Josh got up later and they shared a quiet meal listening to the periodic clicks as new messages were recorded on the telephone answering machine. Sam could not bring himself to add to Josh’s worries by telling him what the calls were about. He certainly could not tell him it would be best, as Lisa had suggested, if he left in the morning.
Josh was not doing well. He was restless and agitated, continually taking in deep lungfuls of air and nervously pressing at his chest.
Sam persuaded him to go to bed at around midnight and when he brought him a glass of water Josh did not argue when he did not leave. He sat in an armchair in the corner of the room and they talked about the Santos campaign and Sam’s re-election, DC gossip and baseball until Josh finally seemed to relax and eventually fell asleep.
Sam stayed awake listening to Josh’s breathing, endlessly imagining irregular rhythms and missed beats. Eventually he fell asleep in the armchair, in the clothes he had been wearing all day.
“Sam.” He was woken when it was still dark, by Josh shaking him urgently.
“What is it?”
“I have to go back to hospital.”
He clasped Josh’s arm. “Calm down. What’s wrong?”
“It’s – I think it’s happening again.”
Sam was already dressed but he went hunting for his shoes and by the time he found them Josh had pulled on his jeans and a sweater and was waiting for him by the door.
He grabbed his glasses and car keys and made Josh put on his jacket before they left the apartment. Sam supported Josh down the narrow steps to street level and helped him into the passenger seat of his car.
The streets were almost empty and he drove fast. As he drove Josh was silent except for the small gasps of his rapid breaths.
“Josh,” he said. “Try to slow down. You’re going to be fine.”
“I’m not going to be fine, Sam. I could be bleeding internally, I could have a rupturing artery, there could be a clot heading for my heart.”
“Or,” he said more firmly. “You could have indigestion from my cooking.”
Josh turned to Sam. “I can’t breathe. I honestly can’t breath.”
“You can,” he said. “Josh. We’re nearly there, just a few minutes.” When he was sure an extra fifty miles had been added to the road and an extra fifty traffic lights.
Josh’s breathing gradually slowed, which was somehow more frightening. He stared at the road ahead for most of the journey until he quietly said.
“I phoned you from the cab last time.”
Sam glanced at him.
“I phoned you from the cab because I wanted yours to be the last voice I heard.”
The hospital came finally in to sight as they turned a corner. “I know, Josh,” Sam replied.
The Emergency Department was quiet when they burst in and they were attended to immediately. Josh was shown into an examination room with heart monitoring equipment and as he took off his jacket Sam was invited to go to the waiting area. He stayed there with his hand in his hair staring at the clock for almost an hour.
“Are you Sam?” A nurse attracted his attention. “You can go in and see your friend, now.”
“How is he?”
“He’s fine,” she said cheerily. “False alarm.”
“Thank God. Thank -. But why couldn’t he breathe?”
“He panicked. It’s common for heart patients to have phantom symptoms.”
Josh was lying on a bed in the examination room where his heart was registering a steady reassuring pattern in coloured lines on a screen. He watched Sam draw up a chair.
“I’m never going to be allowed to forget this, am I?”
“Absolutely not.” Sam’s eyes wandered over the array of equipment surrounding Josh’s bed. Small lights blinked benignly and for a moment Sam imagined them the only two passengers in a drifting spaceship. “Are you okay now?”
Josh nodded, exhaling a sigh. “Just embarrassed. And I scared you to death. Again.”
“Hush,” Sam said. “Can we go?”
“They want to monitor my heart for another hour.”
“I bet that machine’s not even connected up.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I bet it’s picking up Talk Radio.”
“So funny.”
Sam leaned his forearms on Josh’s bed and closed his eyes. Soon he felt Josh’s hand stroking gently through his hair.
It was daylight when they left the hospital and the streets were already busy with the Friday morning bustle of people and cars.
The traffic slowed as they approached Sam’s normally quiet street and Sam could not see the reason for this until he spotted a TV News van parked awkwardly on the corner.
As they turned into the street he saw two more vans with satellite dishes on the roof double-parked and a vast, untidy crowd of journalists and photographers clustering around Sam’s front door.
