Her hand moved slowly over his back as she said, "So I guess that threesome with Sam is out, huh?" She tried wiggling her eyebrows suggestively; but judging from Josh's laughter, she wasn't quite pulling it off.
 
"I'm trying to be serious here," he protested. "I swear to you that I will roll over in my grave if you start dating after I—"

She covered his mouth with her hand. "Don't say it. Don't you *ever* dare say it."

Josh moved her hand away from his mouth and laced his fingers through hers. "My point is that I don't understand how Mom could—"

"She's not replacing him, Josh. She made that clear." She looked at their intertwined hands. "This connection between us...this will last even if one of us—"

"Don't you say it either."

She smiled. "Coward," she said affectionately. "And my point stands. Your father would want her to find happiness again. And he'd want you to be a good son and be supportive."

"Can I at least have the guy vetted?"

She turned the light off again. "Not until tomorrow morning."

CUT TO:
INT. WHITE HOUSE MESS
FRIDAY

He was trying to choose between the roast beef and the BLT when Sam heard someone calling his name. He opted for the roast beef and turned around to see Bram and Otto seated at a nearby table, motioning for him to join them.

"Explain the facts of life to young Otto here," Bram said as Sam took a seat.

"Excuse me?"

Bram leaned forward and addressed Sam in a mock whisper. "Young Andy Hardy here thinks it's impossible for a happily married man to stray."

Otto shook his head. "That is not what I said. My point was that President and Mrs. Santos aren't an
average political couple. It's not like they're just together to further their careers. I do not believe he would cheat on her. Back me up on this, Sam."

Before Sam could answer, Bram jumped in. "Of course he would. And stop looking at me like I shot your puppy, Otto; it happens. Matt Santos has power; he has good looks. Trust me; there are plenty of women who find that combination irresistible."

Sam glared at Bram. "That's enough," he said. "I don't want to hear anymore of this. We're trying to contain this story. How are we supposed to do that if our own people are speculating about whether or not it's true?"

Both Bram and Otto looked contrite. Bram, especially, avoided making eye contact with Sam. "Sorry," he murmured.

"You should be. This is the kind of story that follows a person around for the rest of his life." His voice became louder and his gestures more animated as Sam worked himself into a state of righteous indignation. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ainsley watching him intently two tables away. "Working for the President means you have to be able to defend him against any kind of attack. And if the staff starts making jokes privately, it's hard to maintain your credibility when you have to defend him publicly. You have a huge opportunity here. You can serve our country, but you have to be loyal to your President."

He felt someone tap him on the shoulder. Turning around, he saw Ainsley giving him a concerned look. "Sam," she said softly, "come with me."

He let Ainsley lead him back to the office. As she took a soda out of her mini-fridge and handed it to
him, Sam let out a sigh.

"I overreacted back there, didn't I?" he asked.

"Maybe a little," Ainsley said. "I understand, I even applaud, your loyalty. But you're taking this too personally."

He shrugged and took a seat on the couch. "It's hard not to," he admitted. "I mean, okay, you know what happened when I ran for Congress?"

"You lost. You lost because it was Orange County," Ainsley said as she sat down beside him.

"Maybe. But once I started polling in double digits, all the press wanted to talk about was that I slept
with a call girl. It certainly didn't help my campaign." He kept his eyes focused on the Coke can he was holding. "When I met Lauren, it was a challenge to win her over. Cause, see, she knew who I was and she'd heard the spin the press put on the thing with Laurie, so she figured I was just some slimeball who had to pay women to sleep with him. I spent weeks convincing her I wasn't the guy the
stories made me out to be. I guess that's when I realized that this story is going to follow me around
no matter what else I do."

Ainsley put an arm around his shoulder. "People have lived down much worse, Sam," she assured him.

"Maybe."

"So this thing with President Santos is hitting close to home?"

"I just don't like seeing someone falsely accused," he answered. "Especially someone trying to do good." He leaned back against the sofa and closed his eyes. "Why do people believe this stuff?"

"Because it's plausible," Ainsley said. "Did you know that some surveys have found that almost 50 percent of workers claim to have had some sort of office romance? And there are other studies that report increasing numbers of people who say they'd rather be at work than at home. They claim to have less stress at work."

Sam opened his eyes and smiled at her. "They've obviously never worked in the White House."

