[Studio 60/The West Wing] The Comedy of Errors
My second season of The West Wing arrived tonight, so I'll probably be off in front of my television squealing for a while. But I've been meaning to write this ever since 1x16, "20 Hours in L.A."
I mean, of course they were at that fundraiser. Of course.
* * *
This is a command appearance, and so they alternately slouch and stride toward zillionaire producer Ted Marcus's mansion. "Why are we doing this again?" Matt wonders aloud, not for the first time.
Danny sighs. "Because Jack Rudolph has given this guy a lot of money, and because he's the president, and because we're better looking than him."
"Than who? Than the president?"
"Than Jack."
"And where is Jack again?"
"Popping Vasotec and wondering how we're going to bring down NBS tonight. I don't know, Matt. I'm just here to smile nice for the politicos like I was told."
Matt jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I have sketches I could be writing right now."
Danny slips off his sunglasses and eyes him. "You don't think you'll get material here?"
"Sure, who can't identify with titanic clashes of ego between the people who run the world and the ones who only think they do?"
They flash their invitations and pass through a metal detector and a gauntlet of stony-faced FBI agents. Danny checks his watch. "Don't get down on them, they're good people."
"That's not what the polls are saying."
"Pipe down, you voted for this guy."
"So did you."
"I know. It's a perfect cover. Anyway, since when have you cared about anybody identifying with what you write?"
"I was going to agree with you. It's probably better for all of us when they can't."
"I hear that." They've reached the inner sanctum of the gathering; the foyer is brimful of Hollywood types, each probably richer than they are politically informed. Danny clasps his hands together. "Look, we're fifty thousand dollar guests here tonight, and there're going to be a lot of people who don't care what we have to say. Do you wanna divide and conquer or just talk about the show until people leave us alone?"
"That's a per-couple price, right?"
"Yeah."
"We're not a couple."
"We're a duo, that's different."
"Same package. I don't want strangers getting the wrong idea."
"You're making excuses. Who's here?"
"Well, for one, the President of the United States, but that's nothing to those guys from Paramount." Matt leans in close. "I don't want to run into them and come on too strong about the script. I don't trust myself in this setting. If there's anything we could do to put them off buying it, I want fifty miles between me and the guy with his hand on the green light."
Danny heaves another sigh. "You're being skittish, and I don't think that'll be an issue, but let's humor you, just for tonight." He scans the crowd. "If we see them, hit them up one by one, and then regroup for a mid-show conference in two hours."
"Good plan. I'll be the personable one, you'll be the competent one, and no one will ever know we're faking it all if they don't see us together."
"Are you saying I can't shmooze?"
"I actually don't know what I'm saying."
"Okay." Danny claps him on the back. "Keep that up. Play nice with these people; you're on the same side of the TV screen now."
Matt shakes his head. "Only if they can outtalk me." Danny smirks, and wanders purposefully toward the bar. There is a moment in which Matt wonders if perhaps he should tail his friend, keep an eye on the cocktails. The moment effectively ends when a blonde woman pounces on his arm and introduces herself.
Donna is good-looking, so Matt is surprised to find out that she is with the Washington crowd. Not entirely of his own volition, he learns that all the secretaries in the West Wing have plotted to send Studio 60 anonymous insider tips as acts of employee-boss revenge. He also finds out that Leo McGarry is much smaller than he looks in pictures, and that when Donna told Toby Ziegler about the Presidential Tour de Vacance sketch, he swore to put out a hit on the writer's room. Matt tells her he appreciates nothing like a real complement, and excuses himself. Three more people intercept him before he can get to the champagne table, and none of them are as smart as him. On further consideration, this divide and conquer thing really doesn't seem like such a good plan after all. No studio executives are worth avoiding for an earful of new and innovative reasons why the FDA should approve Botox.
He finds Danny wedged between a railing and a giant urn, staring disconsolately into an array of orchids. Matt leans against the other side of the rail, glass in hand. "I don't think this is going to work."
From the corner of his eye, he sees Danny frown. "You don't?"
Matt shakes his head. "No. I can't go anywhere without getting fed suggestions and these people who aren't in our business just don't know what they're talking about."
He hears a small huff of laughter. "Is that any better than the people who are in our business?"
"Well, both are convinced they can do my job for me, so no."
"Don't you just hate that?"
"Unconditionally." He sips the champagne. "I had something I was going to tell you."
"You forgot?"
"I forgot."
"Was it about the..." Danny scratches at his rising hairline. "Shit, who was the guy I was talking to yesterday?"
"Weinstein?"
"What?" Danny furrows his brow. "No, of course not."
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"You just mentioned him, that's all."
"Did I? I can't imagine why..."
Something about this conversation is off. Matt knows how it's supposed to go, and all of Danny's usual signals are distorted. He turns. "Hey, are you--" Matt trawls his memory. "Did you change your suit?"
