Rowing in Eden (2/3)
Title: Rowing in Eden
Fandom: West Wing/Sports Night
Rating: PG
Icon: by threepointsix.com
Word Count: ~1000
Characters: Amy Gardner, Dana Whitaker, and Casey McCall.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Dana doesn't know what to do about Chris Patrick. Spoilers through 1.05: Mary Pay Shelby.
Warning: Discussion of canon sexual harrassment.
Author's note: Written for hihoplastic for purimgifts. Contains dialogue written by Aaron Sorkin.
“Amy Gardner.”
“Hi, Amy? It’s Dana Whitaker. We met at LAX during that snowstorm.” She wished that could get the shake out of her voice. She was the Executive Producer of a top-three national sports programme, goddamnit.
“Yeah, I remember.” Dana heard Amy smile down the phone. “How are you?”
“In desperate need of some advice.”
“What’s up?” She heard Amy shift the phone to her other shoulder.
“Have you ever heard of a football player called Christian Patrick?”
“Mary Pat Shelby’s ex-boyfriend?”
“The one and the same.”
***
“Hey.”
She was sitting on the visitor’s side of Isaac’s desk, long legs propped against the glossy surface.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing?”
Pitching a no-hitter for the Yankees, Casey. “There's just, uh-. Nothing.”
“The intend-to-view tracking puts us in 4.2 million homes. It's a landslide.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t even know where that noise came from, but it was better than just standing up and belting him across the face. And that wasn’t fair, because it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t really know what it took to get a show made.
“You're about to take us into the big time, Dana. You deserve credit for that.”
“I sent her there on purpose. I sent her there instead of Jeremy because I knew how Patrick felt about women in the locker room and I thought that I could provoke a more-.” She tried again. “A better response to the questions. I sent her there on purpose.”
Her brain skittered away from the knowledge that Natalie was the perfect amount of hurt. Just enough to give them a bargaining chip, with her bruised wrist and wounded pride. But not enough to require a trip to the emergency room, and a specially trained nurse, and an awkward hand-off of a taped-up paper bag to a waiting police officer.
“I know.”
No, you don’t, Dana wanted to say. But that wasn’t fair either, because it wasn’t Casey’s fault that he glided through the sharkpool like he belonged there. That he’d never caught someone he was doing business with staring at his butt without a flicker of embarrassment, or smirking like he was as out of place as a dog playing piano.
***
Amy sucked in a breath. “And what are the options?”
“I got totally played in the pre-interview. We’ve used a lot of our promo budget making sure that everyone who’s watched more than three minutes of CSC knows we’re talking to Chris Patrick tonight. With what happened to Natalie on the table, I can leverage an interview that puts Mary Pat Shelby in play.”
“Or?” She could hear Amy typing.
“I can stick to the agreement with his people and keep Mary Pat Shelby off the table, but ask questions about Natalie.”
“And is Natalie okay with this?”
Dana sighed. “Casey said that Natalie wouldn’t complain if her hair was on fire. I think he’s right. I don’t know what she wants.”
“Are there any other options?”
“I pull the interview.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, and Dana wound the cord round her finger.
“Option one,“ Amy said, firmly. “It avoids making Natalie the story, and gives you the ratings.”
“Natalie must know that I sold her.” Dana’s tone was wistful. There had been a time when this wasn’t her life; when the choices she made weren’t the kind given to undergraduate ethics students to puzzle over.
“Dana, the person who’s most responsible is the one who’s going to get his ass handed to him by Dan Rydell.”
“Yeah.”
***
She couldn’t explain afterwards what had made her pull the interview. Had let Chris Patrick off the latest of many hooks.
Natalie, despite being the one with most skin in the game, was the one who saw most clearly what she’d done. It was Dana’s job to be the clear voice of reason, and she’d crumpled like a soggy tissue at the critical moment.
They’d ended up with nothing: not breaking the story about Natalie, not getting to hold Chris Patrick to account for Mary Pat Shelby’s concussion and broken jaw. Sometimes, Dana thought that what she’d been trying to do was protect Natalie, but she’d missed the chance to do that while winning the timeslot in fourteen media markets. To show Dan Rydell alongside Casey McCall saying that Patrick was a chump, and that he better not get up in Sports Night’s face again.
Natalie had sworn out the warrant for his arrest, and the world had exploded after that. (Dan and Casey were still getting asked about it interviews five years after it had happened.) It was ridiculous to think that they had been hopeful of Chris Patrick getting more than a rap across his knuckles. To think that they hadn’t expected the Commissioner to be on breakfast television, standing by his man. To think that they were surprised by the slew of mail calling Natalie a slut, and a whore, and a bitch.
That night, after Dana had gone to the station with Natalie, she had stood in the elevator to her building, almost nauseous with tiredness. The sense of dread was unspooling in her stomach, and she could see the future barreling towards her at a hundred miles an hour.
On her doorstop, though, was a bouquet of flowers. Sometimes you just have to do the best you can. Amy.
She took a shower and poured herself a scotch. Because this was the NBA.
