ACT III
THANKSGIVING DAY
Josh and Donna pulled up to the farm just after 11 a.m., where they were promptly greeted by a black Labrador Retriever.
"Maynard!" President Bartlet whistled. "Get over here!"
"The President has a dog?" Josh asked before he stepped out of the car.
The dog ran back to his master and placed his front paws on the President's thighs. Bartlet rubbed behind his ears, then proceeded to greet Josh and Donna. "Little bit of a flight delay?"
"Hi, Mr. President." Donna hugged him. "Something about the landing gear."
He smiled. "As I recall, that happened to me a few years back."
"Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. President." Josh shook his hand, but Bartlet pulled him into a quick embrace.
"You, too, Josh. Thank you both for coming."
"Who's this?" Donna asked, petting the hyperactive dog.
"This is Maynard." He helped Josh with the two bags. "I'd gotten used to people obeying my every command, so I decided when Abbey didn't fall for that, I'd find someone who would."
Josh grinned. "What kind of name is Maynard?"
The President looked up at him. "Does the name John Maynard Keynes ring a bell, Josh?"
"The economist?"
"You have to ask?"
They began walking toward the house.
"He was one of the most influential economists of the 20th century," Donna replied.
Bartlet smiled proudly. "I've always liked you more than him."
Josh put his hand at the small of her back. "I don't think you're alone in that, Mr. President."
They stepped into the large house and placed the bags near the stairwell.
"Abbey? Our guests are here," Bartlet bellowed. He turned to them. "She better not be messing with my bird."
CUT TO:
EXT. –
"I'm stating for the record: I don't think this is a good idea." Otto folded his arms.
"You've said that at least three times. I get it." Bram made a right turn. "Believe me, he's going to eventually thank us."
"What if he doesn't?"
"He will."
"But what if he—"
"Trust me," Bram interrupted. "No one really wants to be alone on Thanksgiving Day." He parked the car under a large tree. "Go get him."
"Me?" Otto screeched.
"Fine. We'll both go."
After knocking four times, they finally heard a familiar voice.
"Who is it?"
"It's us," Bram replied, shivering in the cold. "Open up."
The door opened, and they were greeted by a seemingly disgruntled and confused man.
"What in God's name are you two doing here?"
Bram grabbed his arm. "I hate to do this, Sam, but you're coming with us."
CUT TO:
INT. SANTOS KITCHEN, HOUSTON
"We got another call." Helen sighed.
The President popped a pecan into his mouth. "Who was it this time?"
"Dottie Hill. Her sister and her five kids were stuck at the entrance to the neighborhood for nearly two hours." She wiped her brow. "Does the Secret Service have to question everyone, including children?"
He shrugged. "It's standard procedure."
"Well, we should've notified the neighbors that the President and his burly agents were coming to town." Helen tied an apron around her neck. "They all hate us now."
"Dottie's a Republican," he said, grabbing a handful of pecans. "She hated us long before today."
Helen watched her husband shove all of them into his mouth. "That's it. Take the kids outside or something. I've got baking to do."
"Pecan pie?"
"How'd you guess?"
He kissed her on the forehead, then made his way into the living room. "Who's up for some football?"
Peter jumped to his feet. "I am!"
"Bad things happen when you play football," Miranda said.
The President chuckled. "I promise not to break anyone's arm today."
"Let's go!"
CUT TO:
INT. BARTLET HOME, MANCHESTER
"You see, Josh, what you have to do is cook the stuffing before you put it in the turkey," Bartlet said as he added the andouille sausage to a pot on the stove. "That way no one gets sick."
Josh gave Donna the eye. She smiled from her place at the kitchen table with Abbey, where she'd insisted upon helping peel the potatoes.
"Am I supposed to chop this?" Josh looked at an onion on the counter.
"No, Josh, you just place the whole thing in the pot." The President rolled his eyes. "At the rate you're going, we won't eat until Sunday." He looked at Donna. "Has he ever chopped an onion?"
"I don't think so." She laughed.
"Has he ever prepared a meal from scratch?" Abbey asked.
"I'm standing right here," Josh said.
"Not that I recall," Donna replied, ignoring her boyfriend.
"We're going to make a man out of you yet, Josh." The President showed him how to properly chop the onion.
Josh smirked. "If I learn how to cook, that makes me more of a man?"
"Damn right," Abbey responded.
"Do you know what Mark Twain said of Thanksgiving Day?" Bartlet asked.
"Here we go," Josh muttered under his breath.
"I heard that."
"Mark Twain said—"
"Not this again, Jed," Abbey interrupted.
