"Explain to me again exactly why it's to the Governor's benefit to be on this ticket."

Chris Marshall, Haskell's assistant campaign manager, studied the face of the woman who had just spoken and jotted down the name "Toni Timian" in the "hostile" column of her notebook.  Chris was quite proud of the chart she was constructing in this meeting.  As soon as she got back to her hotel room, she'd begin converting all this data into a spreadsheet.  She was a firm believer in the power of the spreadsheet.  The ability to convert all these messy arguments and contradictory motivations into charts and graphs made the political maneuvering easier to understand.  Jason Bezdek laughed at her for this occasionally, but he had to admit her approach was working.  If nothing else, it helped them keep track of the players and their motivations.

"Toni," Josh Lyman began.  Chris made a mental note of the warning tone in the man's voice and crossed Lyman's name from the "hostile" category into the big "?" column.

To her surprise, most of the Bartleteers were under "?"  This alone proved how useful her methods were.  She'd expected them to be hostile.  She'd expected them to be consumed with bitterness because their guy had lost the nomination.

Never jump to conclusions, she reminded herself.  Keep an open mind.

As hard as that was to do where the Bartlet Gang was concerned.  Chris was one of those Democrats who had never quite recovered from that sense of betrayal she'd felt when the Healthgate scandal broke.  She'd been a junior aide in Haskell's office in those days, and she could still remember the shock and disillusionment that had obsessed people like her in the wake of Bartlet's announcement.  She'd come to DC straight after getting her master's at Ohio State, feeling idealistic in the wake of Bartlet's victory.  She'd watched the Healthgate hearings compulsively; she'd sat in restaurants and coffee shops engrossed in endless discussions with her friends and co-workers.  While everyone she knew vigorously defended Bartlet from Republican attack, things were different when they discussed the situation with other Democrats.  They never truly believed that skilled politicos like Leo McGarry and Josh Lyman had not known about their candidate's illness during the Bartlet for America campaign.  For Chris, who had believed passionately in Josiah Bartlet's integrity, Healthgate had been a body blow.  She'd never believe in a political candidate with the kind of fervor she'd once felt for Bartlet.  She believed that Mark Haskell would make a good president, sure, but she'd long since given up believing in such a thing as a great president.

Because of them.  The people in this room.  The ones who'd manipulated public opinion and written the speeches and stood up in front of the press day after day and, in effect, rigged the 1998 election.

Which was why, Chris noted, she needed her spreadsheets.  She could observe the Bartlet gang and fit them into her columns with more objectivity than she'd manage if she let her resentment get the better of her.

"No, Josh," Chris heard Toni Timian say.  Toni, she noted, was still the type whose loyalty was primarily to her candidate instead of to the Party.  Chris thanked her lucky stars she'd learned that lesson early in her career.  She couldn't imagine reaching Toni's age and risking having her heart broken when she found out that her candidate was only human.  "So far, all I'm hearing is how the Governor can help Haskell.  I don't see what we're getting out of this except the chance to spend the next eight years not talking about the issues that matter to us."

"Well, there's the part where the Governor makes history by becoming the first female vice president," Donna Moss said.

Donna Moss, Chris reflected, was the unknown factor among the Bartlet Five.  It had taken Chris some time to place Donna.  She'd finally remembered Donna from the hearings -- the soft voice with the slight tremor at odds with that unblinking stare, and the shocked look when one of the Congressmen intimated that Donna Moss and her boss might be having a sexual relationship.  To judge from her reaction, Chris thought, the idea of sleeping with Josh Lyman had never occurred to his assistant.

It was a hell of a good performance, and no one in Chris' circle had believed a word of it.

Donna Moss, they agreed, was a type.  They could name half a dozen women just like her -- the office wife, with her slavish devotion to her boss.  Of course she'd slept with him.  Of course he'd end up making a politically advantageous marriage with someone more appropriate, and of course Donna Moss would stay with him and revel in the fact that she understood him better than his clueless trophy wife ever could.