Sam cursed and Josh said “What the hell?”
Sam backed around the corner before he was spotted. “Josh, can we go to your apartment?”
“Sure. But my keys are at yours. Actually and my meds.”
“Okay. Then. Then we have to face them.” He found a space to park in the next street.
They watched as a man with a placard walked by. Leaning they could just read the slogan. ‘Congressman Seaborn. Fornicator. Let Jesus into your life or rot in hell.’
“Well that seems so unfair considering I’m the only one not having any sex.”
“Sam,” Josh said evenly. “Is there something you need to tell me right now.”
Sam leaned back in his seat to confirm his reading of the placard.
“Yes, I think now would be a good time.” He turned to Josh. “I didn’t want to tell you until you were better.”
“Go on, I knew there was something.”
“Well. You know Vinko –“
“Oh no.”
“You remember Vinko spoke to Steve Wilson outside the hospital on Monday?”
“Yes.”
“He told Steve I was your ex-boyfriend.”
“What?” Josh’s voice hit one of its higher pitches. “Why the hell would he do that? I swear I never said anything about you to him.”
“No I know. I don’t blame you. Or him. Don’t get upset.” He laid his hand on Josh’s arm. “Don’t get upset, Josh. Its okay.”
Josh contained his fury. “So Steve told the world? The bastard.”
“Well, it kind of gathered momentum since I wouldn’t comment.”
Josh stared at him. “Because of the follow-up question?”
“Because of that. Because I didn’t want to waste my time with nonsense when you were in a hospital bed.”
“You’ve got to issue a statement. Issue a brief statement correcting the misunderstanding.”
“Lisa got Elaine to arrange for me to meet Steve this morning. She told me to lie.”
Josh sighed. “It would hardly even count as a lie, Sam.”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes. It was suddenly easier not to look at Josh. “I’m ready to talk to them now.”
“What are you going say?”
Sam shrugged and pushed open the car door. “I’m going to lie. How does my hair look?”
“It’s vertical and you’ve got Richard Nixon stubble.”
“Perfect. Lets go.”
At first in the throng of people nobody spotted them making their way down the sidewalk. Then someone shouted their names and the crowd closed in. A photographer with a tripod bumped into them and a hundred camera shutters clicked as Sam put his arm around Josh to steady him and protect him from the jostling.
Sam opened the front door of his house to let Josh in and then turned to the crowd of reporters. They were an overwhelming sight and his courage deserted him. “Give me one hour guys,” he called out over the buzz of questions. “And I’ll be out to talk to you.”
“Why didn’t you speak to them?” Josh asked as they went into Sam’s apartment.
“No reason, they can wait.”
“You didn’t want to make a statement with bad hair.”
“Yes. Shut up.” He looked down at his crumpled suit. “Will you be okay if I go and have a shower and sort out my statement?”
“I think it’s been established I’m fine, but I can help you with your statement. Seeing as its –.“
“All your fault anyway.”
Josh made a pot of coffee while Sam showered, and while he shaved Josh sat on the edge of the bath.
“I would first like to say -.” Sam began.
“Not first, it implies there’s more. Start with your statement.”
“Okay, how about – ‘I have been married to Lisa for nine years and I have never been unfaithful to her.’ God and up pops Larry the rent boy with the blackmail photographs from last time.”
“No, he won’t. I saw him at a bar the other week and he practically ran to get away from me. No, stick to that, its clear and honest. Then what?”
“Then ‘Lisa is very important to me and I do not intend ever to be unfaithful to her’. Even though I keep accidentally kissing Josh Lyman. Ask me some questions.”
“What would lead Vinko Bravic to think you were Josh’s ex-boyfriend?”
“I – uh. What do I say?”
“Say you’ve no idea. Don’t try to figure out his reasoning.”
“Ask me another.”
“Were you and Josh Lyman in a relationship before you met Lisa?”
“No, I have never been in a relationship with Josh Lyman.”
“Or –“
“Or any other man.”
“Are you homosexual, Congressman?”
“I am not.” He finished shaving and took a sip of the strong coffee Josh had made for him. “And is that the sound of a cock crowing for a third time?”
