All characters belong to Aaron Sorkin and ABC. The title's from Tom Waits. This story is a companion to The Fog's Lifting. Please send feedback.

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A Man Can Breathe
Cinnamon


I'm hiding in my office.

It's surprisingly easy to hide in here. I'm not even scrunched up behind the couch or anything. I'm sitting at my desk, with the door open. But I'm hiding.

I've come to the conclusion that most of the people around here like Dan better than they like me. I'm not feeling sorry for myself; it's a simple statement of fact. Sure, he has his days, but nobody's knocking down our door, and he's out of the office today. That's not a coincidence.

On a normal day, Dan sits in his little chair over there, and I sit in mine. We type. We banter. We watch a lot of sports. And Natalie stops in five or ten times. It's always for something small, some seemingly insignificant reason, but now he's not here and she's not stopping by, and I have to wonder about the connection there. Jeremy usually stops in, too. Half the time, he's looking for Natalie, but more often than not, he has a question for Dan. Once, Jeremy even asked him for advice about clothes. Dan. He asked Dan for advice about clothes. Like Dan Rydell's some fucking fashionista. Frankly, I should be glad that Jeremy's reaching out for wardrobe advice at all, but --

Shit. Dana's coming. Pretend to be busy.

"Hey, Casey."

Shit. "Dana." Doesn't she know that I'm hiding?

"You're hiding."

Shit. "I'm working on my script. I'm working on Sandy Southwark's script."

"You've been in here all day." She places her left hand on my desk and rests on it. Dana has delicate wrists. I've never noticed that before.

"The show doesn't write itself," I tell her. "And since Danny decided that he was too good for us today, I'm writing for two."

"Casey's heading for a meltdown."

I rock back in my chair, try to stop looking at her wrist. "That's just jibber-jabber."

She turns her head towards the hall. "Natalie, boil some water. Jeremy, grab some clean towels. Casey's writing for two and he's heading for a meltdown."

Kim hurries in and hands Dana a sheet of paper. "Bear down, Casey," she tells me.

I shake my head. So does Dana. "What?"

"Nothing." She shakes her head again, causing a stray piece of hair to fall over her eye. I swallow the urge to brush it from her face. "It's just -- nothing."

I narrow my eyes at her. "You're sure?"

She nods. "Yeah. It's nothing. Besides, you're writing for two." She pushes herself from the desk and clods into the hall. "So, write! Chop, chop!" She claps. She says "chop, chop" and she claps at me. I shake my head again. And I watch her walk away.


* * *


I have this recurring dream. I'm in the bar area of a restaurant, knocking back chocolate martinis. I mean, I'm downing these things like they're water and I'm fresh from the desert. In my waking life, I've never had a chocolate martini. I have my suspicions as to whether or not it's even a real drink. It sounds like something a little girl would invent. But in the dream, I'm just pouring them down the hatch, and this woman saunters over. She sits next to me and asks if I have a light. Her voice is deep and thick, and it sort of catches in her throat when she says 'light.' In my waking life, I never have a light, but in the dream, there's a violet Zippo in my front pocket. I pull it out and look at this woman for the first time.

It's Lauren Hutton. It's Lauren fucking Hutton, and she has her hand on my thigh. I chuckle. Because a good, hearty laugh is always what a woman wants to hear when she's coming on to you. Lauren doesn't seem to mind, though. I flick the lighter at her and she leans in, catching the flame with the tip of her cigarette and inhaling deeply, then turning her head to exhale. She's a courteous old dame, I'll give her that.

But then, she sort of pisses me off. After one drag, she drops her cigarette into my drink. One drag, and she ruins a perfectly good chocolate martini. "What are you doing?" I holler at her. She grins at me, which really pisses me off. I reach over, grab her shoulders, and shake her. "What are you doing?"

She grabs my crotch and sticks her tongue in my mouth. Like that's an answer.

When she's finished, I see her face again. She's not Lauren Hutton anymore. Suddenly, she's rookie golfer Beth Bader.

I wonder what that means.


* * *


I haven't slept with a lot of people. I mean, I had a decent amount of sex in college. There was Lisa, of course, and Sally. Pixley, that one time, but it wasn't great. Julianna Levy, who is still the only natural redhead I've ever seen naked. Gorgeous girl, legs up to her neck. She was also my first. In, of all places, the park. Voyageurs National Park, to be exact. We went up there for our senior trip, all two hundred and some of us and five of the most underpaid teachers the world has ever known. Eight hours in a charter bus, and Julianna Levy had her head in my lap for four of them. Brian Koch must have robbed a liquor store because he just kept pulling bottles out of his suitcase, and we got incredibly, disgustingly wasted. I took her up to this scenic overlook, and we created scenery of our own. And then she threw up on my face. That sort of thing sobers you up right quick.

To review: I've slept with Julianna Levy, Stephanie Kugler, some guy named Winston, some girl named Francesca, Tom Nicolletti, Lisa, Sally, Pixley, and Dan. But not Dana.

