ACT TWO

INT. WASHINGTON CONVENTION CENTER - VIP ENTRANCE

"Good evening, Ma'am. Your credentials?" A female security guard with short, steel-gray hair-- and who might’ve resembled a grandmother if not for the fact that she appeared to be completely devoid of humor-- greeted Ronna at the "Presidential" entrance of the Washington Convention Center.

She struggled to pull her ID out of her evening bag and noticed that there seemed to be an army of personnel at the entrance, despite the low number of people cleared to enter through it.  As she handed the guard her ID, she asked hurriedly, "I'm supposed to be with the President tonight; is he here yet?"

After studying her credentials and White House identification, the guard handed them back and replied, "Scheduled to be here shortly, but not yet."

"Do you know where he is exactly?" Ronna asked with an air of desperation. It felt like she'd been stuck in traffic for hours trying to get there. She'd had her driver divert twice to other balls when it became clear that she wasn't going to reach the destination in time to meet up with the others before they left.

"No," the guard replied concisely.

Ronna fought exasperation and motioned to the other guards at the entrance. "Is there anyone here who would know?"

"As soon as you're through security, you can go to the Inaugural Committee's Communication Center." The guard pointed down a corridor. "It's right next to security. Someone there should be able to give you exact updates."

"Great." Ronna almost sagged with relief and immediately started in that direction.

"Ma'am!" The guard cleared her throat and her voice was gruff. "I said as soon as you're through security."

"Oh, right."  Ronna smiled sheepishly as she walked back.  One guard then proceeded to search her small purse with a fine-tooth comb as another wanded her down.

"Are you sure you don't want to do a full-body cavity search?" Ronna asked jokingly when they finished up with her a minute or so later.

"Why, do we need to?" The guard asked as she eyed Ronna with newfound suspicion.

A panicked look stole across Ronna's face and her eyes went wide as saucers.

Finally, the security guard cracked something that could almost be construed as a smile.  "I'm kidding.  By the way, nice dress, dear."

Ronna glanced down at her Chinese-inspired gown.  It was sleeveless and in two pieces.  The collar was high on her neck but open at her throat, and the skirt was slim and to the floor.  The dark, cherry-colored Chinese silk was heavy and had a subtle gold design embroidered on it.  Subtle in that it was abstract and you couldn't tell what the heck the design was, exactly.

"Thanks." She was smiling brightly when she looked back up at the woman, but the guard's mask of professionalism had already returned.

"You'll find what you're looking for down the hall and to your right."  She once again pointed down the hall in a no-nonsense motion.

CUT TO:

INT. WASHINGTON CONVENTION CENTER -  IC COMMUNICATION CENTER

"Excuse me,"  Ronna said as she found herself peering into a small room.  In it a woman was bent over some scattered pieces of paper on a table and appeared to be studying them intently.   Ronna was certain she was in the right place, because adjacent to the room was a much larger room occupied by Secret Service agents, as well as DC police and Convention Center security, watching dozens of monitors.

Startled, the woman looked up and Ronna realized she'd been on the phone. The woman mouthed 'one second' and then smiled appreciatively when Ronna gave her a 'no problem' sort of wave.  Although there were a few banks of monitors in the room showing activities at the balls, Ronna was instead spellbound by the woman before her.

She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties.  Her dress was black, attractive, but entirely nondescript-a dress that would get your fashion acumen neither good nor bad notices on a night like tonight.  She had dark dirty blonde hair - the color most women choose to either dye lighter into a full glossy blonde, or deeper into a striking brunette.  This woman had chosen neither, but Ronna noted that it definitely worked for her. Tonight it was pulled back into a so-messy-it's-chic ponytail, and while she was obviously wearing makeup, she'd chosen shimmering nudes which accentuated her pretty, but not overpowering, features- a stark contrast to the cherry-red lips and smoky eyes Ronna had painted on for the evening.

