Starring:
Date: November 17, 2009
Summary:
Tracy finds a hotel key in Ivory's hotel room and investigates. She learns Ivory's got a secret… but is it the secret she thinks it is?
"Ultra Secret Therapy"
Sydney's Hotel Room: DC
"Ivoryyyy…" Tracy calls out from the door of his apartment, holding the spare key; it's early morning, and though she's surmised of the Senator's schedule at all times (so she thinks), he must have slipped out to start his day early, since the apartment seems empty. She saunters through the apartment anyway, just to be sure, checking the bedroom— which is when a glint catches he eye. A key of another sort. Moving to pick it up, she turns it over in her hand. It's a room key card — for a hotel. Why…?
* * *
The room key is still in Tracy's hand some time later, but her surroundings are no longer the modern D.C. apartment, but the hallway of a lovely D.C. hotel. Wearing a faintly pink sleeveless blouse, white pants, a much heavier, black coat draped over her shoulders since her arm is still hurt, and a decidedly troubled glare, the advisor holds her one free hand up to knock. … And then she reconsiders. She simply slides the card through and opens the door right up.
Fortunately for Sydney she's been awake for some time — showered and in the same sleeveless black dress she'd worn to work yesterday. Her hair is still moderately damp, but extremely curly as she hadn't been planning on coming to DC today. She's sitting at the room desk, on her cellphone. "Tara, I told you, the appointment took longer than I thought. The Senator needed me for longer than I'd allotted him," the tone is argumentative. "I know that's what I said, but he said he wouldn't trust her, even if she's more qualified than I am…" There's a pause as Sydney listens, "Just cancel my appointments for the afternoon. I'll make sure I'm back at work sometime for tomorrow's appointments…" And then the door opens, wide eyed, the blonde stands to her feet, cellphone still held to her ear, "W-Who are you?" Pause. "No, I know who you are, Tara. I'm gonna have to call you back." She claps it shut while staring at Tracy.
Tracy has been the Other Woman enough during her days with the Governor not so long ago to know how these setups work. Given her propensity to have undying faith in Ivory, however… there's nothing but surprise on her face when the door opens to reveal the other blonde woman. "Wh— who am I," she repeats incredulously, her tone not yet accusing, but wait for it… wait for it… "My name is Tracy, I'm Senator Wynn's— " Senator Wynn's what? None of the answers she could provide (and there are a few) see the light of day, as she takes a step in to say, "Who're you?"
Unlike Tracy, Sydney doesn't know this song and dance. She's still young-ish. Not innocent, but at times naive. Eyebrows are furrowed as Sydney frowns. "I…" Pause. An eyebrow is arched, "Sydney Falkland. Senator Wynn's …" Her lips twitch so she presses them together. She can't expand what she is to Ivory, it's confidential. "How did you get in here? Did the Senator send you?" She smoothes her dress.
As Tracy takes another step in, the door automatically swings shut behind her, eliciting a glance over her shoulder as it secures both of the women inside the hotel room. She quickly swings her head back around, blonde hair — a straight, stark contrast to Sydney's curls — flying for an instant. "I…" Awkward. It's difficult not to come off as a total psycho by answering 'I stole the room key and hunted you down', even if it's true. That's jealousy she feels rising; confusion almost matches it. Tracy gestures with the key card, but breezes past answering. "What're you doing here? …Was Ivory here?"
Sydney can't help but jump just a little as the door closes. Of course, a stranger has just gotten into her hotel room, this might leave anyone on edge. Eyebrows are furrowed, "Who exactly are you to Senator Wynn?" she narrows her eyes into slits. She can't exactly tell just anyone who she is, "My business with the Senator is confidential. I can't really discuss that with anyone without his permission." Cryptic. She blinks as something occurs to her, "Are you with the press? He's not losing his mind, if that's what you want to know…" Frown. There really is no jealousy on Sydney's part, not yet, anyways. Only suspicion and confusion.
"Confidential… no, I'm not with the press. Why anyone think he's losing his mind?" Perhaps without truly realizing she's doing it, Tracy slowly strides further into the room toward Sydney. "I'm his…" Again, a pause, but she takes the professional route. The woman even flashes a bright smile, though it's skeptical around the edges. "Advisor. I'm his advisor. …Look, I know I'm barging in out of nowhere like— " A jealous crazy person, don't worry, she's well aware. She holds her hand up, room key and all. "It's just that it's my business to know his business. I know… everything… about him…" Tracy's blue eyes flare with an intensity incongruous with the cool demeanour she's trying to keep.
There's a slight frown as Sydney backs up instinctively, but then she manages an "Ahhh. Okay, that almost makes sense." Realizing she's still holding her phone, she pockets it and sighs. Her lips twitch as she tries to decide what to say. How to respond. She forces a weak smile, "I'm his therapist." There it's said. "He doesn't want anyone to know he's seeing me for how it would look with the press." And then she adds as an afterthought, "He's not crazy. Therapy is an excellent way to clarify one's own thoughts about things…"
"Therapist!" Tracy looks incredulous, but relieved. She actually sighs with a wave of relaxation. Even still, she glances around the hotel room for signs of— for signs of anything. Signs of Ivory. She gives Sydney a smile, however, friendly under the circumstances. "The Senator is under a lot of pressure. What're you doing here?" She holds up the room card. "I found this key in his— well, it's not important. I thought for a second you were sleeping with him, which of course would be completely out of line." Eye narrow.
