All characters belong to Aaron Sorkin, John Wells Productions, Warner Bros., & NBC. Standard disclaimers apply. Please send feedback.
Hazing
Violet
"What do you think you're doing?"
"It's called parking, Josh," Ainsley called as she climbed out of her Saturn. "It's when people stop their vehicles in parking places instead of, you know, in the middle of the--"
"Well, you're doing it in my spot." He pulled his Acura up next to her car and stopped it.
Ainsley looked around innocently. "I don't see--"
"My name on it?" Josh groaned. "Do you want me to start making calls, get it painted on the curb?"
"Josh--"
"I park here every single day." Josh tapped on his car horn for emphasis. "I fought for this spot. I had to fend off a trucker--"
"A trucker?" She folded her arms.
"A guy from Labor with a big SUV," he amended. "It was exactly like that 'Duel' movie."
A bewildered expression crossed Ainsley's face, changing to determination. "Well, be that as it may--"
"That's how it is," he insisted.
"Be that as it may, and despite whatever games you want to play with me, this is still a free country, and since there aren't any laws governing who gets to park in this particular space, I think I'll stay here, thank you."
Josh furrowed his brow. "Hang on." He shut the car down, took off his seatbelt and got out. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"I'm just pointing out that there aren't any parking ordinances that say I can't park here."
"I know what parking ordinances say. I did go to law school. Why do people keep forgetting that?"
"Maybe because you've worked in politics since you graduated and never actually practiced law. Maybe it's because, over the course of the 89 times you've been deposed in a court of law since President Bartlet's been in office, you've repeatedly demonstrated distaste for the legal process. Maybe--"
"Ainsley!" he interrupted, irritably. "I wasn't asking for a dissertation."
"Okay. I know. I'm sorry."
"I thought it was only 87 times."
She shook her head. "Claypool last week was 88 and 89."
"Right. Right, I wasn't really counting that because it only took -- wait." Josh rapped his knuckles against his car door in frustration. "This isn't what we were talking about. And I'm running late. So let's just move the cars already."
"I got here first," Ainsley said. "And I like this space."
"You probably like my office, too, but you don't get to take it."
"Not this term," she said pointedly.
Josh chuckled in disbelief. "Get in and move your little car."
"Little car?" she repeated sharply. "This is not a little car. Saturns save lives."
"Yeah, the lives of soccer moms," he scoffed.
"Well, at least I'm not driving a midlife crisis around."
"Excuse me?"
"A red sports car, Josh?" She smiled wryly. "Do you get that baby up to 120 on the Beltway very often?"
"It's a sports-luxury car," he said defensively.
"Is that what they told you at the dealership?"
"You know, this is amazing. I never knew a Southern blonde would be able to sound so much like my mother." Josh shook his head. "I've worked here longer than you. This is my parking place. I had to pay my dues, you know. The first few months after the Inauguration, I was parking way the hell across town in Siberia."
"So this is one of those things." Ainsley walked around to the trunk of her car. "This is one of those special hazing moments. When do I stop being the new girl?"
He ignored this. "What are you doing?"
"I'm getting my files." Her keys jangled against the lock. "I parked here first, Josh. I'm entitled to stay in my spot."
"It's not your spot," he grumbled, following her. He tilted his head and peered over her shoulder. "What are you, living out of your car?"
"I'm well prepared for any and all eventualities. Hold this." She thrust a stack of folders into his hands.
Josh stepped up next to her. "A flashlight, I understand. And maybe the blankets. But--" He leaned forward and started to rummage in her trunk.
"Hey!" Ainsley squealed.
"You have socks in here," he said, amusement and confusion flickering across his face. "Pink socks. And a rubber duck?"
"It was a gift for my nephew."
"That's what they all say." He pulled out a slightly dog-eared paperback book. "Lunch break reading?"
Ainsley reached out to grab the book from him. "Josh--"
He read the front cover and began to laugh. "'Justine'? The Marquis de Sade's 'Justine'? This is priceless."
She tightened her mouth as if she was struggling not to blush. "It came up in a case file about banned books. I read everything."
"I did too, when I had time." He rifled through the pages, raising his eyebrows. "Never read this one, though. What else have you got?"
"I'm not the Bookmobile."
"CD cases," Josh observed. "And a playbill. You went to see The Mikado?"
"Josh, if you could get your big nose out of my trunk--"
"I'm worried about this Gilbert and Sullivan thing. It might be contagious. I might wake up one morning and find Donna and Carol and Ginger skipping around the bullpen singing 'Three Little Maids'."
"You might wake up one morning with a reasonable position on affirmative action, too, but we're not holding our breath," she muttered. "Aren't you late for something?"
"Sure."
"Well, I am too, so--"
"And half a tin of Altoids." He held the tin up and she reddened. He looked askance at her. "I can see the headlines now: 'White House Employee Conceals Chronic Halitosis'. There go our polling numbers."
Her face went from rosy to crimson. "I don't have halitosis!"
"Then why the curiously strong mint?"
"If you have to know, I went on a picnic," she said tremulously. "Things progressed between my date and myself--"
"Whoa." He blinked. "You had a date?"
She rolled her eyes. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"Have you seen the social calendars of the people we work with?"
"I'm not senior staff, and in fact you all barely even interact with me," Ainsley pointed out. "Why do people assume I don't have a life? I do have a life! I even have a sex life, so yes, there are Altoids in my car!"
"Okay." Josh took a deep breath. "Shout that a little louder, Ainsley; I don't think Larry King quite heard you."
She covered her face with her hands. "Can we get out of my life now? Have I been embarrassed enough?"
Josh shut the trunk for her. "I was just kidding."
"You were not."
"No, see, there's a thing you do where you tease people--"
"No, that's a thing you do with your friends." Ainsley lowered her hands, and her eyes were flashing. "You tease your friends and it's affectionate. You tease me and it's because I'm young and conservative and I sound like I sound and look like I look."
"No, actually, Ainsley, that's a load of crap." Josh leaned against the car. "We tease you because we've been working here for three years and you've been working here for six months, and because most of us have more than a decade of experience on you. It works that way in politics just like the rest of the world. It isn't always a 'poor little Republican' thing. Sometimes we're just being people. And you stop being the new girl when you stop behaving like one."
She considered this for a moment. "I wasn't complaining about my general treatment at the hands of the White House."
"Damn straight you weren't." He flashed a grin at her. "Just don't expect us to roll over and beg because you happen to be smart and talented and driven. You're not the only one, after all. And we tease each other so we don't go crazy."
Ainsley smiled back at him slowly. "Then I should take all this as a compliment?"
Josh nodded. "That, or it's retribution for parking in my spot."
"Well, you have been parking here a lot longer than me," she conceded.
"A lot longer," he agreed. "And, you know, I'm picturing how hard Oliver Babish would laugh if he flipped through 'Justine' a couple of times."
"It doesn't belong in high school libraries, that's for sure," Ainsley said.
"We can debate that another time." Josh handed her the files and backed toward his car.
She went to her driver's side. "Can we really?"
"Sure. But you'll lose." He opened his door, then leaned back toward her. "Hey, Ainsley. Thanks for giving me back my spot."
Her eyes twinkled. "Don't get too comfortable," she called, and climbed in and gunned the engine.
Back to stories
Feedback