The Lottery
Author: Tulip
Rating: PG-13--I don't think there's anything too bad in here
Category: Vignette
Spoilers: Up to and including JAG TV. Also, a couple of West Wing characters make an appearance here, although there are no spoilers for that show. I figure this would have taken place during the "campaign" that preceded the series.
Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or Donna, I'm not making a profit, I have no money and should probably be finding better things to do with my time...
Feedback: Sure
Archive: Please tell me where
Notes: Okay, this is a the third in the "Make it Worth your While?" ongoing saga. It is my Harm-bashing offering for today. Probably for a couple of days actually since this week is shaping up to be kind of busy. The story in this case is modified from an employment case a friend of mine worked on, but the case law from the Eighth Circuit is real. I can't remember the name of the case, but Judge Morris Shepard Arnold wrote the opinion, probably in early 1997, in case any legal eagles want to look it up. It is my favorite case law holding of all time, so I had to work it in here somehow. Plus, it fits so nicely with the Harm-bashing theme...
Although I expected to hear from Clay after our dinner at Banana Cafe, I was surprised to get a call at 8:06 the next morning. I had just arrived in my office with a cup of coffee, so I hit the speakerphone.
"Colonel MacKenzie," I say, setting my coffee down.
"Sarah! You are not going to believe this, but we won $25,000 in the lottery." Harm walks by my door, and he walks straight into my office when he hears "won $25,000 in the lottery."
I grab the handset. "You're joking!"
"No. I played the Hot Five with those numbers, and those were the five numbers drawn last night. So, we each get $12,500."
"Oh my God. You were serious about splitting it?"
"Mac, what's going on?" Harm asks, as I hear "of course" coming from the telephone.
"Harm, can you excuse me? I'll be with you in a minute."
'Who is that?" Harm persists.
"Harm!" I say, a little too loudly, attracting Singer's attention. "Hang on a second. My office is Grand Central Station," I say to Clay. I physically push Harm out the door and shut the door. He's still standing there so I pull the blinds.
"Okay, that's better. So, $12,500. I can't believe you picked the lucky numbers, Clay."
"Well, you gave them to me. But, (I hear him start to snicker) I think we should each donate $500 to a sex clinic, like Masters and Johnson or something, in the name of Harmon Rabb Jr."
"Perfect!!" I laugh. "He's going to be so confused when he gets the thank you notes." He keeps laughing.
We decide to meet for lunch to get this lottery business worked out, and he gives me the dates for the embassy parties we discussed last night. I have a conference in Chicago, so I can't go to one of them, but I put the other on my calendar.
I don't bother to open my door again, so I don't see anyone until the morning meeting, and I manage to avoid the subject of my earlier phone call by misdirecting Harm. I'm getting pretty good at it. I just can't explain how I managed to split a lottery ticket with Clayton Webb. Although Harm may be,
without a doubt, the worst lover I ever had, he doesn't need to know that, and I'm afraid that I might end up telling him that if he kept pushing me. Harm does, however, ask me if I want to go to lunch.
"Sorry, I have plans for today. How about tomorrow?"
"What plans?"
"You know, Harm, it's really none of your business."
"Oh, so it's a date." I just roll my eyes and walk away. I notice Harriet giggling, and I look at her, shaking my head.
It ends being a good thing that Clay and I get the lottery thing worked out today, because he ends up going out of town the next day, and I don't hear from him, except for an e-mail telling me he sent off a $500 check to some Tantric sex clinic in California, until late in the day before the embassy party three
weeks later. He calls me at the office and asks if I can meet him at his place to get ready so he can brief me.
The day of the party, the Admiral assigns me to defend a case with some rather odd and entertaining facts, and the case law I tripped across when doing some preliminary research sent me into a fit of giggles. I filed it away to tell Clay about later. My amusement is only increased when Harm comes into my office with two letters, one from a Tantric sex clinic in California and the other from Masters and Johnson in St. Louis, thanking him for his generous donations. It is just too perfect that he not only got the letters on the same day, but it's a day I already know I'm going to see Clay.
"Mac, this is so odd. I don't know what this about." He hands me the letters.
It is taking supreme self-control not to laugh right now. "Well, Harm, I don't know what to tell you. Did you piss one of your ex-girlfriends off or something so that she donated in your name? Although, $1,000 is a lot of money..."
