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on
the seventh day CJ/Toby, The West Wing, the
Bordello
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by Liz October 2001 CJ/T rated: R, for a bit of grown up language characters: not mine. challenge: from the Bordello summary: nothing happens on Sundays
He comes to you on Fridays and Saturdays. Never Sundays. You leave the White House together on Friday, late at night, pretending that there's no more work today, no more miracles that need accomplishing. You leave together on Fridays, but you never come in together on Mondays. He comes to you on Fridays and Saturdays. He leaves you on Sunday morning. You don't mind, not really. Bagels and coffee with your lover on a Sunday morning, walks in the park, lazy mornings reading through newspapers: none of these things are right for you and him. You never discuss it, this unspoken affair, this bond of sex, whiskey and Saturdays. You never discuss it; you've learned not to ask the questions whose answers would become burdens. Babish knew that. Anyway, you don't need to ask to know that he spent lazy Sunday mornings with Andrea. Friday and Saturday nights, sex and CNN -- they're not completely real. You fuck, you watch him drink, you grab short meals and fuck some more. He leaves on Sunday mornings, and you see each other on Mondays: suited, neat, professional. Between Monday and Friday afternoon, you aren't lovers, and Sunday is the liminal period, the in-between state, the transition. You consider this, but you never discuss it with him. On some level, you think that words would make this real, even though you know almost better than anyone that words are false, weak, ambiguous. Words are his tools, but you know how dangerous they are. Neither of you speak of this, therefore it's not real. He married Andrea, he used the words, spoke the vows … he spoke of it, but it ended anyway. All those words, all those Sundays, all for nothing. It's better that you never speak of it. You let your bodies, his whiskey, your CNN to stand instead of language. He comes to you on Fridays and Saturdays; he leaves you early on Sunday mornings. Both of you know it's better this way. END
Copyright © 2001 Elizabeth M. Barr
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