It was less than 30 seconds before the woman got off the phone, straightened up, and met Ronna's eye with a welcoming smile. "I apologize for that; what can I do for you?"

"Hi." Ronna held out her ID badge. "I'm-

"Ronna Beckman. The President's secretary," the woman finished for her, but without looking at the badge.

Ronna was taken aback. She'd never seen this woman in her entire life. "How did you know?"

The woman reached to the table over which she'd been leaning earlier and held up a page of headshots.  It contained photos and names of the inner circle, all the staffers who were supposed to be traveling with the President tonight.  "Cheat sheet. The Inaugural Committee wants to make sure you all get the VIP treatment, but please don't tell anyone my secret."

"I see." Ronna tried to keep a straight face, but her lips quirked. "Very impressive. I feel extremely important, so job well done."  The woman laughed and Ronna wasn't sure what possessed her—since she needed to know where the President was and she needed to know now—but instead of pressing her for information, she leaned down and towards the woman in order to get a glimpse of her ID badge. "And you're Ruth Moskowitz, the Site Communications Coordinator. Except you've gotten much younger and significantly more attractive since this picture was taken."

The woman chortled with laughter again and then offered her hand to Ronna in introduction. "Thank you for that effusive compliment, since Ruth is past sixty and has gray hair to her navel.  My name's Claire. I was supposed to be volunteering in the ballroom tonight. But Ruth…" Ronna was very sorry when Claire let go of her hand to point to Ruth's photo around her neck. "…and I happen to work together at our regular jobs-- we're both lobbyists, by the way-- and she fell terribly ill earlier."

Claire leaned forward in order to whisper, "Do NOT eat the shrimp," and Ronna felt her cheek involuntarily tingle where the other woman's breath touched her skin. Claire leaned back after delivering the secretive warning, apparently oblivious to the tingles she'd also just delivered to Ronna.  "Long story short, she knew I'm fully vetted. So bingo, I suddenly find myself moved up the volunteer ladder and acting as Ruth the Site Comm Coordinator.  I'm stuck up here all night getting and-- once he gets here-- giving, Presidential movement updates to the Inaugural Committee headquarters."

A bit overcome at the woman's extensive monologue, not to mention the woman herself, Ronna stared at her.  

When Ronna didn't speak, Claire prodded, "So can I help you with something?"

"Oh…" Embarrassed, Ronna shook her head to clear it. "I'm meeting up with the Presidential entourage and I take it I've beaten them here?"

"Yes, I was just getting an update when you walked in.  They're at least 45 minutes away. Which probably means more like an hour and a quarter."

"An hour!?"  Ronna practically screeched.  How had she mistimed it so badly? She should have gone to the Omni.

CUT TO:

INT. OMNI SHOREHAM HOTEL

A tuxedo-clad arm reached around in front of Donna, holding a glass of wine.

She didn't turn around, but smiled.  "For me?"

"For you."

"I thought you'd forgotten me." Donna hadn't had a moment alone with him since her office at the start of the evening.

"Never," Josh replied.

"How's the President?"  Donna took a sip of wine and studied him over the glass.

"He's having trouble reconciling dancing and champagne with deaths in Kazakhstan, but he's putting up a good front."

Donna frowned sympathetically. "How were the calls?"

Josh just shook his head as a sad look passed across his face. "It was tough.  I wasn't in the room very often when President Bartlet did that."

"He was good at it," Donna replied softly.

"How do you know?" Josh craned his neck to the side in question.

"My parents told me."

"Your parents?"

"Yes, he called them on… that Memorial Day."

Josh froze, and that familiar feeling of terror that hit him any time he was reminded of Gaza sent a jolt to his gut.  It turned him slightly pale, but he managed to utter, "Right, of course he did."

Donna saw his discomfort and quickly changed the topic; it never ceased to amaze her that the subject of Gaza was more painful for him than for her.  Pasting a smile on her face, she tried for coy when she asked, "You know, we have been to a number of balls already this evening and you've yet to dance with me."