"Mark Twain said," Bartlet continued, "that Thanksgiving originated in New England two or three centuries ago when those people recognized that they really had something to be thankful for -annually, not more often. They figured if they could last a year without being exterminated by the Indians, they had something to be thankful for. So, Thanksgiving Day became a habit for the reason that in the course of time, as the years drifted on, it was perceived that the exterminating had ceased to be mutual and was all on the white man's side, consequently on the Lord's side; hence it was proper to thank the Lord for it and extend the usual annual compliments."
"You're still an oratorical snob," Abbey commented.
Donna smiled. "I think it's a nice story."
"That racial segregation and greedy white people are the basis for Thanksgiving?" Josh asked with a huff. He went back to chopping, rather massacring, the onion. With every stroke he took, the onion slipped a little more. Layers began coming off, and his cuts were so thick and imprecise that it looked like chunks rather than a finely diced onion.
"I tend to look at it in a much broader view," Bartlet said.
"Then that story was...?"
"Just for show."
"Right," Josh said. "Here are your onion...pieces."
"Good God, Josh! What happened?"
"At least he still has his fingers. You do still have all your fingers, right?" Donna grabbed his hand and examined it for any abrasions. Once she was satisfied that Josh was injury free, she kept hold of his hand and laced their fingers together.
Josh squeezed her hand and grinned.
"Ok, we're going to let this simmer." Bartlet covered the pot. "Why don't you and I take a walk?"
"Us?" Josh gulped.
"It'll be like old times." He patted the younger man on the back.
"Did we take walks in old times?"
Bartlet narrowed his eyes. "Walk with me, Joshua."
"Yes, sir." He released Donna's hand. "If we're not back in 20 minutes, rescue me."
"You're on your own, honey," Donna said.
"I'm going to remember this."
"May-nard!" The President called. The dog ran to the door. "Let's go, boy. Josh, you too!"
CUT TO:
INT. BRAM'S CAR/LOU'S TOWNHOUSE
"Where are you taking me?" Sam asked from the back seat.
"To a place where you'll forget every care in the world after your first two drinks," Bram said.
Otto turned around. "I just want you to know this was his idea."
"You're lucky I'm not firing you," Sam stated, looking at his assistant deputy. "...yet."
They pulled up to Lou's townhouse and got out of the car.
"Where are we?" Sam asked.
They walked up the sidewalk, then into the house.
"We're here!" Bram called.
"I thought you weren't coming?" Lou said, wiping her hands on a rag.
"He had a change of heart." Bram put his arm around Sam's shoulders. "Let's get you a cocktail."
"I'm still pissed at you," Sam replied.
"Lester, get this man a drink!"
The area just off the kitchen looked like a well-stocked bar. They had every kind of alcohol imaginable. Lester claimed he was the bartender, and only he could mix drinks that day.
"Something smells good," Otto commented as he walked into the kitchen.
"It's the duck," Lou said, opening the oven.
"It's really not," Lester replied, pouring a generous amount of peppermint schnapps into the cocktail shaker. "It's my butternut squash and rutabaga medley."
"You're not watching the game?" Bram turned on the television.
"We're busy cooking..."
"...and getting drunk!" Lou and Lester laughed.
Sam took the first sip of Lester's alcoholic concoction. "Wow. This is strong."
Lester leaned closer. "You're gonna need it, man."
CUT TO:
INT. SANTOS RESIDENCE
Helen had four pies still in the oven and three cooling on the table. She was busy stirring a large pot of gravy with one hand and dropping cranberries into the blender with the other. One turkey was baking in the bottom oven, and a smaller one was marinating in the refrigerator. For the first time since her husband had taken office, she wished she had the enormous cooking staff on hand.
"Mrs. Santos?" an agent called from the other end of the kitchen.
"Yes?" She yelled over the whirring of the blender.
The agent approached her with a pie in each hand. "These came for your family."
The First Lady turned off the blender. "What happened to them, Frank?"
"We had to check them for foul play," he said without expression.
She looked up at him. "So you *destroyed* the pies?"
"Sorry, ma'am. Just following standard procedure." He put the pies on the counter and left.
Santos walked in to the kitchen. "What happened in here?"
Helen glared at him. "Your goons desecrated the pies that our neighbors baked for us."
He opened the card next to the cherry one. "Good thing they did." The President smirked. "This one is from Dottie Hill."
At that point, Helen burst into a fit of laughter. "Ah, that's...that's...fitting."
He grabbed a paper towel to wipe the sweat off his forehead after playing football with the kids. "They ran me ragged."
She went back to the stove. "It's good exercise."
He stopped in the middle of the room when he realized the sheer amount of food in their kitchen. "Are you cooking for the Navy?"
She scooped the cranberry mixture into a baking dish. "I felt bad for the agents."
"The ones you just referred to as my 'goons?'"
She shrugged. "It's Thanksgiving, and they're here protecting you...us...when they should be with their own families."
"You've got a soft spot for these burly men, don't you?" He tickled her side.
