A Portrait of the Speechwriter as Young Man
Title: A Portrait of the Speechwriter as a Young Man
Author: Renata! (I signed up as bessiemaemucho because I forgot I’m trying to use renata_kedavra for fandom stuff.)
Prompt: Dead Irish Writers
Pairing/Character: Sam/Lisa, Sam & Josh
Rating: Teen
Summary: Pre-series. Sam makes a choice about his future; Josh disapproves.
Notes: I’m like 95% sure this doesn’t contradict Sam and Josh’s established backstory, but if it does, well, fuck it.
“You need some sleep, Sam,” said Lisa. “On page 37 you wrote ‘Marmalade v. Madison'."
Sam looked at her blearily and said, “A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.”
She rolled her eyes. “When was the last time you slept?”
“I may have taken a nap at some point yesterday.”
“When you passed out on your keyboard while you were eating a microwave burrito? I don’t believe this. You haven’t really slept in about a week and you can still quote James Joyce in response to criticism?”
“Anyway, I didn’t really write Marmalade, did I? Oh God, I did. What else have I written? Brownies v. Board of Education? Dred Scott v. Sandwich? I’m so hungry, Lisa,” he said plaintively.
She reached in her oversized purse and withdrew a Dunkin Donuts bag. “Sam. Eat this. Get some sleep. I know the Duke Law Review is a big deal, but you are killing yourself.”
“It’s important, Lisa. I think I can really change the course of legal tradition with this article.”
“Sam. You’re a third year law student, not a Supreme Court Justice. You’re not going to change anything until you graduate. Which you won’t if you die from sleep deprivation.”
“I don’t think sleep deprivation is fatal. Is it? It’s not. Oh my God, is that a Boston crème donut? You’re the best.”
“I know I am, baby. Now, let’s get you home.”
When Sam woke up, he was tucked neatly into his double bed, alone. He looked at his alarm clock. It said 5:14, but was that a.m or p.m.? After opening the curtain he concluded p.m. “Shit,” he said. He looked at the alarm clock more closely and found a note taped to it. “Sam. It’s Saturday. You don’t have class, so I turned off your alarm. You needed sleep. I’ll bring you dinner later. Love, Lisa.”
He ran a hand through his hair and wondered when he had last showered. Taking a moment to calculate the amount of work he had left vs. the time it would take to shower, he opted for hygiene and washed his hair. He threw on khakis and a sweater, stuffed a stack of papers into his messenger bag, and was on his way out the door when the phone rang. Briefly, he considered ignoring it, but what if it was important? What if it was Lisa?
“Hello?”
“Sam, my man! How are you?”
“Josh!” Sam settled back into his armchair.
“The one and only. Is this a good time? I know you’re busy.”
“Like you’re not. How’s life in D.C.?”
“Well, this whole Desert Storm thing is a goddamn mess. It’s kind of derailing the health care reform bill we were hoping to start working on.”
“Really? Brennan’s office was really going to start working on health care reform?”
“Well, probably not, but we were talking about it. You know, kind of.”
“You mean you’ve been screaming at people about health care and the other staffers are nodding at you?”
“Ah, how well you know me. So tell me, when are you coming up here?”
“To D.C.? You know I’m not cut out for professional politics.”
“Bullshit, Sam. I saw those memos you drafted as an intern. You could be a hell of a speechwriter. You could be a hell of a candidate, for that matter.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, right. Look, I got a job offer from Dewey Ballantine, in New York. I think I’m going to take it.”
“Dewey Ballantine?”
“Yeah… I mean, I’d be doing corporate law, which isn’t really my thing. But Lisa wants to move to New York too, since that’s where all the big magazines are. And it could be just for awhile. Before I find something bigger.”
“Sam. I know you. How happy are you going to be working there? You’re the most idealistic person I’ve ever met.”
“You think I’d be happier working for your aggressively moderate Minority Whip? Tell me, Josh, have you changed the world yet, or are you guys still working on getting condiments included in the free lunch program?” The words came out harsher than he had intended, and he smacked his coffee table in frustration. He bit back an “Ow,” and instead added, “Hey… sorry, man, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just tired.”
