No

She should have known it was an ill wind that blew no good. Really,
the sight of Bruno, whistling his way down the hall, nodding at the
assistants, should have been her first clue. She should have taken
it as one of the signs of the coming Apocalypse. Or at the very
least as a sign that the fertilizer was about to make direct impact
with the turbine.

Ducking into her office, lest he lock her in the cross hairs of his
gaze, she flipped open a thick file and began proofing a subsidy bill
her boss needed before his 2:00 p.m. meeting. Unfortunately, Bruno's
path of destruction led straight to her door.

"Gertrude, how are you?" Bruno sauntered into her office, dropping
his briefcase on the floor and leaning against her desk.

"I'm mean, evil, vile, and nasty. How are you today, Boris?"
Margaret said through clenched teeth and a forced smile.
Professional politics could be such a pain in the ass sometimes.
Especially when you were tired, cranky, and your left breast was on
fire.

"Gee, I'm sorry to hear that." Bruno replied appearing, for the
moment, to be genuinely concerned with her mood and welfare. "How
did your first week of radiation go?"

"It went." Far be it from Margaret to move beyond the asked and
answered phase of her routine pattern of dialogue with the Campaign
Director. Delivery people got more conversation and conviviality out
of Margaret than Bruno did.

Continuing to stand there, insolently leaning against her desk, Bruno
began tapping the fingers of his left hand on top of the wood
veneer. Afraid he was going to begin whistling a happy tune,
Margaret decided to speak up.

"Are you waiting to see Leo?" Margaret never looked up from the
document she was proofreading, her red ink pen making voluminous
notes in the right hand margin.

"Nope. Came to see you." The smile plastered on the campaign
director's face was more than evident in his tone of voice.

Margaret's head snapped up in near-record time. "I beg your pardon?"

"I came to talk with you. Is that so strange?" Bruno continued to
grin, moving a stack of files closer to the middle of her desk so he
could sit on the edge, his right leg dangling over the corner.

"Not only is it strange, it's quite possibly one of the signs that
I've entered the twilight zone, you're never nice to me, why start
now, this mutual disgust thing we've got going on seems to be working
just fine, and oh yeah, get your polyester-clad butt off my desk
before I call Ron Butterfield and have him remove it for you."
Margaret never paused in her work; the run-on sentence achieving it's
desired effect more for the tone of voice it was delivered in than
for the actual words themselves. Bruno quickly stood up and returned
the files to their original resting-place.

Margaret looked up from her work, leaned back in her chair and
crossed her arms over her chest, a thin smile gracing her
lips. "Thank you. Now, what can I do for you?"

"Actually it's what we can do for each other." Margaret's eyebrows
jumped toward her hairline as the campaign director
continued. "Unfortunate as it is, there's a possible long-term
benefit to your being ill."

"If you're looking for someone to go barf on the opposition, I'm not
your woman. Radiation doesn't work like that."

Bruno had the good grace to look horrified. "Oh for cryin' out loud
Millicent, nothing like that. What I mean is, your long time service
to Leo, your dedication to the White House, and your courage and
fortitude in the face of illness will be a wonderful human-interest
story. Women voters will eat it up – it's a regular Lifetime TV
moment."

"What exactly do you want from me?" Margaret's lips narrowed, she
was certain she smelled a rat.

"Nothing you're not prepared to give. All I want is permission from
CJ and Leo to use your story to add human interest to the campaign
and to show that, in the face of all sorts of adversities, the
Bartlet Administration trudges on. CJ can leak your battle with
cancer to the press and spin it in such a way that we turn the sow's
ear of your illness into a silk purse of media attention and improved
ratings. It's a win-win opportunity. Bruno leaned forward placing
both hands on the desk, his blue and cream rep tie brushing the
surface as he plastered his most winning smile on his face. "Any
questions?"

"If I agree to this, and I'm not saying I will, I don't want to talk
to the media. No interviews, no articles, no nothing. I'm just
doing my job."

"Exactly!" Bruno chimed in, snapping his fingers. "We want voters to
see you as the quintessential Bartlet supporter; so dedicated to the
cause that not even breast cancer can slow you down. I'm not asking
you to do the talk show circuit, just continue going about your daily
White House routine. If the cameras happen to catch you on campaign
trips or at media events, so much the better."

