My Back Pages

by: Delightfully Eccentric

Pairing(s): CJ/Toby
Category(s): Post-Administration
Rating: MATURE
Disclaimer: The West Wing characters and histories aren't mine, and are used here for love, not money.
Summary: "Ah, but I was so much older then. I'm younger than that now."
Author's Note:Summary & chapter titles are from the eponymous song by Bob Dylan.

2. Lies That Life is Black and White - (the hotel)

*

Four hours after marking Toby's book launch, and the three of them have finished dinner in Sam's hotel and have been sitting at the bar too long to keep calling it after dinner drinks. What little gossip the papers haven't been interested enough to publish has been exchanged and gasped over; the convoluted jokes are coming thick and fast and they're still sufficiently aware to remember the punch lines.

Toby barely breaks his silence to grunt now and then but the others are keeping the conversation raucous enough to attract curious looks.

She laughs louder now. He's still not sure if it's at his expense.

*

From the way they're lighting each other up, she might have come here to see Sam. Come to think of it, maybe she did. Someone must have invited her.

His eyes must narrow when he thinks that, or some other indication on his face, because she switches direction in the middle of one about two nuns and a gorilla and asks Sam, "So how long have you been in league with this one to keep me out of the loop?"

Toby reflects, while Sam fumbles with his collar and wonders how they got from Sister Mary-Angela's zoological escapades to him being on the spot, that she could have called him far worse things than 'this one'. It's close enough to a term of endearment to allow him to take a moment to enjoy Sam dangling on the end of her hook.

*

As Sam splutters something unconvincing about attorney-client privilege, Toby rolls his eyes and finds hers waiting for him when he gets to the end of the roll, just long enough to register that they're both full of wonder that a boy who can't lie to his friends can get work in professional politics.

She's just looking away when he speaks, for the first time in at least twenty minutes: "I made him promise to lie to you." It's never been hard to confess to sins she's already forgiven him for.

She shrugs, not quite in his direction, and says, "I figured." It doesn't keep her from scooping some ice from the bucket on the bar and pouring it down Sam's loosened collar.

It's Toby's turn to laugh, loud and genuine. CJ calmly crosses her legs, dangling over the bar stool. Their fellow patrons are really beginning to take notice of them now. An indignant Sam is a sight to see.

"What the hell was that?!"

"It would've killed you to say, 'Lie to CJ, my very dear and most respected friend, why, I couldn't *possibly*...'?"

"He threatened to write me out of the book!"

"I did," Toby nods, unrepentant.

She fights the urge to giggle, because it seems so undignified. "You said at the signing we weren't in the book."

"I said that the characters weren't in the room. The characters are fictitious."

He sees her frown, try to remember the exact wording of the question and answer, and cuts across her thinking. "You're just going to have to read the damned thing."

"Oh, CJ, it's - it's *amazing*." Sam's eyes take on a dreamy glow. He's apparently forgiven her for the spreading patch of wetness across his silk shirt, which makes her feel a trifle remorseful. "Wait till you read the part about the-" Toby growls and Sam subsides. "Just promise you'll call me as soon as you're done." He punctuates the request with a sneeze.

She tosses back the last of her drink. "How big is your suite?"

*

So she and Toby are sitting side by side on the edge of a king-size bed and a terribly handsome man is showering in the en suite. She switches between cable TV channels while Toby raids the mini-bar, though in this suite the prefix is somewhat redundant.

"So," she flicks past a Bollywood epic, "Why?"

"Why what?", gulping a miniature Islay malt.

"Why didn't you want me to know about the book launch?"

She's looking at the television but she can tell he's shrugging.

"I didn't want everyone coming pestering me about what I'm writing."

"Yeah, but you told Sam to lie to *me*."

"Well," he takes a breath to think of a response, "You can be particularly pestiferous. At times."

She lingers at Oprah, just to irritate him; reaches back to slap him upside the head, misses, and feels rough hairs against her hand - she's cupping his chin.

*

She's twisted round and they're very much in each others faces. It's all dilated pupils and fingertips twitching, then it's just too much and she's giggling breathily and it's gone.

*

He falls back and stretches out on the bed; she turns back to the TV and the show she isn't watching.

"Uh, CJ," he tells her back, "Your viewing habits have, I guess, altered somewhat since I knew you."

It's not until then that she notices the silicon-pumped breasts shaking at her from the screen and the ooh-ahh breathing that sounds more like childbirth than orgasm.

"Should we be more disturbed," she asks, "That Sam's hooked up to porn or that we're both sitting on his bed watching it?"

"Speak for yourself," he admonishes, plumping a pillow. "I'm... sprawling, I guess you'd call it."

"Okay." She flops beside him. The remote is still at the foot of the bed. The girl onscreen gyrates enthusiastically.

Toby settles for gesticulating at the fridge. "Can Sam buy you a drink?"

He picks out Irish cream but doesn't let go when her hand closes over it. They tussle for a minute and when she laughs this time he knows it's at him, but that's okay because it takes on a pleasant ringing in his ears.

*

It wasn't like this in Washington.

*

There is a close-up of the male performer's ass bobbing up and down.

*

Toby shifts his eyes from the screen long enough to experience acute discomfiture at the realisation that her gaze is fixed upon his crotch.

He snaps his fingers and it works. She smiles innocently.