Danny looks down as if to check. "No, it's the same thing I wore coming in."
"It's just -- you look kinda rumpled."
"I'm not rumpled!"
"Of course not!" Matt leans back against the rail. "Do you think we can leave yet?"
Danny jams his hands in his pockets. "We can't go anywhere until the President finishes his rounds."
"...Since when?"
"What do you mean, since when? That's the way we do these things."
"How many of these have you done?"
"More than you!"
"Apparently," Matt retorts, confused. The belligerence is off-putting, but not entirely unfamiliar. Matt plants his feet and sets his arms on his hips. "Right. Out with it."
Danny squints at him. "Out with what?"
"Something's on your mind, and this is as good a place as any to air your inner woe, since I'm the only one who's listening to you and gives a damn. Out with it."
Danny bites his lip, then looks down at his shoes. "Nothin'. Just -- ran into someone I know who, y'know. Wasn't here alone."
"You're not here alone," Matt points out.
"I know that. Just -- never mind."
Danny has gone positively Byronic. Matt hides the champagne glass in the urn. "Who was it?" Lisa had served up divorce papers three months ago, and Danny had very happily signed them. Matt doesn't know of any women Danny is keeping in the wings, and this is the first sign of interest he's expressed in anyone new since the separation.
Danny, for his part, looks away. "Joey."
Matt blinks. "Danny?"
"No, Joey!" He gesticulates, sweepingly. "Joey Lucas, you remember!"
"I don't think so," he tries.
"Come on, we had lunch with her this afternoon! Don't you--? No, never mind, it's not important."
He's losing his mind. Matt thought he'd been so steady since Christmas, but clearly Daniel has other ideas. "Danny?" he repeats, more urgently.
"What? No! What are you--?"
"Josh?"
The two men stop sputtering at each other. A third, with a full retinue, stands watching them. "We're heading out now," Jed Bartlet says, eyeing them both. "Who's your friend?"
"I--this guy?" The man who's answering to Josh steps back and studies Matt. Something sheepish comes over his face. "Honest to God, sir, I have no idea."
Matt gapes, at all of them. After a very long beat, he sticks his hand out. "Matt Albie, sir. On behalf of NBS."
The President shakes it. "You're that comedy writer, right? Wrote the skit about all the past presidents in a bicycle race?"
Josh is staring at him like he's realized Matt has horns. Matt swallows and smiles too widely. "Yes, sir."
"Ah." Bartlet looks him up and down. "You sure you're the best envoy Jack Rudolph could pick?"
"I'm actually here with Danny Tripp, who's a producer for Studio 60. He's the one who says things that sound good, I'm just the smartass who makes all the jokes." He points, in a roundabout way, at Josh. "I mistook him for Danny, and, um. Yeah. Sorry about that. You don't actually look rumpled."
"Hear that, Josh?" a tall woman deadpans. "You're the suave one for once."
"Who did you think he was?" the President asks.
The half-laughing expression on Josh's face is too familiar for comfort still. "I don't know, sir. I talked and he listened. I wasn't paying attention." He offers Matt his own hand. "Josh Lyman. Nice to meet you."
Matt finds himself blinking hard. "Yeah."
"Well! We'd better find Toby before he finds you, Matt. He's ordered a hit on you, writer to writer, you know." Bartlet's wearing a straight man face, but Matt can see the amusement in his eyes. He dips his head.
"As professional courtesies go, sir, I'm deeply flattered."
"Alright, now, you take care. Give Mr. Rudolph my complements."
Josh shoots him a parting glance as the Washington crowd moves off. Matt lifts one hand in an awkward sort of salute and watches them go. "That was weird," he says aloud, to no one in particular.
"What's weird?"
Matt turns quickly, and squints. "Danny?"
Danny cocks an eyebrow. "Yes?"
Matt examines him, to make sure he's not mistaken again. "Good." He puts his hands back in his pockets. "That's all." They stand there for a moment, waiting for the other to speak up.
"So this woman named Donna keeps following me around," Danny begins. Matt can't stifle the laugh. "What?"
"I think I've seen this play before. It's called The Comedy of Errors."
Danny's mouth twists. "Please tell me I'm the twin who gets all the women."
"'A wretched soul, bruised with adversity--'"
"No." He waves an impatient hand. "Enough quoting. I'm through with this place. You want to leave?"
Matt starts walking. "'Let's go hand in hand, not one before another.'"
"You know it astonishes me that you can do that when you've been out of college for almost seven years now."
"It astonishes me that all you want from the immortal pen of Shakespeare is to get the girl."
"That Donnatella Moss is a catch is all I'm saying."
They pass through the metal detector, and leave the mansion behind them. January is good to California; the pair of them ride off in Matt's new car with the hood down. Already the fundraiser is slipping out of sight, out of mind, save for the funny bits. Matt and Danny head west. It's Saturday night in Hollywood, and they have a show to cook up.
