Back when I was young, couldn't wait to grow up.
Get away and get out on my own.
And looking back now, ain't it funny how
I've been trying to get back home
When my low self esteem needs a man loving me,
and I find me a perfect catch.
Then I see my friends having wild weekends
and I don't want to be quite so attached.
Just as soon as I get what I want I get unsatisfied.
Good is good, but could be better.
Margaret leaned heavily against the doorframe as she yawned and made
the fourth attempt at getting the small bronze key into the front
door of her apartment. "Damn you, Leo McGarry, I'm too old for
this." Margaret muttered, not for the first time since leaving the
White House some 20 minutes ago. It had been another long Friday
night, at the end of a long week, with Israel and Palestine at one
another's throats, this outburst triggered by the deaths of several
children when a suicide bomber blew up a daycare center just before
the end of the workday.
Finally gaining entry to her home, Margaret dropped her briefcase and
purse by the umbrella stand and shut the door by leaning against it;
allowing tears of exhaustion and sorrow to seep from the corners of
her eyes. She couldn't, wouldn't show emotion during "normal"
working hours; but if she wanted to grieve for the loss of innocent
lives on her own time, well that was her prerogative.
Still sniffling, Margaret walked to the back of the apartment,
stripping off the suit that felt like a second skin after 23 hours on
her body. Grabbing a pair of clean pajamas, she went into the
bathroom and turned the tub taps on, filling the small room with
steam.
Standing in the shower, allowing the hot water to restore her tired
body and frazzled nerves, the tall red head considered her life so
far. She'd always been one of those children who took little joy in
being young. Maybe having an older brother played a role in that.
As a girl, Margaret always wanted to be older, as if age alone would
endow her with the right to be a contemporary of Phil and his
friends. Margaret smiled thinking of how indulgent they all were of
the carrot-topped pipsqueak who tagged along and asked innumerable
questions; a pattern that continued into her adolescent years when
her brother brought friends home from college. Heck, she had
probably been the only 14-year-old in the neighborhood who knew how
to change the oil in a 1970 Impala.
Shower finished, she toweled herself off, wrapping her hair in
another towel and slipping into a long white terrycloth robe. She
stood in front of the vanity, wielding a pair of tweezers like Emeril
wields a spatula, tweezing her eyebrows at a furious pace.
Continuing the mental review of her life, Margaret thought about how
excited she'd been to leave home for college. The acceptance letter
from George Washington University had been her ticket to adulthood.
Margaret had blossomed in college and excelled in her studies.
Staying on and getting a Master's was an easy decision; there wasn't
much one could do with a bachelor's degree in Political Science and
Margaret had no desire to attend law school.
Finished with her beauty routine, Margaret walked back toward the
front of the apartment, and realized that graduate school was a
distant though fond memory, especially when viewed through the lens
of the last eleven years; the amount of time she'd been working for
Leo McGarry. She'd started working for him fresh out of grad school,
in an effort to meet expenses and start paying off student loans.
What was supposed to be the first rung on her civil service career
had become an apparent lifetime assignment. She was efficient,
dedicated, and loyal; insanely so by her own reckoning.
`And look how far all that dedication and devotion has gotten me.'
Margaret thought, filling a tumbler with water and swallowing a
handful of vitamins. `I'm pushing 40, still single with no
prospects, and no job security beyond November.' Placing the glass
in the sink, she winced as her cell phone began to ring. Running
across the room, she pulled the offending instrument from her purse
and hit the "talk" button with her right index finger. "Margaret
Rigby" she replied, fighting a losing battle to keep the irritation
from her voice.
Donna Moss, already snug in her bed, smiled at the sound of her
friend's exhausted and slightly cranky voice. "Who spit in your
Cheerios?"
"Sorry, Donna. I was afraid you were Leo with another crisis.
What's up?"
"CJ just called. We're still on for tonight, but at 7:00 instead of
5:00 as originally planned."
Margaret stifled a yawn and nodded as though Donna could see
her. "Thanks, I almost forgot about dinner."
"How could you forget about the annual meeting of the Sisterhood?"
Donna asked with a giggle. "See you there."
"Sweet dreams Donna." Margaret ended the call and carried the cell
phone and her beeper back to the bedroom, placing them on the bedside
table as she set the alarm clock for mid afternoon and settled down
for some much needed rest.
Well the straight haired girls, they all want curls.
And the brunettes want to be blonde.
It's your typical thing, you've got yin, you want yang.
It just goes on and on.
They say, hey it's only human to never be satisfied.
Well I guess that I'm as human as the next one.
Oh I keep looking; I keep looking for,
I keep looking for something more.
I always wonder what's on the other side
of the number two door.
I keep looking, looking for something more.
By 6:00, Margaret had slept for seven hours, gone for a walk that
included a stop at the neighborhood farmer's market, and made a large
pasta salad for the dinner party. Every year when the weather turned
warm, CJ invited the women of the West Wing to her home for dinner;
an event that early on became known as the "annual meeting of the
Sisterhood." Despite the fact that these women practically lived
together year round, opportunities to socialize were slim to
nonexistent and they all cherished this one Saturday evening, keeping
their calendars clear.