"What are - why-"

"I'm still in denial that men actually get turned on by this stuff. I mean, this is like the least erotic - no, wait, Jed Bartlet on any matter agricultural is the least erotic thing ever, but this runs it close."

*

Since the end of the administration it's been like the campaign again. The others all talk about 'Jed' these days. It still sounds wrong to Toby, but he's never liked to quit mourning the past.

*

In the present, he turns a shade of purple and rolls away onto his side.

"Toby."

He is aware of her body following him. Any closer and they'd be spooning.

One of her shoes has slipped off and fallen off the end of the bed. She rubs her stockinged toes against his ankle above the sock. He looks back over his shoulder to see her devilish grin.

*

Save for the bumping and grinding on the triple-x channel, one could hear a pin drop.

*

It takes fully five seconds before he realises that this means the shower has been turned off.

He's about to sit up when she holds his shoulder still and casts a meaningful glance at the movie, in which a third party has just joined the proceedings and, judging from his articulation of his enjoyment, apparently suffering from a respiratory problem of some kind.

*

They've finished cracking up by the time Sam emerges in a bathrobe, which is an interesting sight in and of itself.

"That came with the room," is the first thing out of his mouth.

"So did these," Toby indicates the scattered empties, "But you'll pay for them later, right?"

Sam delicately ignores the question and scrutinises their position.

"Should I come back later?"

He's kidding - maybe he shouldn't be.

But CJ is already on her feet and heading to the bathroom to refresh her lipstick and fingercomb her hair.

And maybe, just maybe, splash her face with a little cold water.

*

Sam elects to sit in the armchair instead of the bed. He takes the risk of reaching for the remote.

There's a particularly edifying edition of a popular reality television serial on channel 17." Toby, ever-helpful, drumming his fingers on the bedside table.

Sam clears his throat.

Toby waits till it's awkward, then asks, "You brought her here?"

"I-" He blushes and fumbles in his seat. Toby makes him a kid again, instead of the statesman he's become, and the wonder of it is that he doesn't even mind.

"I had them send out the details. Not exactly an invitation but-"

"You made sure she knew about the book."

"I thought she probably should."

Toby begins to open drawers, hunting for something to smoke. He rifles through CJ's purse, eliciting a murmur of disapproval from his protégé. There are neither cigarettes nor any secrets to be turned up, so he does without.

Sam is still making excuses but he is not listening.

*

He's watching the open crack of the bathroom door. She's half-cut, dancing to herself in the mirror, humming a rough approximation of the tune of 'Paperback Writer' while she applies eyeliner in an almost steady hand.

*

She's back, in the doorway with her hips tilted and her weight shifted mostly on one foot.

The porn's gone but her boys are still there.

She says, "I think it's time I read this book."

*

She and Sam spread the pages of the book open on the bed.

He brims with enthusiasm, quickly and accurately locating his favourite parts; she notes with affection that his copy is already looking dog-eared. She leans against Sam's solid back and reads over his shoulder.

She takes in a few words at random as Sam's fingers pause before he flips past fifty pages.

She is surprised at the force that catches her. She reaches around Sam and brushes her fingers across the ink-scarred paper. She looks back at Toby, who has taken over Sam's spot in the armchair and is studiously ignoring them and experiences a brief burning ache in her stomach for his sudden vulnerability.

His discomfort at the book launch was more than just crusty intolerance. He was watching anyone pick up a copy of his soul, or the nearest thing in corporeal form, for seventeen bucks and change.

And she has it all laid out in front of her to read.

*

Toby tries to close his ears as the younger pair exclaim with joy at his work. He cannot like it the way they do. He hears not the words, but the things words can't say. It feels, he imagines, like he's watching his own autopsy.

*

CJ and Sam spend a playful couple of hours bonding over a shared devotion to the words of the man getting drunk in the corner.

They read, but not properly. She's purposely skimming on the surface, afraid of the storm beneath. She wants to know what it has to tell her but it will keep. There's no need to risk the simple pleasure of the day's reunion.

Instead she and Sam embrace and tell each other several times how good it's been to get together again, and pour each other drinks until eventually Sam regretfully declines - he has an early flight.

It's a cue, ever so delicately given, and she hauls Toby from his seat.

There are more hugs and chaste kisses at the door - she revels again in the free licence to be effusive since they stopped being part of something bigger than them.

Sam leans against the doorpost and calls out promises to email as the others disappear down the corridor. CJ has a copy of the book tucked firmly under one arm.

*

When they hit the night air, Toby sobers up a little. They walk down the rosy-tinted street, holding each other up.

He wonders aloud where she's staying. She wonders if he's got room for a little one. He feigns irritation. She ignores it, smiling at the reflection of the moon in the windows of the few passing cars.

Neither realises just the hour until they reach a corner with a newspaper vendor. The early editions have hit the streets. On a hunch she buys one and flicks to the literary supplement. The book launch is covered in a couple of paragraphs, illustrated by a tiny reproduction of their photograph.

"I told you you shouldn't have done that," he says.

She shrugs. "I think it's a good picture."

He takes the paper from her and squints. "I suppose it isn't bad."

He looks at her out of the corner of his eye.

They walk another half a block.

He says, "I might use it for dust jacket of my next book."

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

| << back | send feedback | The National Library |