I mean, of course they were at that fundraiser. Of course.
* * *
This is a command appearance, and so they alternately slouch and stride toward zillionaire producer Ted Marcus's mansion. "Why are we doing this again?" Matt wonders aloud, not for the first time.
Danny sighs. "Because Jack Rudolph has given this guy a lot of money, and because he's the president, and because we're better looking than him."
"Than who? Than the president?"
"Than Jack."
"And where is Jack again?"
"Popping Vasotec and wondering how we're going to bring down NBS tonight. I don't know, Matt. I'm just here to smile nice for the politicos like I was told."
Matt jams his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I have sketches I could be writing right now."
Danny slips off his sunglasses and eyes him. "You don't think you'll get material here?"
"Sure, who can't identify with titanic clashes of ego between the people who run the world and the ones who only think they do?"
They flash their invitations and pass through a metal detector and a gauntlet of stony-faced FBI agents. Danny checks his watch. "Don't get down on them, they're good people."
"That's not what the polls are saying."
"Pipe down, you voted for this guy."
"So did you."
"I know. It's a perfect cover. Anyway, since when have you cared about anybody identifying with what you write?"
"I was going to agree with you. It's probably better for all of us when they can't."
"I hear that." They've reached the inner sanctum of the gathering; the foyer is brimful of Hollywood types, each probably richer than they are politically informed. Danny clasps his hands together. "Look, we're fifty thousand dollar guests here tonight, and there're going to be a lot of people who don't care what we have to say. Do you wanna divide and conquer or just talk about the show until people leave us alone?"
"That's a per-couple price, right?"
"Yeah."
"We're not a couple."
"We're a duo, that's different."
"Same package. I don't want strangers getting the wrong idea."
"You're making excuses. Who's here?"
"Well, for one, the President of the United States, but that's nothing to those guys from Paramount." Matt leans in close. "I don't want to run into them and come on too strong about the script. I don't trust myself in this setting. If there's anything we could do to put them off buying it, I want fifty miles between me and the guy with his hand on the green light."
Danny heaves another sigh. "You're being skittish, and I don't think that'll be an issue, but let's humor you, just for tonight." He scans the crowd. "If we see them, hit them up one by one, and then regroup for a mid-show conference in two hours."
"Good plan. I'll be the personable one, you'll be the competent one, and no one will ever know we're faking it all if they don't see us together."
"Are you saying I can't shmooze?"
"I actually don't know what I'm saying."
"Okay." Danny claps him on the back. "Keep that up. Play nice with these people; you're on the same side of the TV screen now."
Matt shakes his head. "Only if they can outtalk me." Danny smirks, and wanders purposefully toward the bar. There is a moment in which Matt wonders if perhaps he should tail his friend, keep an eye on the cocktails. The moment effectively ends when a blonde woman pounces on his arm and introduces herself.
Donna is good-looking, so Matt is surprised to find out that she is with the Washington crowd. Not entirely of his own volition, he learns that all the secretaries in the West Wing have plotted to send Studio 60 anonymous insider tips as acts of employee-boss revenge. He also finds out that Leo McGarry is much smaller than he looks in pictures, and that when Donna told Toby Ziegler about the Presidential Tour de Vacance sketch, he swore to put out a hit on the writer's room. Matt tells her he appreciates nothing like a real complement, and excuses himself. Three more people intercept him before he can get to the champagne table, and none of them are as smart as him. On further consideration, this divide and conquer thing really doesn't seem like such a good plan after all. No studio executives are worth avoiding for an earful of new and innovative reasons why the FDA should approve Botox.
He finds Danny wedged between a railing and a giant urn, staring disconsolately into an array of orchids. Matt leans against the other side of the rail, glass in hand. "I don't think this is going to work."
From the corner of his eye, he sees Danny frown. "You don't?"
Matt shakes his head. "No. I can't go anywhere without getting fed suggestions and these people who aren't in our business just don't know what they're talking about."
He hears a small huff of laughter. "Is that any better than the people who are in our business?"
"Well, both are convinced they can do my job for me, so no."
"Don't you just hate that?"
"Unconditionally." He sips the champagne. "I had something I was going to tell you."
"You forgot?"
"I forgot."
"Was it about the..." Danny scratches at his rising hairline. "Shit, who was the guy I was talking to yesterday?"
"Weinstein?"
"What?" Danny furrows his brow. "No, of course not."
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"You just mentioned him, that's all."
"Did I? I can't imagine why..."
Something about this conversation is off. Matt knows how it's supposed to go, and all of Danny's usual signals are distorted. He turns. "Hey, are you--" Matt trawls his memory. "Did you change your suit?"
Danny looks down as if to check. "No, it's the same thing I wore coming in."