Ainsley walked back to the mini-fridge and took out two chocolate bars. She tossed one to Sam and began to peel back the wrapper on the one she'd kept for herself. "You spend that kind of time with someone, working toward a common goal, it is inevitable that sparks will occasionally fly. Sexual tension develops. Sometimes it leads to something serious. I mean, look at Josh and Donna. They are the classic example."

"They're the classic example of two people who didn't act on what they felt *because* they were working together. There's something to be said for self-restraint."

"Well, yes, but my point still stands. It's an emotional situation. Many people extrapolate from their own experiences and assume that an affair could have happened between the President and Ms. Morales." She paused and looked away from Sam. "I will admit that my own first thought was that the allegations could possibly be true. Because I too have had romantic feelings for a co-worker. But then I realized that those feelings, really, were more in the line of a harmless flirtation—one on which neither I nor the other party ever acted."

"What? You had a crush on some guy at that Republican think tank you worked at?"

When Ainsley looked back at him, she was smiling as though she found something particularly amusing. "Actually, Sam," she said, "I was referring to you."

"Me?" he asked. The attraction he'd felt toward Ainsley was something neither of them had acknowledged openly. He was surprised that Ainsley could refer to it so matter-of-factly.

"Not, mind you, that I ever expected anything of a sexual, or even a romantic, nature to develop between us," Ainsley continued. "But I always thought there was a definite attraction there. On both our parts. Was I mistaken?"

"No," Sam replied. He noticed that he was having trouble making eye contact with Ainsley. "No, ofcourse not. I've always...I mean there were moments when..." He stood up, because increasing the physical distance between himself and Ainsley seemed like a good idea. "You're a good friend," he continued, "and I wouldn't want to jeopardize that. Because, you know, that can happen with the whole office-romance thing. And that would be terrible—losing the friendship, I mean, not the office romance. That would probably be great. Would have been great, that is. Before Lauren. And the part where I'm engaged. To Lauren."

He looked at Ainsley out of the corner of his eye and discovered that she was pursuing her lips, presumably so as not to laugh at him. "Yes," he said defensively, "I know I'm babbling. But I just didn't expect to hear you say...after all this time, I mean...I thought it was, you know, a mutual decision. Between the two of us. That we wouldn't pursue this thing. Attraction. That we both have."

Ainsley smiled. "I wasn't propositioning you, Sam. I was just saying that we're an example of how people who work together can become attracted to one another." Her smile became slightly melancholy. "I will, however, admit that sometimes I have speculated about what might have happened if we'd acted on our feelings—the road not taken and all that."

Sam wondered why he was having trouble catching his breath. He motioned toward the door. "You know, I really should go back downstairs. I do need to get something to eat before my 2 o'clock gets here. So I'll, uh, I'll see you later."

He hoped he was just imagining the laughter that followed him out the door.

CUT TO:
INT. FIRST LADY'S OFFICE
FRIDAY AFTERNOON

"You wanted to see me, ma'am?" Donna asked as she entered the First Lady's office.

Helen motioned for her Chief of Staff to take the seat across from hers.

"Yesterday," Helen said, "you mentioned talking to CJ Cregg."

Donna nodded.

"And you thought that she might have a way to help us with this mess?"

"Yes, ma'am," Donna replied. "Between CJ and Danny—"

"Danny?"

"Danny Concannon, CJ's fiance. He was with the Washington Post until recently. Between the two of
them, they're friends with every major player in the media."

Helen walked over to the side table and poured herself a glass of water. Handing a second glass to Donna, she asked, "You're absolutely sure they can be trusted?"

"Positively," Donna replied without hesitation. "And CJ certainly understands our predicament. As bad as things are now, believe me, it's nothing compared to the PR nightmare she had to deal with when the public learned about President Bartlet's illness."

"All right then," Helen said. "We talked to Anita last night, and she's more than willing to go on the record. Once the press started hounding her daughter, she understood that this was the best way to handle the matter. What do we do now?"

"It's simple," Donna said. "I'll ask CJ and Danny to make contact with a reporter who can be trusted to handle the interview with Ms. Morales tactfully. After that, as long as Ms. Morales tells the truth, there shouldn't be anything to worry about."