"I'm from New York… an hour wasn't long enough for him yesterday so I changed my schedule to suit him," Sydney answers simply. "And I'm staying here because, well, like I said he doesn't need the press to know that he's talking to anyone." She narrows her eyes at the room key. At the mention of sleeping with him, however, she feels her face begin to redden and so she turns around and walks towards the coffee pot, "Can I offer you a cup of coffee?" She pads up to it and pours herself a cup.
Tracy turns toward the door; she should leave. Instead, she watches Sydney, still a little unsettled. "…Sure," she says after a moment, pleasantly enough, if a touch unsure. The advisor follows the therapist, slipping the room card into a pocket and unfastening the one button of her coat, further revealing the cast and sling of her right arm. She drapes it neatly over the back of a hotel chair. "As long as I'm not taking up your time. I can help keep the press at bay. Move his schedule around when you have an appointment. I don't know why he would've kept it from me."
"It's no trouble. Just trying to figure out when I need to head back to New York." She pours a cup of coffee for Tracy as well, "Cream? Sugar?" Sydney takes her own black and lifts the cup to her lips, sipping carefully. She shrugs a bit at Tracy's thoughts, "Well, he is a very extraordinary man. Seems to like to maintain a facade that he's superhuman or something. Perhaps he didn't want you to think less of him." Pause and sigh. "I'm not sure who could think that of him though…" Her pupils dilate ever so slightly as she sips her coffee again.
Tracy just nods to the specifics of her coffee, not honestly caring at this point in time if there's cream or sugar or orange juice in her coffee. "You're probably right," she admits, moving toward the coffee pot and cup. She stops once near Sydney, looking down with a fond smile on her lips that she just can't hide. "I could never think less of him. He's a remarkable man."
Handing Tracy the cup, Sydney nods as well, "He really is. So brilliant and capable." Her lips also quirk into a fond smile. "And he has a good heart too. Like he wants the best for this country and its people. Even when others…" She glances at Tracy's arm, quirks, "What happened to your arm, Tracy?" It's at this moment that Sydney's phone rings. Glancing at the number she sighs, "I have to take this." She takes a few steps away and sits on the desk chair again, "Tara, I told you… Just cancel them. No one is going to commit suicide over my absence…" Pause. "Well then refer them to Amy." Frown. She rolls her eyes and claps the phone shut again. "Apparently the world stops turning when I'm gone…" She turns to face Tracy.
Cup in hand but otherwise ignored, Tracy puts her answers on pause while Sydney takes the call. She wanders the room a bit, looking at this and that. There's something here, something making her suspicious; by the time the therapist turns around, Tracy is staring at her already. While her expression is pleasant to start with, her smile twists into distrustful territory. "I'm sorry Ms. Falkland," she says insincerely. "Something just isn't adding up here…" She takes a step. "Ivory was here…"
Sydney's gaze meets Tracy's. Her smile fades as she stands to her feet. Contemplatively her face twitches slightly. Enough for Tracy to see considering the staring. "Of course Ivory was here, I don't have an office in DC. Where else can ultra-secret therapy happen?" Of course, Sydney still has no real reason to be jealous. Her lips twitch. Her head tilts. Her arms cross over her chest almost defiantly.
"You want a private meeting, you take it to an office off-hours or you book a back room under a guise," Tracy says, turning just so to set her coffee down on the hotel's small and lovely table without taking her eyes off Sydney. Does she have to give Ivory advice on how to conduct his own affairs (pun intended) in all aspects of his life? "But going to a hotel room with some girl from New York…" she says flippantly. "I would think that's press than seeing a therapist, especially when— "
Head tilt, "When what, Tracy?" Sydney's tone isn't angry or even irritated. It's strangely calm. She's been trained to do this. Although, she's not used to denying something so openly, she's not on the defensive about it. Placing her coffee down on the desk, she furrows her eyebrows at Tracy. And then she adds simply, "I'm not 'some girl from New York,' I'm a very good therapist. Exceedingly good at what I do. I haven't had a single dissatisfied client." Smirk. Pause. "I think you should go…"
"I'm sure you're a fantastic therapist," Tracy replies with no small amount of sarcasm. Surprised at how many conclusions she's jumping to when of course Ivory wouldn't do anything so silly, she smiles as if just getting back to her senses — a tense smile, dismissive and apologetic. "…I'm sorry." She brings a hand to her forehead. She closes her eyes and gets a grip before gesturing to stop this whole conversation; when she opens her eyes once more, she's cooler-headed… and on her way out. "You're absolutely right, I should go." She takes her coat, draping it over her free arm and strides briskly to the door.