At Donna’s smile, Josh’s anxiety dissipated into comfort.  "What do you think we ought to do about that?"

"I think you should ask me to dance."

"To this?"  Josh looked frightened.

"What's wrong with this?"

"Isn't it a little… fast?"

"Joshua, are you telling me you're not Livin' La Vida Loca tonight?"

"Oh, I'm crazy all right…" He lifted an eyebrow at her. "Crazy about-"

But he wasn't able to finish his sentence because just then, Sam descended on them from out of the crowd.

Out of breath, he charged, "Josh, I've been looking for you!"

Josh looked taken aback. "Me? I've been with the President making the calls between stops.  Where have you been?" Josh glanced at Donna for confirmation. "We haven't seen you for… two balls."

"Something's up. We need to get away from the ears of the ballroom," Sam replied as he motioned towards the exit.

Josh shot Donna an apologetic frown. "You coming back stage?"

Not wanting to get in Josh's way, she nodded to the stage. "Go ahead, I'm gonna hang with Ricky a little longer."

But she watched a bit wistfully as he left to take care of business with Sam.

CUT TO:

INT. OMNI SHOREHAM HOTEL BALLROOM

INT. THE WEST WING, OFFICE 137 B

"What's going on?"  Lou was all business as she spoke into her cell phone, long having since ditched her wrap. It now lay across a stool next to her, her bare arms and every tattoo on full display. One arm was raised so she could press a hand over her free ear in order to block out the noise of the party.

Otto sat forward in his office chair. "There's an angle to the helicopter crash story that started on a blog, but Drudge is already linking to it and running a headline.  If there's any merit to it, I think we only have until morning before it's picked up by legitimate news outlets."

"Tell me."

"What do you know about the Army's helicopter fleet?" Otto asked.

"About as much as you know about shaving."

Otto ignored the dig, but took her meaning.  "The helicopter that crashed is a Vietnam-era Kiowa Warrior.  The recommended active combat life of that aircraft is only 30 years.  They were introduced in 1971 and the current fleet of Kiowa Warriors was due to be replaced in 2001."

"What happened?"

"Military budget cuts, I would guess, but I'm not sure. Currently, the Kiowa Warrior fleet isn't scheduled to be retired until 2008.  So the story on Drudge is-"

Lou interrupted him and dryly continued the train of thought. "The story on Drudge is that the Bartlet administration-- and thus all Democrats, which not-so-coincidentally include us—are not strong on defense and specifically, are weak on defense spending.  And because of that, we've sent American kids into combat with old, unsafe equipment and put them in unnecessary danger while spending money on frivolous things such as schools and feeding starving children."

"How did you do that?"  Otto asked, slightly in awe. "That's exactly what the story is."

"It's not my first day at the barn dance."

"What do you want to do?"

"This is what we're going to do." Lou said it at the same time Otto was asking the same question.  "I'm going to talk to Josh, Sam and the President, and you're going to find a way for us to neutralize this story by morning.   I have a feeling the Defense Department might just jump at the chance to make a case for increased defense spending; they already want more troops.  If this becomes a real thing, it could derail the education plan and anything else we want to spend money on our first year."

"Did you say you want *me* to find a way to neutralize the threat?  How am I supposed to do that? Tonight?"

"You were the one who wanted more responsibility; well, you got it, Deputy.  If you want to work at this level, you better figure it out."  

"But it's late and half of Washington is at the balls, and the other half is not going to want to give me any information..."

"I don't care how you do, just do it,” Lou snapped. “Find out exactly why those helicopters weren't replaced five years ago. Don't let me down… I'll be in touch." And with that, she flipped her phone closed.

For a moment, Otto looked stunned, but Bram shook him out of it a second later by asking, "What did she say?"