"Yeah. But everyone I've been with has been satisfied."
I dig my nails into my skin underneath my desk. Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it, I keep repeating to myself silently. "Well, I don't know.
Your name is a little bit unusual for an error like this, but I guess you could still use it as a tax deduction, although you might want to double check with those organizations first."
"I don't think I want to use these as a tax deduction. What if I get audited?"
I so wish I was tape recording this conversation. I continue to concentrate very hard so that I don't laugh. "Well, Harm, if you really want to know if there's a mix-up, call them and find out."
"Right. It's all so strange. Listen, don't say anything. I don't want Singer to find out and think that I need help in that department."
"No problem," I say, forcing myself to cough because I think I'm going to lose it.
He finally leaves, and I get up quickly and shut the door before practically collapsing in hysterics. Oh, boy, I can't wait for tonight.
The end of the day finally rolls around, and I make my way over to Clay's place. He calls me when I'm already almost there, telling me he's stuck in traffic. That's no surprise, but he sounds kind of tense. I pass the time playing games on my Palm Pilot, and he scares the hell out of me by sneaking up
and knocking on my window, then opening my door.
"Jesus, Clay! You scared the shit out of me." I realize that's a little rude. "Hi. How are you?"
"Sorry. C'mon. There's a lot to go through before we have to leave." I just stare at him. "I'm sorry. Hi, Sarah, it's good to see you. C'mon. There's a lot to go through before we leave." I smile then.
I get out of the car and grab my stuff. "Let's get started. If you're nice to me, I'll reward you later with some funny stories."
"Good. This day has been a total disaster so far. I could use a good laugh. I wish I have that laugh now, but there's not time."
He lets me into his townhouse, and I just stop and look around. "Wow. This is really nice."
"Let's go upstairs. We can get ready while I brief you." Clay talks pretty much the entire time we're getting ready, giving me a little background on some key players. Although I'm not fully briefed, I know that the problem we're dealing with tonight has something to do with drugs and/or money laundering,
probably both since they go hand in hand. Working out of an embassy does make that sort of thing a little easier, until you get caught. On our way to the embassy, he has me look at photographs of his targets so that I can keep an eye on what they're doing.
We manage to get to the embassy on time and get straight to work. And there is a lot of observing to do. Even if I wasn't aware that there was a problem, it wouldn't be too hard to figure out that something fishy is going on. I make myself available to the targets, and, every so often, Clay cuts in and I tell
him what I've found out. Anyway, all either of us has had to eat is hors d'oeurves, and Clay promises me during one of our dances that we can go for dessert at Kramerbooks Café at DuPont Circle.
We finally leave the party, and luck out finding a parking spot. He quietly debriefs me after we're seated, and he's done at about the time we get our desserts.
"All right, Sarah. Some little part of my brain has been distracted all evening wanting to hear the stories you told me about. I hope one of them at least involves your partner?"
"Sure does. In fact, he got two thank you notes today which puzzled him to no end." Clay breaks into a wide smile which has only partially to do with the quality of the chocolate dessert he ordered.
"Do tell."
"Well, he came into my office with two thank you letters and couldn't figure out how he managed to get them. I asked him if he ticked off an old girlfriend or something, but then I pointed out that $1,000 was kind of a lot of money for a cruel joke. He informed me that everyone he's ever been with has been
satisfied." Clay almost chokes on his cake, and he puts his fork down completely as he laughs. "Imagine being in my shoes! Anyway, I told him he probably could take the tax deduction, but to call the clinics if he really wanted to know. He said he didn't want the deduction, because, in case he got audited, he didn't want to have to produce the receipts. I mean, God forbid the IRS thinks he is lacking somehow. He told me not to tell anyone of course. He's afraid of Singer finding out.
"So, anyway, and this is related, even though it might take me a minute to get there, earlier this morning, before the letters, the Admiral assigned me as defense counsel in a case involving the insubordination of a female Marine corporal assigned to guard duty at the Quantico brig. She was married and had apparently been having an affair with one of the prisoners, so she's also facing charges of adultery. When she was approached by her superior, who had intended to talk to her about the rumors, she suddenly ripped up a couple of sheets of paper and shoved the pieces down her pants. She became confrontational and was arrested by the MPs, who recovered the pieces of paper. It was a rather long and explicit love note, addressed to the prisoner. She's apparently been claiming that the note was actually to her husband, even though her husband's name is Evan, and the prisoner's name is Roland, which is written numerous times throughout the note."
