Category: L/M
Rating: P/G for language
Disclaimer: The West Wing and its characters are property of Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, Warner Brothers Television, and NBC. No infringement is intended on the author’s part.
Spoilers: Through Season 3
Archive: At my site, which is part of Jeanine's universe:
http://helsinkibaby.topcities.com/Jenni/leomargaret.htm
Feedback: Puts a smile on my face and a song in my heart.
Summary: "Genius has many qualities and arrives in many forms."
A/N: This is a sequel to Artistic License. I left myself an opening there, which I wasn’t sure I’d take. But then Flip reneged on her promise not to pester me for more fic. What can I say – she knows exactly how to guilt me into writing more! This is unbeta’d; all errors are my responsibility. Thanks to Flip and the Crew – foreign beer for everyone!
Halfway through Vermont, in the back of another SUV, on another two-lane highway, it hit her. "I am *such* a cultural imbecile," she moaned, slapping her right thigh with a stack of files.
"Margaret?" Donna queried, shifting closer to her on the seat they shared, "What are you fussing about?"
"Last night."
"What about last night?"
"When I was in Leo’s room."
"Yeeeeesssssss?" Donna drew the word out, putting a great deal more inflection into the single syllable than the situation warranted.
"Oh give it up Donna, nothing like that happened!" Margaret said, elbowing her friend.
"I didn’t say that it did," Donna replied, batting her eyelashes.
"Very funny. Last night we got into a discussion about art and I made the cultural gaffe of insinuating that Rembrandt painted the Mona Lisa when everyone knows that da Vinci was the artist."
"Innocent mistake," Donna said, turning her attention back to the briefing book on her lap.
"Yeah, he probably didn’t hear me," Margaret answered, hoping that her boss’s attention had been focused on something else as she was exiting his hotel room.
Three days later, the campaign swing through the Northeast was a recent and not wholly unpleasant memory. They were back in the West Wing, playing catch-up with all they had missed. It was Saturday, another workday for the Senior Staff and their assistants.
Margaret stood at the photocopier attempting to make sense of the travel reimbursement forms, campaign stop notes, and legislative revisions Leo had stuffed into his briefcase in no particular order. As a rule, the Chief of Staff was organized and kept documents in their respective folders. All bets were off during campaign season, however. "How someone that anal can be such a slob once every four years is beyond me," she muttered.
The wealth of documentation was more than Margaret could juggle. It started with a single sheet of paper and quickly became an avalanche of forms in triplicate, schedules, and pending legislation, rapidly littering the floor around her penny loafers in a two inch accumulation of white, blue, pink, and yellow.. "Damn, damn, damn!" Margaret swore, dropping to her knees and beginning to sift through the paperwork, sorting it into manageable stacks. "Damn da Vinci anyhow," the tall red head continued to complain as she leaned forward to gather those papers that had fallen farthest.
A pair of black wingtips impeded her progress. Margaret looked up to find the Communications Director staring down at her, a rare grin showing at the corners of his mouth. "Don’t ask," she warned.
"What did da Vinci ever do to you?"
"I thought I told you *not* to ask."
"I seldom do what people ask of me. So, are you going to tell me what your issue with da Vinci is?" Toby asked, squatting down beside her and helping to pick up the mess.
"Not worth going into."
"Do you not appreciate the man’s work?"
"I appreciate his art *and* his inventions, Toby,"
"Then what’s the problem?"
"Drop it, please?" Margaret asked; shooting her colleague a look that said the subject was closed.
Between the two of them they retrieved the last of the documents. The pair stood up and placed their stacks on the lid of the photocopier.
"Personally, I prefer the works of Titian," Toby announced as Margaret began collating the travel forms.
"Titian, the artist with a thing for red heads," Margaret recalled.
Looking at Margaret, Toby winked. "Oh, yeah," he said, walking toward his office.
Saturday evening found Margaret at her desk, finalizing the reimbursement forms. The sound of Leo’s office door slamming caused her to jump slightly. More than a decade of working with the Chief of Staff had made his preferences and habits second nature to her. Margaret left her desk and walked across the hall, grabbing the coffeepot from it’s resting place on the warmer. Returning to her office, she placed the file of requisitions in the crook of her right arm and tapped on the connecting door with her left hand.