So Chris and her friends had pretty much dismissed Donna's testimony and forgotten about her existence.  When Chris had realized, a month into primary season, exactly who Douglas-Radford's press secretary was, she'd been stunned.  At first, her shock had been over the fact that Josh Lyman would do something as blatant as put his assistant/lover in charge of handling the press.  But then she'd studied Donna's background and been thrown into confusion.  The Donna Mosses of this world never, ever left the service of their bosses.  Never.  It was a basic fact of political life in DC.  But Donna had apparently chosen to stay with the sinking Bartlet ship rather than accompany Josh to the Hoynes campaign.  From there, she'd moved on to working for the Feminist Majority Foundation and getting her master's.

Another object lesson, Chris reminded herself.  Even someone who is the perfect example of a type in this business can fool you.

"Look at this schedule you're proposing for the Governor," Timian continued, waving a printout in the air.  "You've got her speaking to NOW, the League of Women Voters, and my personal favorite, the DAR.  You're pigeonholing her as the woman candidate."

"We need her addressing these groups," Jason Bezdek replied.  "The Governor has a strong constituency among female voters.  That's where she'll be the biggest asset to the campaign."

"The DAR?  You think a lot of DAR members are planning to vote Democratic?" CJ Cregg asked, leaning back in her chair.  Bartlet's former press secretary always looked to Chris as though she was about to burst out laughing. Cregg was easily the most content person Chris could remember seeing.  Again, exactly the opposite of what Chris had expected.

Chris had seen CJ Cregg on television countless times during Bartlet's tenure.  Unlike some of her friends, Chris had pitied CJ Cregg when the Healthgate scandal broke.  Chris had imagined that CJ Cregg, public face of the Bartlet administration, was being set up to take the fall.  Surely the person who'd spent years assuring the press that Jed Bartlet was in good health and the government was running smoothly would be expendable.  Chris was willing to bet that CJ Cregg had never been in the loop, that she'd been excluded from the White House boys' club.  At the very least, Chris had expected that the post-Healthgate CJ Cregg would be a bitter woman.  This woman who took everything with poise and good humor was not at all the person Chris had expected.

If the female members of the Bartlet Gang had surprised Chris, the men were pretty much what she'd expected.

"We're not criticizing your strategy," Sam Seaborn said.  "It's just that you don't know the Governor like we do, so you might be unaware that her strengths include more than her appeal to women.  Susan Douglas-Radford has constituencies among younger voters, blacks, labor -- these are all groups we're going to need in November."

Sam Seaborn, in Chris' opinion, was the lightweight of the group.  Clearly, his assigned role was that of peacemaker.  Chris had always imagined that Josh Lyman and Leo McGarry had kept Seaborn around so they could trot him out for the Sunday morning talk shows.  His movie star smile and his sunny disposition made him the perfect politico for the media age.  Unencumbered by baggage like CJ Cregg's gender or Lyman and Ziegler's religion, Seaborn was obviously being groomed as Bartlet's political heir.  True, the prostitute scandal might have hurt him, but that could have been overcome.  Once Sam Seaborn was outfitted with a photogenic wife and a couple of adorable children for the TV ads, the incident with the hooker would have been easily dismissed as a "youthful indiscretion."  Besides, a friend of hers who claimed to have perfect gaydar swore that Seaborn gave off vibes.  As difficult as Chris found that to believe, she agreed that the heterosexual scandal in Seaborn's past could help deflect any suspicions about his lifestyle.

She should probably label Seaborn "friendly," Chris thought, but some instinct led her to put his name in the "?" column.  Maybe because he was, in her opinion, impossibly chipper and way too willing to help.  Probably he was simply very, very good at hiding his feelings.  After all, instead of running for office himself, he was practicing law in the Bay Area and jumping at the chance to write speeches for a candidate who'd never stood a chance in hell of winning the nomination.  The more Chris thought about it, the more she was willing to bet that Sam Seaborn was just very good at hiding his bitterness.