(Part three: Sense is Breaking Through)
Fandom: West Wing/Sports Night
Rating: PG
Icon: by threepointsix.com
Word Count: ~1000
Characters: Amy Gardner, Dana Whitaker, and Casey McCall.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Dana doesn't know what to do about Chris Patrick. Spoilers through 1.05: Mary Pay Shelby.
Warning: Discussion of canon sexual harrassment.
Author's note: Written for hihoplastic for purimgifts. Contains dialogue written by Aaron Sorkin.
“Amy Gardner.”
“Hi, Amy? It’s Dana Whitaker. We met at LAX during that snowstorm.” She wished that could get the shake out of her voice. She was the Executive Producer of a top-three national sports programme, goddamnit.
“Yeah, I remember.” Dana heard Amy smile down the phone. “How are you?”
“In desperate need of some advice.”
“What’s up?” She heard Amy shift the phone to her other shoulder.
“Have you ever heard of a football player called Christian Patrick?”
“Mary Pat Shelby’s ex-boyfriend?”
“The one and the same.”
***
“Hey.”
She was sitting on the visitor’s side of Isaac’s desk, long legs propped against the glossy surface.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing?”
Pitching a no-hitter for the Yankees, Casey. “There's just, uh-. Nothing.”
“The intend-to-view tracking puts us in 4.2 million homes. It's a landslide.”
“Hmm.” She didn’t even know where that noise came from, but it was better than just standing up and belting him across the face. And that wasn’t fair, because it wasn’t his fault that he didn’t really know what it took to get a show made.
“You're about to take us into the big time, Dana. You deserve credit for that.”
“I sent her there on purpose. I sent her there instead of Jeremy because I knew how Patrick felt about women in the locker room and I thought that I could provoke a more-.” She tried again. “A better response to the questions. I sent her there on purpose.”
Her brain skittered away from the knowledge that Natalie was the perfect amount of hurt. Just enough to give them a bargaining chip, with her bruised wrist and wounded pride. But not enough to require a trip to the emergency room, and a specially trained nurse, and an awkward hand-off of a taped-up paper bag to a waiting police officer.
“I know.”
No, you don’t, Dana wanted to say. But that wasn’t fair either, because it wasn’t Casey’s fault that he glided through the sharkpool like he belonged there. That he’d never caught someone he was doing business with staring at his butt without a flicker of embarrassment, or smirking like he was as out of place as a dog playing piano.
***
Amy sucked in a breath. “And what are the options?”
“I got totally played in the pre-interview. We’ve used a lot of our promo budget making sure that everyone who’s watched more than three minutes of CSC knows we’re talking to Chris Patrick tonight. With what happened to Natalie on the table, I can leverage an interview that puts Mary Pat Shelby in play.”
“Or?” She could hear Amy typing.
“I can stick to the agreement with his people and keep Mary Pat Shelby off the table, but ask questions about Natalie.”
“And is Natalie okay with this?”
Dana sighed. “Casey said that Natalie wouldn’t complain if her hair was on fire. I think he’s right. I don’t know what she wants.”
“Are there any other options?”
“I pull the interview.”
There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, and Dana wound the cord round her finger.
“Option one,“ Amy said, firmly. “It avoids making Natalie the story, and gives you the ratings.”
“Natalie must know that I sold her.” Dana’s tone was wistful. There had been a time when this wasn’t her life; when the choices she made weren’t the kind given to undergraduate ethics students to puzzle over.
“Dana, the person who’s most responsible is the one who’s going to get his ass handed to him by Dan Rydell.”
“Yeah.”
***
She couldn’t explain afterwards what had made her pull the interview. Had let Chris Patrick off the latest of many hooks.
Natalie, despite being the one with most skin in the game, was the one who saw most clearly what she’d done. It was Dana’s job to be the clear voice of reason, and she’d crumpled like a soggy tissue at the critical moment.
They’d ended up with nothing: not breaking the story about Natalie, not getting to hold Chris Patrick to account for Mary Pat Shelby’s concussion and broken jaw. Sometimes, Dana thought that what she’d been trying to do was protect Natalie, but she’d missed the chance to do that while winning the timeslot in fourteen media markets. To show Dan Rydell alongside Casey McCall saying that Patrick was a chump, and that he better not get up in Sports Night’s face again.
Natalie had sworn out the warrant for his arrest, and the world had exploded after that. (Dan and Casey were still getting asked about it interviews five years after it had happened.) It was ridiculous to think that they had been hopeful of Chris Patrick getting more than a rap across his knuckles. To think that they hadn’t expected the Commissioner to be on breakfast television, standing by his man. To think that they were surprised by the slew of mail calling Natalie a slut, and a whore, and a bitch.
That night, after Dana had gone to the station with Natalie, she had stood in the elevator to her building, almost nauseous with tiredness. The sense of dread was unspooling in her stomach, and she could see the future barreling towards her at a hundred miles an hour.
On her doorstop, though, was a bouquet of flowers. Sometimes you just have to do the best you can. Amy.
She took a shower and poured herself a scotch. Because this was the NBA.
(Part three: Sense is Breaking Through)