"How do you feel?" I asked my boss as he got into my car.
"Like...total shit." he groaned.
I should have known.
"Look in the glove box," I instructed.
He opened it and looked inside. "A tampon?" he asked, holding it up as far away from him as possible.
"Uh, no, back father." I blushed.
"A condom? What is that doing in here?"
Ooops. Now I was really red.
"Put that back."
"Fine, fine..." he said and continued rummaging around in the glove box. "Oooh, Tylenol."
"Here," I plucked my water bottle out of the cup holder and handed it to him.
"Thanks," he said and took the pills.
"Now," he said as I turned the radio on, "I want to know why you keep condoms in your car."
"Sam, drop it or I'll make your head hurt even worse than it already does," I warned him.
"When's the last time you actually got some, Kate?" he asked a few minutes later as we walked into the White House.
"I am never letting you drink in my sight again. Especially if it has results like this."
"Why can't you just answer the question?"
"When's the last time you slept with someone?" I retorted.
"Uh..." he snapped his mouth shut.
"My point exactly, Sam."
~~~~~
Sam was standing next to my desk while I went over his schedule for the day when CJ walked in. She didn't look happy.
"Anyone care to explain this?" she asked and threw the Post onto the desk.
"Uh oh..." Sam whispered.
"Big uh oh," I turned to look up at him.
The front page of the paper featured a rather large photo.
Which would have been fine, really, if the picture wasn't of Sam and I dancing at the Bubble Room.
"I'll let you two decide on a story." CJ said and stormed out.
I picked up the paper and read the caption to Sam. "White House Deputy Communications Director Samuel Seaborn dances with an unidentified woman at The Bubble Room in downtown D.C."
"Well, at least they didn't know who you were," Sam sighed.
"That's because it's my backside that's prominent, not my face. They sure got you though."
"So what do we do?" I asked him.
"I don't know," he answered.
~~~~~
Sam came out of his office just as I was hanging up the phone.
"Who was it?" he said, tilting his head towards the phone.
"Charlie," I said. "The President wants to talk to us."
"But I have the meeting with--"
"No, Sam. He wants to see us now."
"Oh. Let's go then," He looked as green as I felt.
~~~~~
Charlie, Zoey, Sam, and I sat on the sofa in the Oval Office, looking at each other nervously.
"So, who wants to tell me what happened last night?" The President asked as he perused the front page of the Post.
"I guess I will," Sam said, looking around at the rest of us before going on. "We all went to The Bubble Room last night."
"I know that, thank you. I want to know what the newspaper hasn't told me!" The President said angrily.
"It's my fault, daddy," Zoey spoke up. "Charlie and I didn't know what to do on Friday night, so we asked Kate if she could take us to the Bubble Room. Then Sam decided to come along too. Please, daddy, don't blame it on them." She looked up at her father pleadingly.
"Where were the Secret Service agents while the four of you were out partying?" he asked.
All we could do was shrug. "We figured they were undercover or something." I said.
"What happened at the club?"
"We were just dancing," Charlie told him quickly.
"Were you two drinking?" Bartlet directed the question at Sam and I.
"A little." I said meekly.
The President sighed and looked at Sam. "Only a little?"
"Maybe I overdid it a bit," Sam admitted.
"So, what else happened? Besides dancing...and drinking."
"Nothing," three of us said hastily and shook our heads.
"Oh, god, I can't live like this," Zoey groaned and held her head in her hands. "I went crowd surfing!"
"What?" her father bellowed.
"I was crowd surfing...but Kate stopped me and made us leave."
The President sighed and put his hands in his pockets.
"You can go," he told us. "But not you," he added as Zoey stood up.
Sam, Charlie, and I stood and filed out, hanging our heads.
***
"So, what happened last night?" Josh asked when he caught up to Sam in the hallway.
"Oh, god, you saw the picture?" Sam's eyes widened.
"Saw it, for Christ's sake, I have three copies of it pasted on the wall in my office," he laughed.
