ACT TWO
INTERIOR LESTER'S OFFICE
"So you're the chosen representatives of Citizens for Responsible Media?" Lester asked amiably as he entered his office.
"We are," the very proper looking woman sitting on his office couch replied. "I'm Karol Simms." She turned and smiled fondly at the man beside her. "This is my husband Frank."
"Nice to meet you both. My name is Lester Charles. I'm the White House Press Secretary."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Charles," the Simms' said in unison.
"How are you enjoying the White House so far?" Lester moved behind his desk and sat down.
"It's very nice. Everyone has been very polite."
"That's good."
"We understand you're a busy man, Mr. Charles. We'd like to get right down to business if that's possible," Karol said. "We have several
things we'd like to discuss."
Lester was a bit taken aback. "By all means, go right ahead."
"We're here to discuss the fact that the media is destroying American political discourse," Karol began.
Lester looked up, startled. "Really?"
"Absolutely," Frank jumped in. "It's getting hard to tell the political reporters from the entertainment journalists."
"Some journalists seem more concerned with who's dating whom and what's going on behind closed doors than with education or poverty or the war in
"The actors and the athletes and the politicians are all starting to blend together into one big ball of celebriculture," Frank continued.
"They're all public figures…." Lester started before getting cut off.
"All due respect, Mr. Charles," Karol said, "that's a tired argument. There's a big difference between people who are in the public eye because they're serving our country and people who are in the public eye because they look good on a movie screen or can throw a football seventy-five yards."
"But…"
"If a politician's behavior impacts his or her ability to do their job, or in any way affects the public interest, then by all means it should be reported. But it's time to put an end to this ridiculous notion many reporters seem to have that every little detail of every person's life is fair game," Karol steamrolled on.
Lester's mind drifted slowly back to Margaret's words about each staffers' meeting being carefully assigned. He tried hard to focus on the words of the couple in front of him but it was becoming harder to concentrate over the sound of puzzle pieces falling into place.
"Its not only bad form," Frank scoffed, "it's lazy reporting."
"While I agree with you up to a point," Lester said calmly, "the White House certainly has no control over what the media does and doesn't print. They print what people want to read."
"Or what people are persuaded, by sheer volume, to read," Frank fired back. "If the latest lurid details of the love life of some politician or another are being splashed all over the covers of self described 'serious' magazines and the front page of every newspaper in town it's given a legitimacy it doesn't deserve. People start to mistake it for real news."
"All the time spent discussing salacious details is time not spent talking about real issues," Karol pointed out.
"Still," Lester argued, "there's nothing I, or the President, can do about what's written by the press."
"You could start by enforcing very strict boundaries in your own dealings with the press," Karol said.
Lester began rubbing his temples.
"The FCC fines television networks and their affiliates for broadcasting obscene content," Frank added. "They use the fines to make sure no one steps over the line. Why can't similar standards be applied to the print media?"
"It's an entirely different issue," Lester argued.
"Only because you choose to see it that way."
Lester sighed. "Exactly what is it you're looking for from the White House?"
"We'd like a law that would make discussing the details of any politician's private life in print, without their consent, a misdemeanor."
It took all the restraint Lester had not to bang his head on his desk.
CUT TO
INTERIOR EMPTY WEST WING OFFICE
Annabeth entered the mostly empty office that had been set aside for her Cheese Day meeting. Her nose was buried in the folder Margaret had prepared detailing her assignment so it wasn't until she was practically next to him that she noticed the man standing just inside the door; the man she had been assigned to meet with. He was tall, though in truth everyone seemed tall to Annabeth. She judged him to be around 6'2" and couldn't help but be struck by his very broad shoulders. He had sandy blonde hair with just a touch of wave to it and the brightest blue eyes Annabeth had ever seen. She wasn't sure what she had been expecting but this man most definitely wasn't it. He stared back at her with a confused smile and she realized she had to say something fast.
"I think preserving Broadway theatres is a fabulous idea," she bubbled. "I'm all for it."
"That's great to hear. We have to move fast or we're going to lose some historic venues," the man fell immediately into the conversation.
"Then I guess we better get down to work." Annabeth smiled.
They took seats across from each other at a small table that had been moved into the office just for this occasion.
"My name is Annabeth Schott, by the way." She reached across the table and shook the man's hand. "I'm the First Lady's Press Secretary."
"Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Schott. My name is Craig Fielder. I'm the Regional Director for Preserve America's Cultural Heritage."
"Lovely to meet you, Mr. Fielder. And it's Miss Schott."
Craig smiled. "My mistake."