But hey, it's her loss. I've got moves she's never seen.

It's not like I think about having sex with Dana all the time. I think about it a lot, but not all the time. In the middle of that dating plan, I didn't think about having sex with Dana for, like, a week. But I thought about it today. And I'm not thinking about Sandy Southwark right now, I can tell you that much.

Actually, I am. I'm thinking about how much I don't want to do the show with Sandy Southwark. He's a nice enough guy, but it's just going to be a pain in the ass. Danny's at home right now. He's probably not even dressed. He's probably drinking a beer. I know that he's not worried about the fact that I have to sit next to Sandy Southwark for an hour tonight.

What a pussy. No, seriously. He's hiding over there in his apartment. Yeah, I'm hiding in my office, but at least I had the balls to come in today. This is -- you know what? I don't need this. I have a son. I have a son and an ex-wife and if that's not enough to deal with, give me a sign. On top of that, I'm on TV six nights a week, which is usually great because I get to sit alongside my best friend, but tonight, I'm going to be sitting alongside Sandy fucking Southwark because my best friend is too chickenshit to talk to me.

That's fine. If Danny wants to be that way, that's fine. I'll write Sandy Southwark's script, but he's not getting the good jokes.


* * *


I'm going to have to leave the office.

The plan was to stay in here until the rundown, but I'm hungry. And I have to pee. I guess I shouldn't have had that fifth cup of coffee.

We have a potted plant in the corner. Maybe I could gnaw on the leaves and then pee into the dirt. It's an ugly plant anyway, and nobody'd have to know. Charlie did that once, when he was little. He didn't actually pee into the dirt so much as he took off his diaper, smeared it across the wall, and buried it in the dirt, but still. Potted plants always remind me of Charlie. That's why we have one in here in the first place. And I missed his game.

He's not a good player, but he's having more fun with it lately than he used to. At least, I think he is. That's what he tells me. That's what Lisa tells me. And that makes me happy. He's still just a little guy, and they grow up so fast anymore, but he still likes to play ball. And I missed his game.

All right, for the record, I didn't actually miss his game. Okay, I did actually miss it, but I didn't forget about it. I took a shower and went on down to the field, but nobody was there. No cars in the parking lot, no parents in the stands, nothing. And I thought, "Damn, McCall, you're early." I was proud of myself. I was proud of myself until I'd stood around for about an hour and it hit me that maybe I wasn't early, after all. So I started wandering around the field, thinking about playing catch with Charlie, wondering if he noticed that I wasn't there, and the next thing I knew, I was crying. I was standing there on second base, crying all over myself, because really, what kind of father misses his son's baseball game?

There was a message from Lisa on my machine when I got home. She wasn't mad. She actually sounded concerned, which really fucked with my head. She was worried because she knew I'd never miss one of Charlie's games unless something was wrong. I couldn't call her back until it got dark because I didn't know what I was going to say to her, and I couldn't call Danny to talk to him about it because what would I say to him? When I finally did call her, she didn't answer. I thought I'd duck out for a few hours this afternoon and pick Charlie up from school, maybe take him for ice cream or something, but Lisa won't answer the phone and I can't leave anyway because once again, Danny's fucked me over.

To hell with it. I'm going to get a sandwich.

I peek into the hall, determine that the coast is clear, and make a break for it. I'm almost to the elevator.

"Casey!"

Shit. "Hey, Kim."

"Are you going for lunch?"

Tell her you're just going down to Graphics. "Yeah."

"Did you want to get me anything?"

I press the button for the elevator. "Do you want me to get you something?"

She smiles broadly. "I do!"

"And I'm just supposed to do this out of the kindness of my heart?"

She lowers her head and sticks out her lower lip. "My purse was stolen."

The elevator opens, and I step inside. "Yeah, like two months ago." She bats her eyelashes at me, and I groan. "Reuben?"

"And a diet Coke." I watch her disappear as the doors close. "Thanks, Casey!"


* * *


I have this habit of leaving my clothes in inappropriate places. It started in Voyageurs National Park. I left one of my Reeboks somewhere among the rocks and the trees. Oh, what fun I had explaining that one to my parents. I left an undershirt at Lisa's. There was a brief period in the mid-eighties during which I had my ear pierced, and I lost more than one of those puppies in various dorm rooms and frat houses across campus. I left a dress shirt at Sally's. I left a tie at Pixley's. And I left my socks at Dan's.

It's not something that I mean to do. I don't consciously leave my clothes in inappropriate places. This habit is turning into a pain in the ass. Take that dress shirt, for example. Actually, don't. I don't want to talk about that. But, like, the socks. I came home without socks on, and now I have a blister on my heel. It's painful. I think I'm limping a little. It's not a pleasant thing to live with.

"Casey."

