Work Text:
Maybe it was the gift. Or that inscription. Or maybe it was just that children's choir singing "Little Drummer Boy" and all those other Christmas carols. I'm a pushover for Christmas carols. Josh complains about this constantly, but I love Christmas music. I bring in my portable CD player and listen to them all day from the Friday after Thanksgiving until Christmas Eve. Josh maintains that this constitutes a violation of the separation of church and state, given where we work. I offered to compromise by only listening to the secular stuff like "Jingle Bells," but that wasn't enough for Ebenezer Lyman. Finally I brought in headphones so that he couldn't possibly tell what I was listening to.
"Can too," he replied. There's nothing like an Ivy League education to help a guy with those snappy comebacks.
"Josh," I answered, "you can't hear one note when I've got these things on. I could be listening to Tupac Shakur or the Backstreet Boys for all you know."
"Tupac Shakur or the Backstreet Boys?" he repeated. "There's two names you don't usually hear in the same sentence."
"I have very eclectic tastes," I replied.
He continued to complain for awhile about how I couldn't hear him call me if I had the headphones on, but we both knew I'd won. I always hear Josh; hell, I hear Josh before he even calls me. We both know that, but it's one of the many things we don't discuss. When you have that kind of near telepathy with someone, you don't want to analyze it for fear of losing your connection to him. Or having to deal with what it means.
And I don't want to deal with what it means. Except I guess I sort of have to now. Which brings me back to Christmas Eve and the choir. And the inscription Josh wrote in the book he gave me.
I ask again: Would it have killed him to buy me skis?
Okay, I know I'm digressing. I tend to do that. Josh says it's incredibly annoying, although I happen to know that secretly he finds it alluring. He said so to Sam. Who told Toby. Who just happened to mention it to CJ. Carol overheard that, which meant it got back to Bonnie and Ginger, who literally came running to tell me. And, all right, maybe the phrase Bonnie and Ginger used was "kind of cute," but you know how these things get muddled the more removed they are from the source. So I'm guessing "alluring" was the word Josh originally used. I am not basing this on ego, by the way. I'm extrapolating based on first-hand evidence. Which brings us back to Christmas Eve.
(I swear I can hear Josh say, "At last," inside my head. Josh seems to have taken up residence there. And that is annoying.)
My point is that I was already what you might call susceptible on Christmas Eve, what with the choir and the music and Josh having written this very sweet inscription in the book he gave me. I don't think that what happened later was my fault. Not at all. I prefer to blame Josh. Or CJ. Maybe Toby. Definitely Sam. But mostly Josh.
If we get fired over this, I swear I'll kill him.
* * *
Margaret and Kathy asked me to help with the decorations for the office party, but instead I let Josh talk me into going to hear the choir. Looking back on it, I realize this was my first mistake--ducking out on my responsibilities like that. If I'd been helping set things up for the Christmas party, I wouldn't have been standing next to Josh, listening to carols and getting all emotional. Plus I would have known where the mistletoe was.
And believe me when I tell you that I would never have put mistletoe in the middle of Josh's office. Whose idea was that anyway? Everyone knows that mistletoe is supposed to go in public spots, so you can have a perfectly innocent kiss with witnesses. And without tongues.
But instead of turning the bullpen into a winter wonderland, I was listening to these boy sopranos singing about heavenly peace and holy nights and it was all I could do to hold back the tears. Tears, I might add, that had nothing to do with the use of phrases like "incredible smile" and "joy in my life" in a certain book. Nor did my feelings have anything to do with the fact that Josh's arm was around my waist. Josh touches me like that all the time, and I can honestly say that it didn't effect me any more then than it ever had before.
Can I just point out here that there was nothing inappropriate about this? It's not like Josh was leading me off into the supply closet or something. We were standing right there with President Bartlet and Leo, after all. If there had been anything inappropriate about Josh holding me, don't you think the President of the United States or the Chief of Staff would have mentioned it? So you see, it was all perfectly innocent. Okay, maybe he was pulling me just a little closer than normal and maybe I was aware of the fact that he's a man and kind of attractive in a quirky way. And I could smell his cologne, which I happen to know is very expensive and appealing because it's what I gave him for his birthday last year. But mostly it was innocent. Well, except for the fact that I started thinking about how I shouldn't think about how Josh just has this intensity about him that makes you think he'd be an incredible lover and it's been more than a year since I...
Where was I?
Right. The choir. The music. Al Roker as Santa. Jose Feliciano. Well, Josh and I left after Jose Feliciano and before Al Roker. I don't remember deciding to leave, but Josh still had his arm around me and I didn't realize where we were headed until we were halfway there.
"I have never understood the more subtle nuances of this holiday," Josh said. "Mixing elves and reindeer with the birth of the Messiah, for example."
"Comes from your being Jewish, I suppose," I replied.
"And do you even know what Chanukah is?"
"Chanukah," I answered, taking care to imitate the slightly gutteral sound on the "Ch" the way Josh does, "also known as the Festival of Lights, is a Jewish holiday commemorating the rededication of the Jerusalem Temple by the Maccabees. Chanukah is observed by lighting candles for eight nights as a way of thanking God for delivering the few and the weak from the hands of the numerous and the powerful."
Josh looked impressed, as well he should. "Where does a Presbyterian get that kind of knowledge?"
"Stewart Goldman. Boyfriend. Freshman year of college. I considered converting for a couple of months."
"What happened?"
"Alan Davis. Sophomore year."
