in place. Copies of the bill are ready for distribution to the
press and guests. CJ and Carol have the media end under control and
the Mural Room has been booked for the signing ceremony.

Mentally reviewing the signing procedure, Leo nodded as his assistant
ran down the laundry list of items essential to the protocol of the
occasion. Only one thing was missing from Margaret's recitation and
he feared it had been forgotten. "Pens?" Leo asked, frightened of
what her answer might be.

"Taken care of. Five dozen were delivered this morning. They're
locked in Charlie's desk, where they will remain until time for the
ceremony."

"How did . . .?"

Margaret realized that Leo knew Mrs. Landingham had always been
responsible for making sure the President had pens for every
occasion, and that included bill signings. "When we first got here,
Mrs. Landingham decided that we all needed to be able to cover for
one another. You know, in case someone was out of the office or
ill. She made sure that we were all cross-trained to cover someone
else's job. Because I was the closest one in proximity, and
seniority, she made sure I was versed in the key aspects of her
job." Margaret stopped talking, reaching up to wipe away two tears
that had escaped the corner of her left eye. "I never thought I'd
have an occasion to use that knowledge . . . it seemed like she'd
always be here." Squaring her shoulders, she continued. "At any
rate, I ordered the pens last Thursday, just after the vote passed.
Everything's in good order."

"Thank you Margaret. What would we do without you?"

"Drown in a sea of paperwork I imagine. Anything else?"

"Yeah, a couple of things. First, what's your schedule like tomorrow
afternoon?"

"I've got to get the desk in the Mural Room set up for the bill
signing, then there's a small mountain of correspondence to be taken
care of, followed by at least half a dozen bill summaries clamoring
for my attention."

"I need to you keep an hour or so free after you get the signing
ceremony set up."

"Okay, what do you need done?"

"Nothing." Leo smiled that crooked grin that always made Margaret's
heart beat just a little faster.

"I don't follow. If you want me to clear my schedule, there must be
something that needs to be done."

"What I need . . . what I'd like, is for you to attend the signing
ceremony."

"Me?" Margaret said, her voice reaching a full octave higher than
usual. "Why? I hardly deserve to be in that room."

"I beg to differ, Margaret. You gave an awful lot of time and energy
to getting that bill prepared. You coordinated the assistants and
made sure extra copies were ready because you knew I was going to
pass them out all over the Hill. You gave up your birthday and then
some to help make sure it passed. You even offered to let me yell at
you when you all came dragging in here that night. You deserve to be
there as much as anybody else, and more than some." Leo replied.

"Thank you Leo. This is probably the nicest thing anyone's ever done
for me." Margaret said, emotion choking her throat.

"Well I hope it's not . . . the nicest thing anybody's ever done for
you."

Choosing to ignore his last statement, Margaret pushed on. "You know,
Leo, it wouldn't kill Josh, Toby, CJ, and Sam to allow Donna, Ginger,
Bonnie, and Carol to attend the signing ceremony as well. They
worked just as hard as I did."

"Good idea. Remind me to tell them at Staff in the morning."
Margaret nodded. "One more thing before you leave."

"What's that?"

"This past weekend you and Toby both mentioned that there are any
number of things I don't know about you."

Margaret smiled widely, "That's true."

"So . . .?" Leo grinned at his assistant again

`Again with the smile, my heart can't take this!' Margaret thought.
Shaking herself back into the moment, she replied, "So what?"

"So, tell me what I don't know."

"You don't have that much time, and I'm tired." Margaret answered
his grin with one of her own.

"Very funny. Tell me something I don't know, one thing."

"Oh, let me think about this."

"It can't be *that* difficult, Margaret."

Making up her mind, which detail to pass on, Margaret leaned against
the doorframe. "Here's one - I cannot, to save myself, whistle."

"You can't whistle? Oh come on, Margaret, everyone knows how to
whistle."

"Not this woman. Good night Leo." Margaret smiled at her boss and
turned to walk back into her office.

"Wait a minute! What else don't I know?" Intrigued by the fact the
she could not whistle Leo was eager to learn more.

"Leo you have work to do and I desperately need to go home and sleep
for a few hours. I'll tell you something else tomorrow." Margaret
walked out the door, stopping suddenly as a high pitched one-note
whistle echoed through the office. Without looking over her shoulder
she called "Yeah, yeah, rub it in." Walking further into her office
and pushing the door behind her, she muttered under her
breath, "Freak."

Margaret met Donna in the hall outside the office. "Hey Donna, you
ready to go?"

"Finally, are you as tired as I am?"

"Probably more, if that's possible. I can't wait to get out of these
clothes and to put an ice pack on this incision. It's killing me."

"Ooooooh, I'll bet. Did you take a pain pill?"

Margaret chuckled mirthlessly as the two women signed out of the
White House and walked through the double doors. "Not an option;
they make me sleepy. Had to settle for Tylenol, which only dulled
the ache."

"In that case, let's get you home." Donna said. They'd reached her
car, and she took Margaret's briefcase and handbag, adding them to
her own on the floor of the back seat.

Settling into the passenger seat, Margaret fastened her seatbelt and
smiled as Donna did the same. All of the assistants were hyper-
vigilant about automotive safety since a drunk driver killed Mrs.
Landingham. "Donna, wear something nice to work tomorrow."

"Why?"

"It's a surprise." Margaret replied. "But I promise you'll like it."

Donna pulled the car out of the OEOB parking lot and headed toward
Margaret's apartment.

Tuesday Morning, February 19, 2002, 6:20 a.m. Communications Bullpen

Deputy Chief of Staff Josh Lyman walked briskly through the bullpen,
his black cloth backpack suspended from his right shoulder, dangling
straps clanking against the belt of his trench coat. Without
stopping, he dropped a white paper sack on his assistant's desk and
walked through to his office.

"Joshua!" Donna called, eyeing the paper bag with some concern.

"Yeah?"

"Could you perhaps, trouble yourself to come in here and explain this
thing you dumped on my desk?" Donna replied, arching her left
eyebrow, continuing to stare at the bag, without actually touching
it. Swinging her chair around, she discovered her boss slouching in
the doorway of his office.

"You bellowed, Donnatella?"

"What is this?" Donna pointed a manicured fingernail toward the
object under suspicion.

"The finest bagels and muffins in the land, of course." Josh grinned
widely.

"And they're on my desk because . . .?"

"I was in the mood for bagels this morning and, since my mother
taught me to share, I decided to bring some in for you too."

Donna immediately got what Josh privately labeled as her "trademark
moony gooney look" and said "Josh, sometimes you can actually be a
decent human being."

"Well, don't let that get out. Gotta protect my political pit bull
image." Josh said, turning to go back into his office.

"More like your political cocker spaniel image." Toby shot back,
walking into the bullpen.

"Good morning Toby. Would you like a muffin?" Donna said, holding
the bag out toward the Communications Director.

"No thanks, Donna, I had breakfast earlier." Toby glanced down at
Donna as he leaned against her desk. "Josh, have you heard from the
Three Little Pigs lately?"

"The Three Little Pigs?" Josh answered, clearly not following his
colleague's line of thinking.

"Bruno, Doug, and Connie." Toby said.

"That's really professional Toby, calling the President's campaign
staff names."

"What? You don't like them any better than I do, Josh."

"Yes, but I don't go around calling them names. At least not in
public." Josh smirked. "And to answer your question, the last
communication I had with Bruno was via email a couple of days ago.
He wants to start coordinating the campaign swings through
Massachusetts, Michigan, Connecticut, and Pennsylvania. He's also
getting wrapped a little tight about how we're going to play in rural
America, especially the rural South."

"Yeah, okay, obviously we're going to have to talk about that." Toby
sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Bad as I hate to interrupt this little Bruno-bashing session you've
got going on, Senior Staff is in 15." Donna said, standing up and
handing Josh two file folders.

"We'd better head in that direction, I don't especially want to incur
the wrath of Leo this morning." Josh said. Looking back at his
assistant, Josh tilted his head to one side and wrinkled his nose
slightly. "Donna, you look awfully nice this morning. Special
occasion?"

"Yes, Joshua, it is Secretary's Day. Don't tell me you forgot?"
Donna said, winking at Toby, who stood behind Josh, smothering a
laugh with the heel of his right hand.

"Wha . . . huh . . . are you . . .?" Josh stammered, obviously upset
that he'd spaced the one holiday dedicated to honoring hardworking
secretaries and administrative assistants everywhere. Damn CJ, she
was supposed to give him a week's warning so he'd have time to order
flowers and schedule lunch with Donna.

Unable to take anymore of Josh's panic, Donna laughed and clapped her
hands. "Oh Josh, the look on your face just then was priceless."

"You mean it's *not* Secretary's Day?"

"No, doofus, that's not for another couple months."

"Then why are you so dressed up?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. Margaret told me to dress up, and that
it was a surprise."

"Okay, well, I have to go . . . with Toby and, you know, do important
work."

"Do good Josh." Donna called to his retreating back.

"Always." Josh hollered as he and Toby began walking toward the Oval
Office.


Tuesday Morning, February 19, 2002, 7:18 a.m. The Oval Office

President Bartlet was seated behind his desk going over a series of
documents. Charlie was standing behind the President's right
shoulder, indicating something with the business end of a ballpoint
pen. Leo entered from the connecting doorway between the two
offices, a mug of coffee in one hand, a briefing book and file
folders under his arm. Transferring the files to his right hand as
he closed the door, Leo nodded at his best friend. "Good morning,
Mr. President.

"Ah, Leo, good morning." Bartlet replied, looking up from the files
he and Charlie were reviewing. "Are we all set for this afternoon?"

Knowing that the President was referring to the bill signing, Leo
replied, "Yes, Mr. President. Everything is on schedule. Margaret
and I discussed it last night."

"Speaking of Margaret, how is she feeling anyway? You're not
overworking her, I hope?"

"She's fine sir. I tried talking her into taking some more time off
with no luck. Honestly, trying to reason with her is like talking to
a brick wall sometimes."

"Yeah, `cause you're both a couple of hardheaded, anal-retentive,
workaholics." Bartlet replied, grinning at Charlie, who ducked his
head to avoid giving away his delight in the President's tormenting
of the Chief of Staff.

"And you wouldn't know a thing about being hardheaded, would you
sir?" Leo countered.

"Me? Why I am the soul of cooperation and concession." Bartlet
replied, standing up and handing the documents back to
Charlie. "That's all Charlie, send the staff in when they arrive."

"Thank you Mr. President." Charlie turned and exited the room.

"Mr. President, with your permission, I'm going to ask the Senior
Staff to invite their assistants to attend this afternoon's signing
ceremony." Leo said, seating himself in one of the wing chairs.
"That's an excellent idea Leo. Charlie tells me everyone worked long
and hard to get this bill passed. It's a real victory for this
administration."

"Yes, sir. I invited Margaret to be there last night and she
suggested the rest of the assistants should be there as well."

As Leo finished this last sentence, the door to the reception area
opened and the remainder of the Senior Staff entered the office,
wishing the President good morning as they took their seats.

President Bartlet came around from behind his desk and sat in a low
chair opposite Leo. "Let's start with the reelection campaign.
Where are we?"

Josh leaned forward on the sofa, balancing file folders on his
knees. "Mr. President, Bruno and I have been trading emails over the
last couple of days. He wants to start scheduling you for visits in
the Northeast. He's also interested in meeting with the Senior Staff
to start crafting the message for your rural campaign visits. I
think he probably needs to come in for a couple of days so we can
hash this out. Leo, what do you think?"

"Call Bruno, tell him to be here first thing Thursday morning. We'll
look at making a couple of one day trips between now and the end of
the month." Everyone in the room made notes on their calendars.

"Charlie!" Bartlet called, turning his head toward the doorway.

Seconds later, the young man entered the room. "Yes, Mr. President?"

"Clear my calendar for Thursday at lunch. I need an hour with Bruno
and Leo."

"Yes sir." Charlie answered, exiting the office, the door shutting
softly behind him.

The meeting continued smoothly for thirty minutes. After the
business of the day was concluded, Leo closed his briefing book and
looked at his staff. "As you're all well aware, the President is
signing the trade legislation into law this afternoon. It has come
to my attention that we've omitted some names from the guest list."

"Oh no, who have we offended this time?" Sam said, a look of worry
crossing his face.

"Fortunately, we didn't actually offend anyone this time. This is
more a sin of omission. I would like each of you to invite your
assistants to attend the ceremony. They put in a lot of long hours
on this and deserve to be there."

"That's nice of you." CJ replied, smiling at Leo.

"Actually, it's the right thing to do." Sam said.

"Yeah, it is." Toby replied.

"Okay people, back to work." Leo said, standing up.

"First person out the door, tell Charlie that I need to see him."
Bartlet said, walking back to his desk.



Tuesday Afternoon, February 19, 2002, 1:10 p.m. The Mural Room

Margaret walked into the mural room, five small navy blue leather
boxes in her hand. Charlie followed behind her with a stack of
leather folios. Crossing the center of the room, they reached the
small writing desk where the President would sign the bills.

"The President tells me the assistants will be attending the signing
ceremony." Charlie said as he placed the folios on the far-left side
of the desk.

"That's correct. I was shocked when Leo asked me and realized
everyone else ought to be here as well. We all lost the same amount
of sleep." Margaret replied with a low chuckle.

"Tell me about it. Deana said I looked like I zombie when I finally
got home that afternoon."

"Yeah, you didn't sleep much the night before did you?"

"Nope, thanks to that World Civ exam I had to study for."

"How'd you do on that?"

"A-minus, and I was pleasantly surprised to get *that* grade."

"Good job. Keep it up and you'll graduate summa cum laude."
Margaret smiled at the young man as she opened the boxes, placing the
pens next to the folios.

"In my dreams." Charlie replied as he moved a straight-backed chair
from across the room, centering it behind the desk.

Carol entered the room a large cardboard box in her arms. Smiling
at the other two occupants, she said, "Hey guys, fancy meeting you
here."

"Well, it is where all the cool kids hang out." Charlie said, going
over to help her set the box on a chair.

"Thanks Charlie, I need to place a copy of the program and
legislation on each chair."
"Let me help you with that." Margaret said, walking toward the back
of the room. "Two people can get it done much faster than one."

"Be careful, Margaret. You're not supposed to lift anything heavy."
Carol advised, concern evident on her face.

"I'm fine, Carol. Just give me half a stack." Margaret held her
hands out as Carol placed a small pile of documents in them.

"Have you heard anything yet?" Carol asked as she walked to the
opposite end of room and started laying documents on the seats of the
guest chairs.

Realizing that Carol was talking about the biopsy results, Margaret
shook her head. "Not yet, but they said it would be a week to ten
days."

"How are you feeling?"

"Almost back to normal. The stitches are giving me fits, but they
come out tomorrow."

Ten minutes later, the room was set up and the two women stood back
to observe their handiwork. "Looks like we've got it covered."
Carol said. "It will be nice to actually see the ceremony up close
and personal as opposed to on closed circuit television."

"First time for everything, I suppose." Margaret said as they walked
toward their respective offices.



Tuesday Afternoon, February 19, 2002, 2:20 p.m. The Mural Room

To someone walking past the Mural Room that Tuesday afternoon, it
would have appeared as though a small fireworks display were taking
place inside. The near constant pop and spark of hundreds of flash
photographs threw the paintings on the walls into sharp relief every
few seconds.

President Bartlet was seated at the writing desk, Leo and Charlie
stood to his left, handing him copies of the bill and a fresh ink pen
several times during the course of each bill he signed. Josh, Sam
and Toby stood on the other side of the President, receiving the
signed copies and the pens, which were passed out to various
Congressional visitors and distinguished guests. The assistants were
stationed along a far wall, together with CJ who was keeping the
press in line

Midway through the signing process, the President faked a hand cramp,
which got a laugh out of several people. "You folks try doing this
and see how long you hold up." Bartlet said with a grin. "How many
more, Charlie?"

"Only a few, Mr. President." Charlie replied.

Leo opened another copy of the bill, indicating the first line
requiring the President's signature. Glancing over the President's
shoulder, he saw Toby nod, almost imperceptibly. Leaning forward, he
whispered, "You're on, Mr. President."

Bartlet looked up from the bill he was signing and smiled at his
guests. "This is an important day for this administration. The
legislation I am signing is evidence of the spirit of bipartisanship
between the two parties and between the Executive and Legislative
branches. It is also a testament to the hard work of a number of
people. What most of you probably don't realize is that we owe this
bill to a number of people who seldom get recognized. Turning his
head to the right, Bartlet smiled and nodded, "Ladies, if you'd join
me, please."

Each of the assistants, blushing furiously, walked to the front of
the room and stood behind the President, looking out at the
assemblage of a cross-section of DC's power players. More flashbulbs
detonated. Bartlet continued, "Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to
introduce the backbone of the West Wing, these ladies, together with
Charles Young keep the Wing running like a well oiled machine. The
President returned to signing the last two copies of the bill.
Clasping the pens in his right hand he stood and handed one to each
of the assistants and to Charlie. Sam and CJ started the applause,
which quickly grew to a loud ovation. Margaret glanced over at Leo,
who was applauding along with the rest and nodding his approval.

After the ceremony was over, the White House photographer took
several pictures of the Senior Staff and assistants with the
President and in small groups. An hour later, Margaret and Charlie
were cleaning up the detritus, tossing unclaimed copies of the
program into a recycling bin.



Tuesday Evening, February 19, 2002, 6:28 p.m. - Chief of Staff's
Office

Sitting on his sofa with his feet propped up on the coffee table, Leo
read through the proposed campaign travel schedule Margaret and
Charlie had compiled during a late afternoon conference call with
Connie. Making notes in the margins, Leo thought back to the signing
ceremony. He was just as surprised as the assistants when President
Bartlet presented each of them with one of the pens he'd used to sign
the trade bill into law. Chuckling to himself, he thought about how
Donna looked like she was going to pass out and the stranglehold
Carol had on Charlie's hand. A knock at the main entrance to his
office interrupted his reverie. "It's open." Leo called.

Toby entered the office, an identical copy of the draft campaign
schedule in his left hand. "Got a moment, Leo?"

"Yeah, come on in."
Toby entered the office and sat in one of the visitor chairs,
crossing his right ankle over his left knee. Waving the schedule in
the general direction of Leo's face, he asked. "Have you reviewed
this yet?"

"The draft campaign stop list?" Toby nodded. "Yeah, I have. With a
few minor changes, it's doable. You got any problems with it?" Leo
pulled off his glasses and wiped the lenses on the bottom of his navy
and gray striped necktie.

"None, per se. Sam and I just wanted to know what messages we need
to draft. The United Automobile Workers and Teamsters, obviously.
Probably one for the financial and insurance community, as well as a
couple of general town hall presentations."

"That's a good start. I'd get the union ones out of the way first,
they'll have the heaviest press coverage."

"No problem. Bruno's here on Thursday?"

"Yeah."

"So, we'll have a locked travel schedule by the end of the week?"

"I sure as hell hope so. I'm getting tired of this fly by the seat
of our pants campaign strategy."

Toby smiled. "Leo, we flew by the seat of our pants the entire
campaign last time. Look around you, we didn't do too bad."

"Whole new ballgame, Toby."

"Point taken. I'm going to go find Sam and start on the UAW
message." Toby stood up and walked slowly to the door. "Thank you
Leo." Toby said, turning toward back to glance at his boss.

"Yeah." Leo responded his head already back in the notes balanced on
his lap.

Ten minutes later, Leo's attention was again diverted by a knock on
the door. "Come in," he called, looking up at the door between his
office and Margaret's desk.

Margaret entered his office, a pair of brightly wrapped square
packages balanced in her arms. "You're due in the Residence in 20,
Leo. Setting the packages on the coffee table in front of her boss's
feet, she handed him a small blue envelope. "Sign the card."

Leo removed a pen from the pocket of his shirt and scrawled something
across the bottom of the card. "I can't believe Annie's 12 already.
It seems like only yesterday that Liz was pregnant. The President
and First Lady were so over the moon about their first grandchild."

"They still are." Margaret said, smiling at the thought of how the
Bartlets were the quintessential doting grandparents.

"So tell me," the Chief of Staff said with a somewhat sheepish
grin. "What did I get my godchild for her birthday this year?"

"You know how the President is always going on about how it's never
too soon for Annie to start thinking about her college education?"

"A statement that is *always* followed by a lecture on the virtues of
the University of Notre Dame." Leo replied, a grimace crossing his
face, making him appear five years older in an instant.

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeesssssss." Margaret drawled, smiling at her boss.

"Margaret, what have you done?" Leo said, a grin of his own
beginning to appear.

"You're giving Annie a Michigan sweatshirt."

Leo laughed loudly, his head dropping back to rest on the sofa
cushions as the laughter overtook his thin frame.

Not done yet, Margaret reached out and tapped his knee with her right
hand. "And a copy of the 2002-2003 Undergraduate Course Catalog and
an admissions application."

Leo got so tickled he couldn't contain himself. A high pitched
giggle that sounded like it had its origins in his toenails filled
the room. Gasping for breath, Leo sat up and reached for a
handkerchief in his pants pocket. Wiping his eyes, he finally
managed to speak. "Why Margaret, there's a devious side to you after
all! I love it. The President is going to have a fit!"

"You don't know the half of it." Margaret said, thinking about what
awaited the Bartlet's granddaughter. Margaret had spearheaded an
effort among the Senior Staff and assistants to provide Annie with a
wide range of higher education alternatives. Sweatshirts, baseball
caps, and teddy bears from the alma maters of some of the finest
colleges and universities in the nation were piled in the Residence.
Even Donna, who had not yet graduated, sent along a cute stuffed
badger wearing a University of Wisconsin football jersey. Margaret
thought, not for the first time, that it was a good thing none of
them would be present for the birthday dinner.

"What's in the other box?" Leo asked.

"That's my birthday gift for Annie." Margaret replied.

"What did you get her?"

"You'll find out soon enough." Margaret said, neatly evading the
question.

"Spoilsport."

"That's me. Do you need anything else done tonight?"

"I think we're good here. I'm going to head up to the Residence, why
don't you get out of here?"

"I have a couple more letters to type and then I will." Margaret
said, leaning against the conference table she debated bringing up
the next point. Knowing advance warning was best she plunged
ahead. "Leo, I won't be in when you get here tomorrow. I have an
appointment to get the stitches removed. I'll be here as soon as I
can." Margaret finished in a rush.

"So soon?" Leo answered, wondering if she was telling him the whole
story.

"Tomorrow will be five days and there aren't that many stitches in
the first place. Don't look so stricken, Leo. People have stitches
taken out every day."

"Do you want me to go with you?"

Remembering his earlier discomfort at the sight of a fraction of her
bare chest, the tall red head struggled not to laugh. "Thanks for
offering Leo, but this is minor. I can go by myself."

"You're sure?"

"Positive, if I weren't I'd ask Donna or Ginger to go with me."

Leo nodded, satisfied that she seemed to have the situation well in
hand. "Will they give you the results tomorrow?"

"Highly unlikely, Corrine said it would be a week to ten days."

"Right, you told me that last week." Looking at his watch, Leo stood
up and rolled his shirt cuffs down, reaching into the right pocket of
his navy slacks for his cufflinks.

"Let me have those." Margaret said, taking the gold cufflinks from
his upturned palm. Slipping them into the openings of the French
cuffs, she fastened them and tugged the cuffs into place. "All set."

"Thanks, Margaret." Leo walked to his desk chair and pulled his suit
jacket from the back of it, slipping it on. "One thing left to do,"
he said, lifting the birthday gifts from the low cherry table. "You
promised to tell me something else that I don't know about you."

Margaret winced; she'd been hoping he'd forget about that. "You know
my favorite flower, so that's out. How about this, my favorite color
is purple."

"That's it?"

"Yep, that's all you get. Now vamoose, before Dr. Bartlet has your
head on a platter for being late to your goddaughter's birthday
dinner."

"I'm gone. See you in the morning." Leo walked out the door and
down the hall toward the elevator that would carry him to the
Residence.


An hour later, Margaret was back in Leo's office, cleaning off the
conference table and his desk, making stacks of work that she would
need to attend to when she arrived in the morning. Satisfied that
her boss' desk was in order, she carried file folders and a dirty
coffee mug into her office.

Returning with a small flat package wrapped in tissue paper, she sat
at Leo's desk and placed the oblong object in the center of the
blotter. Turning to the right, she glanced at the three frames
resting on the desk. One was a photograph of Mallory with Leo the
night Bartlet won the Democratic nomination. The second was of his
sisters. The third was the framed Bartlet for America napkin the
President had given Leo for Christmas. Margaret fought back tears
looking at that square of pressed paper, remembering moments from the
last four years. Slowly, she turned the tissue wrapped package over
and peeled away the thin layers of white paper. Turning the silver
frame right side up, Margaret smiled softly at the image contained
therein. A middle-aged man balanced a toddler on his shoulders as he
walked across an expanse of grass. Wide grins on both of their faces
indicated their joy in the moment. The man was Leo McGarry, then
Secretary of Labor and recently out of rehab. The toddler was Annie
and the duplicate of this photo was part of Margaret's birthday gift
to the First Granddaughter, together with a George Washington
University sweatshirt. Gently placing the frame among the others,
Margaret thought how lucky she was to work with these people.

Gathering her briefcase and purse, Leo's assistant reflected, not for
the first time that, aside from worshiping her boss from afar, and
even considering the hours and the hard work, this job was almost
perfect. Signing out of the White House, Margaret walked toward the
nearest Metro station.



Tuesday Night, February 19, 2002, 11:17 p.m. Margaret's Apartment.

Margaret walked down the hall of her apartment; her white cotton
nightgown making soft rustling noises as it brushed against her
ankles. Turning out the hall light, Margaret walked into her bedroom
and crawled under the covers, reaching across to retrieve the
McCullough biography of John Adams. Toby had given it such glowing
reviews that she'd stopped at Barnes and Noble on her way home this
evening to pick up a copy. Flipping open the cover, she began
reading the synopsis on the inside of the dust jacket. The ringing
of her cell phone interrupted her progress. "Please, dear Father in
heaven, not another crisis." Margaret said, palming her cell phone
from the opposite bedside table. Flipping back the cover, she put
the phone to her ear. "Margaret Rigby."

"Margaret it's Leo. Did I wake you?"

Immediately, Margaret dropped her book onto the top of the duvet, and
slid her feet over the side of the bed and into white terrycloth
scuff slippers. Standing up and walking toward the dresser where a
legal pad and pen waited she answered, "No, Leo I was just sitting in
bed reading."

"But you were probably about ready to go to sleep."

"Well that's what people usually do at the end of the day. Is there
a problem? Do you need me to come in?" Margaret asked, uncapping
the pen, prepared to take notes.

"What? Oh no, Margaret, there's no emergency. Everything is fine.
I just called to tell you that your little stealth operation was a
hit at Annie's party. Of course the President is considering making
all of you sing the Notre Dame fight song at the next campaign stop."

"What's this `all of you' business? You gave her a Michigan
sweatshirt!" Margaret said, crawling back into bed.

"Yeah, and I think the President has some special form of hell in
mind for me. Thanks a lot, by the way."

"Always happy to be of service. Was Annie too freaked out by the
wide assortment of college paraphernalia?" Margaret asked.

"Hell no, she thought it was great. The badger Donna sent was an
instant favorite. She also got a charge out of the Stanford Law
School sweater Sam gave her. That child will be a walking billboard
for higher education. Which reminds me, the gift you gave her?"

"What about it?"

"There was something in the package other than the GW sweatshirt, but
Annie wouldn't let me see it. I know her grandma Abbey got a real
kick out of it. What else did you put in that box Margaret?"

"Leo, where are you right now?" Margaret asked.

"Need you ask?"

"In you office, right?"

"Of course." Leo answered as if everyone worked until after midnight
seven days a week.

"Are you sitting at your desk?"

"No Margaret, I'm hanging by my heels from the doorway. Of course
I'm at my desk."

"Then take a close look around and you'll find the answer."

"Margaret," Leo said in a threatening tone. "It's late and I'm too
damn tired for guessing games."

Margaret sighed audibly. "This isn't a guessing game Leo. Look at
the right corner of your desk."

Okay, there's a stack of paperclips, two file folders, a pen that I
don't think has worked since the Nixon administration . . ."

"You might want to toss the pen, Leo." Margaret said.

"Okay, that's gone. I'm not seeing it Margaret. There's nothing
different here. Are you pulling my leg?" Leo's voice veered toward
irritated again.

"Look again Leo, look past the things laying on top of the desk."

Casting his glance around the desk again, an unfamiliar object
finally caught his eye. "What's this?" Leo asked, as he reached
forward to move the frame closer.

"What does it look like?"

"It's obviously a picture. Here, wait a sec, I've gotta get it
closer so I can see it." Leo finally rested the picture on the
center of his desk and smiled. "Oh, wow, that's an old one."

"A few years ago, yes."

"You know, I think I remember that day. We were in Manchester for
the President's annual pig roast. Hadn't I just gotten out of rehab?"

"That's correct."

"Margaret, this is a treasure. I wonder that Abbey kept hold of it
for all these years."

"Leo, Dr. Bartlet didn't take that photograph, I did."
"You?"

"Don't sound so shocked Leo. Photography is actually one of my
hobbies." Margaret grinned; thinking there was something else Leo
now knew about her.

As if he'd read her mind, Leo replied. "And there's another thing I
did not know about you." Gazing down at the photograph, Leo smiled
again. "Thank you for giving me a copy of the picture Margaret."

"You're welcome Leo. Don't spend all night in your office."

"Now who's the mother hen?"

"Good night, Leo." Margaret said, clicking her cell phone shut to
end the call. Turning out the bedside light and burrowing under the
covers, she muttered to herself. "Unrequited love sucks."

Wednesday Morning, February 20, 2002, 7:25 a.m. Oncology Services
Office

Margaret hurried through the double plate glass doors and across the
maroon carpeting. "Good morning, Lucy," she said, dropping her purse
on the reception counter.

"Morning Margaret, time to get those stitches out?" Lucy answered,
reaching for an appointment book.

"Amen."

"You're the first patient of the day. Debbie said for me to send you
back when you arrived. They've got you in Treatment Room #3.

"Thanks Lucy, see you in a bit." Margaret walked across the lobby
and through a wooden door that lead to the treatment area. Smiling
and nodding at various medical and office personnel, the tall red
head made a left turn into the designated room.

Seconds later, Debbie came in, the ubiquitous pink cotton robe in her
hands. "How's our favorite patient?" she asked.

"Oh you say that to all the girls." Margaret replied with a smile,
reaching for the robe.

"I do not. I only say it to the ones I really like," Debbie
responded with a giggle. "Take off your blouse and bra and put the
robe on so it opens in the front, and what am I telling you all of
this for? You know the drill." Debbie concluded in a rush of breath.

"This is old hat." Margaret agreed, stepping behind the screen and
taking off her jacket.

"Dr. Matthews should be here momentarily." Debbie said, excusing
herself from the room.

Margaret finished changing and walked into the center of the room.
She used her right hand to brace herself and edged up onto the exam
table. Lying back, the untied the closure at the top of the gown and
closed her eyes, waiting for her oncologist to arrive.

The wait was short lived. Moments later, Dr. Corrine Matthews, a
tall 50-something woman with short steel gray hair, entered the room,
her light pink lab coat billowing behind her. "Margaret, how's life
among the political A-list?"

"Same shit, different day." Margaret said with a wide grin. "How's
my favorite oncologist?"

"I'm your *only* oncologist, or is this your way of telling me that
you've started seeing someone else on the side?" Corrine responded,
crossing to the sink and washing her hands.

"Only you, Corrine, only you." Margaret laughed at the inference
that she might be shopping around for a new doctor.

"Let me take a look at my handiwork, Corrine said, pulling on a pair
of latex gloves and setting a stitch removal kit on the stainless
steel cart next to the exam table. Opening the gown, the oncologist
began gently lifting the surgical tape away from the skin, peeling
the dressing back as she went. "Not, bad, I do nice work."

"And she's modest too." Margaret said with a self-deprecating grin.

Corrine began using the tweezers and scissors to remove the limited
number of stitches from Margaret's left breast. "All done. Do you
want to take a look?" Dr. Matthews handed Margaret a small hand
mirror.

Placing the mirror at an angle so that she could see the entire top
of her breast, Margaret smiled. "That looks great Corrine, thanks."

"So, have you come clean with your boss yet?"

"Actually, Toby Ziegler, the White House Communications Director, and
CJ decided that Leo needed to be in the loop. Toby gave him all the
details when he got back Friday night."

"And how did he take it?"

"Amazingly well. He and I spent Saturday and Sunday together and
cleared the air over the course of two days. You were right, you
know."

"About what, pray tell?"

"I never told him because I *was* afraid it would be enough to make
him drink again."

"Thought so. You realize that's not the case, don't you?"

"Leo explained it to me."

"Glad you two got that out of the way. Now, if you could only get up
the gumption to tell him that you're in love with him, everything
would be on the table." Corrine grinned at her patient.
Margaret sat bolt upright on the table, the robe gapping open in the
front. "I *beg* your pardon?"

"Come off it Margaret. I've known for at least five years that you
carry a mile high torch for the President's Chief of Staff. It's as
plain as the nose on your face. All I have to do is ask you how Leo
is and you get this light in your eye that no one or nothing else is
capable of putting there."

"Once again, the all knowing Dr. Corrine Matthews hits the bull's
eye." Margaret shook her head.

"So, when are you going to tell him how you feel?"

"Never, if then."

"What's stopping you? It's not like the man is married anymore. His
divorce was all over the papers."

"Let's look at this logically, shall we Corrine? He's my boss, he's
eighteen years my senior, he doesn't think of me that way, hell he
barely notices I'm alive. And, oh yeah, he's my boss!" Margaret
finished, her face flushing bright red.

"Denial, thy name is Margaret." Dr. Matthews said, leaning forward
to rub antibiotic cream into the incisions. Handing the tube to
Margaret, she stripped her gloves off and disposed of them in a tall
stainless steel garbage can. "Use this cream twice a day, morning
and night, until the whole tube is gone. We're done here. Unless of
course you want a little advice on how to tell Leo you love him."

"Get out of here Dear Abby." Margaret said, making shooing motions
with her hands. "Are my results in yet?"

"Margaret, if they were I would have lead with that when I walked in
the room. We'll call you just as soon as they come back. Either
way, I'll want you to come in. We need to talk about how best to
monitor you if they're benign."

"What do you think the biopsies will show?" A touch of fear crept
into the younger woman's voice.

"I have no idea, that's why we have pathology labs." Noting the grim
look on her patient's face, Corrine patted her on the back. "Don't
go borrowing trouble, Margaret. Wait for the lab to do their job."

"Easier said than done." Margaret walked behind the screen again,
tossing the robe in a clothes hamper.

"See you soon. Take it easy on the heavy lifting for a few more
days." Dr. Matthews exited the treatment room, leaving Margaret to
get dressed and sign the necessary insurance forms.



Wednesday Morning, February 20, 2002, 9:14 a.m. – Chief of Staff's
Office

Margaret walked into her office and hung her coat in the closet.
Dropping her briefcase under her desk, she put her purse in the
bottom right desk drawer. The phone rang, diverting her attention
from the notes Leo had left next to her computer.

"Good morning, Leo McGarry's office."

"Gertrude, is he in?"

Margaret pulled a face, recognizing Bruno Gianelli, more by the fact
he could never remember her name than by his voice. Looking at her
copy of Leo's schedule, she answered him. "Mr. McGarry is in Senior
Staff right now, can I have him call you back?"

"Yeah, but tell him to call before noon."

Moving in for the kill, Margaret smiled to herself. "Who shall I say
called for him?"

"For crying out loud, Gertrude, it's me, Bruno, Bruno Gianelli."

"I'll let him know that you called. And for the last time, you
idiot, it's Margaret!" Margaret slammed the phone into its cradle
and finished writing the message. That man was going to be the end
of her yet. She'd be ready for a vacation by the time the campaign
was over. Unfortunately, if they won, a vacation was out of the
question for another four years.



Wednesday Afternoon, February 20, 2002, 12:00 p.m. - The Mess


Margaret wandered into the Mess, eyes scanning the usual lunchtime
crowd. Spotting Donna and Bonnie at a far table, she walked over to
join them.

"Hey Margaret, where were you this morning?" Bonnie asked.

"Had to get my stitches taken out." Margaret replied, peeling the
foil back from a carton of yogurt.

"You okay?" Donna asked, a forkful of green beans halfway to her
lips.

"Yes, I'm fine. It's actually a relief to get them taken out. They
were starting to itch and it's not like I could scratch in public!"
All three women laughed at Margaret's comment.

Carol walked to the table, a tray balanced in her hands. "Is this a
private party or can anyone join in?"

"Sit down Carol, Margaret was just telling us about her visit to the
oncologist." Bonnie said.

"When do you get the results?" Donna asked.

"Sometime within the next week. I tried to pressure my doctor on it
this morning and got nowhere. I am at the mercy of the lab."
Margaret said, shaking her head and staring into the depths of her
yogurt cup.

"Don't sweat it, Margaret, I'm sure your results will come back
fine." Donna continued, slicing into a baked potato.

Deciding to change the subject to happier topics, Margaret turned to
look at CJ's assistant. "So Carol, what's this I hear about Ron
Butterfield asking you out?"

"What?" Donna and Bonnie cried simultaneously.

Carol ducked her head, allowing her long dark hair to cover her
face. "Sssssssh! Could you three possibly keep this to a dull
roar? I'd rather the whole world not find out." Carol raised her
head. "How did you find out about it Margaret? He just asked me out
this morning."

"That would be because he called me at home Sunday night and asked me
if I thought you'd go out with him."

"He didn't!" Carol moaned.

"He did." Margaret affirmed.

"Why did he call you?"

"Probably because, outside of Charlie, I'm the support staff person
he knows best. And he knows how close all of the assistants are."

"What else did he say?" Carol asked, pumping Margaret for
information.

"Nothing really, he didn't even ask for suggestions about where he
ought to take you. We didn't talk long, because Leo was still at my
place, making sure I didn't overdo."

"Leo doesn't know, does he?"

"Carol, what do you take me for? I was so evasive that Ron finally
asked if there was someone else in the room. When I told him there
was, he started asking me yes or no questions. Trust me, Leo's
clueless." Margaret said. Standing up she smiled down at her
colleagues. "I hate to leave good company, but my desk is covered
with paperwork." Margaret exited the Mess and hurried back to her
office.



Wednesday Afternoon, February 20, 2002, 4:10 p.m. Chief of Staff's
Office

"Margaret!" Leo called, as he hung up the telephone and made notes
on the proposed campaign schedule.

Margaret walked into his office, a pair of briefing books in her
arms. "What can I do for you Leo?" The tall red head walked across
the office and stacked the leather binders on the corner of the
credenza, removing a stack of pending paperwork from the out-box on
the left side of the desk.

Leo leaned back in his chair and watched Margaret work. "You called
Bruno an idiot." It was a statement, not a question.

"Which is kind, compared to what I wanted to call him."

"Really."

"Yes. Now, do you need something or did you just want to torment me
about calling a spade a spade?"

"You're in a real mood this afternoon. What's eating you?"

"Sorry, Leo. It's just that I'm behind schedule and I hate playing
catch-up."

His assistant's statement triggered the memory of her telling him she
had a doctor's appointment. "How'd it go at the doctor's office?"

"Just fine. The stitches are out."

"No word on the results?"

"Not yet, but it's still early. As soon as I know anything, so will
you."

"No holding out on me this time, okay?"

"Promise, you'll be the first person I tell. Now, what did you need?"

"We're going to ramp the campaign schedule up sooner than originally
planned."

"How much sooner?" Margaret queried, a sinking feeling settling in
the pit of her stomach.

"This Friday, with a trip to New York and Pennsylvania."

"Oh sweet mother of all that is holy, you have got to be kidding me.
Tell me you're kidding me, please." Margaret said, mentally juggling
schedules as she sat down in one of the side chairs, preparing to
take notes.

"Wish I could, but that'd be a lie. There's a huge UAW regional
convention in Detroit. Bruno called in some favors and got the
President the keynote address at the Friday luncheon. Then we're off
to Philadelphia and Pittsburgh for a couple of town hall events.
It's a one-day trip."

"Leo, no offense but the timing on this just sucks. We've got the
economic legislation going into committee tomorrow morning, the
Elementary Education Benchmarking Study needs to be rolled out with
meetings on the Hill before mid-March, and the British Prime Minister
arrives next Wednesday with a state dinner on Friday, March 1st."
Margaret ticked the events off on her fingers.

"It won't be easy, but it's got to be done. I need you to make the
trip with me on Friday, you up to it?" Margaret nodded. "Good.
Call CJ, she and Toby and their assistants need to be there as well.
Get with Charlie and the two of you free up your schedules for
tomorrow. We'll need you in those campaign meetings and finalizing
the arrangements for Friday."

"Yes, sir. Anything else?"

"That's not enough?" Leo cracked, smiling at Margaret.

"Oh, it's enough, it's more than enough." Margaret closed the cover
of her notebook and stood up, smoothing the back of her brown wool
skirt. Feeling charitable, she smiled at Leo. "Since we're going
into overdrive, here's something completely unrelated for you to
think about."

"What's that?" Leo said, his attention occupied by new email
messages on this computer monitor.

"I get really ticked when people can't remember my name."

"Y'know, I think I had that one figured out." Leo said, looking back
at Margaret's retreating form.

Turning her head over her left shoulder, Margaret shot back. "Oh
yeah, I'm ticklish as all get-out, especially the soles of my feet."

Leo stared at the door as it swung shut. `Wish she'd imparted that
bit of wisdom last Saturday,' he thought with a smile, turning back
to his computer.



Thursday Morning, February 21, 2002, 6:20 a.m. Oval Office Reception
Area

The President's body man and the Chief of Staff's assistant sat next
to one another at Charlie's desk, a mug of coffee on either side of
them and a tray with fresh fruit and muffins in between them. Their
heads were bent close together, their shoulders touching.

Charlie reached forward with his right hand to select a strawberry
from the tray. "Thanks for bringing breakfast in Margaret."

"Most important meal of the day, Charlie. Can't expect you to work
on an empty stomach." Margaret replied. "You know, I could easily
kick Bruno and Leo for deciding to book a campaign trip at the last
minute."

"What do you want to bet it was all Bruno and Leo's just going along
with it because he knows the President needs to get out there and
start campaigning on a regular basis?"

"Maybe, but this is not exactly the best time for a last minute
schedule change."

"Oh c'mon, Margaret, like there's ever a good time."

"Fair point." Margaret drummed the fingers of her left hand on the
desktop. "If we leave Andrews at 7:00 we can be in Detroit by 9:00.
That would give the President time for at least one other campaign
stop before he has to be at the UAW luncheon. Let's call Connie a
little later and see if there's an elementary school he can visit.
That gives him an opportunity for an early public mention of the
Benchmarking Study. I'll run it past Leo when he gets in."

"What about Bruno?"

"Bruno, schmoono. That man will do what Leo tells him to because the
reelection buck stops in the Chief of Staff's Office."

Charlie laughed. "Speaking of which, Bruno's due to arrive in about
an hour and a half."

"Thanks for that unpleasant reminder." Shuffling papers, Margaret
began glancing over a new schedule. "Do you have the draft schedule
for the British Prime Minister's visit next week?"

"It's in that red folder next to your elbow." Charlie indicated the
desired object, and Margaret handed it over. "What do we need to
change on this?"

"Nothing that I know of. I wanted to review this with you to make
sure we have all the necessary arrangements made for the Prime
Minister and his staff. This is the first State Dinner we've had
since Mrs. Landingham died and I know she was responsible for a lot
of the protocol associated with that."

Charlie stood up and walked across the office to what everyone still
referred to as Mrs. Landingham's desk. Taking a key ring from his
left pocket, he opened the bottom left hand drawer and removed what
appeared to be a White House briefing book. Charlie walked back to
his desk and laid the binder in front of Margaret.

"It's a good thing Mrs. Landingham was scrupulous about detail, and
about keeping notes. Everything we need to know and do for a State
Visit and a State Dinner is in this book. Which reminds me . . ."

"What have we left until too late?" Margaret asked, fearing they'd
be more behind the eight ball than she'd originally suspected.

"Probably a dozen things, but that's not what I just remembered.
Last night, before he went to the Residence, President Bartlet and
Leo were meeting about the State Dinner. The President told Leo to
have you send out a memo to the Senior Assistants, you're all invited
to the dinner."

"Funny stuff, Charlie. We're never invited to these things. The
only time I enter the East Room is to tell Leo that an old friend
from home wants to see him so he can take a phone call or get to the
Sit Room." Margaret said, gently elbowing her colleague in the side.

"Margaret, I'm not playing. You're all invited. I wouldn't kid you
about this."

Looking closely in Charlie's eye to make sure he wasn't pulling her
leg, Margaret smiled widely. "You're *serious* aren't you?"

"As a Republican in a budget debate."

"Well, this is unusual. Heck, it's damned strange. Did he say *why*
he wants all of us there?"

"No, but I'm sure it's for the same reason we all received one of the
signing pens. The President realizes we've been working pretty much
non-stop since last May. I think he's trying to say thank you."



Thursday Morning, February 21, 2002, 8:15 a.m. Chief of Staff's Office


"Good morning, Martha." Bruno Gianelli called as he walked into the
office.

Margaret looked up from the schedule she was revising and nodded her
head once. "Boris." Standing up, she walked toward Leo's
office. "I'll let him know you're here."

Tapping on the door, she walked into her boss' office and shut the
door behind her. "Attila the Hun to see you, sir."

"Show Bruno in Margaret. We'll need you and Charlie to join us in
the Oval at 10:00."

"Anything else?"

"Try not to hurt they guy when he doesn't remember your name, huh?"

"I've never hit anyone in my life, Leo."

"Then let's see if we can keep your violence-free streak intact."
Leo smiled and waved her out of his office.

Margaret walked back into her office and held the door open. "Mr.
Gianelli, you can go in now." As she closed the door behind the
campaign manager, she stuck her tongue out at his retreating back.

"Obnoxious little goon, isn't he?"

Margaret spun around, her eyes wide. "Sam, you've gotta stop scaring
me like that!"

"Yeah, but it was worth it to see that face you just made."

Margaret blushed and shook her head. "Serves me right for acting
childish."

"Childish my left foot, I'd call that an honest reaction. Heck, CJ's
been known to flip him off when he walks past her."

"Yeah, but she's Senior Staff . . ."

"And you're the power behind the throne that is Leo McGarry. Don't
sell yourself short."

"What is this, boost Margaret's ego day?" The tall assistant laughed
lightly.

"If it is, I didn't get the memo. Actually I came in to ask you
about the State Dinner next Friday."

"What about it?"

"Is it black tie or are we pulling out all the stops and going with
white tie?"

Margaret smiled at Sam as she sat down behind her desk and motioned
him into one of the visitor's chairs. "This is one of those moments
when I miss Mrs. Landingham more than usual. She would have known
the answer to that question. Fortunately, we have the next best
thing, her protocol bible." Margaret removed the binder from its
location on the bookshelf behind her desk. Sliding her index finger
down the table of contents, she shook her head. "There doesn't seem
to be a hard and fast rule about that. Let me call Charlie."