As opposed to Toby Ziegler, whose bitterness was very much on the surface.  Ziegler rarely spoke -- less than a dozen words had come out of his mouth this morning -- yet the Bartlet Gang hung on to his every pronouncement as though it contained some great pearl of wisdom.  She'd noticed that, informally, the others would tease Ziegler, but in situations like this...  It was always Ziegler's good opinion all of them, even Josh Lyman, craved.  As for Chris, she couldn't decide whether Ziegler was quiet because he'd stopped caring or because he cared too deeply.

Just as she'd expected, Josh Lyman glanced briefly at Ziegler as though searching for confirmation. Lyman gave an almost imperceptible nod in Ziegler's direction as though some signal had passed between the two of them, as though they were agreeing to back Seaborn up.  "Sam's right," Lyman said.  "We're not just thinking about the Governor's image here.  We want the party to win, and this is how she can help make that happen."

Josh Lyman.  Dear lord, Chris thought, the man represented every cliché about politicians that made her want to apologize for her profession.  He was a blatant opportunist, moving from a cushy job in Senator Hoynes' office to the Bartlet campaign and an even cushier job in the West Wing.  And once it became clear that Bartlet wouldn't win re-nomination, what did Josh Lyman do?  Somehow he managed to worm his way back into the Hoynes camp.

Ten minutes in the man's presence, and Chris wanted to take a shower.

Yet Jason maintained that, of all Douglas-Radford's staff, Josh Lyman was the one they'd be able to work with most easily; and Chris' spreadsheets seemed to confirm that opinion.  Lyman talked in terms of rebuilding the party, winning back the White House.  His pragmatism seemed to work in Senator Haskell's favor.

Chris remembered a conversation between Dennis Cybrynski, the media director, and Jason during the primaries, once they realized that Douglas-Radford posed a serious challenge.  Dennis had been in favor of attacking Douglas-Radford for her reliance on the Bartlet Gang, especially Lyman.  Jason had nixed that idea.  Any attack on Josh Lyman would backfire on them.  Yes, Jason agreed, Lyman had undoubtedly been the architect of Healthgate, even if Congress couldn't prove it.  But news coverage of the hearings had proved something else -- mention the name Josh Lyman and many Americans were thrust back into that terrifying night in May 2000 when Bartlet was shot and the networks had broadcast hourly updates on whether Lyman would live or die.

Dumb luck, in Chris' opinion.  The man had had the dumb luck to take a bullet meant for someone else and many Americans considered him a hero, whatever misdeeds of his came to light.  Around the Beltway, conventional wisdom had been that Lyman had escaped any sort of censure for concealing Bartlet's illness, rigging an election and participating in a cover-up all because people on both sides of the aisle didn't want to be seen as ganging up on a shooting victim.

Apparently, with the passage of time, Ann Stark at least was getting over that, judging from some of the stories making the rounds of the right-wing rags.  Just as apparently, however, the mud wasn't sticking.

Chris wasn't sure how she felt about that.

***

Toby wasn't sure what the hell Chris Marshall kept writing on her notepad, and it was starting to annoy him.  She'd stare, lips pursed in concentration, at whoever was speaking, and then scribble something.  It was quite irritating.  To be fair, the entire meeting was irritating; Haskell's staffers hadn't been condescending.  Not really.  But the itinerary they'd sketched out for the Douglas-Radford group had been something of a slap in the face.

Women's groups, women's groups, and more women's groups.  It was as if she were a magnet for the pollster-constructed "soccer mom" who represented the swing vote.  In Toby's estimation, after working his Get Out the Vote program, pollsters relying on traditional voting patterns might be in for something of a surprise come November.  Sure, women (especially middle class, moderate women) were important swing voters.  But what really interested Toby were the political rumblings from traditional non-voters and first-time voters.