By then, we were back at the bullpen. Margaret was attempting to lead everyone in "Deck the Halls," and I could suddenly understand Josh's aversion to Christmas carols. I counted eighteen singers in at least seven different keys. And none of them were on the same verse.
"I'm going to go out on a limb here," Josh said, "and say that somebody spiked the eggnog."
I decided to test his theory and poured myself a cup. "You're right."
He put on his offended face. "You know, Donna, it's eggnog, not coffee."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning that it wouldn't be establishing any sort of precedent if you'd actually brought me a cup too. It's not like I'm going to expect you to bring me eggnog every morning."
"It's a slippery slope, Josh. Eggnog on Christmas Eve, coffee on weekdays; before I know it, you're expecting me to show up at your place every morning to fix your breakfast."
"You've had worse ideas."
"Josh, get your own damn eggnog."
He went toward the eggnog, and I went off to talk to Ernie, this new guy in Human Resources. Despite his first name, Ernie is awfully good looking. I mean, you hear a name like Ernie and you expect a guy to be about 5'5," weigh 250 pounds and live in his parents' basement. I don't know where Ernie lives, but he looks like a young Robert Redford. Seriously.
"And will your wife be coming to the party later?" Bonnie was asking him. She and Ginger were practically draped over the poor man. Not what you'd call subtle, but they seemed to be getting their point across.
"I'm divorced," he said.
"That's so sad," Bonnie said. Of course, she was grinning rather widely, which ruined the effect. "And you're going to be all alone over the holidays?"
I didn't plan to enter the conversation. I figured Ernie had enough problems trying to choose between Bonnie and Ginger, not to mention that both Kathy and Nancy were heading toward us. And anyway Ernie's too blond for me. I mean, our kids would be albinos. You have to take these things into consideration. But that didn't mean I couldn't appreciate him. Like a work of art. Michaelangelo's David springs to mind.
But then he moved closer to me (almost stepping on Ginger's feet, I might add). "What about you?" he asked. "What are your plans for the holidays, Donna?"
I was momentarily speechless, which Josh would tell you does not happen often.
"Huh?"
Ernie looked at me like he was confused. "That is your name, isn't it? Donna?"
"Donnatella."
Only two people call me that, and my mother was miles away in Chicago. Sure enough, I turned and saw Josh
standing behind me. I turned back to Ernie.
"Donna. My name's Donna."
Ernie had that look. You know, that look men get when they're trying to decide if you're with someone else. I hate that look because when they do it, they're not even looking at you; they're looking at the other guy for permission.
"Ernie," I said. (In my experience, it helps to say a man's name at a time like that; it helps refocus his attention on you. Of course, sometimes you need to say it twice.) "Ernie, this is my boss, Josh Lyman."
"Donna," Josh said. "We have that thing."
"What thing?"
"That work thing."
"Christmas Eve, Joshua."
"Government business, Donnatella."
So off we went, back toward Josh's office.
"I swear, Josh, if you think I'm going to work on Christmas Eve..."
"We're not working. It was just a clever way to get you out of an awkward situation. Don't bother to thank me."
"And I would be tempted to thank you because...?"
"Because I got you out of that awkward situation."
"You mean that awkward situation where I get to talk to a good-looking single man who seems interested in me?"
"He's not single."
"What are you talking about?"
"He's married."
"He said he was divorced. I heard."
"Right. Because, you know, men never lie to beautiful women."
"He works in Human Resources. How would the deputy chief of staff know his marital status?"
"It's my job to know these things."
"I've actually read your job description, Josh."
"All right. It's one of those things men know."
"Generally, it's women who pick up on those subtle nonverbal cues that give away a married man on the make."
"This isn't about nonverbal cues. This is more like 'takes one to know one.'"
"You're not married."
"I have, however, been on the make."
"It's that kind of reasoning that almost lost us the election."
"If you're going to bring up the Ohio primary again, that was Toby's fault."
"So you keep insisting. You're wrong. You're also wrong about Ernie."
"Ernie? You're seriously thinking of going out with a guy named Ernie?"
"I am not--"
"And look at him. Do you have any idea how blonde your kids would be? We're talking albino here."
"Okay, now that's just weird."
"What?"
"I thought the same thing. The albino kids."
"So you know I'm right?"
"I didn't say that. Although it is possible you're not entirely wrong."
"Well, as long as you know."
"Is that all?" I asked. "Because if there isn't any real work to do. I'm going back to where people are having actual fun."
"No, that's pretty much it. Now that I've successfully defended your virtue, you're free to leave."
So Josh disappeared inside his office, and I sat down at my desk. I could have gone back to the party, but I know Josh. I know that he probably really was going to work. And that would mean he'd come looking for me eventually with some quasi-emergency; it just made more sense to stay nearby.
That was when I remembered that I hadn't given Josh his Christmas present. So I grabbed it out of the bottom desk drawer and went into his office.
He'd taken off his jacket and was standing transfixed in the middle of the room, looking as though he expected the ceiling to fall on him. Again.
"Should I call maintenance?" I asked.
"What? No, it's--" He looked at me as though he'd just had some sort of revelation. "What do you have there?"
"Your Christmas present."
"You bought me a Christmas present?"
"Yes, Josh. It's traditional to exchange gifts at Christmas. You didn't buy me skis, and I got you this."
Now I went to a lot of trouble wrapping that gift. I spent two hours searching for just the right wrapping paper--snowflakes on a silver background; Josh would have hated the Currier and Ives print I used for my family's presents. And there was this elaborate white bow that I spent another hour getting just right. I shouldn't have bothered. