Post by westernsunset on Jan 26, 2019 10:23:55 GMT 10
Title: Tip Off
Summary: Speaker of the House Wyldon Cavall has his first meeting with President Jon Conte.
Rating: PG
Notes: latest chapter in my West Wing Tortall AU. Somehow in this world, Reagan and Tip O'Neill still exist, mostly because some of the digs those two had on each other are truly hilarious and I want to put them in writing. Let's just pretend it's our world but with Tortall politicians and also there's more than one God and we all know it. I don't know, enjoy!
Wyldon Cavall shifted discreetly in his seat. It was a rainy day in Washington D.C. and as on all rainy days, his arm was throbbing. A souvenir of his time in a prisoner of war camp in Vietnam, he’d never recovered full movement of his arm. Not that anyone would ever see him complaining. A Texan Republican with traditional values, Wyldon believed that complaints were a sign of weakness, and pain should be borne in silence.
His stoic demeanor made him very different from some of his newly-elected colleagues, but they still respected him immensely. Most of his Republican colleagues were deferential to him, as a long-serving Congressman and a war hero. In fact, only Wyldon had been surprised when he was elected Speaker of the House. Among his many qualities, he was also uncommonly humble.
Even he had to acknowledge, though, that he was the best person to lead the House. Republicans had only narrowly held onto their majority in the House, and they’d lost the Senate and the presidency. Which meant if they wanted to pass anything, they’d have to figure out how to work with the Democrats. Most of the newly-elected Congresspeople didn’t have the temperament for bipartisan work and the ones who had been in the House longer knew that Wyldon was the best at negotiating of them all. He’d been an easy choice for Speaker.
“He’s ready for you,” came a quiet voice. Wyldon looked around and matched the voice with the young man behind a computer near the door to the Oval. Looks like Jon—President Conte, had replaced Delilah, President Rogers old secretary. He’d liked her, a kind older woman who always remembered to ask after Wyldon’s daughters. But the new president apparently wanted to put new faces in every corner of the government. And that was his prerogative. Didn’t mean Wyldon had to like it.
“Mr. Speaker!” Jon Conte was already standing in the center of the Oval Office when Wyldon entered. “If it’s alright with you, I thought we’d talk over lunch. I had the cooks set up in the dining room.”
“That’s fine,” Wyldon said, as the President ushered him into the Oval.
“You’ve been to the White House before, yes?”
“Just the parts they show the elected officials when we come for receptions. I’ve can’t say I’ve been to the private dining room,” Wyldon admitted.
“It’s lovely. I mean, the whole building is nice, as long as you don’t mind living in a museum,” Jon laughed.
Wyldon gave a tight smile. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a sense of humor, it was more that he disliked banter that distracted from the task at hand. And he noticed that people often tried to use humor and personality to cover up intellectual defects. Of course, that probably wasn’t the case with President Conte. Probably.
“You’re not a vegetarian are you?” Conte said when the two of them sat down.
A vegetarian? Wyldon was from Texas. He would be alive if he didn’t eat meat. In fact, he was pretty sure he needed meat to live. But all he said was “no.”
“Good, because today is Greek Lamb Salad. I’m not really sure what it is quite frankly, it seems to be ground lamb with cucumbers and tomatoes? Tzatziki too? I don’t know, it’s what they have in the mess, and I didn’t want to make more work for the cooks.”
“That’s fine Mr. President.”
Jon Conte didn’t say much for a minute, content to sit back and regard Wyldon. This was the first time they’d ever met one-on-one, even though they’d overlapped while Conte was in the House. Truthfully, Wyldon hadn’t had a very high opinion on him then. Conte was a little too fond of the bully pulpit, fighting battles in the press instead of in private. Vote against one of his bills and he’d be on all the cable news shows, explaining why your vote was going to ruin America. It just wasn’t how Wyldon did business and he found it hard to respect the younger politician.
Wyldon didn’t know if the intensity he was feeling from his lunch companion was the added power of the presidency or the authoritative Conte energy he’d heard so much. Whenever Wyldon had questioned another Republican on why they’d agreed to so many concessions in a meeting with Conte, they’d always come back with the same answer. “I can’t explain it, he just has a way about him. He made his way seem so simple. Like I was under a spell.”
Magic, Jon Conte wasn’t. But Wyldon still found himself looking down at his water glass, the decor, the place setting, anything to not look Conte directly in the eyes. It was a very intense gaze.
“How’s the arm?” Wyldon was taken aback. Of all the opening lines, he wasn’t expecting that one.
“Excuse me?”
“The arm. I remember one of Myles’s staffers telling me the damp aggravates old breaks. And Senator Groton always swore he could tell when the next day would be rainy, based on knee pain,” Conte said cheerfully.
“My arm is fine, thank you for asking.”
“And how’s Vivenne?”
Wyldon was getting frustrated with pleasantries. He had more important things to do than have a friendly lunch with a political rival. “She’s fine Mr. President, but that’s not why I’m here is it?”
Jon raised his eyebrows. Just a little. Just enough. “No, I suppose it’s not.”
“Well if it’s about that bill to take millions of dollars worth of federal land and give it away, I can tell you that’s going to be an uphill battle,” Wyldon said.
“No, the Land Restoration Act is Vice President Wilima’s initiative, I’ll let her handle it. But it’s not giving land away, it’s ensuring that all the land within a Native American reservation will belong to the tribe, not the patchwork of state, federal, tribal and private land it is today. But no, that’s not the reason for the meeting.”
“Then what’s the reason for the meeting?” Wyldon said.
“You know the story about Reagan and Tip, right?” Conte said.
Wyldon fought to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Conte was no Ronald Reagan, and if he thought he was, he was delusional. But Wyldon obliged anyway. “Is that what this is? A lunch once a week and you think you’ll get me to push all your bills through the House? Reagan and Tip were friends, but that didn’t mean Tip passed anything Reagan wanted without a fight.”
“Ah, but the weekly lunches between the President and the Speaker were only one part of the story with Reagan and Tip. And they weren’t friends.”
“All due respect Mr. President, but they were. I was in the House during the Reagan years,” Wyldon failed to keep the frustration from his voice.
“Tip once called Reagan the most ignorant man who had ever occupied the White House! He was constantly bad-mouthing Reagan in the press. And Tip never gave an inch when it came to the policies he cared about,” Conte said.
Wyldon opened his mouth to respond, but Conte held up a hand. To Wyldon’s surprise, he closed his mouth again.
“And I don’t expect you to do anything different. Keep your party in line, fight for what you want. You don’t have to be my friend, you don’t have to like me at all. But I want to keep the lines of communication open. I don’t think either Reagan or Tip enjoyed those dinners. But they had them every week anyway so they both knew what the other was doing. And I’d like the same for us.”
There was a pause. Wyldon understood now what plenty of his colleagues had said before. He didn’t want to have lunch with Jon Conte every week. He didn’t like Jon Conte. He didn’t like what he stood for. He thought Jon Conte’s high taxes and endless spending would completely bankrupt the country, and he didn’t want to be any part of it. But now, sitting here in front of the man, hearing him lay out this plan, feeling that acute stare, he didn’t feel like he could say anything else.
“You’re no Ronald Reagan, Mr. President,” was Wyldon’s response.
“And you’re no Tip O’Neill.”
“Thank Gods for that,” Wyldon said and Conte smiled.
“So a standing lunch then?”
Wyldon sighed. “Alright, a standing lunch. But I won’t go easy on you, in the House or in the press.”
“I don’t expect you to. Like I said, we don’t have to like each other. You know what Reagan used to call Tip O’Neill?”
“What?” Wyldon asked.
“Pac-Man. Because Tip was a round thing that gobbled up money.”
A laugh escaped Wyldon before he could control himself. Jon looked pleased that he’d finally coaxed some emotion out of the stiff Speaker.
“And when Tip got Reagan a Valentine’s Day card, Reagan said he knew it was from Tip because the heart was bleeding,” Jon laughed.
“I’m never buying you a Valentine’s Day card Mr. President,” Wyldon said. “That I can promise you.”
Jon threw up his hands in a mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But don’t close off the possibility. I can be very charming.”
