Despite the temptation to let the scene play out, nearly swayed by the promise of a hearty laugh, Leo's obligations to his job--to the President, all he had--forced him to his feet. He doubted that the President had or would consider the consequences of making a drunken fool of himself. Leo stole a glance at the table, counting the empty tumblers and champagne flutes. Six in one cluster, five in another. The President had drunk enough--more than enough--to impair his ability to make any sort of rational, sensible judgment call. "I don't think you should do this, sir."
"You and me both."
"Having heard you sing before, sir, I'd say there's a strong possibility that you're going to embarrass yourself in front of your staff. You sure you want to do that?"
"I don't think I have a choice." He nodded toward Abbey, who had acquired a glass of wine and was observing their exchange over the rim of the glass, unconcerned. "And it wouldn't be the first time in front of the staff."
"There are worse things he could do, Leo," Abbey said, patting Leo's arm. "Come on, Jed. I want to hear that smooth baritone."
Leo sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach and smirking as Abbey slurred a cordial greeting to her guests. The President's closest advisers--familiar faces, more familiar than family--formed a crooked line across the room and smiled together, laughed together, enjoyed one another. Enjoyed this carefree, sophomoric moment. Mrs. Bartlet was right, Leo thought, his eyes focused on his president--his friend--at the center of the floor. There were worse things he could do.
"You and me both."
"Having heard you sing before, sir, I'd say there's a strong possibility that you're going to embarrass yourself in front of your staff. You sure you want to do that?"
"I don't think I have a choice." He nodded toward Abbey, who had acquired a glass of wine and was observing their exchange over the rim of the glass, unconcerned. "And it wouldn't be the first time in front of the staff."
"There are worse things he could do, Leo," Abbey said, patting Leo's arm. "Come on, Jed. I want to hear that smooth baritone."
Leo sat back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach and smirking as Abbey slurred a cordial greeting to her guests. The President's closest advisers--familiar faces, more familiar than family--formed a crooked line across the room and smiled together, laughed together, enjoyed one another. Enjoyed this carefree, sophomoric moment. Mrs. Bartlet was right, Leo thought, his eyes focused on his president--his friend--at the center of the floor. There were worse things he could do.
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And it totally made my closet music theatre nerd squeal!
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