"Yeah," Leo called.
Margaret turned the knob and walked into his office. Placing the folder on his blotter, she lifted a thick white porcelain mug from the desktop. Peering into the cup, she cringed at its contents. "I’ll be back as soon as I wash up your coffee mug, which has obviously been moonlighting as a petri dish."
"Fine." Leo never looked up as he continued to plow through the stack of phone messages she’d left next to his phone.
"All of the reimbursement forms are in that folder. Sign next to the X," Margaret said, exiting the office.
Upon her return, Leo was fully engrossed in checking his email. "Did you sign those?" Margaret asked, placing the newly clean mug full of steaming coffee on his desk. "Of course not," Margaret said, opening the file and riffling through the stack.
"Huh?" Leo turned from the computer.
"The reimbursement slips, I asked you to sign them before I left to . . . oh never mind."
"I didn’t hear you," Leo answered, favoring her with a guilty grin.
"No matter." Margaret walked behind the desk and flipped the folder open again, indicating each line that required his signature.
The process was completed in a matter of moments; she closed the folder and carried toward the door. "Anything else?"
"We need to go through the latest draft of the Medicare bill."
"Let me get my copy," Margaret replied, exiting the office. She returned seconds later carrying a thick binder and her own cup of coffee.
An hour and a half later, Leo yawned, causing Margaret to look up from her place on the opposite side of the conference table. "You want to pick this up tomorrow?"
"The President is going to want to go over this first thing after he gets back from Mass," Leo answered, removing his glasses and polishing the lenses on the tail end of his necktie. "Another hour or so and we should be done."
"Section ten, prescription reimbursements under Medicare Part B," Margaret read, as Leo began scanning the pages.
Shortly before ten, both Leo and Margaret closed the book, literally, on their review process. Pushing her chair away from the table, Margaret leaned back and looked at her boss. "Done before midnight. That must be some sort of record."
Boss and assistant sat silently for a few moments, enjoying the rare peace of the West Wing at the end of the day.
"Da Vinci, not Rembrandt." Leo said, apropos of nothing.
Margaret leaned forward and propped her elbows on the conference table. "And I was so hoping you hadn’t heard that."
"I did."
"I noticed." Margaret looked to her left, watching Leo loosen his tie. "I did pay attention during Art History class. I know the difference between the two."
"What do you know about the Mona Lisa?"
"Again with the Mona Lisa?"
"Humor me," Leo replied settling back in his chair.
"The Mona Lisa, painted by Leonardo da Vinci, completed in 1505, oil paint on wood, currently hanging in the Louvre." Margaret ticked each detail off on the fingers of her right hand as she recited them.
"Art historians contend that it took da Vinci three years to finish the painting," Leo said. "When you consider that work together with his rendition of the Last Supper, there’s no question the man was an artistic genius."
"Genius has many qualities and arrives in many forms. Artists, sports stars, actors, and even military heroes are usually hailed as geniuses and while I don’t doubt they may possess some of those qualities, I think true genius is greater than the sum of one’s accomplishments." Margaret flushed; she wasn’t used to holding forth on her opinions like this, especially not with Leo.
Her comments piqued Leo’s curiosity. "What’s your definition of genius?"
Margaret turned her head, looking out the window at the light of a full moon playing across the lawn. "To me, genius is not based on great deeds. True genius is an intangible; it’s the way a person sees the world and seeks to improve upon what he or she sees. A genius has passion, vision, and drive to achieve what others see as impossible. I don’t dispute that da Vinci was a genius. His ideas about flight alone place him in that category. His talent as a painter only cements him there, in my estimation." Margaret stood up and gathered her paperwork.
"The Mona Lisa was the one painting da Vinci was unable to part with. It was found among his possessions after his death."
"I never knew that," Margaret responded "Can’t say that I blame him. If I’d spent three years with a painting, I’m not sure I’d be able to sell it."
"Maybe he couldn’t let go of it because he really loved that painting, or maybe it was his love for the subject." Leo stood up and leaned against the conference table, never taking his eyes off Margaret.
For her part, Margaret placed her binder back on the conference table and sat on the edge of her chair. "I’m sure she was, for her time, considered a great beauty."
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Margaret."
"So is genius, Leo."
Fin
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