"No problem." Annabeth was surprised to feel herself blushing. "What do you say you fill me in on some of the details."
"I'd love to. There are currently three Broadway theaters slated for demolition within the next five years."
"Really?" Annabeth was shocked. "I didn't realize that. That's terrible."
"There's still time to save at least two of them," Craig could barely contain the urgency in his voice, "but we have to act fast."
"What can we do?" Annabeth was sincerely interested.
"Mostly we need money. Which would come in faster if we could get some visibility. Like say a presidential appearance at one of our fundraisers?"
"It can't hurt to ask," Annabeth made a note.
"We could also use a little help with historic landmark designations."
"Sounds reasonable."
"And an increase in funding for groups trying to buy the buildings to preserve them would be good too."
Annabeth got a far away look on her face. "I went to
"I know exactly how you feel. I visited
"It's great, isn't it?"
"It is. We can't rob other children of the chance to feel that same sense of wonder."
"That would be a crime," Annabeth agreed. "Let's put our heads together and see what we can do."
CUT TO
INTERIOR MURAL ROOM
Donna looked with amused affection at the man sitting across the table from her. He was the personification of her childhood image of a nutty professor. His hair was disheveled; he had thick black-rimmed glasses, and a pencil behind each ear. Donna estimated that his suit was at least two sizes too big. She didn't want to make him self-conscious by staring, but she was fairly sure his shirt was buttoned wrong. At his feet was a cardboard storage box overflowing with files and papers.
She quickly read over the background folder Margaret had provided. Albert Titlebaum's educational credentials were impressive and his commitment to the American education system was beyond reproach. He had worked for many years as both a teacher and administrator. When he felt the system was starting to fail the students, he made the difficult decision to step away and try to work
from the outside to fix it. For the last five years he had been a sort of freelancer trying to affect positive change any way he could. In the absence of any serious fundraising or the backing of any big names, his efforts had, to this point, been mostly unsuccessful. He showed no signs, however, of giving in. He was a man on a mission.
"So, Mr. Titlebaum…"
"Call me Albert, please."
"Only if you'll call me Donna," she smiled genuinely at him.
Albert blushed. "OK."
"So, Albert," Donna began again, "I see that you've spent the last several years traveling the country doing….exactly what is it you've been doing?"
"I've been talking to people about the American education system. What's right with it, what's wrong with it, how to make it better, how to stay competitive."
"That must have been interesting."
"Very."
"Have you come up with any possible solutions?"
"Several," Albert took the lid off the cardboard box at his feet and began extracting folders. "I just need someone to help me get them implemented."
Donna watched as Albert began to spread papers all over the table.
"We fall farther behind every day. Forget comparing our test scores to those of other countries, try comparing our test scores to those of our own country just 10 short years ago. The American education system is broken and it needs to be fixed. Now."
"Where do you suggest we start?"
"The problem is too large and too complex to sum up in a sound bite Ms….Donna. We need higher teacher standards including teacher accountability, a curriculum that demands something from students as opposed to letting them do the bare minimum then passing them on. We need to give children a safe place to learn and grow. We need to prepare these young people for life after high school. Intellectually yes, but also emotionally and socially. As much as society may suffer the short-term ramifications of this slide, the real damage is going to be visited upon our children and grandchildren for generations to come. Do you have children, Donna?"
"Not yet." She smiled softly at the thought.
"Well, when you do, I'm sure you'll love them and guide them and give them the very best you have to give. Sadly not all children are that lucky. Children in poorer neighborhoods, who are already being left behind economically and often socially, rarely have the tools they need to even hope to catch up down the road. It took a ten-year fight to ensure these kids have enough textbooks. At this point, the chance of ever getting them computers and the other technology they need without serious intervention is remote."
"Actually, the First Lady just started working on a program to help put computers into inner city classrooms."
"That's a great start, Donna. Really. But it's just a start. We need a sustained program to not only get the computers into the schools but to keep them upgraded, keep them running, and train everyone how to use the latest software. Americans are very, very generous people. You tell them what you need and they answer the call. I have the names of scores of individuals and small businesses who are ready to help with a project like the one you're talking about. They WANT to help, but they can't do it themselves. It's too big. We need to create the machinery to bring them all together in a cohesive group. As big as the problem is, it is solve-able. We just need to work together."
"We've signed up several big name computer makers to help with the problem but you're absolutely right, Albert, we really do need all hands on deck. It's going to take everyone working together to make this happen. If you can pull together just the parts of your plan that deal with this specific issue, I'll get you a sit down with the First Lady."