Helen sighed. "Such a simple solution—just have Anita talk to a reporter and explain the whole thing. If my husband weren't so stubborn, he could have saved us all a lot of grief by agreeing to this several days ago."

CUT TO:
INT. RONNA'S APARTMENT
FRIDAY NIGHT

"I have the advance copy." Claire waved the magazine pages in the air as she came through the door.

"How did you get those?" Ronna asked as she turned down the oven and grabbed the article out of her girlfriend's hand.

"I have my sources," Claire replied. "I read it on the way over here, and it's good." Sitting down on
the couch, she patted the cushion next to her, indicating that Ronna should sit down. "It's flattering, even."

Ronna sat down, skimming the pages rapidly. "I don't know," she said, "the whole thing makes me
uncomfortable."

"Why should it? You're working for a president who's even more liberal than Jed Bartlet, for goodness sake." The kitchen timer went off, and Claire got up to take the lasagna out of the oven. "He's not going to fire you over this," she called out.

"I know that," Ronna answered. "But it's a bad time for us. All these little lifestyle things, like Josh and Donna's relationship, being brought up by the Right. And now the story about Anita Morales."

Claire set two plates on the dining room table and went back for the silverware. "It's a flattering piece, and it's going to make Santos even more popular with the Left for his hiring practices. Don't worry."

"Maybe, but..." Ronna's voice trailed off. "Claire?" She called out. "Did you see this part?"

Claire came back to the living room. She leaned over the couch arm and glanced at the passage Ronna was pointing to. "Oh, the story about your mom's reaction when you told her you were gay? That's a great anecdote. It really humanizes the piece."

"Nobody knows that story," Ronna replied. She looked at Claire warily, as the pieces came together. "No one except you. I have never told another living soul that story."

Claire focused her attention on the article rather than meeting Ronna's gaze. "Are you sure? Maybe they talked to your brother."

"Ken doesn't know that story," Ronna insisted. "Dad doesn't know it. My sister Vicki doesn't know it. And I know that Mom wouldn't talk to any reporter, so don't even suggest it." She stood up and threw the article on the coffee table. "You had to have talked to the reporter. After I specifically asked you not to."

Claire reached out for Ronna's arm. "Look, okay, the reporter called and I gave her a couple of quotes. It's not a big deal."

"How did they even know to call you?"

Claire tried to laugh, but the attempt sounded hollow even to her own ears. "Okay, I confess," she said. "Lesley's an old friend of mine. I mentioned you, and she got excited about doing a story. I may have encouraged her, just a little."

"Why would you..." Ronna picked up the article again and started reading again. Finally, she got to the passage she was afraid she'd find. "She is currently dating Claire Carrick, daughter of Republican Senator Chris Carrick. Carrick, who has consistently voted against gay rights issues, refused to comment....Claire, you didn't."

"I didn't tell them to contact my father, no," she said. She stood, hands on her hips, staring defiantly at Ronna. "But I won't deny that I'm amused that they did. I can't wait until Dad has to explain this one to his conservative friends. That should take some explaining the next time he's having dinner with Jerry Falwell."

"Is that why you told the reporter about us? To embarrass your father?"

"Look, I love my father, but I can't stand his politics. Neither can you. And if explaining that he's been hiding the fact that his daughter is gay hurts him with the family-values crowd, where's the harm?"

"Where's the harm?" Ronna repeated. "The harm is that you used me to embarrass your father. You knew I didn't want my private life discussed in public, but you did it anyway. Just so you could score a few points on your father." She shook her head incredulously. "How could you do that?"

"I never meant to hurt you." Claire stepped closer to Ronna and started to put her arms around her. Ronna, however, slipped quickly out of her embrace and stood, arms folded, against the wall. "I know my father's politics, Ronna, and he'd be a terrible president. If I hurt his little media blitz, I'm not going to apologize for it."

Ronna stared at Claire for a moment, then walked to the door and held it open. "Goodbye, Claire," she
said, "it was nice knowing you."

"You're kidding! This isn't the kind of thing people break up over."

"It's a betrayal of my trust. And that's certainly the kind of thing I break up over."

Claire picked up her purse. "Okay," she said, "you're angry right now; I get that. And I'm sorry if I hurt you. But once you calm down, you'll understand that I was right." She walked to the door. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Don't bother," Ronna said as she slammed the door.