"The public wasn't exactly warm and welcoming when we trotted out the
dog and pony show about the President's Multiple Sclerosis. What
makes you think this will be any better?" Margaret began making
notes on a separate piece of paper.

"Simple, you're not the President, you're not trying to lie to
anyone, and breast cancer treatment and research is a high priority
of this Administration's health policy platform. Again, Margaret,
everyone with a pulse is going to admire the hell out of you for
continuing to serve, and applaud this Administration for supporting
you as you go through treatment."

Margaret ruminated on everything Bruno was saying. It made sense, in
a slightly skewed, Dickensian sort of way. She was, first and
foremost, loyal to Leo and the office of the Chief of Staff. Her
second priority was the office next door and the man who occupied
it. If going public with her story would help buy the female vote,
especially in the rural South, she was happy to do her part.

Nodding her head, Margaret capped the black rolling ball pen she had
been making notes with and dropped it in her middle desk drawer.
Pushing the drawer to with the heel of her right hand, Margaret
placed both elbows on her desk and dropped her chin into her cupped
palms. "Here's the deal, Mr. Gianelli. First you have to clear it
with CJ, get her full and complete buy-in. Then, you have to pitch
it to Leo. More than that you have to sell him on it and convince
him to sell it to the President. Any kinks, any glitches anywhere
along the way and all bets are off. I'll be a willing participant,
but only if there is unequivocal support from the office of the Press
Secretary on up. No sly tricks, no obfuscating your real plans, no
clever last minute drop-ins, and no end runs. One deviation from the
outline you've given me and the remainder of this campaign will
strongly resemble one long, uncut, Fractured Fairy Tale. Capice?

"Got it." Bruno said, standing up and lifting his black leather
briefcase in one fluid motion. Placing the strap over his right
shoulder he gave Margaret a mock salute, "I'm going to woo CJ to our
cause," he said, stepping over the threshold and into the
hallway. "I'll be back soon."

"Yeah, I'll hold my breath waiting for the pleasure of your company
again." Margaret muttered sarcastically, turning toward her computer
and maneuvering the mouse to open the Word document she'd started on
that morning.



Two Hours Later – Margaret's Office

Margaret had managed to make up for the time she'd lost listening to
Bruno's latest piece campaign strategy, and had completed all the
correspondence Leo left in her in-box. She was in the middle of the
budget projections when Leo entered her office from the hall. "How
were your meetings on the Hill?" she inquired, standing up and
handing him a small sheaf of phone messages.

"Well, nobody died or was otherwise critically injured, so I'd call
it a rousing success." Leo cracked, giving his assistant the once
over. Trying not to go into what she termed "mother hen overdrive"
Leo opened the door to his office and walked toward his
desk. "Please tell me you've eaten at least one meal while I was
gone."

"I did, Donna and Carol came down, tied me to my desk and force-fed
me a banana and some yogurt." At the aggrieved look her boss was
giving her, Margaret shook her head and smiled. "Not to worry Leo, I
ate, and will do so again in about an hour."

"Thank you. Is there any fresh coffee in the kitchen?"

"Probably, I'll go get you a cup." Margaret rescued Leo's coffee mug
from its precarious position on the left outer corner of his desk.
Exiting the office via main entrance, she left the heavy oak door
open and turned toward the kitchen. Looking up, she saw CJ and Bruno
coming down the hall at near record pace. They were still too far
away to make out the conversation, but from the sight of the Press
Secretary wagging her finger in Bruno's face and the bemused
expression the Campaign Director wore, Margaret surmised that a fly
had just gotten firmly lodged in the ointment of Bruno's grand scheme.

After filling Leo's mug and starting another pot of decaf, Margaret
walked back toward the office, stopping as she heard raised voices
coming from behind the now partially closed door. Raising her right
fist, she knocked three times in rapid succession. The bickering
ceased as Leo called out. "It's open."