Before she could pick up the handset to her phone, Charlie walked
into the office, balancing a large stack of briefing books. "Here
you go Margaret, first batch of the day."

"Thanks Charlie, like I had nothing else to do. Listen, Sam wants to
know about the attire for next Friday, black or white tie."

"I asked the President what he'd prefer this morning. Get your tails
cleaned Sam, it's white tie."

"Thanks Charlie, that's great."

"You sound pleased with that bit of news." Margaret said.

"I am, I really enjoy wearing white tie and tails."

"You're a strange man, Sam Seaborn." Charlie said, walking toward
the door. "Margaret, I'll see you in the Roosevelt Room at 10:00."
Charlie left, turning in the direction of the Oval Office.

Sam stood up and headed for the door as well. "I understand the
Senior Assistant's have been invited to the State Dinner."

"Yes, I got the official word from Leo this morning."

"Will you save me a waltz?"

"Absolutely." Margaret said, remembering the tango they'd shared at
one of the Inaugural Balls.

"Great, I'll be looking forward to it." Sam said; exiting the office
in the same direction Charlie had gone.



Thursday Night, February 21, 2002, 11:35 p.m. - Press Secretary's
Office

Margaret, Carol, and Ginger sat around Carol's desk, going over their
checklists for tomorrow's campaign trip, double-checking one more
time to make sure nothing had been forgotten. They'd be at this
again at first light, one final run through before the motorcade
departed for Andrews.

"Press credentials and media packets." Ginger read from a two-page
list.

Tapping a folder on her desk, Carol nodded. "Credentials are in
here, I'll distribute those on the plane, just before we land. Media
kits have been assembled and turned over to the courier. They're
probably already on board.

"Contributor lists?" Ginger asked, looking over at Margaret.

"In my bottom left desk drawer. Each copy is highlighted and color-
coded, yellow for previous donors, green for major contributors and
blue for new prospects. I'll pass those out once we're in the air."

"Copies of the speech?" Ginger raised her hand, answering her own
question. "President Bartlet has locked both sets of remarks. I've
got copies for everyone, we can insert them in the media packets when
we get to Andrews."

"I think we're in good shape." Carol said with a sigh, propping her
feet up on her desk.

"Amazingly coordinated for a road trip that's being pulled off by the
skin of our teeth." Margaret replied.

CJ walked into the reception area, her head buried in a stack of
memos.

"Mind you don't walk into the wall, boss." Carol called as the Press
Secretary narrowly avoided colliding with the far wall.

"Thanks Carol, once again you saved my neck, or at the very least, my
nose." Looking around at the three women sharing the cramped office
space, CJ asked, "What're you three working on?"

"Just making sure we're ready for tomorrow." Margaret replied.

"Speaking of which, I just left Leo. He's going to be yelling for
you any minute now. You don't want to keep him waiting." CJ said to
Margaret with a wry grin.

"Yeah, Margaret, don't deprive Prince Charming of your company for
too long, or he's likely to find another princess!" Ginger said,
winking at her friends.

"Hmm, let's consider this, Leo McGarry, white horse, me, glass
slipper, happy ever after . . ." Margaret pretended to be considering
this scenario, tapping her right index finger on her chin. "Nope,
can't see it." She stood up and gathered her file folders.

"You know, Margaret, he may come around some day." Carol said,
meaning it.

"I honestly don't think that will ever happen." Margaret replied
with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Ah, unrequited love,
it's not just for breakfast any more. See you in a few hours."
Margaret called, walking down the hall toward her office. Halfway
there, she paused and shook her head as she heard Leo yell for her.

"Oh hold your horses Prince What-a-Waste." Margaret muttered,
punctuating the statement with a short laugh at her latest nickname
for her boss.

Friday Morning, February 22, 2002, 5:25 a.m. - Andrews Air Force
Base


Margaret reached out and placed her right hand in the palm of the
limo driver and exited the black sedan in one fluid motion. The
driver reached into the back seat of the sedan one last time, handing
Margaret her briefcase and handbag. The tall red head shouldered
both bags and turned around, her mind focused on the itinerary for
the day's events, only to come face to face with her boss. She
stopped at the vacant look on his face. She couldn't be sure, but in
the refracted light of the tarmac, it appeared that a slight smile
played at the corners of his mouth.

"Leo, earth to Leo, you in there?" Margaret said, waving both hands
in front of the Chief of Staff's face.

"Huh? Oh, yeah, Margaret. Uh, we ready?"

"Leo are you feeling okay?" Margaret asked, concern evident in her
voice.

"Uh, yeah, sure, never better. Mind must've wandered off course for
a minute," Leo replied, thankful that it was still dark. Leo put his
hand at the small of her back and the pair walked briskly toward the
plane, Margaret's high heels making a hollow clicking noise on the
tarmac.

Once inside the plane, Margaret followed Leo down the corridor,
stopping to hand both of their coats to a steward. Moments later
they were in what would, for the duration of the trip, be known as
the Chief of Staff's office, a small cabin adjacent to what the
staffers jokingly referred to as "the airborne Oval." Stowing her
gear in a closet along the far wall, Margaret retrieved her boss'
briefcase from where he had tossed it on a chair before going next
door to meet with the President before takeoff. She was unpacking
the files she'd meticulously packed only an hour and a half earlier.
A short knock on the doorframe caused her to look up from her work.
Ginger and Carol stood framed the doorway.

"Good morning." Margaret said, turning her attention back to the
files she was setting the middle desk drawer. Locking the desk, in
order to prevent the files dislodging as the aircraft climbed to its
cruising altitude, her gaze returned to her colleagues. Gesturing at
their surroundings she smiled. "Sure beats the campaign bus."

"You said it." Ginger said with a chuckle. "We should have torched
that hunk of junk the night of the election."

"I get a headache just thinking about some of those trips through the
middle of nowhere." Carol chimed in. "Being the incumbent does have
its advantages."

"Are the media packets ready?" Margaret asked, walking into the
corridor.

"Yes, ma'am." Ginger replied.

The three women looked up as the captain's voice came over the
intercom asking everyone to take their seats in preparation for
takeoff. Moving into the main cabin, they took seats on the same row
and fastened their seatbelts.


Friday Afternoon, February 22, 2002, 4:25 p.m. - Air Force One


President Bartlet had, to quote Toby, "knocked one out of the park"
at the UAW luncheon. The earlier visit to an inner-city elementary
school had been an unqualified success; local stations had featured
information on the education benchmarking study on their noon
newscasts. The president and his staff were feeling the effects of
hitting their groove on the campaign trail. Even Bruno and his
people were pleased. Now they were en route to a town hall-style
meeting with senior citizens in Philadelphia.

Leo and Bruno were in with the President. Ginger and Carol were with
Charlie, putting their feet up and resting before the next stop.
Margaret, too wired to rest, was sitting with CJ in the lounge
outside the press section of the aircraft. Both women had briefing
books on their laps, going through background information for the
British Prime Minister's pending visit.

CJ stuck her right foot out and gently tapped the bottom of
Margaret's left shoe. "Excited?" she asked with a grin.

"About another campaign stop? Not hardly." Margaret replied, her
right hand turning a page in the binder on her lap.

"No, about finally getting to attend a State Dinner." CJ answered.

"Truth be told, I'm rather dreading it."

"Why? Everyone else seems to be thrilled."

"Everyone else doesn't work for Leo McGarry. That man has so much on
the table I don't have time to be excited. Plus there's the fact
that I have nothing to wear to this function, which is where the
dread comes in." Margaret finished, turning back to her notes.

CJ's eyes went wider than usual. "I don't believe it. Surely you've
got formal wear?" Margaret shook her head. "How about the dress you
wore to the Inauguration?"

"That dress is now four years old and probably considered hideously
out of style by Beltway fashion mavens." Margaret replied. "Plus
the State Dinner is white tie so something a little fancier is called
for."

"Do you think Leo would consider giving you tomorrow morning off?"

"Maybe, why?"

"I need to go shopping for a dress as well. Why don't we go
together?" CJ asked.

"That's a great idea. My experience in purchasing ball gowns is slim
and not much. What time shall I meet you?"

"Let's say 9:30 at my place."

"You're on." Margaret looked up as a steward entered the cabin

"Miss Rigby you've got a phone call," the young man said, gesturing
to a phone on the near wall.

"Me? Are you sure the call isn't for Mr. McGarry?" Margaret
inquired, standing up.

"The White House operator who patched the call through said it was
for you." The steward consulted a small slip of white paper in his
left hand. "A Dr. Corrine Matthews is holding on line two."

"Thank you, Chris." Margaret said, practically running across the
cabin. CJ put her briefing book on the seat next to her and turned
toward the front of the plane, watching Margaret lift the receiver.

"This is Margaret Rigby. Yes, I'll hold while you connect the
call." Margaret tapped her foot rapidly while waiting, shrugging her
shoulders at the Press Secretary's questioning glance.

From the other end of the phone, and sounding as though she was in
the next room rather than thousands of feet and a couple of states
away, the oncologist's voice came through the phone. "Margaret, you
there?"

"Yes, Corrine, I'm here."

"Where the hell are you? The only thing that ninny at the White
House switchboard would tell me is that you were not in the office."

"Now, now doc, don't go maligning the switchboard staff; the operator
was following procedure. I'm on Air Force One, in between campaign
stops."

"Well, that explains it."

"Explains what?" Margaret asked.

"Why it took a year and a day to connect the call. I don't want to
keep you on the phone too long and I have a couple more patients to
see, but I wanted you to know that your results are back."

"I rather imagined you wouldn't have asked to be put through if that
wasn't the case. So, I need to come in."

"Yes you do. Unfortunately my schedule is crowded with surgeries the
first of the week. How about Wednesday afternoon?" the older woman
asked.

"The British Prime Minister arrives for a State Visit that day and
I'll be lucky to get home before midnight. How about Friday morning,
early?" Margaret replied.

"That works, shall we say 7:00?"

"Perfect, I'll see you then. Thanks for calling, I'm sorry it took
so long for them to put you through."

Margaret's oncologist laughed. "Don't let it happen again. See you
in a week." Corrine disconnected the call.

"Well?" CJ inquired, as the younger woman returned to her seat.

"The results from my biopsies are back." Anticipating the Press
Secretary's next question, she continued, "I'll get the results early
Friday morning."

"Why the wait?"

"Dr. Matthews has surgeries scheduled the first of the week and I'll
be covered over with the Prime Minister's visit and the State
Dinner. Friday morning's the best possible time. Leo and the
President have that breakfast meeting on the Hill with the Prime
Minister and the House Committee on Defense."

CJ nodded her head in understanding. "You *will* tell Leo that your
results are back, won't you?"

"Of course. I'm not going to risk incurring his wrath over this."
Margaret replied. "I promised Leo that he'd be the first person to
know what the results were. Please don't be offended next Friday if
I don't come right out and tell you what Dr. Matthews says."

"Not to worry. Had you thought about asking Leo to go with you to
the doctor's office so he could get the news with you? I'm sure Josh
could fill in for him at the breakfast meeting."

"I'd really rather do this on my own, CJ." Margaret replied. "If
the news isn't good, I don't want Leo having seven shades of a
meltdown and firing off directives and questions that the
oncologist's not prepared for. You know how he gets when he's in
damage control mode."

"Yeah." CJ said, her single-word answer conveying volumes of
information.

Both women retreated into their briefing books and notes until the
place landed in Pennsylvania.



Friday Night, February 22, 2002, 10:37 p.m. - Chief of Staff's
Office

Margaret finished typing the last memo in the stack and clicked the
save icon on her computer. Forwarding the document into the print
cue, she stood up and stretched, her long thin arms extended in front
of her, fingers interlaced. Seconds later, the printer ejected the
last page of the document. Gathering a stack of files and the newly
printed memos, Margaret made her way into Leo's office.

Leo was leaning against his desk, his attention focused on CNN's
coverage of the day's campaign stops. Margaret stood next to him,
watching footage of the President reading to a group of third
graders.

At the end of the news story, the Chief of Staff turned his attention
to his assistant.
"More letters to sign?"

"A few, also draft copies of the memos and itineraries for next
week." Margaret said, handing the papers over to Leo as he sat
behind his desk.

Leo finished signing the letters and returned them to Margaret. "I
don't have anything else for you. Let's call it a day." Leo yawned
widely, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Sorry `bout
that."

"No need to apologize, I passed the yawning stage about half an hour
ago." Margaret replied; dropping into the chair that sat at the
right side of his desk. "The switchboard patched a call through
while we were flying into Philadelphia. It was my oncologist."

Margaret's last sentence caused Leo to look up quickly from the
memo's he was proofing. "Are your test results back?"

"They are; I'll get the results a week from today."

"Isn't that an awful long time to wait?" Leo asked, concern evident
in his voice and in the look he was giving his assistant.

"That was the earliest date we both had free." Margaret answered.

"Do you want me to go with you?" Leo asked, mentally chastising
himself for meddling in Margaret's medical affairs.

"I'll be fine. It's not like I haven't done this before. Besides,
you have that breakfast meeting on the Hill with the President, the
Prime Minister and the Defense Committee."

"Josh could go in my place." Leo said, continuing to wonder why his
mouth was making offers his mind knew were unusual at best and
improper at worst.

"Leo, I appreciate your offer, but I prefer to do this alone. Don't
worry, you'll still be the first person I tell." Margaret reminded
him of her earlier pledge to divulge the test results to him while
wondering if CJ had tipped Leo off, as his solution to Margaret
getting the results alone was identical to the Press Secretary's.

"If you're sure . . ."

"Positive."

"Okay, then, let's get out of here."

"One more thing." Margaret said, standing up.

"What's that?"

"Do you mind if I take tomorrow morning off? I need to find a dress
for the State Dinner and CJ's offered to go with me."

Leo nodded, smiling at the note of anticipation in Margaret's
voice. "Tomorrow's Saturday and we're caught up here. Take the
morning off and I'll have stuff ready when you get in tomorrow
afternoon."

Margaret favored her boss with a wide smile. "Thanks Leo, you're a
gentleman and a scholar. Good night."

"See you tomorrow." Leo replied as the tall red head exited his
office, closing the door behind her. Suddenly he remembered one last
thing. "Margaret!" he called, hoping she'd not yet left the office.

Margaret walked back into his office, her coat on, but not
buttoned. "Yes, Leo?" she replied. `I know what he wants,' she
thought, stifling a giggle.

"What about my thing?" Leo asked, trying not to give away the fact
that he'd come to look forward to discovering tidbits about his
assistant at the end of every day. It was like solving a puzzle, a
very complex jigsaw puzzle.

After a decade of working to Leo McGarry, Margaret had become expert
at reading his silences, and his facial expressions. The one he was
fighting to hide at the moment was a dead give-away as to exactly
which "thing" he was after. Feeling magnanimous, she began ticking
items off on the fingers of her left hand. "I was raised Catholic and
still attend Mass at least once a week, I love to cook, but can't
make piecrust worth a damn, I'm left-handed just like you, my idea of
a fun evening is a really good band and a man who won't trounce my
toes, and I cannot read Tolstoy and stay awake."

Leo considered this wealth of information as she smiled at him and
exited the office, finally on her way home for some much deserved
rest.


Saturday Morning, February 23, 2002, 6:18 a.m. - Margaret's
Apartment


Saturday morning found Margaret awake just before dawn. Standing at
her bedroom window, she watched the sun begin to break over the
apartment buildings and office towers of central DC. Moving across
the room, she stripped off the white cotton boxer shorts and Indiana
University T-shirt she'd slept in, and donned heather gray leggings,
a sport bra, and a heather gray racer back tank. Over that she
pulled a navy blue hooded sweatshirt several sizes too big for her
thin frame. Sitting on the hardwood floor, she pulled on thick
cotton crew socks and a pair of running shoes. After scraping her
hair into a high ponytail and pulling it through a Notre Dame
baseball cap, she left her apartment.