Fresh from another shower, Margaret stood in front of her closet,
trying to decide what to wear. Her wardrobe was filled with dark,
serviceable business suits and a minimal amount of casual clothing.
Margaret couldn't remember the last time she wore a pair of jeans.
She was also unable to recall the last time she had a date, much less
a second date. And as for getting kissed goodnight, forget it.
Rummaging through her closet, Margaret pulled out an outfit she'd
purchased last fall. It had been an end of season clearance item,
and she remembered thinking it would be ideal for just this
occasion. Margaret slipped the cobalt blue silk blend T-shirt over
her head and settled the long batik print wrap skirt in shades of
cobalt, yellow, and white around her waist and tying it at her left
side. A pair of beaded sandals finished her outfit. Going into the
bathroom, she pulled her hair into a twist and sprayed a light
perfume on her pulse points. Gathering the salad and her purse,
Margaret let herself out of the apartment and headed for her car.
A short time later, she was pulling up to CJ's townhouse, sliding her
car into a spot at the curb, just behind Ginger's Subaru wagon.
Stepping out of her car, she smiled and waved at Carol and Bonnie who
had pulled up behind her.
"Anyone else as exhausted as I am?" Bonnie asked, helping Carol left
a large cooler from the trunk of her silver sedan.
"Didn't you read that sleep deprivation clause in your contract?"
Margaret cracked, nudging the younger woman lightly with her right
shoulder.
"Damn, must've missed that one." Bonnie laughed and started up the
brick path to CJ's front door.
An hour later, everyone had arrived and the annual meeting of the
Sisterhood was deemed "in session". Eight women moved between the
house and the back deck, carrying bowls and platters of food,
pitchers of iced tea, and all the accoutrements of an outdoor party.
Placing her index fingers in her mouth, CJ let out a high pitched
whistle that had the intended effect as everyone stopped in their
tracks and turned toward the sound.
"You have no idea *how* many times I'd like to do that in the Press
Room." CJ announced to the laughter of her guests. "I'd like to
thank all of you for coming over this evening, I know the temptation
to stay home and sleep must have been strong." CJ rolled her
eyes. "We don't get the opportunity to spend time together like this
very often so let's make the most of it. I'd also like to welcome
Nancy McNally to the party for the first time." Everyone in the room
clapped and whistled as Nancy smiled and nodded. "Finally, since I'm
the one in charge of providing the booze, and since we're all running
on fumes right now, I am limiting our alcohol intake to one glass of
champagne each." The assembled company murmured their assent. "That
being said, let's eat!" CJ cried as the women walked toward the deck.
By nine o'clock, the Sisterhood had made a substantial dent in the
food and beverages. Trays of cookies and miniature cheesecakes were
passed around as the women relaxed in the May twilight. Ainsley
looked around the deck at her colleagues and smiled, "I don't think
I've ever known you all to be this relaxed."
"That's because we're half asleep." Ginger shot back, her head
resting in her cupped hands.
"Seriously, last year our time together was tainted by Mrs.
Landingham's death and the President's health. We were wound so
tight its a wonder CJ's house didn't spontaneously combust." Carol
said, reaching for the iced tea pitcher. Everyone grew silent as
they thought about the events of the preceding twelve months.
"Need I remind you, this is a party?" CJ called in an effort to
lighten the mood. "Let's talk about something else. Since none of
us have anything resembling a social life, lets talk about those
nonexistent men in our lives. Ginger, you start off and give us one
characteristic of your ideal man."
"He can give a mean back rub. How about you Bonnie?"
"My ideal man knows how to cook dinner, and I'm not talking about a
peanut butter and jelly sandwich!" Bonnie snickered and tapped
Ainsley on the arm.
Ainsley thought for a moment. "My ideal man is not threatened by my
career."
"Amen to that." Ginger called out.
Carol was next. "In my perfect world, my ideal man is soft spoken."
"Why is that?" Ainsley asked.
"Because I have to listen to reporters shout all day long. The last
thing I want at home is raised voices." Carol replied.
Nancy McNally looked around the group. "Me next? Okay, my ideal man
accepts the fact that the nature of my job prevents me from talking
about it most of the time, and he accepts that without trying to pump
me for state secrets."
Margaret glanced at the National Security Advisor and nodded, "My
ideal man will bring me coffee." Several giggles erupted from around
the tables. "You laugh." Margaret said with a rueful grin. "Do you
have any idea how sick and tired I am of running between my office
and the coffee pot? I swear the first sentence Leo McGarry uttered
as a child was, `Coffee Margaret!' and that at the top of his lungs."
"You need to be like me and refuse to bring him coffee." Donna said.
"Margaret's been fetching Leo's coffee for eons, I don't think that's
a habit she's going to be able to break him of." Ginger said. "What
about you CJ, what's your ideal man like?"