Otto was about to relay his impossible task to Bram, when an inner light bulb suddenly clicked on. "Call Annabeth at the IC headquarters; see if she can get a 1020 on the Secretary of Defense and the National Security Advisor tonight."

"A 1020?"

"Have you never watched a cop show?  Location, see if you can get their location. What ball is each of them at?"

Bram smirked at Otto. "Should I sound like I'm on Miami Vice when Annabeth answers?  If I'd known this was going to happen, I would have forgone the tux and just worn a white suit with the pink T-shirt. It would have been a cheaper rental."

"Just call!" Otto commanded and then swallowed hard. "Please."

Seeing his obvious distress, Bram picked up the phone and dialed as Otto went into the hall to find the press aide who'd discovered the blog story earlier.

INT. WASHINGTON CONVENTION CENTER -  IC COMMUNICATION CENTER

"I'm sorry." Claire grimaced at Ronna's obvious distress at the news that the Presidential entourage was still almost an hour away from the Washington Convention Center.

"Oh no, I'm sorry. It's not your fault. I'm just…"  Ronna shrugged apologetically. "A little frazzled."

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

Ronna knit her brows in concentration.  What to do?  She did not want to get back in the car.  "I'm just trying to figure out if I should stay here, or try and meet them at the stop before they come here."

"Stay here," Claire responded almost too quickly.

"Really?"  Ronna asked, feeling very intrigued by Claire's decisive suggestion. Maybe she was interested…

"Traffic is snarled around the Omni. Without benefit of the street blockades for the motorcade, you'll never make it."

…or maybe not and she was just efficient.  "Thanks, I will stay."  But Ronna did sigh with relief at not having to go back out into the night and traffic.  And her desire to stay had nothing to do with the fact that U2 was performing in the ballroom of the Convention Center… or the intriguing, talkative, possibly-interested woman standing in front of her.  

"Good, you should go down and enjoy the balls for awhile before they get here," Claire encouraged, and Ronna felt a pang of disappointment that she now seemed to be trying to get rid of her.  But at the same time, Ronna looked longingly over at the security monitors that showed the parties in full swing.

Still, she shook her head. "I don't want to miss them. Again."  She also wasn't sure she found the idea of leaving her new, extremely attractive acquaintance all that appealing, either.

"Do you have a phone or pager? I'll call you when they show."  

"Really?" Ronna couldn't help it; her eyes lit up.  She did want to see the inside of at least one inaugural ball.

"Sure."  Claire smiled at her and motioned to the monitors. "I see all."

"I'm sure it's so loud in there," Ronna shook her head again. "I'll never hear it, and there's nowhere to clip it to this dress."

Claire studied her for a minute. "Let me see it."

Ronna wasn't sure what Claire was up to, but she acquiesced, taking her pager out of her evening purse and handing it to the woman who ten minutes ago had been a complete stranger.

After studying it a second, Claire jotted down the number. "We'll just put it on vibrate… now, arms up…" she ordered. Once again Ronna cooperated, but froze instantly when she felt Claire's fingers on her bare skin through the armhole of her dress. What was she doing??  It was a full second later when her breath caught, her eyes went wide and her heart rate started to race-- that was when she felt the other woman's fingers actually flit under the side of her bra. Was Claire hitting on her?

 
Ronna wasn't sure, because it only lasted a few seconds. Claire fastened her beeper right under her arm but on the inside of her bra, then pulled back and surveyed her work.

"Perfect, you'll certainly be able to feel that if it goes off. Thank goodness the silk of your dress is so stiff; you can't even see you've got anything under there."  She patted the area that concealed the beeper and Ronna thought she might fall over from the contact, contact that didn't seem to faze Claire in the slightest. Maybe she wasn't hitting on her.  "It's a beautiful dress, by the way.  I love the dragons."

"Dragons?"  Ronna asked once her mind had cleared from all the close proximity.

Claire motioned to Ronna's gown. "Sure, these gold embroidered dragons. I love 'em."