I look up and see Jeremy peeking into the office. He's sort of wrapped around the doorway, which looks to be incredibly uncomfortable.

"Jeremy."

"I'm supposed to tell you that we're ninety seconds short." He's still in the hall.

"Great." Maybe I'll ask Sandy to tell the viewers a little about himself.

"Dana wanted me to tell you that."

I nod, then pause. "Why didn't Dana tell me?"

"She's not feeling well."

I pause again. "What do you mean?"

"She's not feeling well," he repeats, slowly. "She's lying down in her office."

"Is she okay? Should I -- should I go check on her?"

Jeremy shakes his head. "I think she's asleep. Natalie's in there with her."

"Okay," I say, uncertainly. Out of nowhere, the phone screams, and I jump three inches in the air.

Jeremy finally untangles himself from the door and steps inside the office. "You gonna get that?"

I look at the phone. It rings again. "I don't want to."

He crosses his arms. "Seriously."

"Seriously. I don't want to."

"But it's ringing."

"Then you get it." I shrug and turn back to the script. "I don't want to."

Jeremy sighs and crosses the room, picking up the phone on Dan's desk. "Jeremy Goodwin."

I try not to listen to what he's saying, but I can't help it. "No, Dan's at home. Would you like to speak with -- okay. Bye." He hangs up and turns to face me. "That was Lisa."

"Oh?"

"She wanted to speak with Dan. Why do you suppose she would want to do that?"

Gee, I have no idea. "I don't know why Lisa does anything, Jeremy."

Jeremy studies me for a minute. There's no way that he could know. There's just no way. "Okay." He steps back into the hall. "Anyway, ninety seconds short."

"Yeah."


* * *


I don't remember what happened.

I know what happened. Waking up naked on Danny's couch, I sort of got the idea. I know what happened, but I don't remember it. I wonder if it was good. I wonder what I said to him. I wonder what he said to me. I wonder where the fuck my socks are.


* * *


Sandy Southwark's here. He's down in wardrobe. He's about my size but about Dan's height, so I'm sure Monica's having fun trying to fit him. I fluffed the script up, gave him a couple of good lines about Beth Bader and the LPGA. I've written a decent script. It'll be a decent show, and when it's over, I can go home and go to bed. Maybe I'll stay home tomorrow. Let Dan deal with writing the whole show. Maybe they'll get Micka Gallows to replace me. I know how much Dan loves Micka Gallows.

"Casey."

It's Dana. She looks pale. "You look pale."

"I`m from Iowa." She sits on the couch.

"Seriously. Jeremy said you were sick."

She smoothes out her skirt. "It's true, I was feeling a bit under the weather, but it passed."

"Jeremy said you were sleeping."

"I was. I had a headache."

I let this sink in. "A migraine."

"Yeah," she admits.

Shit. "God, Dana, if I did anything --"

She shakes her head. "I had a meeting with JJ and Isaac."

"How did that go?"

Dana looks at me. "Honestly, it went better than I thought it would."

"That was that piece of paper."

She nods. "That was."

I spin in my chair and stand. "So if the meeting went well, what was with the crippling headache?"

"I was just tired."

"Dana." I take a seat next to her and take her hand.

"It's been a long day, Casey."

I exhale slowly. "Danny'll be back."

"I'm not --"

"He just needed today. He'll come back to us."

I watch her as she looks at our hands, then looks at me. "Yeah." She holds my gaze for a moment before her eyes drift away from mine. "Dan!"

And there he is, dropping his duffel bag on his desk. "Hey, Dana." He nods in my direction. "Casey."

She stands and smiles. Some of the color is back in her cheeks. "I thought you were sick!"

Dan shrugs. "It passed. Is Sandy here yet?"

"I'll go call wardrobe, tell them to send him home." She hops into the hall, clapping again. "Everybody, Danny's here!"

I watch him lean against his desk and scoff, rising from the couch. "Well."

"Case --"

I shake my head. "I have to go get dressed."

"Casey." He puts his hand on my arm. "Look, I'm sorry about today."

That`s sure as hell not what I was expecting. "It's okay."

"It was stupid."

"I thought you were running off to join the circus."

Danny sighs and rubs his forehead. "So did I."

My hands are sweaty. "But you're not?"

He looks me in the eye. "No, I'm not."

We stand like that for a minute, and then I speak. "Well, good. Because I'll tell you, the idea of doing this show for the rest of my life with Sandy Southwark --"

"You'd need an oil can." Dan steps into the hall, and I follow him. "I swear, the man's a robot."

"He's certainly not human." I take a breath. "Speaking of otherworldly creatures, I heard that Lisa wanted to talk to you."

"Yeah."

"And yet, you're still alive."

He glances sidelong at me. "You should call her."

"I know," I say, and I do. "I will," I say, and I mean it. I'll call Lisa after the show, no matter how early she has to get up for work. Tomorrow, I'm taking my kid to the batting cage.

Tonight, we've got work to do.

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