Standing on the sidewalk in front of her building she performed the
requisite set of warm up stretches. Reaching high over her head and
balancing on her toes, the young read head filled her lungs with
fresh air. Then she turned and began running, toward Virginia and
the sunrise. It felt good to be out in the pre-dawn chill. Margaret
did not often get the opportunity to run in the morning, she was
usually at the White House by 7, and relished the weekends for just
this reason. Twenty minutes later she crossed into Rosslyn, ran
around one city block, then back over the Key Bridge into Georgetown.

Breezing through the familiar neighborhood, she picked up the pace as
she turned toward the corner and sprinted past Leo's home, not
wanting to run the risk of seeing him should he come out on the porch
for his paper. About a month ago she'd been running past at just
that moment. Thankfully, she was moving so fast and dressed so
differently that Leo took no notice. `Wonder if I'll ever have the
guts to tell him how I feel? Not likely, especially since he'd
either laugh me out of his office or be mortified. Best to keep my
feelings to myself and avoid hurt and heartache.' Margaret thought,
running hard for home.


At 9:30, the doorbell sounded in CJ's townhouse. "Coming," she
called, walking down the hall, slipping small gold hoop earrings in
as she went. Flipping the deadbolt and turning the knob, she smiled
at Margaret standing on her front steps holding two large Styrofoam
cups. "Morning Margaret. All set to shop till we drop?"

"Good morning CJ, I brought you a cup of cinnamon mocha to help jump
start the day, and yeah, I'm as ready as I'll ever be." Margaret
walked into the entryway, handing CJ one of the coffees and pulling
the plastic lid off her own.

"I promised you this would be fun and it will. Or are you one of
those women who hate to shop?"

"No, not really. My problem is that I have purchased formal clothing
a whopping three times in my life." The last long dress I bought was
for the Inauguration and it was a last minute purchase because, in
the rush of Transition, I forgot all about it. The dress was there,
it fit, I took it. No thought, no effort. This time . . . let's
just say I want to do a *much* better job at this."

"Never far, Claudia Jean is here!" the Press Secretary cried, raising
her right fist high in the air. Margaret laughed and clapped her
hands. "Consider me your fashion fairy godmother. I'm going to help
you find the perfect gown, nothing could possibly go wrong. So get a
move on Cinderella, time to hit the stores!" CJ jangled her car keys
in the red head's face.

"You're a sick woman, CJ Cregg. No woman should enjoy shopping this
much." Margaret laughed again as they left the house and got into
CJ's car.

An hour and a half and three stores later, the two White House
staffers pulled up in front of a small cream stucco boutique with the
name "Danielle" written in elaborate gold script on the plate glass
window.

"CJ, I don't think I can face trying on another dress." Margaret
whined. "Everything I've had on makes me look like a cross between a
hooker and Little Bo Peep!"

"That makes two of us. Did you see that last number I tried on?" CJ
shuddered and Margaret nodded as together they
moaned, "Ewwwwwwwwww!" "Fortunately, I've saved the best for last.
I've always had good luck finding formal dresses here."

Once inside the store, a petite young woman with dark brown hair and
near flawless olive skin greeted CJ and Margaret. "Ms. Cregg, how
nice to see you again."

"Hello Danielle, good to see you too. Danielle, this is my friend
and co-worker Margaret Rigby. Margaret, this is Danielle Fontana,
owner of this fine store."

"My pleasure." Margaret said, leaning forward to shake the
proprietress' hand.

"Likewise. What can I help you ladies with this morning?"

"The President is hosting a State Dinner for the Prime Minister of
Great Britain and his wife next Friday night. We are in need of
gowns that will make men stare and women jealous." CJ replied.

"Excellent, you've come to the right shop. Claudia, I have your
measurements and you know where to look. Margaret I will need to
measure you as well." Catching Margaret's confused glance, Danielle
continued, "Various designers and labels use a slightly different set
of measurements for each clothing size. What may be a size 10 for
one label will be a size 12 for another." Walking to the counter and
picking up a tape measure, pen, and writing tablet, she motioned to
CJ, "Start looking through the racks and see what catches your eye."
After being measured, Margaret followed Danielle to the rear of the
shop where high racks were filled with long dresses of every size and
description. "Is there a particular style or color you're interested
in?" Danielle asked.

"Anything but black." Margaret answered as CJ walked past, heading
toward the fitting rooms, her arms laden with gowns. "Wow, you
picked those out fast."

"Claudia's an old pro at this." Danielle smiled. "We've worked
together to dress her for several official functions. In fact, I
sold her the red Donna Karan that she wore to fall into a swimming
pool in Los Angeles."

"I heard that!" CJ yelled from the fitting room entrance. `I did not
fall, I was pushed!"

"Riiiiight, CJ." Margaret called back, winking conspiratorially at
Danielle. They were still looking at gowns when the Press Secretary
came out in her first selection. The dress was made of dove gray
satin, cut on the bias. It was sleeveless, with a moderate scoop
neckline. The back was, in fact, nonexistent, with the material
plunging to about 3 inches above her waist. The neckline of the gown
had a deep chiffon cowl, of the same shade as the satin, which flowed
over her shoulders and down her back, to trail along the floor. When
she walked, the chiffon billowed out behind her.

"Well, what do you two think?"

"CJ, it's a beautiful dress and you look great in it." Margaret
gushed.

"Very nice," Danielle agreed. "There is one potential problem,
though."

"Let me guess." CJ said with a smile. "That little matter of not
being able to wear a bra, right?"

"That's the one."

"I thought of that as soon as I put it on, but I still wanted to see
how it looked. Oh well, a girl can always dream." She returned to
her fitting room.

The bell over the front door tinkled lightly, announcing the arrival
of three more customers. "Margaret, I'll leave the you and Claudia
to your own devices. Please let me know if you need anything."

"We'll be fine. Thanks for all of your help Danielle." Margaret
turned back to the racks of dresses. Selecting six and walking into
the fitting room area she called, "CJ which room are you in?"

"Right here." CJ raised a hand above the door and wiggled her fingers
in the direction of Margaret's voice.

Margaret chose the cubicle next to CJ's, hanging her choices on the
hooks and slipping out of her jeans, white T-shirt, and navy blazer.
Looking through the dresses, she tried on a forest green, moiré satin
gown with a modest neckline, short sleeves, and a full skirt.

"You decent in there? I need your opinion on this dress."

"Not hardly, I'm still deciding which dress to try on next. Hang on
a sec." Moments later, CJ opened the door of her fitting room and
leaned halfway out. "Okay Margaret. Now what the heck is so
freaking funny?"

It took Margaret a bit to regain her composure. "Well, CJ, your
shirt is on inside out and backward. Plus, your hair is sticking out
all over."

"Gotta love that static cling and hey, I threw this on in a hurry so
I could check you out. Stand up straight and turn around so I can
get a good look at you." Margaret complied with her request. "Okay –
no – just no. No way, no how, uh – uh."

"What's wrong with it?"

"Too plain, too dark, too boring. Need I go on?"

"But it's a good color for me. It's a safe choice."

"Screw safe Margaret. We're going for full blown glamour here."

"Now there's a word I've never, ever associated with myself,"
Margaret sighed, reaching behind herself to unzip the simple gown.

Several minutes later the women were ready to give up, being no
further along than when they started the excursion. Nothing was
working. Almost all of the dresses they'd tried on in Danielle's
shop were nice, they fit well, and might be fine for a State Dinner.
But, something was missing. Seeking perfection is fashion is never
easy and Margaret and CJ were about to call it quits.

"Ladies, how are we doing?" Danielle said cheerfully, walking into
the fitting room corridor.

"Don't ask." CJ returned, from behind the door. "We've come up empty
handed. I think we're out of luck."

"Nonsense, you just haven't looked hard enough." Danielle announced
as Margaret moaned and CJ laughed mirthlessly. "Let me choose three
dresses for each of you and see if one of them works." Danielle
requested.

"All right, Danielle. You know more about these things than we do."
Margaret said.
"That's fine with me as well." CJ agreed. "I almost always buy one
of the dresses she picks out," she told Margaret.

The shop owner returned with six gowns, handing three into each of
the fitting rooms. "Claudia, please try on the copper colored gown
first. Margaret, I'd like you to try the red one first." Danielle
said. "I'll be waiting out front for you."

"Yes ma'am." The women replied in unison.

Being an old hand at this process, CJ was the first one dressed and
wandered into the main part of the store, her skirts swishing as she
walked. "Your opinion, madam?" she smiled at Danielle.

"Oh yes, Claudia, I think we may have the perfect ball gown here."
The dress was deceptively simple. Made of copper taffeta it had a
modified off the shoulder design, the top of which was a band of
copper colored velvet a couple of shades darker than the body of the
dress; forming the sleeves and neckline. The bodice of the dress
ended in a princess waistline, flowing into a very full skirt, the
bottom of which was trimmed in a wide band of the same velvet.

"I do believe you're right, Danielle. But then again you always
are." CJ turned several times slowly, examining the gown from every
angle in the three-panel mirror, watching as the material caught the
light, momentarily turning it iridescent. On her last turn she
stopped, looking, not at her reflection, but at a point over her
shoulder. "Oh wow, Margaret!" CJ squealed the younger woman's name,
whirling around to get a better look.

Margaret tentatively walked from the fitting room, across the floor
of the store. The dress she wore unlike anything she'd ever seen
much less owned. The material was silk damask, a deep red, almost
garnet in color with an imprint of leaves and vines throughout. The
neckline of the dress was a classic portrait collar, wrapping around
her upper arms, leaving her shoulders bare, with fitted long sleeves
below. The collar met at the middle of the bodice in a slight
plunge; the bodice was fitted with a traditional waist that fell into
a skirt that was slightly fuller than CJ's. The back of the gown, at
the waist, had five small tucks, creating a slight train effect.

"How do you feel, Margaret?" Danielle inquired, noticing the bemused
expression on her face.

"For the first time in my life, I feel beautiful." Margaret replied,
smiling broadly. "What do you two think? Does it look all right?"

"You look maahvelous." CJ said, doing her best Billy Crystal
impersonation. "Seriously, Margaret, that's the dress."

"I quite agree, you look stunning." Danielle spoke up, moving around
Margaret to check the overall fit.
"Perfect. This dress is mine."

"Looks like you have made two women very happy Danielle." CJ
said. "C'mon Margaret, let's get changed. I don't know about you,
but I'm starved! We need a celebratory lunch."

"Agreed, I'm really hungry also." The two women hurried back to the
fitting rooms.

After paying for their dresses and making arrangements for the gowns
to be delivered to the White House the afternoon of the dinner,
Margaret and CJ walked to the car, got in, and sank back into the
upholstery.

"First lunch, then off to the White House." CJ announced, turning the
key in the ignition.

Sunday Morning, February 24, 2002, 8:53 a.m. – St. Dominic's Catholic
Church


Margaret stepped out of the pew, genuflecting and making the sign of
the cross. Walking toward the main entrance, she spoke to several of
the parishioners who, like her, preferred to attend the early
service. Stopping on the front steps to retrieve her sunglasses from
her handbag, she was surprised to look up and see her boss on the
step below her.

"Good morning Leo. Is there some sort of crisis, or have you taken
up stalking the staff in your spare time?" Margaret asked, settling
the tortoise rimmed sunglasses on her nose, warding off the harsh
winter sunlight.

"Neither, and good morning to you as well, Margaret." Leo answered,
offering her his right arm as they descended the wet stone
steps. "After what you said Friday night, I realized it's been too
long since I went to Mass. This is the closest church to the White
House."

"Which it why it's my home parish." Margaret said as they reached
the sidewalk. Certain that Leo had already been to the office before
attending services, she asked, "Did you walk over?" Leo nodded. "My
car is parked in the lot across the street, would you like to ride
back with me?"

"That would be great, thanks. I left my gloves and scarf in the
office, the sun is deceiving." Leo said, jamming his hands in his
coat pockets as they walked toward Margaret's sedan.


Tuesday Morning, February 26, 2002, 5:25 a.m. – White House Mess


The first of the week had passed in a blur of spin, strategy, and
protocol as the Senior Staff and assistants struggled to keep all of
the political balls in the air as they counted down to the Prime
Minister's visit. Lord John Marbury was scheduled to be in and out
of the White House all day, finalizing last minute details and
generally getting in the way.

Toby and CJ sat in the near deserted dining area of the Mess, sharing
coffee and a copy of the Post. Both of them appeared sleep deprived,
as did everyone else working in the West Wing. Toby leaned his head
back against the wall and rubbed his closed eyes with the heel of his
left hand. "Promise me I can get some sleep when this week is over."

"Sure you can, just as soon as we get the State Dinner out of the
way." CJ replied, patting him on the knee.

"But that's not till Friday night. Hell we won't get out of here
before midnight, and that's only if the party doesn't go late, which
it probably will." Toby continued to bemoan their fate.

"Look on the bright side, at least you don't have to spend the night
in high heels dancing with boorish men who would rather look down
your dress than take you seriously."

"Well let's hope not. I'd look damned silly in white tie and pumps.
And who's going to be looking down the front of your dress?" Toby
snapped, wondering where the flash of jealously he was experiencing
hailed from.

"Lord John Marbury and his band of merry men."

"Crap, I'd forgotten he was going to be here."

"Well, he is the Ambassador."

"More's the pity." Toby replied, opening his eyes and reaching for
the sports section.

CJ leaned forward in her chair, resting the side of her face in her
cupped right hand. "Listen, Pokey, it's not exactly common
knowledge, but Margaret gets her biopsy results Friday morning."

"I know."

"You know?"

"Yeah, she told me late last night when she dropped off Leo's notes
on the benchmarking study. She also told me that she's not telling
anybody else about the appointment and the results won't be made
public until after she tells Leo." Toby smiled slightly.

"At least she's telling Leo this time." CJ stood up, grabbing a
legal pad and her coffee cup. "I've got a briefing to prepare. See
you later."

"See you in Staff." Toby said, his attention returning to the
newspaper in front of him.



Tuesday Afternoon, February 26, 2002, 5:30 p.m. – Chief of Staff's
Office

The remainder of Tuesday passed uneventfully, or as uneventfully as
any afternoon in the White House can. Leo and Marbury had a closed-
door meeting for two hours. Margaret was amazed that no sounds of
arguing issued forth from the inner office.

"Your Lordship, thanks for stopping in, I appreciate the background
information. Someone from the Communications team will be in touch
within the hour regarding the toast and remarks for the State
Dinner." Leo said, walking the British Ambassador through the door
to Margaret's office.

"Don't mention it, always a pleasure to see you, and your lovely
assistant." Lord Marbury said, stopping at Margaret's
desk. "Darling Margaret, how are you this gorgeous winter afternoon?
I swear upon the stars, you get more beautiful every time I see you."

Leo's assistant blushed as red as the polish on her fingernails,
stood and extended her hand, "Mr. Ambassador, it is always a pleasure
to have you as a guest in the White House. We look forward to
working with you and your staff over the next week." Margaret
smiled, stepping back to allow the two men to pass into the hallway.

Not two minutes later, Leo was back at her desk. "I cannot believe
the nerve of that guy. His personal comments must make you crazy."

"He's harmless Leo, just a little over the top. Like a Shakespearean
actor on speed."

"Now there's a mental picture." Leo chuckled, envisioning Marbury as
Hamlet.

"Leo, I want to tell you something. I know that the Ambassador trips
most of your switches, dealing with him for more than ten minutes
cannot be easy. And yet you kept your cool, I didn't hear you yell
at him once. I am proud of you, Leo McGarry, you did good."

"Yeah?" Leo asked.

"Yeah. Now get back in that office and finish running those budget
numbers. Donna said Josh wants to go over them with you before you
leave tonight."

"Yes ma'am." Giving Margaret a military salute, he went into his
office, muttering to himself, "I still would have loved to kick
his . . ."

"Leo! Cut that out or I will take back every nice thing I just said."

Smiling to himself, Leo kicked his office door shut, reaching for the
files and calculator, spreading his materials across the conference
table in preparation for a long evening.