Ronna craned her neck so that she could study the fabric. "I had no idea they were dragons. I thought they were just abstract… thingies. Chinese thingies."

"Chinese thingies?" Claire laughed loudly and touched Ronna’s dress right above her chest.  "Well you have to be right up close and personal to notice, but they are indeed dragons."

"Good catch," Ronna squeaked, more interested in the way her body responded to Claire's touch than the design of her gown.

“Now go…"  She steered Ronna out of the room. "Have a good time, show off the dress and I'll page you when they get here."

Stunned, Ronna walked away, having no idea what had just happened, but feeling like she'd been hit by a speeding freight train with fantastic dirty-blonde hair.  

CUT TO:

INT. OMNI SHOREHAM HOTEL – BACKSTAGE

"What is it?" Josh’s voice was low, even though they appeared to be the only two in the large holding area.

"It's Toby."

"What about him; have you talked to him?" Josh asked with surprise.

"No." Sam shook his head vigorously. "Andi found me earlier.  It's his pardon. It's going to be a thing."

"What kind of thing?" Josh asked warily.

"The kind of thing that keeps Baker from getting confirmed."

Josh reached up and rubbed his eyes with his hands roughly, then looked at Sam. "Clemency?"

"Republicans are gonna use it, pound him at the hearings from every angle."

"Can you remember his vetting? Anything iffy on pardons?"

"Nothing that stuck out."

"Talk to Baker." Josh's voice was intense. "As soon as possible."

"I've been looking for him, that's where I was.  I called Annabeth and got his schedule.  He's working the balls backwards from us, so I tried to catch him at the Armory. No luck. However, we should intersect at the Convention Center next."

Josh looked at his watch and realized they were running very behind schedule. "Go now, go ahead of us, and make sure you don't miss him.  We need to know if there was anything about his pardon record as Governor that'll bite us."

"Right." Sam nodded and started heading for the door.

"And Sam."

"Yeah?" He turned back.

"Find out what his actual opinion on Toby's pardon is, and then make sure he doesn’t tell a soul beside you."

CUT TO:

INT. OMNI SHOREHAM HOTEL

"I see you've been abandoned, too."

"Yes, Ma'am," Donna replied as the First Lady approached from the direction of the Omni's ballroom.

Helen linked her arm through Donna's as she looked around the backstage area, which had been set up as a VIP section for the President's entrance and exit. "How long have we been here, or the better question is-- is it time to go?"

"Well if you go by the schedule, we should have left this ball over 45 minutes ago."

"So we're 45 minutes behind?"

"If we leave right this second, which doesn’t look like it's going to happen.  But truthfully, that's not so bad for our fourth ball of the night, especially after the… delays with the helicopter crash."  

"So maybe people will get tired of waiting for us, pack it in and we won't have to even go to the ninth ball."

That comment made Donna giggle. "Unfortunately, everyone's going to wait for us. The good news is that the next three balls are in the same location.  Although we'll have to take golf carts to get between them."

"The Convention Center," Helen guessed correctly. "Well, we know where to go, so what do we need the guys for?  Side-by-side, we will greet each and every one of the painfully boring people waiting for my husband… together. You don't think anyone will notice if he's not around, do you?"

Donna laughed, but before she could say anything else, Helen continued.

"Except here come the boys. Typical… they abandon us, we make a plan without them, and then they show up."

"Hmm?"  She turned to see Josh and the President heading towards them.

The President dropped a kiss on his wife's cheek before apologizing. "I'm sorry-"

But she held up her hand. "Let’s waste no time on apologies and just enjoy the few moments we have together.  Although, I take it we probably have to leave here shortly?"

"We should probably head towards the motorcade," Josh replied as he settled his hand on the warm skin of Donna's lower back. At his touch, Donna gave a tiny jump as a shiver ran up her spine.  It was a good shiver.  Josh felt it and stood straighter, suddenly feeling the cock of the walk for having been the cause. Of course he wasn't completely unaffected by the feel of her bare skin under his palm either.