"Thank you, Donna. Thank you very much. You won't be sorry. I promise."
"I'm sure I won't be," she smiled.
"If the First Lady likes what she hears, do you think there's any chance I might get to present a few of my other ideas to the president's staff for review?" he asked hopefully.
"Fixing what's wrong with the American education system is very important to President Santos. It's one of the main reasons he got into the race to begin with." Donna silently considered exactly how to handle Albert's request.
"I know. I was impressed with him very early on. I've been trying to get a meeting with either he or Mr. Lyman since the inception of the campaign."
"They're very busy men," Donna explained.
"I understand that. But the minute I heard Matt Santos' ideas about education reform I knew we were simpatico."
"Simpatico?"
"In tune. I've been advocating several ideas very similar to his education plan for years. I've dreamed of a candidate as committed to reform as he is. Of course, I've never managed to get enough of a platform to get anyone's attention. People find it easy to dismiss me as an eccentric crackpot. And in some ways I guess I am, but in this case I know I can be of help to the president."
"I'm sure President Santos will be glad to hear that you share his commitment. Perhaps I could pass along…."
"No, Ms. Moss, Donna, you don't understand. It's more than me agreeing with his agenda. I can actually help."
He fixed Donna with a pleading stare.
"I'm listening."
CUT TO
INTERIOR JOSH'S OFFICE
"Margaret isn't at her desk," Sam said as he stuck his head in Josh's door.
"She's taking care of her Cheese Day assignment." Josh barely looked up from his reading. "She'll be back late this afternoon."
"Who'd she end up with?"
Sam entered the office and stood in front of Josh's desk.
"She's over at the Piaf Salon getting the full spa day treatment."
"You're kidding."
"No, I'm not. I'm making an effort to be nice to her so she doesn't regret her decision to come back," Josh said sincerely, finally looking up at Sam.
"So you made her an appointment for a spa day?"
"Women like things like that." Josh's tone was a bit defensive.
"I know they do. But you don't."
"Says who?"
"Says…everybody. It was Donna's idea, wasn't it?"
Josh tried to look insulted but couldn't pull it off. "Yes," he admitted. "But I agreed. And paid. So I gotta get some of the credit."
"True."
"Did you need something?" Josh asked.
"I spent some time answering questions for the Leg Affairs staff and getting them set for the rest of the week. Now I'm headed up to the Hill to knock a few heads together and get this education thing back on track."
"Knock a few heads together?" Josh couldn't help but chuckle.
"It's my new 'take no prisoners' attitude. What do you think?"
"I like it," Josh nodded. "Let me know how it goes."
"I'll call you when I'm done. Maybe we can meet for a beer after I get a better handle on where everyone stands."
"Sounds good."
Sam walked out of the office just as the phone on Josh's desk rang.
"Josh Lyman."
"Hey," Donna said.
"Hey yourself." Josh smiled at the sound of her voice.
"Why are you answering your own phone?"
"Margaret is at the salon getting girly things done that I don't even want to think about." He leaned back in his chair.
"You could get someone from the temp pool."
"I think I can handle it for a few hours. What's up?"
"I was wondering if I can get a few minutes." Donna glanced at Albert sitting across the room.
"Sure. When?"
"We can come right now."
"We?" Josh sat up straighter.
"Yes. I'm bringing Albert Titlebaum." Donna waited for the realization to dawn on Josh.
"Albert Titlebaum?"
"He was my Chee..er..morning meeting."
"Why does that name sound so familiar?" Josh searched the recesses of his memory.
"He's the head of Concerned Americans for Reforming Education," Donna said lightly.
"Doooona. No. Not that guy. He's been after us since the beginning of the campaign."
"So I've heard."
"And he's a nut."
"He's really not." Donna said quietly.
"I don't have time…"
"Josh. Stop. Listen to me."
"What?" He sighed, feeling his defenses slip away. Donna always had that effect on him.
"You want to talk to him," she said definitively.
"I don't."
"You really do," she insisted.
"I do?"
"You do."
"Ok," he sighed.
"Great," she smiled. "We'll be there in five minutes."
CUT TO
INTERIOR LOU'S OFFICE
"So, Ms. Thornton, to make a long story short…"
"Oh, it's waaay too late for that," Lou muttered under her breath as she absentmindedly fidgeted with the papers on the desk in front of her.
"Excuse me?" August raised one bushy white eyebrow.
"Nothing. I'm sorry. Please continue," Lou said contritely as she schooled her features into what she hoped was something resembling a look of interest.