She pulled away and tried hiding her smile. "It's the female agents I like, but I can't invite only them. That would be sexist."
He smiled. "So you're cooking Thanksgiving dinner for 30?"
The oven buzzer went off.
Helen returned his smile. "It appears so."
CUT TO:
INT. LOU'S TOWNHOUSE
By halftime of the Dallas/Detroit game, the gang at Lou's was nicely liquored up. Bram had taken over as bartender despite Lester's protests, but the crowd was satisfied with his mixing abilities.
"Hey, what ever happened to that hot yet suspicious woman in your office?" Lester asked.
"Sierra?"
"The hooker," Otto provided.
"She wasn't a hooker," Bram corrected. "She was dressed up for a skit."
Lester eyed Otto. "She looked like a hooker."
Otto laughed.
"She'd just come back from rehearsal for the follies," Bram explained. "She was in that skit from Chicago...what's it called?"
"Cell Block Tango," Lou provided from the kitchen.
"I'm just saying." Lester shrugged. "She looked like a hooker."
"Trust me when I say she's not." Bram got defensive. "Sierra works for Senator Pallard. She's a well-respected political operative. We've gone out a couple of times and had a really good time."
"I know that look." Otto raised his eyebrows. "You've got a thing for her. You're going to ask her out again!"
Sam entered the room. "Who's Bram asking out?"
"The hooker," Otto and Lester replied in unison.
Laughter filled the room until the familiar sound of a television newsbreak brought their attention to the screen. Bram turned up the volume.
"In continuing coverage of allegations that Congresswoman Dawes from Minnesota made sexual advances to a male intern, we bring you the latest report," the newswoman said.
The pictures on the screen were of the Congresswoman walking into a house with a band of reporters and photographers surrounding her. She held up a hand and made it inside without commenting.
"The former intern, Jared Westbrook of Mendota Heights, provided two e-mails to the press, indicating that the Congresswoman wanted to socialize in local DC bars with him after his 21st birthday," the voiceover continued. "There has been no further evidence of sexual misconduct, but stay tuned to ABC News for regular updates."
Lester shook his head. "This is pathetic."
"She can't even go to Thanksgiving dinner without being swarmed by the press," Sam commented.
When Bram turned the volume down, they heard a light knock on the door.
"You expecting anyone else?" Lester asked.
"No." Lou opened the front door. "Hey! I thought you were going home for Thanksgiving?"
"Slight change of plans."
Sam peeked around the corner. When he saw the woman standing at the door, his mouth hung open. "Ainsley."
CUT TO:
EXT. BARTLET FARM
Josh and the former President made their way past the barn and into an open pasture. Most of the trees had started losing their leaves already, but it was still beautiful.
"How are the presidential library plans coming along?" Josh asked.
"Slowly but surely. Debbie's been a big help," Bartlet replied. "I have a meeting with the president of Dartmouth next week."
"Is that your first choice?"
"It's a beautiful place." He threw a stick for Maynard. "But I'm looking at three more sites in early December."
They walked in silence for a couple of minutes each taking in the scenery.
"Any new information on Congresswoman Dawes?" Bartlet asked.
"Nothing besides the two less-than-incriminating e-mails," Josh replied.
"Yeah, I saw that on the news." Bartlet threw the stick again, which Maynard quickly fetched. "Is that all the kid's got?"
"Looks like it." Josh zipped his coat. "I just hope the House Ethics Committee doesn't have to get involved."
"This thing'll be over long before that," Bartlet commented.
"What makes you say that?"
"I went to Notre Dame with the Congresswoman's father," he said, throwing the stick again. "And I've known Marianne since she was a child. They're a good family, Josh. If she claims she's innocent, I trust that."
Josh grinned at him. "I hope you're right."
"I am," he replied with confidence.
"Don't you find it strange that the Christian Right hasn't pounced on this?" Josh shoved his hands in his pockets.
"Do I find it strange?"
"Yeah. This is the kind of thing Mary Marsh lives for—pulling out her moral compass and calling us sex-crazed Democrats."
"They probably realize there's no merit to the story."
"I don't know." Josh shook his head. "It just feels odd."
Maynard stopped directly in front of Josh and dropped the stick at his feet. Josh stared at the dog, and then at the stick.
The President smiled. "He wants you to throw it."
Josh leaned over, picked up the stick and tossed it as far as he could. He wiped the slobber on his jeans.
"You ever own a dog, Josh?"
"When I was little." He nodded. "We had this mutt. Joannie and I would throw tennis balls, trying to make the dog fetch, but he'd get the ball, then run away."
"Ah, yes." Bartlet chuckled. "Still, they're good company."
Maynard dropped the stick again. Josh threw it into the woods.
"When I'm away for the night, Maynard makes Abbey feel safe."
"Yeah?" Josh toyed with the ring he'd placed in his pocket before they left that morning.