“Come on, Sam, I think we can both agree that America’s children need Dijon mustard more than they need new textbooks. A sandwich just isn’t a sandwich without it.”
“I guess nobody gets to do exactly what they want to do right out of school, huh?”
“I guess not. But, look, I’m sure you’ll like working at Dewey Ballantine.”
“Come up to New York sometime, Josh. It’s been too long. And I want you to meet Lisa.”
“You guys are getting serious, huh?”
“She’s great. You’ll like her. She’s so smart. She’s going to go places.”
“So are you.”
“Anyway, Josh, it was really great talking to you, but I should probably get going. I’ve got to finish this thing for the Review, it has to go to press next week…”
“Yeah. Good luck, Sam. I’ll see you soon.”
“Good luck to you, too. And Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“Call me when you find the real thing.” He hung up the phone but made no move from his chair. In fact, he nestled more deeply into it and stared blankly at the wall. He was still staring at the wall when Lisa walked in with a bag of Chinese takeout.
“Sam Seaborn! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do nothing,” she said, as she set the food on the table and bent down for a kiss.
“I wasn’t doing nothing. I was thinking.”
“About Marmelade v. Madison?”
“About that job offer in New York. I don’t know, I’m thinking about throwing in some applications to do environmental law with Greenpeace or something.”
She laughed. “Sam! I thought you got some sleep. Do you know what the starting salary at Greenpeace is? And how much debt you have left from Princeton, let alone law school? You can save the world after you pay off your loans.”
“If there’s anything left to save,” he said.
“So melodramatic, Samuel. Eat your Kung Pao chicken.”
He took out his cardboard carton and a pair of chopsticks. He contemplated the chopsticks, looked down at his clean khakis and went for a fork, instead. He ate his Kung Pao chicken, kissed his beautiful girlfriend, put on his peacoat, walked to the office of the Duke Law Review, and waited for the real thing.
Author: Renata! (I signed up as bessiemaemucho because I forgot I’m trying to use renata_kedavra for fandom stuff.)
Prompt: Dead Irish Writers
Pairing/Character: Sam/Lisa, Sam & Josh
Rating: Teen
Summary: Pre-series. Sam makes a choice about his future; Josh disapproves.
Notes: I’m like 95% sure this doesn’t contradict Sam and Josh’s established backstory, but if it does, well, fuck it.
“You need some sleep, Sam,” said Lisa. “On page 37 you wrote ‘Marmalade v. Madison'."
Sam looked at her blearily and said, “A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.”
She rolled her eyes. “When was the last time you slept?”
“I may have taken a nap at some point yesterday.”
“When you passed out on your keyboard while you were eating a microwave burrito? I don’t believe this. You haven’t really slept in about a week and you can still quote James Joyce in response to criticism?”
“Anyway, I didn’t really write Marmalade, did I? Oh God, I did. What else have I written? Brownies v. Board of Education? Dred Scott v. Sandwich? I’m so hungry, Lisa,” he said plaintively.
She reached in her oversized purse and withdrew a Dunkin Donuts bag. “Sam. Eat this. Get some sleep. I know the Duke Law Review is a big deal, but you are killing yourself.”
“It’s important, Lisa. I think I can really change the course of legal tradition with this article.”
“Sam. You’re a third year law student, not a Supreme Court Justice. You’re not going to change anything until you graduate. Which you won’t if you die from sleep deprivation.”
“I don’t think sleep deprivation is fatal. Is it? It’s not. Oh my God, is that a Boston crème donut? You’re the best.”
“I know I am, baby. Now, let’s get you home.”
When Sam woke up, he was tucked neatly into his double bed, alone. He looked at his alarm clock. It said 5:14, but was that a.m or p.m.? After opening the curtain he concluded p.m. “Shit,” he said. He looked at the alarm clock more closely and found a note taped to it. “Sam. It’s Saturday. You don’t have class, so I turned off your alarm. You needed sleep. I’ll bring you dinner later. Love, Lisa.”