"The truth is that while the rules themselves can be amended as necessary to fit any type of organization," August studied the woman in front of him intently as she tried to remain focused, "the one element that can never be interfered with….Do you think maybe you should be taking notes?"
"I have a very good memory," Lou assured him. "Plus, I have my own copy of the book now for easy reference." She waved the book he had given her earlier.
"Still, there's no substitute for effective note taking. An accurate record is your best friend."
"Is that covered in the book?" Lou smirked.
"Chapter three."
"Of course."
Lou pushed her glasses back into place.
"No worries. I can provide you with a written synopsis of the meeting. I always make a record immediately afterwards when I'm not taking contemporaneous notes."
"Of course you do," Lou sighed.
"As I was saying, the one element that can never be interfered with is the chain of command. It's the backbone of any successful organization."
"You don't say."
"I'm very serious," August said solemnly. "It's what allows an organization to maintain order and operate at peak efficiency. Any attempt to circumvent the chain leads to uncertainty and chaos."
"Do you by any chance know Margaret Weaver?"
"Is that the nice woman who called me to do the pre-interview for this meeting?"
"That would be her." Lou smiled.
"I wouldn't say I know her exactly. We talked on the phone once or twice."
"And you explained your ideas to her exactly the way you're explaining them to me now?"
"I did. She seemed very interested. She has a very open mind AND she already has her own copy of the rules," August said pointedly. "She's a very nice woman. Very organized. I like that in a person."
"I would imagine you do."
"So….can I spell out the rest of my proposal for you now? We've barely scratched the surface of what the rules have to offer."
"Oh please, proceed." Lou began to doodle 'I will not go over Josh's head' on the pad in front of her. She wondered if doing that 500 times then giving it to Margaret might get her out of the redhead's doghouse, which was a place she had quickly discovered she did not like to be.
CUT TO
INTERIOR OTTO'S OFFICE.
"You want to change the national anthem to an 80's rock song?" Bram asked, interrupting the men before they could finish the first verse.
"Not AN 80s rock song. THE 80s rock song," the pair said reverently.
"That's debatable," Otto replied. "The 80s was a long decade and there were a lot of songs…"
"How old were you in the 80s?" faux
"I was…that's not important," Otto said defensively.
"No other song in the 80s had the impact of The Boss's 'Born to Run'. It was a defining moment in both American music and culture and it deserves to be recognized as such."
"I really don't think I can get the President on board with changing the anthem to…"
"It's a new world," Wayne-lite interrupted. "We need a new anthem. Imagine the energy it would add to public events."
"Picture it," the men said in unison.
Otto and Bram glanced uneasily at each other then back at the men on the other side of the desk. There was no stopping them this time as they leapt to their feet and burst into a slightly off-key rendition of 'Born to Run' complete with air guitars and pretend microphones.
CUT TO
INTERIOR CONFERENCE ROOM
CONGRESSIONAL OFFICE BUILDING
Sam sat alone on one side of highly polished table facing Congressmen Hamilton, Clark and Larimer on the other side.
"I don't think you understand what we're saying to you, Sam,"
"That deal's no longer on the table," Sam said coolly.
"You can't un-ring a bell," Larimer said with his faux down home folksiness. "It was offered. We want it. We can score some easy points with the voters back home by killing this welfare thing."
"We sure can,"
Larimer laughed. "The folks back home don't have to know the bill was dead in the water from the start. They can just be happy we killed something they didn't like."
"I'm sure your constituents would be impressed that you're spending so much time worrying about a bill with no chance of passing just to run up your own scorecard," Sam said sarcastically.
"All they remember come election time are the ones in the win column,"
Sam took a deep breath. He wanted to tell the men that he had a lot more faith in the American electorate than they seemed to but that was a discussion for another day. "I don't know how much clearer I can make it for you gentlemen. The welfare bill is off the table. We're dealing with road repairs. I explained this all to Cal Richards last night."
"We heard. But we're thinking maybe we don't want to be part of Richards' group anymore,"
"We're doing what we think our constituents would want," Larimer added. "
"So you're splitting into two groups now?" Sam couldn't believe his ears.
"On this matter, yes."
"You do understand that six people are a stronger group than three, right?"
"We're not idiots, Sam." The congressmen all sat up straight in their chairs.
"If you say so."
"What's that supposed to mean." Larimer's hackles were up.
"What do you call three junior congressmen willing to get on the wrong side of the popular new president over a bill that has zero chance of passing anyway?"
The three men exchanged glances, clearly recommitting to the course of action they had chosen before Sam arrived.