"Oh god," Sam moaned and walked away.
***
"Sam," I stood in the doorway of his office, "CJ wants us to make a statement to the Press."
"What?" he looked up from his computer, "When?"
"Uh," I looked at my watch, "About ten minutes from now."
"This is officially the worst day of my life," Sam whimpered and banged his head down on his desk.
~~~~~
CJ was finishing her statement to the Corps as Sam and I walked into the Press Room.
"...and as I said before, the group was safe and no one was hurt. That's all I have for you."
She glanced over and saw us standing there, nervously eyeing the reporters.
"Okay, here is Deputy Communications Director Samuel Seaborn and his personal aide Kate Montgomery."
She motioned us over as she stepped away from the podium. Immediately flashbulbs started popping, nearly blinding me.
Sam stepped up to the podium first.
"H-hi everyone. I'm Sam Seaborn, and I'm sure CJ told you what happened last night...and I'm sure you've all seen the picture in the Post this morning..."
Oh no. This was not going well.
I stepped up next to Sam and he instantly stepped back. I thought I could hear him hyperventilating, but I ignored it.
"Good morning, everyone. My name is Kate Montgomery, and I assist Sam Seaborn. He's right, CJ has told you the whole story. But to make sure everything is clear, I wouldn't mind taking some questions..."
At once, all the reporters were waving their arms at me and yelling my name. I pointed to the first person I saw, a woman in her late fifties in a bright yellow suit. Hey, what can I say, she caught my eye.
"Who had the idea to go to the club?"
"Zoey Bartlet. She asked if I would take her and Charlie, the President's aide, to the Bubble Room last night, and I obliged. We convinced Sam to come along at the last minute."
I pointed to another reporter, whose questions were followed by a few other reporters.
"Kate, how close are you to the President's daughter?"
"Well, I've only known her for about six months, but we've become friends very quickly. Yes?"
"What kind of relationship do you have with Sam Seaborn?"
Uh oh. Should have known this one was coming.
"He's my boss and we're good friends. That's all. Yes, you in the blue?"
"Were alcoholic drinks served at the club? And I have a follow-up as well."
"Okay, thank you. Of course. The Bubble Room is "Eighteen to Enter," and those under twenty-one must wear a wristband signifying that they can't be served at the bar, but alcohol is available to those of age."
"Who from your group drank at the club last night?" Was his follow-up question.
"Obviously Zoey and Charlie didn't because they aren't old enough. I was the designated driver. Sam was the only one who drank at all."
"The picture implies that you and Mr. Seaborn are very close. Did anything happen between the two of you last night?"
"Of course not. The picture simply implies what is true-that we had a good time last night. Anyone else?"
"Do you know who took the picture and is there anyone you would like to say to them?"
"I don't know who the photographer was; I don't think anyone knows and I hope that anyone who does would come forward. As for what I would like to say to them--Next time, ask us first, we'll be happy to pose."
That got a laugh from the reporters. "I think that's all we have time for, thank you. Have a good day."
I stepped back from the podium and in a flurry of camera flashes Sam nearly dragged me out of the room and back to his office.
"Sam, are we hiding from someone?" I asked him as he practically shoved me into his office and closed the door behind us.
"I'm just hoping that it'll take CJ long enough to get to us that she'll be calmed down a bit."
"What do you mean?"
"Didn't you see how she nearly fell over when you started taking questions?"
"No."
"Oh. Well she was trying to stop you, but gave up once you really got rolling."
"Sam, how big did I just screw up out there?"
"I don't know how CJ will take it, but you saved my ass. Thanks."
"No problem. I didn't think you'd be nervous, though. I mean, you're like the 'Big Man on Campus,' except it's....'Big Man...at the...White House'...okay, maybe that's a bad comparison, but you know what I mean."
"I know. But I'm not usually the one talking to the press. They kind of scare me," He confessed.
Then, CJ burst into the office. And she did not look happy.
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