Wyldon shuddered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”
Summary: Speaker of the House Wyldon Cavall has his first meeting with President Jon Conte.
Rating: PG
Notes: latest chapter in my West Wing Tortall AU. Somehow in this world, Reagan and Tip O'Neill still exist, mostly because some of the digs those two had on each other are truly hilarious and I want to put them in writing. Let's just pretend it's our world but with Tortall politicians and also there's more than one God and we all know it. I don't know, enjoy!
Wyldon Cavall shifted discreetly in his seat. It was a rainy day in Washington D.C. and as on all rainy days, his arm was throbbing. A souvenir of his time in a prisoner of war camp in Vietnam, he’d never recovered full movement of his arm. Not that anyone would ever see him complaining. A Texan Republican with traditional values, Wyldon believed that complaints were a sign of weakness, and pain should be borne in silence.
His stoic demeanor made him very different from some of his newly-elected colleagues, but they still respected him immensely. Most of his Republican colleagues were deferential to him, as a long-serving Congressman and a war hero. In fact, only Wyldon had been surprised when he was elected Speaker of the House. Among his many qualities, he was also uncommonly humble.
Even he had to acknowledge, though, that he was the best person to lead the House. Republicans had only narrowly held onto their majority in the House, and they’d lost the Senate and the presidency. Which meant if they wanted to pass anything, they’d have to figure out how to work with the Democrats. Most of the newly-elected Congresspeople didn’t have the temperament for bipartisan work and the ones who had been in the House longer knew that Wyldon was the best at negotiating of them all. He’d been an easy choice for Speaker.
“He’s ready for you,” came a quiet voice. Wyldon looked around and matched the voice with the young man behind a computer near the door to the Oval. Looks like Jon—President Conte, had replaced Delilah, President Rogers old secretary. He’d liked her, a kind older woman who always remembered to ask after Wyldon’s daughters. But the new president apparently wanted to put new faces in every corner of the government. And that was his prerogative. Didn’t mean Wyldon had to like it.
“Mr. Speaker!” Jon Conte was already standing in the center of the Oval Office when Wyldon entered. “If it’s alright with you, I thought we’d talk over lunch. I had the cooks set up in the dining room.”
“That’s fine,” Wyldon said, as the President ushered him into the Oval.
“You’ve been to the White House before, yes?”
“Just the parts they show the elected officials when we come for receptions. I’ve can’t say I’ve been to the private dining room,” Wyldon admitted.
“It’s lovely. I mean, the whole building is nice, as long as you don’t mind living in a museum,” Jon laughed.
Wyldon gave a tight smile. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a sense of humor, it was more that he disliked banter that distracted from the task at hand. And he noticed that people often tried to use humor and personality to cover up intellectual defects. Of course, that probably wasn’t the case with President Conte. Probably.
“You’re not a vegetarian are you?” Conte said when the two of them sat down.
A vegetarian? Wyldon was from Texas. He would be alive if he didn’t eat meat. In fact, he was pretty sure he needed meat to live. But all he said was “no.”
“Good, because today is Greek Lamb Salad. I’m not really sure what it is quite frankly, it seems to be ground lamb with cucumbers and tomatoes? Tzatziki too? I don’t know, it’s what they have in the mess, and I didn’t want to make more work for the cooks.”
“That’s fine Mr. President.”
Jon Conte didn’t say much for a minute, content to sit back and regard Wyldon. This was the first time they’d ever met one-on-one, even though they’d overlapped while Conte was in the House. Truthfully, Wyldon hadn’t had a very high opinion on him then. Conte was a little too fond of the bully pulpit, fighting battles in the press instead of in private. Vote against one of his bills and he’d be on all the cable news shows, explaining why your vote was going to ruin America. It just wasn’t how Wyldon did business and he found it hard to respect the younger politician.
Wyldon didn’t know if the intensity he was feeling from his lunch companion was the added power of the presidency or the authoritative Conte energy he’d heard so much. Whenever Wyldon had questioned another Republican on why they’d agreed to so many concessions in a meeting with Conte, they’d always come back with the same answer. “I can’t explain it, he just has a way about him. He made his way seem so simple. Like I was under a spell.”