"The ideal man loves me, in spite of it all." CJ answered with a
smile.
Darkness settled over the city and the light from several candles
flickered across the faces of the Sisterhood as they continued
talking, discussing the events of the last year and the election
campaign ahead. The conversation centered on the fact that, much as
each of them loved their jobs and wouldn't trade them for love or
money, they still felt as though they were missing out on something
that they were unable to identify.
Suddenly, the conversation was broken by Nancy McNally's voice rising
above the others. "Oh hell, my cell phone's going off!" Everyone
stopped talking as Nancy stood up, pulled her phone from her pocket,
and walked back into the house.
Seconds later, Margaret's phone, which was clipped to her waist,
began to ring. "This can't be good." Margaret said, walking toward
the stairs that lead to the small garden. "Margaret Rigby."
"Margaret, it's Charlie. There's been another suicide bombing in
Israel with unconfirmed American casualties. Leo asked me to call
you in."
"Oh no." Margaret gasped, walking back toward her friends and
noticing that both CJ and Donna were talking on their phones. "Looks
like we're all getting called in."
"Yeah, sorry to bust up the Sisterhood thing."
"I know you are Charlie. Tell Leo I'm on my way." Margaret shut her
phone and looked at CJ as Nancy exited the house, a look of dread on
her normally composed face.
"This party's over ladies." Nancy said. "I just talked to Admiral
Fitzwallace, there's been another suicide bombing in Israel and they
think some of our civilians are among the dead. Looks like we're all
going to work."
"I just talked to Josh." Donna said. "Everyone's being called in.
Let's get this mess cleaned up."
"Just put stuff on the counters and in the fridge." CJ said. "I'll
deal with it whenever I get home again."
The women moved quickly and cleaned up the detritus of their meal.
Working together they restored CJ's kitchen to some semblance of
order and left en masse for the White House, their vehicles forming a
chain of headlights through Georgetown.
Margaret parked her car and walked quickly toward the staff entrance
to the White House. Swiping her ID badge through the reader, she
crossed the lobby and ducked into the reception area for the Oval
Office.
"Good evening Charlie, have you even been home yet?"
"Hi Margaret. Yes I went home this morning and got some sleep. Not
that it will matter much in a few hours. The President and Leo are
in the Sit Room."
"Thanks, I'm going to my desk. Call me when you know anything."
"Will do." Charlie sat back down at his desk as Margaret made the
short walk to her office. She turned on her computer while scanning
the sheet of yellow legal paper covered with notes from Leo.
Grabbing a red ink pen, Margaret placed numbers next to each item,
ranking them in order of importance. Picking up the phone, she
started with a phone call to the Israeli embassy, ensuring that their
head legal counsel was on his way to the White House. Then she
called Carol to tell her that Leo wanted CJ to brief 30 minutes after
he and the President were finished in the Situation Room.
The clocked passed midnight and Saturday became Sunday as the staff
of the West Wing continued to manage and spin the latest foreign
crisis. The Joint Chiefs and the NSC set up camp in the Sit Room,
the Oval Office and all points in between. Reports, faxes, and
emails were circulated through the Wing like hot tips on Derby Day in
Kentucky. The assistants kept the phone lines lit and the printers
working overtime, controlling the flow of information from their
bosses to the press and the public.
Throughout the night, Margaret moved between her office, Charlie's
office, and the Bullpens. Margaret also kept a running circuit of
paperwork and correspondence flowing between her desk and Leo's in
and out boxes. She only saw Leo once during the intervening hours,
when he exited his office to thrust a four-inch thick sheaf of papers
into her hands, with the muttered request to, "Handle these."
Six a.m. arrived and with it, the last press briefing. Margaret sat
on the edge of her desk, watching as CJ called a full lid. Sighing
deeply, Margaret grabbed the remote and turned the small television
off and stood up, stretching to work the kinks out of her back.
Moving to the window on the far wall, she raised the blinds to gaze
upon the first rays of sunlight spreading across the city. The mind-
numbing combination of sleep deprivation and the adrenaline rush of
the past few hours collided in her body and she felt her energy
reserves bottom out. Margaret leaned forward slightly, placing her
hands against the wide windowsill.
She had no idea how long she'd been like that when she heard someone
walk into her office. Margaret continued to stand at the window,
hoping whoever it was would deposit whatever work needed to be done
on her desk and leave as quickly as they had arrived. She was in no
mood for banter or rehashing the tragic events of the night just
passed.
However, the person who had entered the office wasn't leaving. Then
again, they weren't pestering her, so she continued her vigil, hoping
they would get the hint. Moments later, the other person softly
cleared their throat and Margaret knew her moment's peace and quiet
were over. Standing tall, she schooled her features in something
resembling professional demeanor and turned around. "What can I do
for you Leo?"
"Coffee, Margaret." Leo said, extending one of the two steaming mugs
he held in her direction.
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