"It's just -- you look kinda rumpled."
"I'm not rumpled!"
"Of course not!" Matt leans back against the rail. "Do you think we can leave yet?"
Danny jams his hands in his pockets. "We can't go anywhere until the President finishes his rounds."
"...Since when?"
"What do you mean, since when? That's the way we do these things."
"How many of these have you done?"
"More than you!"
"Apparently," Matt retorts, confused. The belligerence is off-putting, but not entirely unfamiliar. Matt plants his feet and sets his arms on his hips. "Right. Out with it."
Danny squints at him. "Out with what?"
"Something's on your mind, and this is as good a place as any to air your inner woe, since I'm the only one who's listening to you and gives a damn. Out with it."
Danny bites his lip, then looks down at his shoes. "Nothin'. Just -- ran into someone I know who, y'know. Wasn't here alone."
"You're not here alone," Matt points out.
"I know that. Just -- never mind."
Danny has gone positively Byronic. Matt hides the champagne glass in the urn. "Who was it?" Lisa had served up divorce papers three months ago, and Danny had very happily signed them. Matt doesn't know of any women Danny is keeping in the wings, and this is the first sign of interest he's expressed in anyone new since the separation.
Danny, for his part, looks away. "Joey."
Matt blinks. "Danny?"
"No, Joey!" He gesticulates, sweepingly. "Joey Lucas, you remember!"
"I don't think so," he tries.
"Come on, we had lunch with her this afternoon! Don't you--? No, never mind, it's not important."
He's losing his mind. Matt thought he'd been so steady since Christmas, but clearly Daniel has other ideas. "Danny?" he repeats, more urgently.
"What? No! What are you--?"
"Josh?"
The two men stop sputtering at each other. A third, with a full retinue, stands watching them. "We're heading out now," Jed Bartlet says, eyeing them both. "Who's your friend?"
"I--this guy?" The man who's answering to Josh steps back and studies Matt. Something sheepish comes over his face. "Honest to God, sir, I have no idea."
Matt gapes, at all of them. After a very long beat, he sticks his hand out. "Matt Albie, sir. On behalf of NBS."
The President shakes it. "You're that comedy writer, right? Wrote the skit about all the past presidents in a bicycle race?"
Josh is staring at him like he's realized Matt has horns. Matt swallows and smiles too widely. "Yes, sir."
"Ah." Bartlet looks him up and down. "You sure you're the best envoy Jack Rudolph could pick?"
"I'm actually here with Danny Tripp, who's a producer for Studio 60. He's the one who says things that sound good, I'm just the smartass who makes all the jokes." He points, in a roundabout way, at Josh. "I mistook him for Danny, and, um. Yeah. Sorry about that. You don't actually look rumpled."
"Hear that, Josh?" a tall woman deadpans. "You're the suave one for once."
"Who did you think he was?" the President asks.
The half-laughing expression on Josh's face is too familiar for comfort still. "I don't know, sir. I talked and he listened. I wasn't paying attention." He offers Matt his own hand. "Josh Lyman. Nice to meet you."
Matt finds himself blinking hard. "Yeah."
"Well! We'd better find Toby before he finds you, Matt. He's ordered a hit on you, writer to writer, you know." Bartlet's wearing a straight man face, but Matt can see the amusement in his eyes. He dips his head.
"As professional courtesies go, sir, I'm deeply flattered."
"Alright, now, you take care. Give Mr. Rudolph my complements."
Josh shoots him a parting glance as the Washington crowd moves off. Matt lifts one hand in an awkward sort of salute and watches them go. "That was weird," he says aloud, to no one in particular.
"What's weird?"
Matt turns quickly, and squints. "Danny?"
Danny cocks an eyebrow. "Yes?"
Matt examines him, to make sure he's not mistaken again. "Good." He puts his hands back in his pockets. "That's all." They stand there for a moment, waiting for the other to speak up.
"So this woman named Donna keeps following me around," Danny begins. Matt can't stifle the laugh. "What?"
"I think I've seen this play before. It's called The Comedy of Errors."
Danny's mouth twists. "Please tell me I'm the twin who gets all the women."
"'A wretched soul, bruised with adversity--'"
"No." He waves an impatient hand. "Enough quoting. I'm through with this place. You want to leave?"
Matt starts walking. "'Let's go hand in hand, not one before another.'"
"You know it astonishes me that you can do that when you've been out of college for almost seven years now."
"It astonishes me that all you want from the immortal pen of Shakespeare is to get the girl."
"That Donnatella Moss is a catch is all I'm saying."
They pass through the metal detector, and leave the mansion behind them. January is good to California; the pair of them ride off in Matt's new car with the hood down. Already the fundraiser is slipping out of sight, out of mind, save for the funny bits. Matt and Danny head west. It's Saturday night in Hollywood, and they have a show to cook up.