"Dogs are good like that."
Maynard brought the stick back, but no one tossed it this time. "Take a rest, boy."
They came upon a pond where the dog took a healthy drink of water.
"So," Bartlet said. "How are things with Donna?"
Josh's head shot up. "Good. Things are good."
"Just good?" He raised his eyebrows.
Josh's dimples surfaced. "Amazing, actually."
The President tilted his head. "I've never seen you glow like this."
"I'm glowing?"
"There's no other word for it," Bartlet observed.
"I'm going to ask her to marry me," he blurted out before his brain caught up with his mouth.
"Josh!" Shock registered on the President's face. "What excellent news!"
"That's the first time I've said it out loud." He couldn't wipe the smile off his face.
"Congratulations, son." Bartlet put his hand over his heart.
"Thank you."
He shook Josh's hand and patted his back. "She's a wonderful woman."
"She is," he agreed. "Too good for me."
"I won't argue with that," Bartlet joked.
They started walking back toward the house. Josh pulled out the ring he'd been flipping over in his pocket.
"You're going to propose with your class ring?"
"It's Donna's." He laughed. "I'm carrying it with me in case I have a chance to sneak into a jewelry store."
"To get them to replace the—what is that, sapphire—with a diamond?"
"No, sir." He grinned. "I don't know her ring size."
"Ah," the President replied. "My guess is you don't know all that much about engagement rings either."
"What makes you say that?"
"Do you know what the four C's are?" Bartlet asked in that general snobby tone he liked to take when he thought he was the expert on something.
"It's not reading, writing and arithmetic?" Josh asked with a smirk.
"I'm gonna let that slide, young man." He handed the ring back to Josh. "Cut, color, clarity and carat weight."
"Right."
"Do you know what a 'D' is?"
The smirk had yet to fade. "Are we talking bra size now?"
Ignoring him, the President answered his own question. "A D is perfectly colorless. It has no flaws and is the rarest of diamonds."
"I guess I have quite a bit of research ahead of me."
"Nonsense, Josh." Bartlet patted him on the back. "I'll call my friend in Manchester tomorrow, and we'll take a drive down to his shop."
Josh raised his eyebrows. "How will you explain that to the women?"
"I'll create a diversion." They walked up the three steps to the doorway.
"This doesn't sound like a very solid plan."
The President stepped inside with a huge smile plastered to his face. "Don't worry. I'm blessed with stealth."
CUT TO:
INT. LOU'S TOWNHOUSE
"I'm sorry for showing up without calling first," Ainsley said. "But I just got off the phone with an old friend."
Lou escorted Ainsley inside. She stopped behind the sofa and looked at the men in the living room, then turned her attention to Sam. "You asked me to do some digging into who's funding Kurt Rutland's organization."
"Did you discover something?" Sam asked.
"I did."
He took a step closer. "Well?"
All eyes were on Ainsley.
"There's a reason why we haven't heard a peep out of the Christian League, condemning Congresswoman Dawes' supposed sexual misconduct," she began. "They've donated $500,000 to Rutland's American Civil Rights Initiative."
"Half a million?" Sam raised his eyebrows.
"To be fair, the Christian League donated $100,000. The rest of the money was fronted by Mary Marsh." Ainsley smiled as if she'd just solved a massive puzzle.
Sam was taken aback. "Mary Marsh?"
She nodded.
"Mary Marsh put up her own money to help fund Rutland's organization?"
"Yes."
Sam put his hands on his hips. "I'll be damned."
"Why's this a big deal?" Bram asked from his spot on the sofa.
"The financial donors of Rutland's organization wanted to remain anonymous for fear that it would expose them to charges of racism," Lou provided.
"Not to mention linking them indirectly to the Ku Klux Klan," Sam added.
"So you're saying that Mary Marsh is racist?" Bram asked.
Sam nodded. "A fact we've known for a long time, but this makes it crystal clear."
"Which brings us to a seemingly disconnected matter." Lou crossed her arms.
Ainsley turned to face her. "Congresswoman Dawes and the apparent sex scandal."
"Wait a second." Otto creased his brow. "You lost me."
Sam stood in front of the fireplace, hands on his hips. "The reason why the Christian Right, more specifically Mary Marsh, hasn't come out against the Democratic Congresswoman's alleged sexual behavior is because they don't want to be in the spotlight."
Ainsley nodded. "They knew we were on Rutland's trail, trying to hunt down his financial supporters."
"So Mary Marsh and her racist friends were content to let the thing with Congresswoman Dawes slide even though her skin was crawling at the thought of not making remarks about a Democrat accused of sexual misconduct," Lou added.
"Josh wondered why Marsh hadn't pulled out her moral compass," Lester chimed in. "Now we know."
Sam grinned. "Now we know."