Magic, Jon Conte wasn’t. But Wyldon still found himself looking down at his water glass, the decor, the place setting, anything to not look Conte directly in the eyes. It was a very intense gaze.
“How’s the arm?” Wyldon was taken aback. Of all the opening lines, he wasn’t expecting that one.
“Excuse me?”
“The arm. I remember one of Myles’s staffers telling me the damp aggravates old breaks. And Senator Groton always swore he could tell when the next day would be rainy, based on knee pain,” Conte said cheerfully.
“My arm is fine, thank you for asking.”
“And how’s Vivenne?”
Wyldon was getting frustrated with pleasantries. He had more important things to do than have a friendly lunch with a political rival. “She’s fine Mr. President, but that’s not why I’m here is it?”
Jon raised his eyebrows. Just a little. Just enough. “No, I suppose it’s not.”
“Well if it’s about that bill to take millions of dollars worth of federal land and give it away, I can tell you that’s going to be an uphill battle,” Wyldon said.
“No, the Land Restoration Act is Vice President Wilima’s initiative, I’ll let her handle it. But it’s not giving land away, it’s ensuring that all the land within a Native American reservation will belong to the tribe, not the patchwork of state, federal, tribal and private land it is today. But no, that’s not the reason for the meeting.”
“Then what’s the reason for the meeting?” Wyldon said.
“You know the story about Reagan and Tip, right?” Conte said.
Wyldon fought to stop himself from rolling his eyes. Conte was no Ronald Reagan, and if he thought he was, he was delusional. But Wyldon obliged anyway. “Is that what this is? A lunch once a week and you think you’ll get me to push all your bills through the House? Reagan and Tip were friends, but that didn’t mean Tip passed anything Reagan wanted without a fight.”
“Ah, but the weekly lunches between the President and the Speaker were only one part of the story with Reagan and Tip. And they weren’t friends.”
“All due respect Mr. President, but they were. I was in the House during the Reagan years,” Wyldon failed to keep the frustration from his voice.
“Tip once called Reagan the most ignorant man who had ever occupied the White House! He was constantly bad-mouthing Reagan in the press. And Tip never gave an inch when it came to the policies he cared about,” Conte said.
Wyldon opened his mouth to respond, but Conte held up a hand. To Wyldon’s surprise, he closed his mouth again.
“And I don’t expect you to do anything different. Keep your party in line, fight for what you want. You don’t have to be my friend, you don’t have to like me at all. But I want to keep the lines of communication open. I don’t think either Reagan or Tip enjoyed those dinners. But they had them every week anyway so they both knew what the other was doing. And I’d like the same for us.”
There was a pause. Wyldon understood now what plenty of his colleagues had said before. He didn’t want to have lunch with Jon Conte every week. He didn’t like Jon Conte. He didn’t like what he stood for. He thought Jon Conte’s high taxes and endless spending would completely bankrupt the country, and he didn’t want to be any part of it. But now, sitting here in front of the man, hearing him lay out this plan, feeling that acute stare, he didn’t feel like he could say anything else.
“You’re no Ronald Reagan, Mr. President,” was Wyldon’s response.
“And you’re no Tip O’Neill.”
“Thank Gods for that,” Wyldon said and Conte smiled.
“So a standing lunch then?”
Wyldon sighed. “Alright, a standing lunch. But I won’t go easy on you, in the House or in the press.”
“I don’t expect you to. Like I said, we don’t have to like each other. You know what Reagan used to call Tip O’Neill?”
“What?” Wyldon asked.
“Pac-Man. Because Tip was a round thing that gobbled up money.”
A laugh escaped Wyldon before he could control himself. Jon looked pleased that he’d finally coaxed some emotion out of the stiff Speaker.
“And when Tip got Reagan a Valentine’s Day card, Reagan said he knew it was from Tip because the heart was bleeding,” Jon laughed.
“I’m never buying you a Valentine’s Day card Mr. President,” Wyldon said. “That I can promise you.”
Jon threw up his hands in a mock surrender. “Fine, fine. But don’t close off the possibility. I can be very charming.”
Wyldon shuddered. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”