Thursday Evening, February 28, 2002, 11:30 p.m. – Communications
Bullpen

Going on the old adage, "while the cat's away the mice will play" the
bulk of the Senior Staff and assistants were seated around a cluster
of desks in the middle of the bullpen, sharing pizza and soft
drinks. The staffers relished the opportunity to take advantage of a
few moments calm in the midst of the storm that was a State Visit.
Leo and the President were in the Residence, having a late dinner as
well and going over some campaign information Bruno had sent via
overnight courier.

Charlie entered the room, a bottle of water in one hand and a manila
folder in the other. "Hey guys, is there any pizza left?"

Sam nodded toward the middle of the table. "Tons, we ordered too
much, just like we always do."

"Breakfast!" Donna and Carol said together with a smile.

"Pizza for breakfast is disgusting, you know that, right?" Josh
said, nudging Donna gently with his elbow.

"Don't you start, Josh. I know for a fact you've eaten left over moo
goo gai pan for breakfast on at least one occasion." Donna retorted.

"Yuck." Charlie replied, opening the top pizza box and placing two
slices of pepperoni pizza on a plastic plate. "If you people are
going to discuss your perverted eating habits, I'm taking my pizza
back to my office."

"Sit down, Charlie." Ed said, pulling up another chair.

The President's body man settled into the chair, sighing heavily.
Glancing at Margaret he said, "How are you holding up?"

"Just waiting until after the State Dinner so I can get more than
three hours of sleep for the first time all week. I don't see how
Mrs. Landingham did it."

Talk turned to the State Dinner as Charlie passed out copies of the
timetable.

"Toby, CJ, Sam, and Josh, you're expected in the Residence tomorrow
evening by 6:00 for the VIP reception." Charlie said consulting the
list. "The receiving line is scheduled for 7:00 in the East Room,
with dinner to begin at 7:30."

Consulting the schedule, Bonnie looked across the table at
Charlie. "Where are we supposed to be, and when?"

"All of the assistants need to be in the East Room by 7:00. Prior to
that time, you'll help people find their way to the East Room, escort
those on the list to the Residence for the reception, the same things
you normally do." Charlie said. "Rather than stick all of you at one
table, they've assigned one or two of you to tables with members of
the British delegation. Donna, you and Josh will be seated with
several members of Parliament. Donna, please try to keep Josh from
bashing the monarchy." The rest of the staff laughed as Josh
pretended to pout.

Twenty minutes later, everyone had eaten and the desks had been
restored to their original order. Margaret stopped by Donna's desk
on her way back to Leo's office. "I have a couple of errands to run
tomorrow morning, so, if you need me for anything before say, 8:30,
call my cell." Margaret said, smiling at her friend.

"Sure thing. What time are you getting ready for the dinner tomorrow
night?"

"Not until I get Leo up to the Residence and out of my hair."
Margaret said with a laugh.

"What are you wearing?" Donna asked, reaching across the desk to
straighten a pile of files Josh had dropped haphazardly on top of the
budget spreadsheets.

"A dress."

"Ho, ho, ho, Margaret. Now really, what are you wearing."

"A ball gown and that's all you're getting out of me." Margaret
walked into the corridor, waving at the younger woman. "See you
tomorrow, Donna."




Friday Morning, March 1, 2002, 6:00 a.m. – Margaret's Apartment

Standing in the bathroom, dressed in lingerie and hose, Margaret
finished blow-drying her hair. Brushing her bangs into place, she
debated putting perfume on. `Better wait until this evening for
that. Wouldn't want to go into the state dinner smelling like a
cheap floozy.' Margaret laughed out loud thinking about the way in
which the Chanel she normally wore would clash with the perfume she
preferred for special occasions. And the State Dinner definitely
counted as a special occasion.

Once dressed, Margaret finished packing a small overnight bag with
the accoutrements and paraphernalia she'd need to get ready for the
evening's festivities. Tucking in the last item; a pair of moiré
satin dancing shoes she'd had dyed to match her gown, Margaret turned
off her bedroom light and walked into the living room. Placing the
bag by the front door, she went into the kitchen and poured a cup of
coffee and removed a carton of yogurt from the refrigerator.
Standing at the sink she sipped her coffee wondering, as she had been
off and on all morning, what the results of her biopsies were. Good
or bad she'd find out in about 40 minutes.


Friday Morning, March 1, 2002, 6:44 a.m. – Oncology Services Offices


Not wanting to be later for her appointment, Margaret hurried through
the front doors of the medical office plaza, crossing the lobby and
stabbing at the elevator "up" button repeatedly as though she could
make the car appear by sheer force of will. The ringing of her cell
phone interrupted her assault on the control panel. Palming her
phone from the pocket of her coat, she slipped the front panel
back. "Margaret Rigby."

"How you holding up?"

Margaret smiled at the sound of her boss' voice on the other end of
the line. "Shouldn't you be greasing the Prime Minister and a cross-
section of Congress right now?"

"Everyone's not here yet and I've been greasing the Prime Minister
for days. It's someone else's turn. You didn't answer my question."

"I'm fine, Leo, just on my way into the doctor's office. Now quit
worrying about me and do your job. I'm reasonably sure the
President's not paying you to stand around and obsess over your
assistant's health and well-being."

"I told you I'd obsess about this if I wanted to and I will. I
wasn't there for you the first time and I'd rather not see history
repeat itself."

"Leo, things were different last time. Last time I never told you
what was going on. This time, you're the first person I'll talk to.
Don't worry, it's going to be fine." Margaret replied with far more
confidence than she felt. The elevator doors slid open in front of
her and Margaret walked into the car. "Leo, the elevator's here,
I've got to go I'll see you later."

Leo was left staring at his cell phone as the connection fizzled out
on them. Turning the device off, he walked back into the dining room
and waited for the remaining committee members to arrive.

Meanwhile, Margaret had exited the elevator and walked into the
reception area of her oncologist's office. Not surprisingly, Lucy
was already at her desk in the reception area, typing something into
the computer. "Good morning, Lucy." Margaret said, leaning on the
chest high wood counter that surrounded the receptionist's station.

"Margaret, how are you?" Lucy said, smiling brightly. "I have
something to show you." The younger woman reached into her purse and
pulled out a small white folder, which she handed across the counter.

Margaret had seen folders like this before and was almost certain of
the contents. Opening the cover, she grinned widely at the small
black and white sonogram photo on the inside. "I suppose
congratulations are in order, then?" Lucy grinned wider still and
nodded vigorously. "When are you due?"

"October 5th." Lucy replied

"That's wonderful, I'm truly happy for you."

"Thank you, Margaret. We'd been trying for a couple of years, so
Eric and I are both over the moon."

"Couldn't happen to a nicer couple." Nodding toward the back of the
office, Margaret smiled, "Is Dr. Matthews in yet?"

"She was here before I was this morning. Do you want me to walk you
back to her office?"

"That's okay, I know the way." Margaret walked across the waiting
room and through the familiar door. Moments later she stood in
front of another closed door this one with a small brass plaque on it
that read, "Dr. Corrine Matthews." Margaret stood in the hall,
debating the merits of knocking or turning and running away.

"Screw your courage to the sticking point and come on in." Margaret
jumped away from the door as her oncologist came up behind her,
reaching in to open the door, a coffee cup in her left hand.

"Scare the crap out of me, why don't you?" Margaret said, breathing
deeply in an effort to slow her hammering heart.

"Sorry about that." Dr. Matthews said, indicating that Margaret
should have a seat and closing the door behind her.

"When did you start quoting Shakespeare to your patients?" Margaret
asked settling herself on the teal and terra cotta striped chair her
doctor indicated.

"When it suits me. Actually, I picked it up from you. I can
remember several times when you used to say `Lord what fools these
mortals be' during your chemotherapy treatments."

"As I recall it was either Shakespeare or I was swearing like a truck
driver in a beer joint." Margaret recalled with a grin. What can I
say, I had little patience for people who couldn't do a simple blood
test without giving me a hematoma the size of a grapefruit."

Dr. Matthews sat down behind her desk and opened a thick file that
was placed in the middle of her blotter. Reviewing the first couple
of pages of Margaret's medical chart, she thought about the fact that
this was her least favorite part of the job.

"I'm a big girl, Corrine, I can take it, whatever it is." Margaret
said with far more bravado than she felt.

"Do you want me to read you the whole report or just hit the salient
points?"

"Give me the highlights. Those reports are always *so* dry."
Margaret grimaced at her oncologist.

"According to the pathology report, the second lump, the smaller one,
was a nonfibrous growth. They have it listed here as a calcium
deposit." Margaret nodded her head in understanding. "The first
lump that I removed, the larger of the two, showed a small
concentration of malignant cells consistent with those of your
original diagnosis. These cells were localized within the lump and
no other malignant cells were found."

Margaret exhaled a breath that it felt like she'd been holding since
walking into the building. "So, we've got a metastasis."

"Technically, yes, since it's the same type of cancer as your
original diagnosis. There are two recommended treatment protocols."

"Which are?"

"The first is radiation, over a four to six month time period. Since
the malignancy was localized, there's a high probability this would
work. The second option is to have a radical mastectomy of your left
breast. The advantage of surgery is that the procedure would
drastically reduce your chances of having a recurrence to almost
nil. However, you have to understand that surgery is not foolproof.
There is no guarantee that the cancer has not and will not spread to
another part of your body."

"I understand. What about chemotherapy?"

"Given the localized nature of your cancer, it's not recommended. It
would do more harm to you than radiation in terms of your immune
system and overall health."

"How well I remember." Margaret said sarcastically.

"Margaret, I feel horrid that this has happened. I was almost
certain that you'd make it to your ten year anniversary."

"Don't say sorry, I hate it when you do that. It makes it sound like
it's your freaking fault. And it's not; it isn't anyone's fault."
Margaret sat up straighter in the chair and looked at her
oncologist. "Which treatment option do *you* recommend?"

"Given the nature of this malignancy and your overall excellent
health, the fact that you remained cancer free for almost ten years,
and the fact that you do not smoke, don't drink enough to make a
difference, and exercise on a regular basis, I would recommend the
radiation."

"I'll be honest, radiation is more attractive than another
mastectomy. I would like to think about this for a few days. May I
have the weekend?"

"Of course, just call me on Monday and let me know what you've
decided. Call me before that if you have any questions or just want
to talk." Corrine said, standing up and walking around her desk.

Margaret stood as well and sighed once more. "Malignant, `how long a
time lies in one little word! Four lagging winters and four wanton
springs end in a word; such is the breath of kings.' Richard the
Second."

"See you're already back on the Shakespeare."

The younger woman smiled and hugged her doctor. "Thanks for
everything Corrine, it's going to be just fine."

"I think I'm the one who's supposed to be telling *you* that," the
oncologist replied as Margaret walked out of her office.



Friday Evening, March 1, 2002, 5:24 p.m. – Chief of Staff's Office


"Margaret, help!" Leo called from his office.

"I'm right here Leo, no need to yell. Oh, is it that time all ready?"

"Yeah, here," the Chief of Staff handed his assistant his white bow
tie and perched on the edge of his desk, waiting for her to make him
presentable.

"If I have told you once, I have told you a hundred times, stand up
straight Leo McGarry. I cannot get this tie on right if you're
slouching like that. You know, I could teach *you* how to do this."

"I'm perfectly capable of tying my own bow tie, I'm just not able to
make it look as nice as you do."

"Translation, the third most powerful man in the land is rendered
powerless for special events without the aid of his assistant. Film
at eleven." Margaret's eyes twinkled at him as she smiled widely,
draping the tie around Leo's neck.

"Gee, when you put it like that, I feel so much better about it. You
almost done there?"

"There, you're all set." Margaret replied, giving the white tie a
final tug. Reaching out with her right had, she absentmindedly
patted his chest twice. Leo smiled at the unconscious gesture, she
always did that but seemed to be unaware of it.

"Thank you Margaret. I'd be lost without you."

"Not lost, just unable to get dressed in formal attire. Here's your
vest." Holding it out while Leo slipped into it, Margaret glanced at
her watch. "Leo, it's time for you to head toward the Residence."

"Thanks Margaret. Listen, have a great time tonight, although I'm
sure I'll see you at some point during the evening." Leo removed his
tuxedo jacket from a wooden hanger and slipped it on.

"Without a doubt. Now, if the rest of the world will only play nice
for a few hours, we can call this State Visit an unqualified
success." Margaret turned and hurried through the doorway into her
office.

Leo turned off the overhead lights in his office, shut the door and
walked down the hall toward the elevator that would take him to the
Residence, his evening shoes beating a faint tattoo on the floor.

Margaret grabbed her tote bag and purse, leaving her office and
running down the hall toward CJ's office at breakneck speed.
Stopping at Carol's desk, Margaret caught her breath and cocked her
head toward the closed door. "She in there?"

"Sure is." Carol smiled widely.

Knocking on the door she called, "CJ it's Margaret."

"It's open, enter at your own risk!" CJ called.

"I'll give you about five minutes then I'll come in and do your
hair." Carol said.

"My hair?" Margaret looked confused.

"CJ thought you might like to have someone else put it up for you."

"That would be great Carol, thanks."

"Get in there and start on that makeup."

"Yes, ma'am!" Margaret turned the knob and slipped into the Press
Secretary's office. Dropping into one of the visitor's chairs, she
set her bag on her lap and removed her makeup kit and a small mirror.

CJ looked up from her own mirror, a pair of tweezers in her
hand. "Why I always wait until the last minute to tweeze my brows
I'll never know."

"Because, like the rest of us, your beauty routine is catch as catch
can. I've been known to tweeze my eyebrows at two in the morning."

"Same here." CJ reached for a bottle of foundation and a cosmetic
sponge. "Okay, make-up application number two of the day coming up."

"There's something wrong about having to redo your make up from start
to finish." Margaret said. "Takes too much time."

"Ah, but that's the price we pay for being beautiful." CJ
agreed. "Speaking of which, she picked up the phone and dialed her
assistant's extension. Carol, whenever you're ready you can start on
our hair."

Carol immediately appeared at the door with a small red canvas bag.
Setting it on the desk she removed two curling irons, gel, hair
spray, and an assortment of pins, combs, and brushes. "Who's going
first?"

"Take care of CJ." Margaret replied. "I've got major work to do on
this face." Reaching for her compact, Margaret removed a powder
brush from her bag and began applying a matte finish to her fresh
covering of foundation.

Moments later, Carol had transformed the Press Secretary's shoulder
length hair into a dramatic upsweep, with softly curled tendrils
falling around her ears. "Ta da!" Carol said, handing CJ a mirror.

"Wow!" CJ exclaimed, looking in the mirror. "Carol, you've given me
Texas hair!"

"You know what they say, the higher the hair the closer to God."

"It's great Carol, thanks. Margaret your turn." CJ got up from
behind her desk vacating the higher chair for Margaret. She walked
over to the bookcase and turned on her boom box, selecting a compact
disc from the stack on the shelf below. Placing the disc into the
player, she adjusted the volume. "A little mood music, ladies." The
smooth sounds of Dinah Washington filled the room. CJ and Margaret
sang along with the recording.

Did you say I've got a lot to learn?
Well, don't think I'm trying not to learn.
Since this seems like the perfect spot to learn
Teach me tonight.

A short time later, Carol had finished with Margaret. Looking in the
mirror, Margaret surveyed her friend's handiwork. The assistant's
red hair had been pulled into a classic French Twist. "Are you sure
it will stay like this? My hair is notorious for falling down two
hours into an event."

"Honey, that hair wouldn't move in a NASA wind tunnel." Carol
explained. "I used some incredibly heavy-duty hairspray on both of
you. If either of you have a single strand come loose, I'll be
shocked. Okay, I am out of here. Time for me to head down to the
locker room and get changed as well. I will see you both later.
Margaret, break a leg." She patted her friend's shoulder and left
the office, closing the door behind her.

Leaving her seat on the couch, CJ opened the closet door, pointing to
the garment bags Danielle had delivered a couple of hours
earlier. "Time to get even more beautiful."