“Well, you’re not Saint Peter and despite what I might have told you I’m not Jesus Christ, so don’t lets make a big thing of this.”
“Don’t make a big thing!” Sam exclaimed. “They’re on the doorstep, Josh. The nightmare’s happening.”
“I know Sam, I know.” He put his hand on Sam’s back. “Come on, time to blow dry.”
Josh took Sam into his bedroom and found a shirt and sober dark suit for him to wear. Sam got ready aware of Josh’s gaze on him.
“Anyway,” he said picking up a conversation they had not been having. “Why should it just be you who reflects on their life and realises it sucks? If Lisa had been ill no one would have expected me to be at work this week. I’ve been on the Hill every single day, I’ve hardly seen you. This is no way to conduct a life, Josh. You figured that out why shouldn’t I?”
But Josh didn’t answer. He sat on the edge of the bed, staring at Sam’s tie in his hands. Sam took the tie from him and went to the mirror to put it on.
“Don’t bother, I know the answer already.”
He stood in front of the mirror steadying his nerves and preparing for what was to come. Josh appeared behind him.
“If I thought it would help I’d go with you.”
“I don’t think it would help, really. It should be Lisa for the whole cliché but I suppose she can stand by me from ten blocks away in the Marriott.”
“Lisa’s in town? Thank God, I thought I was having some sort of symptom when I heard her voice in my sleep yesterday.”
Finally Sam laughed.
A key in the lock brought them both into the living room. The door was flung open and in walked Vinko, resplendent in green leather and satin. He was breathlessly excited.
“O. M. G.,” he exclaimed.
Sam looked at Josh who translated. “Oh my God.”
“Have you seen them all? I had my picture taken fifty times. It’s my dream come true.”
“Where have you been?” Josh asked.
“I went to get the paper.” He held up the New York Times.
“Fourteen hours ago.”
“Truly?” He blinked. “But why are they here? They asked me about you two guys.”
“They’re here because of what you told that cameraman,” Josh said. “Why did you tell him Sam was my ex? Do you know what you’ve done?”
“It was a secret? But why should they care?”
“Sam’s a Congressman, he’s a married man.”
Vinko looked crestfallen. “A bit disaster?”
“Just a bit.”
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“And it’s not true,” Josh said. “What you said about Sam. It’s just not true. We were never together.”
Vinko’s bewilderment increased.
“Really?”
“Why would you think it? I never said anything -”
“But there is someone. There is someone whom you are so much in love with it makes you sad even when you are happy. I know this. And then beautiful, dark Sam appears and he seems just as sad, just as in love. This is how I know. Is it not so?”
Sam and Josh both stared at him.
Vinko nodded. “Yes, I am never wrong about such things.” He wandered off in the direction of the kitchen. “Sam, you should be gay, it’s so much fun. And Yoshua is as hot as hell.”
Sam found himself laughing despite himself and Josh turned to him. “There you are, you see what you’ve been missing.”
Then Sam was suddenly sobbing. His hand came to his mouth but before he could stop great, heavy sobs choked out of him, sending shuddering convulsions through his body, loosing emotions he did not know he possessed.
Josh’s arms immediately encircled him, as he knew they would. Josh was silent as he held Sam, he did not try to soothe or quiet him and it was only when all of Sam’s grief had flowed out and all his tears had been used up that Josh held Sam’s head against his shoulder and spoke quietly.
“Imagine it’s your last moment on earth,” he said. “You’re in some taxicab watching your life flash by. What are you proud of and what do you regret?”
Sam lifted his head from Josh’s shoulder to look into his eyes. “What did you regret?”
“Some dumb advice I once gave you.”
Sam left Josh’s arms, left his apartment, left his house and found himself on his doorstep facing a forest of tape recorders. Eventually the calls of his name and the clicks of the cameras died away.
“I have a short statement to make,” he said aware his voice was almost lost, aware of how wretched he must appear. “I have been married to my wife, Lisa for nine years, we have two children. I have never been unfaithful to her.” The reporters waited in silence. “I have been a Congressman representing California 47 for nearly four years. I have served the people of my district to the best of my ability. I hope to be able to continue to do so after the upcoming election.”