College campuses were no longer the hotbeds of political activism they had been in the sixties (when, it should be noted, Susan Douglas-Radford herself had been something of a campus activist), but the tanking economy plus the obvious ties between the White House and Big Business were enough to raise some interest.  From his time on various campuses, Toby knew that professional activist Melvin Scriabine's third-party run was a sentimental favorite amongst left-wing students.  But for better or worse, America had a two-party system; and Toby figured that a fair amount of Scriabine supporters would come around to the Haskell/Douglas-Radford ticket, if only to get Baker out of office.

That is, if the Haskell/Douglas-Radford ticket didn't self-destruct before the damn convention.

Glaring in Chris' general direction, Toby interrupted that nasally twit Dennis.  "I can guarantee you, right here, right now, that if we bring this proposed schedule to the Governor, she will take it directly to the Senator and tell him where he can--"

"Toby!" CJ admonished, sitting up a little straighter in her seat to give him a warning look.  She turned to Chris.  "What Toby is trying to say, in his typically blunt fashion, is that this isn't going to fly.  I appreciate that the Governor has a strong female following, but--"

"CJ," Dennis interjected, "we need to present a unified front."  He shifted his squirrelly little gaze to Josh.  Apparently, Toby thought, Dennis was under the impression that Josh Lyman would be more amenable to illogical arguments about what was good for the party.  Dennis seemed to think that the events of 2002 had somehow marked Josh as a party loyalist whose allegiance to any one candidate could be shifted with nonsense about party unity.  What Dennis didn't realize was that although Josh's status as a lawyer was nominal at best, he did possess the powers of reason God gave a two year old and could clearly see through Dennis' idiotic arguments.  Like, "We need to bring back the Democrats who splintered off to support Douglas-Radford--"

"Splintered off?" Donna repeated, eyebrows raised.  "Isn't that kind of the point of a primary season?"

"I think what Dennis is trying to say," Jason Bezdek drawled, in his typical role, Toby groused, as interpreter to the idiots, "is that the Governor drew a female-heavy base.  In order to make sure we don't lose that base--"

"To whom?" Toni wondered aloud, flashing Toby a look that said 'can you believe this absurdity?'

Bezdek kept right on talking.  He was somehow able to mow down objections without seeming particularly rude; Toby figured it must be the accent.  Bezdek very rarely showed any sort of emotion or passion, maintaining his impassive expression the vast majority of the time.  "We need to do some outreach.  Who better to send than the Governor, who these groups supported in the first place?"

Sam frowned, brow furrowed slightly.  "You're saying that because this phantom 'splinter' group supported the Governor, we should send the Governor to address them to make sure they support her?"

Toby bit back a smirk and nodded almost imperceptibly at Sam, who ducked his head to hide his smile.  "As Sam points out," Toby said, "if your objective is to unify the party and not, as I suspect, to tweak your nose at the Governor, it would make more sense to send the Senator out to address Douglas-Radford's supporters, and vice versa."

"Women look up to her," Chris pointed out, studying him with her unnervingly intense gaze.  She had the palest blue eyes Toby had ever seen, and a certain talent for stating her opinion as if it were God's own.  "She'd do more good at meet-and-greets with women."

"Again, I point out that you have her slated to talk to the DAR," CJ noted dryly.  "I don't think shaking hands is gonna quite swing that constituency our way."

Nodding absently, Toni tapped a finger against the proposed itinerary.  "And what's this note at the bottom about the Convention?"

Toby leaned sideways, trying to catch a glimpse of the schedule, as his own was already filed in its final resting place: under a half-eaten Twinkie in the trash can.  Unfortunately, Toni was still brandishing the paper at the Haskell staffers, making it rather difficult for Toby to read.

Jason and Dennis exchanged looks, but of course it was Chris who spoke.  "We need to start thinking about which prominent female Democrat should introduce the Governor at the Convention."

Toby groaned as the Douglas-Radford staffers erupted into protests and expressions of disbelief.  It was going to be a long damn campaign.

***

Next:  July 2006