As the four of them turned and started walking towards the back entrance of the hotel, Helen asked, "Did you know Donna has a mind for trivia?"

Josh looked over at Donna in a teasing manner.  "Oh no, you're at it again?"

"Again?" Helen questioned, sounding positively delighted as Donna nudged Josh with her shoulder in retaliation.

"Yes, Ma'am, this was probably something you should have been warned about before you decided to hire her away from us," Josh said with mock gravity. "In fact, if you find you just can't live with it in the East Wing, we might just bite the bullet and take her back."

"Are you kidding?"  Helen asked. "I love knowing that FDR didn't show to any of his own Inaugural Balls."

Donna couldn't help but clarify. "He only skipped the first one in 1933, worked straight through it.  He actually outright cancelled the other three."

"See!" Helen exclaimed. "It's terrific, how does she know this stuff?"

"She's a freak," Josh deadpanned, but looked over at her with what could only be termed an adoring expression.

Matt just laughed and shook his head, pleased to have a few minutes to enjoy the evening with friends.  But that was short-lived as Lou approached the quartet, looking mighty harried and dragging her wrap behind her.  They stopped in their tracks.

"What is it?" The President inquired at her almost disheveled appearance.

"Sir, a media angle on the crash. I need a few minutes with you and Josh."

"We're just about to head to the next location."

"Perhaps we can talk on the way?"  Lou suggested anxiously.

Helen waved her hand.  "That's okay, you guys talk and I'll ride with Donna."

"Honey, you don't have to, you can ride with us."

"No problem, I'll see you there." With that, she leaned up, kissed her husband, and then disappeared into the other limo.

Donna gave Josh a small wave, which he returned remorsefully, as she followed Helen into the waiting car.

CUT TO:

INT. AIR & SPACE MUSEUM

"Do you know him?" Bram asked as he squinted.

"I met him during transition," Otto replied distractedly.

"Me, too, but I don't think I can pick him out in here. How about you?"

"I know he's wearing a tux," Otto responded as the two men looked out over the sea of tuxes, obscured even more by the dramatic lighting of the museum.  

"It's a penguin convention in here; I'm going to need more than that to go on," Bram snorted. Then, looking on the fact sheet they'd printed at the White House, he pondered, "What would a guy named Glenwood Marcel Moorhead look like?"

"Someone who got beaten up on the playground. A lot."

"Big words coming from a grown man named Otto."

"Those named 'Bram' shouldn't throw stones," Otto retorted before lamenting, "We should have called Ronna back to come with us; she'd know what Glen looks like. She remembers details… wait, that guy." He pointed to the middle of the room.

"That's the National Security Advisor? I thought he was short and bald, that guy is tall and, you know, has hair."

"Let's find out," Otto shrugged as he started down the steps and into the crowded room.

CUT TO:

INT. WASHINGTON CONVENTION CENTER -  IC COMMUNICATION CENTER

Ronna stood outside the small room where she'd met Claire… reticent to go in.  It was clear by the look on her face and her posture that she didn't know exactly what she was doing.  She held two glasses of wine, but wished she had a free hand to tame her hair and smooth her dress.  But it wasn't to be, and finally, she got up the nerve to step into the doorway. "Hi."

Claire looked up with a puzzled frown. "What are you doing back so soon? I didn't page yet."

"It was so… uh… hot and crowded… and I thought you might like the company and some… refreshment…" In her fidgety state, she held up the wine in a perfectly maladroit manner and almost sloshed some over the side.  She chastised herself internally; at one point in her life, she'd been smooth at this.  Had the campaign wrung it all out of her?

But Claire must not have noticed because she simply smiled and waved her in, while shutting the door to security on the other side of the room.

CUT TO:

INT. PRESIDENTIAL LIMO