He ran a hand through his hair and wondered when he had last showered. Taking a moment to calculate the amount of work he had left vs. the time it would take to shower, he opted for hygiene and washed his hair. He threw on khakis and a sweater, stuffed a stack of papers into his messenger bag, and was on his way out the door when the phone rang. Briefly, he considered ignoring it, but what if it was important? What if it was Lisa?
“Hello?”
“Sam, my man! How are you?”
“Josh!” Sam settled back into his armchair.
“The one and only. Is this a good time? I know you’re busy.”
“Like you’re not. How’s life in D.C.?”
“Well, this whole Desert Storm thing is a goddamn mess. It’s kind of derailing the health care reform bill we were hoping to start working on.”
“Really? Brennan’s office was really going to start working on health care reform?”
“Well, probably not, but we were talking about it. You know, kind of.”
“You mean you’ve been screaming at people about health care and the other staffers are nodding at you?”
“Ah, how well you know me. So tell me, when are you coming up here?”
“To D.C.? You know I’m not cut out for professional politics.”
“Bullshit, Sam. I saw those memos you drafted as an intern. You could be a hell of a speechwriter. You could be a hell of a candidate, for that matter.”
Sam laughed. “Yeah, right. Look, I got a job offer from Dewey Ballantine, in New York. I think I’m going to take it.”
“Dewey Ballantine?”
“Yeah… I mean, I’d be doing corporate law, which isn’t really my thing. But Lisa wants to move to New York too, since that’s where all the big magazines are. And it could be just for awhile. Before I find something bigger.”
“Sam. I know you. How happy are you going to be working there? You’re the most idealistic person I’ve ever met.”
“You think I’d be happier working for your aggressively moderate Minority Whip? Tell me, Josh, have you changed the world yet, or are you guys still working on getting condiments included in the free lunch program?” The words came out harsher than he had intended, and he smacked his coffee table in frustration. He bit back an “Ow,” and instead added, “Hey… sorry, man, I didn’t mean it like that. I’m just tired.”
“Come on, Sam, I think we can both agree that America’s children need Dijon mustard more than they need new textbooks. A sandwich just isn’t a sandwich without it.”
“I guess nobody gets to do exactly what they want to do right out of school, huh?”
“I guess not. But, look, I’m sure you’ll like working at Dewey Ballantine.”
“Come up to New York sometime, Josh. It’s been too long. And I want you to meet Lisa.”
“You guys are getting serious, huh?”
“She’s great. You’ll like her. She’s so smart. She’s going to go places.”
“So are you.”
“Anyway, Josh, it was really great talking to you, but I should probably get going. I’ve got to finish this thing for the Review, it has to go to press next week…”
“Yeah. Good luck, Sam. I’ll see you soon.”
“Good luck to you, too. And Josh?”
“Yeah?”
“Call me when you find the real thing.” He hung up the phone but made no move from his chair. In fact, he nestled more deeply into it and stared blankly at the wall. He was still staring at the wall when Lisa walked in with a bag of Chinese takeout.
“Sam Seaborn! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you do nothing,” she said, as she set the food on the table and bent down for a kiss.
“I wasn’t doing nothing. I was thinking.”
“About Marmelade v. Madison?”
“About that job offer in New York. I don’t know, I’m thinking about throwing in some applications to do environmental law with Greenpeace or something.”
She laughed. “Sam! I thought you got some sleep. Do you know what the starting salary at Greenpeace is? And how much debt you have left from Princeton, let alone law school? You can save the world after you pay off your loans.”
“If there’s anything left to save,” he said.
“So melodramatic, Samuel. Eat your Kung Pao chicken.”
He took out his cardboard carton and a pair of chopsticks. He contemplated the chopsticks, looked down at his clean khakis and went for a fork, instead. He ate his Kung Pao chicken, kissed his beautiful girlfriend, put on his peacoat, walked to the office of the Duke Law Review, and waited for the real thing.