"You have our final word, Sam. We want the deal Amy offered us."
"Ok then," Sam began gathering up his briefcase. "I guess we're done here."
"So we have a deal?"
Sam shook his head and laughed. "No. We don't. But I'll be sure to let the President know exactly how helpful you were on his first big initiative. It's been a pleasure, gentlemen."
"But..but.."
"True. But then again so can Katz and the four votes he brings with him."
"Katz is a Republican!" Larimer squeaked.
"That he is. And according to what he told me last night very interested in forging a strong bipartisan relationship with the President."
The three junior congressmen stared in disbelief.
"Apparently his constituents want to see their guy actually get important things done," Sam smiled. "I'm meeting with him in the morning."
"Don't bluff us, Sam,"
"I assure you I'm doing nothing of the kind."
Sam headed for the door.
"Can we talk about this some more,"
"No, thanks," Sam said breezily. "I'd tell you gentlemen that I'm looking forward to working with you in the near future but I'm pretty sure the President won't be seeking your assistance anytime soon." He
turned and walked out of the room leaving the three men slack jawed and more than a little frightened.
CUT TO
INTERIOR LESTER'S OFFICE
"But as I'm sure you understand we don't control the media," Lester repeated for what seemed like the 20th time. "And that's a good thing. We don't want a government controlled media."
"Of course we don't," Frank agreed. "But that doesn't mean you can't set certain limits. Start by setting a good example in your own dealings with them."
"For instance?" Lester asked.
"Draw very distinct boundaries and stay within them," Karol began ticking items off on her fingers. "Refuse to answer intrusive questions about the people who work in this building. From time to time tell reporters what they're asking simply isn't any of their business."
"But it is their business," Lester argued.
"Only in so far as the actual workings of the government are concerned," Frank picked up where his wife left off. "Personal information is a whole other matter."
"Again, I have no say over what questions are and aren't asked in my press room."
"But you have full control over how you treat those questions. Let people know that they won't be acknowledged. Eventually they'll will stop wasting their valuable time asking questions that they know won't be answered."
"You don't know them as well as I do," Lester snickered.
"People are entitled to their privacy, Mr. Charles. Don't you agree?" Karol asked pointedly.
Lester's head was pounding but through the pain he remembered the gleam in Margaret's eyes during the morning meeting. He'd had a feeling for weeks that she was just waitingfor the right time to punish him for his part in going to the President trying to force Josh and Donna to do an interview. Apparently the trap had sprung.
"If I say yes, can we wrap this up?" Lester asked feebly.
CUT TO
INTERIOR WEST WING OFFICE
"OOOOKlahoma where the wind comes whippin down the plains…" Annabeth and Craig sang in perfect harmony.
"They don't write 'em like that anymore," Annabeth said wistfully.
"They sure don't," Craig agreed.
"I played the lead in my high school production. We brought down the house."
"Me too!" Craig laughed. "You know, I feel like we're kindred spirits."
"A mutual love of the footlights and greasepaint," Annabeth agreed.
Craig glanced at his watch. "Oh my. I've taken up most of your morning. I'm so sorry. I'm sure you have other important things you could be doing."
"Not at all," Annabeth assured him. "This has been fun. I don't get to sing with other people as much as I'd like so this was a special treat."
"The pleasure was all mine," Craig bowed slightly.
"Why thank you kind sir." Annabeth curtsied in return. "Besides, there's no such thing in my book as being too busy for Rogers and Hammerstein."
"A girl after my own heart."
He spoke again, this time his voice quivered with nerves. "Some of my friends who are in town for the theater conservation symposium are heading out to sing a little karaoke tonight. I was thinking of joining them. Would you like to come along?"
Annabeth hesitated. She was tempted. It had been a fun meeting, and it felt good to enjoy a man's company again. Still, she hadn't been out much since Leo died.
"I…I…I'm not sure. I'd have to check my schedule." She fidgeted nervously with her watch.
"Of course," Craig stammered. "I'm very sorry. I didn't mean to be so forward. I just thought it might be something you'd enjoy."
"No, it's fine. I'm just not sure….it certainly does sound like fun. I need to check in with my office…."
"I understand completely. We're heading over to the K Club in Georgetown around seven. If you find yourself with some free time I'd love for you to join us."
"Maybe I'll see you there," Annabeth smiled a genuine smile.
"I hope so. And again, I thank you for your time and attention. I'd appreciate any help you can give us."
"I'll see what I can do."
"It's been a pleasure, Miss Schott."
"Likewise, Mr. Fielder."
END ACT TWO