CJ opened a new package of hose as Margaret slipped out of her blouse
and bra, placing her prosthesis on the corner of the desk. Removing
an ivory satin and lace strapless bra from her bag, she put it on,
securing the front hook and settling her prosthesis into the
cup. "Okay, CJ, critical question time. Am I even?" she asked,
spreading her arms wide. CJ looked at her carefully and
nodded. "Then it's time to, literally, face the music. Hand me that
garment bag."

CJ and Margaret finished dressing in good order. Each woman was in
the process of putting jewelry on, when a short knock sounded at the
office door.

"Who's there?" CJ called softly.

"It's Toby, Claudia Jean. Can I come in?"

"Sure Toby, it's open. Bet you he needs that bow tie done," she said
to Margaret, as Toby entered the room, white tie in hand. "And I was
right."

"Please, CJ? I'll zip you up."

"All ready done. C'mere and hold still." Toby obeyed, stopping to
fully take in the sight of his two friends attired in their finery.

"You ladies look beautiful."

"Toby, you say that to all the women." CJ mocked.

"Well, yeah, but this time I really mean it." Smiling broadly, Toby
continued, "Seriously, each of you are absolutely gorgeous. Leo's
going to have a stroke when he gets a look at you Margaret."

"Sure he will Toby."

"I'm serious Margaret, you are drop dead, mind-numbing, knee-
knocking, heart palpitating, gorgeous. One glance at you and Leo's
going to start proclaiming undying devotion."

"Toby, you're delusional. Sweet, but delusional." Margaret laughed
and shook her head.

Toby turned from where he had just finished fastening a double strand
of pearls for CJ. "Do you want some help with that necklace
Margaret?"

"Yes, please. I can never manage to work the clasp on this."

"Did your brother design that?" CJ asked, looking at the necklace in
Toby's hands. A circle of wide gold links were interspersed with
twelve large cabochon amethysts, each placed in a wide gold setting.

"Yes, he gave this and the earrings to me for Christmas the year that
the President won the election. He wanted me to have something to
wear to the Inaugural Balls.

Toby finished working the ornate clasp centered it at the back of her
neck. "All done, Margaret."

"Thank you Toby. You guys better get upstairs before the President
sends Leo out to hunt you down."

"We're ten minutes late as it is." CJ replied as she and Toby walked
out the door and toward the elevators.

Margaret repacked her overnight bag and slipped her feet into the red
satin dancing shoes she'd placed by the door. Gathering her things,
she exited the Communications area and began walking slowly down the
hall. The weight of the dress, combined with the slight train at the
back caused Margaret to look behind her more than once. For the
first time in her life, Margaret felt as beautiful as she truly was.

Friday Evening, March 1, 2002, 6:53 p.m. – Chief of Staff's Office

Margaret ducked into her office to check her hair and makeup one last
time before going into the East Room. Thus far she had spent this
evening as she had the other State Dinners, answering questions,
escorting people to the East Room, conferring with the First Lady's
staff on some last minute questions about the menu, generally trying
to be helpful. The best moment had been when she'd walked into
reception area for the Oval and Charlie had all but dropped his
teeth. Funny, no one quite seemed to believe she could clean up this
good. She had to admit all of the assistants looked exceptionally
fine this evening. Piggy banks around the West Wing had been broken
just for this occasion.

Standing in front of her desk, she closed her compact and carefully
removed her White House id badge from her neck. Work or at least the
sort of work that required her security clearance badge was over. It
was time to celebrate. A shadow in the doorway caught her
attention. Margaret looked up to see Sam entering the office.

"What can I do for you Sam?"

"You and I are seated at the same table. May I escort you into
dinner?"

Coming around from behind her desk, Margaret gently laid her left
hand on Sam's right forearm. "You may, Sam."

The pair exited the office; Margaret pausing to adjust the back of
her skirt as it billowed out behind her.

"Margaret I'd be remiss if I didn't tell you how beautiful you look
tonight." Sam said as they prepared to enter the ballroom.

"Sam you do know how to turn a lady's head."

"It's not flattery if it's the truth." Sam smiled widely at Margaret
as they walked past a pair of Secret Service agents and into the East
Room.



Dinner was a lively affair, the conversation easy and enjoyable. Two
members of the Prime Minister's cabinet were seated at their table,
regaling Sam and Margaret with tales of misdeeds and misbehavior in
the houses of Parliament. As she looked around the room, Margaret
saw her colleagues enjoying themselves as well. At a table in the
near corner, she watched as Ron Butterfield stopped to visit, making
sure he stationed himself next to Carol. Margaret swore she could
see the flush rising up Carol's face. Josh and Donna were at the
next table and, for once, Josh appeared to be on his best behavior.
Margaret was thrilled to see everyone relaxing and enjoying the
evening.

After the meal came the speeches. Not speeches per say, actually
they were more like brief remarks. Sam positively glowed and gave
Toby the thumbs up sign as President Bartlet completed his five-
minute speech without making a hash of what they'd written for him.
Margaret leaned forward and put her hand on top of Sam's left
shoulder. "Nice job, Boy Wonder."

"That Batman and Robin thing is never going to die down with you is
it?" Sam grinned to indicate that he wasn't really upset with her
choice of endearments.

"Probably not."

As they sat talking, a jazz group entered the room and began to set
up. The stewards moved around the dining area, refilling coffee cups
and clearing away the dessert plates. The musicians finished tuning
up and launched into a rendition of "How Long has This Been Going
On?" which was one of the First Lady's favorite songs. The President
and Dr. Bartlett, together with the Prime Minister and his wife,
walked onto the dance floor.

Margaret turned in her chair, leaning back against Sam's shoulder as
they watched the First Couple dance. "You can tell they've been
dancing together forever." Margaret whispered, watching the
President and First Lady glide across the dance floor, clearly
oblivious to anything but the music and one another.

"Yeah. The only other couple I've ever seen with that kind of
connection on the dance floor were Josh's parents." Sam replied. "I
think they may have even been better dancers than the Bartlets."

The song concluded and everyone in the room applauded the band and
the two couples on the dance floor. President and Dr. Bartlet smiled
and nodded at their guests. The band struck up a second tune and
they moved into one another's arms again. Slowly, members of the
Administration filtered onto the dance floor. Admiral Fitzwallace
and his wife were first, followed by Toby and CJ, and Leo and Nancy
McNally.

Sam inched his chair away from the table and stood up, once again
extending his hand to Margaret. "May I have this dance?" he asked,
executing a slight bow.

Playing along, Margaret rose and placed her right foot behind her
left, dropping a deep curtsey. "I'd be honored." Placing her hand
in his, Margaret smiled at their dining companions and excused
herself, following Sam onto the dance floor.

It was as if no time had passed and they were back at the Sheraton,
dancing during the Inaugural Ball. Margaret remembered clearly what
a great dance partner Sam was. He held her just close enough and
lead her through a series of intricate spins and turns making her
feel as though she was floating across the parquet floor.

"Sam, you are an excellent dancer." Margaret said, moving her head
back slightly to smile at the Deputy Communications Director.

"Nice to know those years of dance classes have paid off." Sam
grinned at Margaret, turning her around again. The music slowed and
stopped and they, together with everyone else applauded.

The pair walked back to their table where they asked members of the
British delegation to join them on the dance floor. The next hour
passed quickly as Margaret danced and visited with a wide range of
people. The social whirl of a State Dinner was just what she needed
she realized, as she walked from the dance floor with Josh. `At
least this gets my mind off cancer treatments for a few hours.'
These thoughts ran through her head, as she stood with Toby, CJ,
Josh, Donna and Sam, smiling brightly for one of the photographers.

CJ tapped Margaret on the shoulder and pointed at the other side of
the room. "Unless I'm seriously mistaken, your boss just slipped the
pianist a $20 and is on his way over here to ask you to dance."

"Holy hell, hide me." Margaret moaned, feeling as though a flock of
geese were taking flight in the center of her abdomen. "Wait just a
minute, how do you know he slipped the guy a $20?"

"Because he told me that he wanted to ask you to dance tonight and
asked me what I thought his chances were."

Margaret shot daggers at the Press Secretary with her eyes. "CJ, you
didn't."

"Hey, be grateful I didn't tell him you'd probably marry him and have
his babies if he asked nicely." CJ replied, giggling at the look of
utter horror passing across Margaret's face. "Gosh, you are so much
fun to mess with, almost as easy as Sam. The only thing I told Leo
was if he tipped the band $20 and asked them to play `They Can't Take
That Away From Me' it was practically guaranteed that you'd dance
with him.

"How did you know?"

"About the song?" CJ grinned ever wider. "That's easy, you and I
are usually the first two in the Wing most mornings. I've been
listening to you sing it for years."

"I've gotta get a new song." Margaret muttered at Leo walked up to
the group.

"Good evening, everyone. CJ, Donna you both look lovely." Leo said,
smiling at his staff.

Margaret's heart dropped into her shoes. `Crap, the man can't even
compliment his assistant. What a jackass.' Margaret thought,
struggling to keep a polite smile plastered on her face.

After making small talk for a couple of moments, the band began
playing the introduction to a familiar tune. "Margaret, may I have
this dance?" Leo asked, holding his arm out toward her.

Toby put his hand in the small of Margaret's back, urging her
forward. "Thank you, Leo, I'd be delighted." Never losing her
composure or missing a beat, Margaret took her boss' arm, turning
quickly to make an evil face at her colleagues. Walking onto the
dance floor, she turned to face Leo.

"Let's go out a little further onto the floor." Leo requested,
continuing to lead the way. Eventually they reached a less crowded
section and Leo expertly turned her into his arms.

For at least 30 seconds, they were silent. Margaret concentrated on
dancing, looking at a point over her boss' right shoulder, and trying
hard not to get emotionally carried away by the fact that she was
dancing with Leo. She was still pissed at him for not complimenting
her appearance.

"Margaret, words fail me." Leo said softly, as the first chorus of
the song began.

Shifting her gaze to his face, Margaret smiled. "And you call
yourself a politician." `Okay, banter is safe, banter is good.
Keep it superficial.' Margaret thought.

"You're not making this easy are you?" Leo shot back.

"Is there a problem?" Margaret asked, becoming concerned.

"Only that I tend to have the social skills of a high school freshman
sometimes."

"I've never seen that side of you."

"Probably because I've never tried to tell you that I think you're
beautiful before." Leo flushed deeply. "Oh hell, that came out
wrong."

Margaret smiled widely, "That came out just fine," she said. "You're
kind to say so."

"Margaret, it's not kind, it's the truth. And I'm not saying it
because you're wearing a dress that looks like it was designed just
for you. You're a beautiful woman, inside and out."

"Leo, much as I'd like to listen to you feed me compliments all
night, the President is trying to get your attention." Margaret
whispered in his ear as Bartlet walked up and tapped Leo on the
shoulder.

"Leo, I haven't had the opportunity to dance with your gorgeous
assistant. May I cut in?"

"Of course, Mr. President." Leo replied, stepping away from Margaret
and placing her hand in the President's. He smiled at Margaret and
walked over to cut in on Josh and Donna.

"Thank you for allowing the assistants to attend the State Dinner,
Mr. President." Margaret said, remembering her best White House
social manners.

"No thanks necessary, Margaret. It's something we should have done
at least two dinners ago." Bartlet paused to look at his best
friend's assistant. "You look lovely this evening, as I'm sure every
man in the place has told you."

"Thank you, sir."

The President and Margaret finished dancing, and walked across the
room to where the First Lady and Leo were talking with the Prime
Minister and his wife.

"Mr. Prime Minister, it is my pleasure to introduce Margaret Rigby,
senior assistant to the Chief of Staff," Bartlet said.

The Prime Minister and his wife exchanged pleasantries with Margaret,
who then moved on to speak with the First Lady.

"Having a nice time, Margaret?" Abbey Bartlet asked as they seated
themselves at a table.

"Yes, ma'am it's a lovely party. I appreciate being allowed to
attend."

"Nonsense, you should be at every one of these functions. It's nice
to have some younger people in the room, as opposed to all of the
usual stuffed shirts." Abbey and Margaret watched Charlie and Zoey
dancing next to Sam and Bonnie.

"So," Abbey continued, her voice dropping. "Have you been to see
your oncologist yet?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"And?"

"And I'm not divulging the results until I've talked to Leo. I
promised him that, for once, he'd be the first to know."

"Fair enough. But, if you need someone to talk to about the results,
no matter what they are, you know you can come to me."

"Thank you, Dr. Bartlet, I appreciate it." Margaret smiled at the
First Lady.

"How many years have you worked for Leo?"

"It will be ten this spring."

"That's a long time. You know how important you are to him, right?"

Margaret smiled. "I know that he'd be the prototype for the
absentminded professor if I weren't around. I know he needs someone
to remind him to eat, get some sleep, and who isn't afraid to tell
him when he's getting close enough to the edge that he needs to make
a meeting."

"That's right, you're the only person I know who can keep Leo in
line, in all ways. And Margaret, he knows that, just as well as you
do."

"It's a good working relationship, ma'am."

Abbey chuckled. "Oh, I think Leo knows how lucky he is to have you
working for him."

"Yes ma'am, and I'd walk through the gates of hell for him."
Margaret said, more to herself than anyone.

"I know that dear. And, on some level, so does he. He also knows
you'll bust his chops if he doesn't toe the line."

"None of us wants him to have occasion to fall off the wagon again."
Margaret looked up and noticed the ballroom was clearing out. She
stood up and held her hand out to the First Lady. "Thanks, Dr.
Bartlet, for everything."

"Margaret, after all this time, when it's just us, call me Abbey."

"Thank you, ma'am. Good night." Margaret watched the First Lady
walk back to her husband and begin saying good night to their guests.



Friday Night, March 1, 2002, 11:49 p.m. – Chief of Staff's Office

Margaret knocked on the doorframe between Leo's office and her
own. "Can I bother you for a moment?"

"It's no bother, Margaret, what do you need?"

"A little help. I'm not able to undo the clasp of this necklace and
I was wondering if you could help me take it off. Either that or I'm
going to be wearing it all weekend."

"Certainly, come over here next to the light to I can half see what
I'm doing." Leo said, standing up and walked toward the floor lamp
that sat next to his sofa. "Margaret, do me a favor and sit down
here, you're too tall!" Leo laughed as he patted the back of the
nearest guest chair.

Margaret smoothed the back of her skirt and perched on the edge of
the chair, her head bent forward slightly. Leo made short work of
the clasp and removed the necklace from around her throat. "This is
a magnificent piece of jewelry, Margaret."

"Thank you, my brother made it for me."

"Your brother?"

"I forget, that's something else you've never known. My brother and
his wife are jewelry designers."

Leo turned the necklace over in his hands, squinting at the back of
the amethyst's settings. Moving closer to the light, he
said, "There's some sort of writing on the back."

"You're the first person to ever notice that, other than me. There
are 12 stones in the necklace, each of which stands for a specific,
important event in my life. Phil engraved the corresponding dates on
the backs of the settings."

"What a wonderful idea. I don't mean to pry, but . . ."

"You're wondering what that dates are?" Leo nodded and sat down on
the chair next to her. "The first one is February 8, 1965, which is
the day I was born. The other stones, in order, represent, the date
that I won the high hurdles race at the state track and field
championships my junior year in high school, my high school
graduation, my graduation from college with my bachelor's degree, the
date our parents died, my graduation from college with my master's,
the date I came to work for you, the date you went into treatment,
the date I was diagnosed with cancer, the date I went into remission,
and the date of the President's inauguration." Margaret finished in
a rush.

Counting on his fingers, Leo looked at his assistant. "That's only
eleven."

"Look at the last one."

Leo moved closer to the light again, turning the necklace
over. "It's blank."

"Yes, it is. Just like Josh, Sam, and the rest of the crew, my
brother firmly believes that President Bartlet is the real thing.
That setting is waiting to be engraved with the second inauguration
date."