When he lapsed into silence blinking down at his shoes one of the reporters, a man he knew well from his White House days said almost gently.
“How’s Josh, Sam? We know you’ve just brought him back from hospital.”
He looked up. “Josh is going to be fine, thank you Alan.”
“It has been alleged, Congressman,” Alan continued. “That you have previously been involved in a relationship with Josh Lyman? Is there any truth in this?”
“I have never -,” his voice failed him again. “No, it’s not true. I’ve never been involved with Josh.”
He waited for the next question. The follow-up. Finally, after all these buried years the moment had arrived. He scanned the reporters’ faces, some of them familiar, some of them not and wondered which of them would be the one to ask it.
“Thanks Sam,” a couple of them said. “Thank you for your time, Congressman.”
The photographers were putting away their cameras, the reporters switching off their sleek, silver recorders. There was going to be no follow-up. No next question.
“Wait,” he said stopping them. They looked at him expectantly. “I also wanted to say that although I have never been involved in a relationship beyond friendship with Josh Lyman, I hope in time to address that situation and that our relationship will develop.”
A brief silence fell, they glanced at each other and the crowd closed around him again. “Congressman, are you saying you’re homosexual?”
“I am.” The earth shifted a degree under his feet and he gripped the stair rail to steady himself.
“Are you saying you want a PowerPoint presentation,” shouted a familiar voice. Then Danny was making his way through the crowd and stamping up the steps. He stood in front of Sam. “Go away,” he yelled. “No more questions. No more pictures. And that includes people who work for me.”
He spoke over his shoulder. “Well done, Sam, congratulations.”
“Danny,” Sam said. “Did I say all that out loud?”
“You sure did, you did great. I think Josh is waiting for you inside, so why don’t you go on in?” Danny held open the door. “I’ll call you later, okay buddy.” As the door closed Sam heard him say. “I’d like to mention I knew all along.
He found Josh waiting for him in the hallway. He could only gaze at him, everything else was gone, rational thought, coherent speech, space and time even. For those moments there was only Josh.
Josh took his hand. He led him up to the apartment, brought him inside and kissed him. It was like a first kiss, not stolen or despairing, not accidental or meant to be their last but simply exploring mouths, tender hands and finally awakening, long-dormant desire.
A blur of green whipped past clutching a giant sandwich. “Yes. I am going. Don’t need to thank me.” Sam scarcely noticed the door slamming shut and a picture dropping off the wall.
Epilogue
The California sunlight had streamed across the bed and woken Sam. He was foggy from not enough sleep but he immediately missed the sleeping breaths of the body that should have been there next to him. It was a few minutes before six and Sam switched off the alarm, catching it before it went off.
A dawn chill came with the sun through the open window, making him reach for a towelling robe as he got out of bed. A breeze carried in the scent of sea. He did not stop to breathe it in but left the bedroom, still asleep for all practical purposes.
He knew from the smell of brewing coffee where he would find Josh and he headed for the kitchen. He was standing at the counter with a mug of tea, reading a newspaper.
Sam still marvelled at the sight of early morning Josh. Unshaven and unshowered, he was hardly at his best but it was a sight Sam had long been denied and it had become magical to him.
“Have I got something on my face?” Josh asked.
Sam was not awake enough for banter. He came to Josh and kissed him slowly. Tastes and scents still lingered from last night and a mild sexual charge shivered through him. Josh gripped his arms and when the kiss was over Josh stayed close, whispering his name and Sam woke slowly. He still did not truly believe he was allowed to do this.
With a sigh Josh released him and went to pour him a coffee. “What have you got today?”
Sam yawned. “Association of California Food Producers at ten.”
“They don’t hate you.”
“Subsidies.”
“Apart from on subsidies. Can I help?”
Sam’s briefcase was by the door where he had left it last night and he went to get it.
“I have a terrible feeling they’re going to ask me about the Food Labelling Act.”
Josh kissed him and passed him his coffee. “In that case, you’re on your own.”
“I thought as much.”
Josh picked up his newspaper and Sam dragged over a stool and sat next to him.