"What did the note say, exactly?"
"I'm not going to tell you that. I probably shouldn't have told you as much as I have, although it's in the report. I haven't talked to her yet."
"See, I'm not the only one who keeps secrets. I just can't label it attorney-client privilege." I have to smile at that. He does kind of have a point--I've never been in this position with him before. He's always the one holding all the cards. Even though this has nothing to do with what we're working on, it's nice to withhold information from Clayton Webb.
"All right, all right. But the funniest thing, and the thing that relates back to Harm, in case you were wondering what the point of this was, was what I found doing some preliminary research. I found a case from the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals that had been filed by a prisoner who had been transferred as a
result of a sexual relationship he had with a female guard. He claimed cruel and unusual punishment."
Clay starts laughing again. "At least I wasn't eating or drinking that time."
"I'm sorry. Okay, don't put anything in your mouth. The ruling of this case was that consensual sexual intercourse will never constitute cruel and unusual punishment under the Eighth Amendment. And all I can think was that the judge had never slept with Harmon Rabb. The ruling might have been different." We both
get hysterical.
At this moment, I get a tap on the shoulder, and Clay quickly looks down to concentrate on his dessert. "Are you talking about Harmon Rabb who's a lawyer for the Navy?" Shit.
"Um, yes?" I say, hoping she's not some long lost half-sister or something. Clay starts smirking, and I give him a little kick under the table, and the bastard kicks me back. This woman is a very pretty blond, and she looks kind of familiar.
"I'm really sorry, I couldn't help but overhear. This is none of my business, I know, but I gather you've slept with him?" Clay is clearly trying to hold in his laughter.
"Unfortunately," I say.
"So, it's not just me. Was he the worst?" she asks, laughing a little.
"Definitely! But he thinks he's God's gift..."
"I know!" she exclaims. "I'm Donna Moss, by the way."
"You work for Governor Bartlett's campaign, don't you?" Clay finally pipes up.
"Yeah. How do you know that? I'm only Josh Lyman's assistant."
"Well, I wouldn't say 'only' where he's concerned. But seriously, I came to consult with someone about something, and I noticed you lecturing him. I was very entertained by it."
"So, how do you know Harm?" I ask, changing the subject.
"Oh, I met him at some Irish pub that the girls and I had gone to in order to escape our bosses and the campaign for a little bit. I'm afraid I was a little drunk, but he really didn't seem to be. He was truly awful! I mean, hasn't he ever had any instruction? He was so sloppy kissing, everything."
"I know. And he just forged ahead, not caring what my state was, assuming I was aroused enoughh.."
"All right, that's enough. You guys are kind of cruel," Clay finally says. "I hope no one has ever talked about me that way!"
"I hope so too," I tell him sweetly but giving him an evil grin.
"You know," Donna muses, "I just don't think it would be possible for even the horniest thirteen-year-old boy to be quite that bad."
"Yeah, I had those same thoughts." Just then, we hear a bellowed, "DONNA!!!!"
She rolls her eyes, "That would be my boss. Well, it was nice to meet you..."
"Sarah MacKenzie," I say, shaking her hand, "and this is Clayton Webb." He shakes her hand as well.
"DONNA!!!"
"I know, he yells, but he's helpless without me, and I don't bring him coffee," she informs me with a little wink. "See you around."
"Bye," we both say.
"See, it's not just me," I inform Clay, punctuating my sentence with a little stab of my dessert fork. We finish up and pay, then walk back to the car.
"Listen, Clay, about the Navy Ball. Everyone in the office is trying to set me up with their cousin/brother/friend/enemy. Would you be up for a little quid pro quo on these parties?"
"Enemy?"
"Singer."
"Right. Well, sure I'll go, if you can handle being seen with me in public in front of your co-workers. If I'm not out of town."
"I think I can handle being seen with you. If I survived sex with Harm, I think I can handle being seen in public with you."
"Gee, thanks." He checks his watch. "It's getting late, and I need to go into the office tomorrow. Are you ready to go?"
"Yeah. I'll get you an official invitation to the Ball."
We chat on the drive back to his place, and he walks me to my car. I'm almost all the way home before I realize that I left a uniform and a bunch of makeup inside the house. I bet he messengers it to the office, just to see what happens.