"Your coffee, Leo." Margaret said, crossing the room without looking
directly at the other occupants, although her peripheral vision
registered CJ in one of the visitor's chairs and Bruno in his
favorite position, rear-end against the desk. Setting the mug square
on her boss' blotter, Margaret turned and began walking toward her
office.

"Not so fast, Margaret." Leo said, the no-nonsense tone he
frequently employed with Josh causing her to freeze in her
tracks. "Why don't you stay and join our little discussion? Bruno
here promises us that you're already on board with some half-baked
scheme about using you as a publicity and ratings booster?"

Nearly eleven years working for Leo had fine-tuned Margaret's
emotional barometer. She could feel the onslaught of her boss' wrath
like a fast moving storm front. Wanting to diffuse the possible
damage, Margaret moved back into the center of the room and sat down
in the visitor's chair next to CJ. Leaning toward her Leo she nodded
her head. "It's really not a bad idea Leo. If a clever spin of my
illness and treatment will help more women identify with this
Administration and hopefully vote for the President, so much the
better. And if, as Bruno has so succinctly pointed out, we have to
go at it via a sugary, sympathy-laden, made for afternoon television
moment, then so be it. As long as I don't have to address the media,
it's fine by me." Margaret looked over at CJ who nodded in
understanding.

"That's about the most foolish thing I've heard in my life and I've
been around the block more times than the rest of you have even
contemplated!" Leo said, his voice rising to window rattling
volume. "The White House does not comment on the personal lives of
staff. Period, end of sentence, no story! I will not allow anyone
who works in this House, least of all you, to become the poster child
for the sympathy vote. We're better than that. We can win on our
merits and our platform. And if we don't, then it's been one hell of
a ride. Democracy is about the public's right to choose the best
candidate, not our right to hoodwink them into feeling sorry for
us." Turning toward Bruno he continued, "Have you lost what little
common sense and decency I used to think you had?"

Ever the pragmatist, CJ butted in, "Leo I know it looks bad, and I'll
admit, it's not my favorite way to do business. Think of it as a
strong human-interest story and testimony to the pride and conviction
our staffers serve with. We serve at the pleasure of the President,
because we believe him to be the best person for the job, and not
even a health issue is going to slow us down."

Margaret joined the chorus, hoping to sway Leo with a strong front of
possible campaign gains bolstered by unfiltered enthusiasm. "Leo,
this isn't dirty pool, it's the way the media works. They want human
interest, they want the underdog, and the happy ending. We had all
of that going for us the first time around because the President was
a relative unknown who came out of the ether into the highest office
in the land. This time, we need to manufacture that interest and I
will gladly fall on the sword of my privacy if it gets us positive
media attention and votes in November."

Leo said nothing, turning away from his colleagues to stare at the
smooth expanse of lawn and scattered trees outside his window.
Breathing deeply, he attempted to frame his answer in the best
possible light. It was however, useless. Leo McGarry was pissed and
when he was pissed, tact flew out the window.

Spinning around he slammed the file folder that was rolled into a
tube in this right hand onto the desk. "No, no, no, no, NO!" he
thundered, his voice causing CJ and Margaret to cringe
involuntarily. Even Bruno was affected, moving away from the desk
and standing behind Margaret's chair. "I will not allow it. It's
cheap, it's ludicrous, and it makes a mockery of the democratic
process. To say nothing of the manner in which it degrades
Margaret. Absolutely not! NO!" Leo dropped into his chair and
stared into space. "Now get out of my office."

Bruno wasted no time vacating the premises, as Margaret scurried back
into her office through the connecting doorway. Only the Press
Secretary remained, relatively unfazed by the Chief of Staff's
outburst.

"Thought I told you to get out." Leo said softly, eyeing CJ as she
leaned against the doorway.

"I'm going, I'm going," she replied, placing her right hand on the
highly polished brass doorknob. "A little friendly advice?"

"Yeah?"

"One of these days she's going to see through that crabby old man
front and discover the truth. If I were you, I'd tell her before
that happens."

"I am not even going to pretend to know what the *hell* you're
talking about." Leo groused, diving into a stack of reports.

"Have it your way." CJ said as she took one step into the hall.
Popping her head around the doorway she softly said. "Have it your
way Prince Charming."

-Fin

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