Elaine had put together a briefing pack to help him prepare for the Q and A and when Josh had retrieved his glasses from the heap of newspapers on the counter he leafed through it. As he read he realised he remembered the legislation anyway.
“I know this,” he said.
“You surprise me,” Josh said dryly.
It was unexpectedly stamped on his memory, the last event of his old existence, boiled dry, cook-chilled and labelled in grey before all this colour and life flooded in.
He read on. There were many issues. A Californian story of orange juice and GE corn, wine and migrant labour. He stalled at dairy herds and warehouses of beef; stomach turning at this time in the morning and looked over at the article Josh was reading. It was in one of the local papers and there was a picture of himself and Josh on the campaign. “What does it say?”
“It says you’re shorter than you look on TV.”
“That’s not news.”
“It’s a good article. They’ve been talking to people on the street and out of everyone they’ve spoken to mostly only people with a priest or a pastor seem to care about us.”
He smiled at Josh. “That must be because I hooked up with a Jewish fella.”
“Must be.”
“They’ve got Grieves saying, it’s all very well being honest this time but what about the other two campaigns?”
“It’s a good point.”
“If it were that simple.”
He read over Josh’s shoulder. ‘The strange thing is that since Seaborn’s emotional ‘coming out’ on the steps of his DC apartment the less than favourable opinion polls have slowly but steadily been swinging in his favour. Go figure.’
It definitely could have been worse. He had got reasonably good press in Washington. For a few days all he saw on the news was his own tearstained face. All he heard was his statement, which he now had no memory of making.
But there was never anything that could be called a scandal. There were no former lovers to sell accounts of past affairs. No rent boy kiss-and-tells to keep the story alive and, strangely, it died away.
Fellow congressmen shook his hand and clapped him on the back. A few others kept their distance. Then everyone got on with their work.
Out here they had a more personal interest but still there were few who were openly hostile. Even Republicans weren’t risking the appearance of homophobia.
It had been harder making peace with Lisa, explaining things to the children, to his parents. But these were scenes he had rehearsed in his mind too many times to count. It was almost a relief to play them out for real.
“I’ve got to cut this out for V,” Josh said.
“What’s that?”
“It says ‘Vinco Bravic, now on tour as a dancer with Britney Spears, using his apparently infallible gaydar, famously let the cat out of the bag. He’ll like infallible gaydar.”
“Never mind gaydar I think he’s psychic.” He took a sip of coffee. “What are you doing today?”
“I thought I’d go and annoy your volunteers about voter registration.”
“Josh.”
“What? I like annoying your volunteers.”
“You’re supposed to be here resting, not running my campaign.”
“This is restful for me. Last time I stopped working completely I ended up having angioplasty.”
“We rented this apartment so we could be five minutes from the beach.”
“I know, I think I might be allergic to sand.”
“Please, Josh, take care of yourself. If I lose I lose. I can handle that. Its you I can’t handle losing.”
He regretted this immediately. He had never allowed himself to suggest to Josh he might not make a full recovery.
Josh put down the paper and turned to him. “You’re not going to lose me, Sam. I’m taking care of myself because I’ve got a hell of a lot to lose myself now. And I am honest-to-god taking care of myself.” He held up his tea. “Look I’m drinking plants for you.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to –.“
“No need to apologise. You’re right. Well, almost right. Let me go in today and I’ll take tomorrow off. I promise.”
Sam nodded. “Okay, that sounds good.”
When Josh went to take a shower Sam finished reading the article. The reporter had followed the campaign around for a day and, in the unnerving way journalists have, watched his interactions with the public, with Lisa, who had brought the girls along to one of the events, and with Josh and then interpreted it all as if he were writing an English Literature paper on them.
This reporter seemed to be taken with Josh, describing him as ‘good looking, charismatic and an energising presence in the campaign’. Sam had no argument with this.
He had a gentler characterisation of Sam. ‘Back at Campaign Headquarters the Congressman chats to his staff. This is a happier more relaxed Sam Seaborn than we have seen in a long time and as his gaze momentarily rests on Josh Lyman waiting, arms folded and beaming, at the back of the room, it is easy to see the reason for the change.’