Not knowing what to say. Leo placed the necklace in Margaret's
hands. He knew there was something she was not telling him, but
couldn't figure out what it was. He was also touched by the fact
that she and her brother considered her employment with him and his
recovery to be important parts of her life.

"I'm going home. Unless there's something else you need?" Margaret
asked.

"No, I'll be leaving here in a few moments. Oh, the President wants
everyone to take tomorrow off."

"That's sweet of him. Did he tell the Secret Service to use you for
target practice again?"

"Probably. The only way any of us are to come in is if there's a
crisis."

"You don't have to tell me twice. Good night Leo."

"Good night Margaret."



Saturday Morning, March 2, 2002 7:12 a.m. – Margaret's Neighborhood

Rounding the corner onto her street, Margaret began to slow her pace,
her running stride becoming shorter. She was three blocks from home
and desperately needed to cool down. This morning's run had been
longer than usual; as much to exorcise the anxiety over her diagnosis
from her mind as to exercise last night's excess of rich food from
her body.

Crossing the last side street and heading toward the refurbished
older home on the far corner, Margaret noticed a black full-sized
sedan parked in front of her building. Fearing a crisis, Margaret
began running faster, sprinting the last block. By the time she was
within four buildings of her own, she noticed that Leo and Eddie, his
driver, were sitting on her front steps talking.

Margaret forced her heart out of her throat and reduced her pace.
Stopping in front of the two men, Margaret smiled and pulled off her
baseball cap, dropping it on the lowest step. "Good morning,
gentleman," she panted beginning a series of cool-down
stretches. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Good morning, Miss Rigby." Eddie replied, standing up and dusting
off the seat of his trousers.

"Good morning, Margaret." Leo chimed in, still sitting on the steps,
looking up at his assistant and driver. "I decided to come by and
offer to take you out for breakfast. When you didn't answer the door
or your phone, we decided to stick around and wait.

"I hope you didn't have to wait too long."

"Not at all, besides, it's a nice morning." Leo looked almost
relaxed, sitting there in a pair of navy chinos and a lightweight
sweater.

Margaret finished stretching and plucked her baseball cap from the
steps. "Why don't you both come in and I'll make breakfast?"

"Margaret, that's not necessary, we can go out."

"Leo, I've been sweating like a race horse and I probably smell like
a goat." Eddie and Leo both laughed. "It's no trouble, besides I
don't often get to cook breakfast."

"Well, if your sure . . ." Leo replied.

"I made the offer, didn't I?"

Eddie walked down across the sidewalk toward the car. "What time
shall I come back, Mr. McGarry?"

"Eddie, have you had breakfast yet?" Margaret asked.

"Not yet, Miss Rigby."

"Then come inside and eat. And since we're not at the White House,
please call me Margaret." Leading the way, Margaret opened the front
door to her building and bounded up the stairs to her second floor
apartment, Leo and Eddie following behind.

By the time the two men had reached her front door, Margaret was
already in the kitchen, pouring water into the coffee maker. "Make
yourselves at home. The Post and the New York Times are on the
desk." After seeing that the coffee was brewing, Margaret came into
the living room and removed her sweatshirt, exposing a portion of her
bare stomach as the tank underneath rode up, clinging momentarily to
the heavier material. Leo and Eddie both gaped, Leo struggling not
to blush. "What, you've never seen a woman in a sleeveless shirt
before?" Margaret cracked, patting Eddie on the head like a
puppy. "Honestly Eddie, you've got to get out more!" Leo laughed at
Margaret's teasing of his driver. He knew what made Eddie blush; it
was only sheer force of will and years of military training that kept
him from being in the same spot.

Margaret walked back to the utility room and disposed of her
sweatshirt. Coming back into the living room she looked at her boss
and his driver, both of whom were still standing in the middle of the
floor. "Please sit down, make yourselves comfortable. I'll have
breakfast ready in a few minutes. Are omelets okay?"

Leo and Eddie nodded their agreement.

"Are you two all right? I swear, it's like your both in the twilight
zone."

"Miss Rigby, Margaret I mean, can I ask you a personal question?"

"As long as I can reserve the right not to answer it." Margaret
said, certain that he and Leo were ill at ease because, in her
current attire it was obvious that one of her breasts was missing.

Sitting on one end of the sofa, Eddie looked up at the woman he'd
considered a friend ever since Bartlet had been
inaugurated. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but is your navel pierced?"

Margaret looked over at Leo who was now blushing as deeply as his
driver. Deciding to end the speculation, she grabbed the hem of her
racer back tank and pulled it up over her hips, until her navel was
exposed. A small gold ring glinted in the morning sunlight. "Yep."
Margaret replied, smiling and dropping her shirttail. "Any other
questions?"

"When? Why? And what the hell were you thinking?" Leo asked, a
look that was equal parts horror and fascination on his face.

Margaret walked into the kitchen and began pulling ingredients for
breakfast out of the refrigerator. Once this task was complete, she
started chopping vegetables, looking through the open kitchen at her
guests who were clearly waiting for her to answer Leo's questions.

"Let's see, it was three years ago. I had it done because someone,
who shall remain nameless, wanted to get their navel pierced but was
afraid to go by themselves. And as for what I was thinking, let's
just say I decided to have my rebellion about 20 years late."

Eddie smiled, remembering that Zoey had her navel pierced during her
first year at Georgetown. Charlie had told him about it one night
when they were playing pool. Like Leo, Charlie thought Zoey was out
of her mind for having it done. Eddie also knew that at least two
other female staffers had gotten their navels pierced on the same
day. He was certain that Zoey's agent at the time had not joined in.

"I have nothing to say." Leo said, shaking his head is disbelief
that his quiet, mainstream, straight arrow secretary would have a
pierced navel. Maybe Margaret had a wild side he was completely
unaware of.

Personal revelations and secrets out of the way, Margaret began
cooking in earnest. A short time later, breakfast was ready. Leo
poured coffee as Margaret removed the plates with the omelets on them
from the oven, where they'd been keeping warm. Filling another plate
with toast, Margaret carried dishes into the dining area, motioning
Eddie to come sit down.

Breakfast was a welcome change of pace. Leo and Margaret finally got
Eddie to loosen up and talk about his family. They were both
surprised to find out that his father was a traffic reporter for a
local radio station. Two of his brothers were with the Metropolitan
police department and a third was still in college.

After the meal was completed, Eddie insisted on helping clear the
table. "This was great Margaret. Thank you for inviting me to join
you and Mr. McGarry."

"It was no trouble Eddie. Thank you for agreeing to stay. Like I
said, it's not often I get to cook for others."

Eddie walked into the living room and pulled his jacket from the back
of a chair. "Mr. McGarry do you want me to pick you up at a certain
time?"

Margaret broke in before Leo could answer. "Leo, I can drive you
home whenever you're ready to go."

"That, or I can walk, its not far." Leo agreed. "Eddie take the
rest of the day off, I'll call you tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Mr. McGarry. Have a nice day Margaret." Eddie called,
letting himself out of the apartment.

"Nice kid." Margaret said, wiping down the dining table.

"He's the best driver I've had."

"You ought to tell him that some time."

"Ahead of you Margaret, I tell him that *all* the time."

"Good for you." Margaret leaned against the table, watching her boss
flip through the first section of the Post. "Leo," she began.

Looking up from the newspaper, Leo grinned. "Yeah, Margaret?"

"A couple of weeks ago I made a promise to you."

"I remember."

"And it's time for me to keep that promise. But first . . ."

"Yeah?"

Margaret laughed. "I desperately need to take a shower. I'm
starting to offend myself!"

"I honestly can't smell you, but if you think you're that foul, go to
it." Leo joined in her laughter.

"I'll be out in a few."

"Take your time, we've got all day." Leo returned to the newspaper
as Margaret walked toward the back of her apartment.

Approximately half an hour later, Margaret walked back into the
living room. Her wet hair was twisted into a low bun at the nape of
her neck and she was wearing khaki slacks and a ribbed seafoam green
turtleneck.

"Better?" Leo asked, watching her sit down on in a low chair, and
prop her bare feet on the matching ottoman.

"Much. Do you want more coffee or anything?" Margaret made motions
to get up.

"I'm fine, Margaret. Listen, I did some thinking while you were in
there." Leo jerked his head toward the bathroom. "If you don't want
to tell me what the doctor said before you talk to your family or to
a friend, I can accept that. I don't want you feel obligated to tell
me first."

"No, Leo, it's all right. I *want* you to be the first person I
tell. And I'm not telling you first because you're my boss. I'm
telling you first because, well, because I kept you out of the loop
last time because I didn't think you could handle it. I want you to
know that I trust you with this, that I know nothing I say to you is
going to force you to take a drink."

"That's the finest thing you've ever said to me Margaret, thank you."

"You're more than welcome." Margaret took a deep breath, letting it
out slowly. "So, I went to see Corrine yesterday morning . . ."

"Yes."

"You knew they took two lumps out of my breast." Leo nodded. "The
smaller one was a calcium deposit. The larger one had some localized
cells consistent with a metastasis from my original diagnosis."
Noting the confused look on Leo's face, Margaret rephrased the last
statement. "Some of the cells in the first or larger lump were
malignant, Leo. The lab says they are the same type of cells present
when I was first diagnosed." Leo struggled to process the
information as Margaret continued to present the facts. "According
to the lab, this is a stage one metastasis, which is fortunate. It
is localized and there is every reason to believe that the lumpectomy
removed all of the abnormal cells. Nothing else showed up in the
rest of the lump, or my mammogram. Plus, we haven't felt any other
lumps in my breast. Corrine tells me I have two options. The first,
and least invasive, is to undergo a series of radiation treatments
that would last for about 6 months. The other is to have a radical
mastectomy of my left breast done, which would offer a high level of
security that the cancer would not come back." Margaret leaned back
in her chair and looked at her boss. "Leo, say something, anything."

Leo opened and closed his mouth several times, but no words emerged.
After a couple of moments of silence he opened his mouth
again. "Somehow saying I'm sorry sounds too shallow. But I am,
Margaret, I am so damned sorry." Leo stood up and reached into his
pocket for his handkerchief, wiping away the tears that had finally
won out and overrun his eyelids.

"Oh Leo, don't cry. It's not worth crying over. Hell, even I
haven't cried yet." Margaret said, standing up and going to sit next
to him on the sofa.

"Why the hell haven't *you* cried yet?"

"Well, there was this little matter of an ultra busy day at the White
House, followed by a State Dinner. By the time I got home, I was too
exhausted to cry." Margaret put her right arm around Leo's
shoulders, attempting to provide some form of comfort.

Leo sat back on the couch and turned so he could face his
assistant. "What does the oncologist recommend?"

"Corrine says, given the fact that I was clean for almost eight
years, the fact that the malignant cells were localized and well
inside the lump, and my overall good health, the radiation treatment
should be effective. She did tell me it has worked on other women
with a diagnosis like mine. She also said it's my decision."

"Have you made a decision?"

"No, although I'm leaning toward the radiation."

"Why?"

"Because it's the lesser of two evils, and it wouldn't involve a huge
amount of recovery time. Plus, I'd still be able to work."

"Margaret, your working for me is the least of my worries. I want
you to have the medical care you need and if that means you need to
have surgery and a six-month recovery then so be it. You've probably
got a year's vacation time socked away, to say nothing of sick
leave. If you and your oncologist decide surgery is the best option,
then don't put it off because you're insanely loyal to me. Your job
will always be just that, *your* job. No one can replace you."

Hearing Leo promise her that she always had a job, no matter what,
opened the floodgates. Margaret started crying, loud sobs wracking
her body.

"Oh shit, now I've made you cry." Leo said, pulling Margaret into
his arms. Pillowing her head on his right shoulder, he ran his right
hand up and down her back. "It's okay, Margaret. It's going to be
fine, I promise. You're going to get well. You have to get well. I
need you, Margaret, you have to get well." Leo continued to talk
softly to her, unaware of what he was saying, his mind focused on the
sound of her cries, and the feeling of her tears against his neck."

Without moving her head, Margaret said, "Leo, you don't need me. A
trained ape could do my job."

"Margaret Kathleen Rigby, yes I do know your middle name, you are
clearly out of your tree if you think anyone or anything else could
take your place. It's not what you do Margaret, it's how you do it.
No one else could put up with me for as long as you have. And it's
not just that you're good at your job, it's that you've been there
for me through everything, the booze, the pills, the campaign, my
divorce, Rosslyn, the MS scandal, and what is shaping up to be the
reelection campaign from Hades. There hasn't been a single time in
the last decade that you haven't been on my side. And I know none of
that is in the job description."

"Well, Leo, somebody has to watch out for you. You're a workaholic
and a compulsive perfectionist who carries the weight of the world on
his shoulders. If I don't remind you to eat, sleep, and yes go to an
AA meeting when the need arises, you will spontaneously combust."

"So, you admit that it's not a job anybody could do?" Leo said with
a slight smile, continuing to rub her back.

"Yeah, I admit it. Happy?"

"Oh, deliriously so. Given all that, do you still want to try the
radiation?"

"I'll probably talk to Corrine again, but I think so. The
improvements they've made in cancer treatments since I was diagnosed
are remarkable. They wouldn't have offered the radiation as an
option if it had not been proven successful. Corrine knows I have no
desire to be a medical guinea pig."

"Radiation it is, then." Leo said wiping Margaret's eyes with a
corner of his handkerchief. "Do you mind if I talk to your
oncologist as well? I want to make sure I understand the treatment
and what sort of things you can and cannot do. I know you Margaret;
you're just like me. I can't allow you to sacrifice your health for
the job, understood?"

"Yes, sir." Margaret said, disentangling herself from Leo's
arms. "I'm going to get a glass of water. Would you like one?"

"Yes, please."

Margaret went into the kitchen and poured bottled water into two
small glasses. She handed one to Leo and put hers on the coffee
table.

Deciding to bite the bullet, Leo looked at his assistant. "Margaret,
do you have plans for tonight?"

"Yeah, Leo. I have a hot date with my pajamas and a Harry Potter
book. Why do you ask?"

Leo laughed, leave it to Margaret to be reading Harry Potter. "A
couple of nights ago you told me that your idea of a perfect evening
was a good band and a man who did not step all over your feet. I
thought maybe you'd let me buy you dinner and take you dancing."

"Leo, you don't need to feel sorry for me."

"I don't feel sorry for you, please believe me. I'm afraid to feel
sorry for you, you're liable to beat the snot out of me!" Margaret
laughed. "I had planned to ask you out tonight well before I turned
up on your doorstep this morning, regardless of what the outcome of
your biopsies was."

"Leo, I'm your assistant."

"Thanks for the update Margaret, I'd totally forgotten that fact."

"Is this a date?"

"Honestly? I haven't a clue. Do you want it to be."

"I don't know."

"Is it possible that we could simply go out and enjoy ourselves, no
pressure, no strings, no promises?" Leo asked, trying to make an
evening out with him sound like something less than an obligation or
a chore.

"I'd love to go out with you, Leo." Margaret looked at her watch and
stood up quickly. "Oh no."

"Something the matter?"

"My dry cleaner closes in half an hour and I need to walk over pick
up this weeks cleaning. It's just a couple of blocks away. You're
welcome to wait here."

"If you don't mind the company, I'll walk with you." Leo said,
starting to get up off the sofa. "Okay, maybe not."

"Your knees, right?" Leo nodded "Give me your hand and I'll help
you up."

"That's not necessary."

"Sure it is. I need to bank up all the favors with you I can."

"Why is that?"

"Just wait until I start treatments. I'm going to be no picnic to
deal with." Margaret said with a grimace.

"Margaret, with the two of us the debt gets paid as we go. I'm not
worried about it." Leo said allowing her to help him stand up.

Walking through the door and locking it behind her, Margaret looked
over at Leo and grinned. "Race you to the corner, old man."
Margaret took off down the stairs, leaving Leo standing on the
landing watching her go.

"Watch who you're calling old." he called after her, smiling and
walking into the sunlight.

Fin

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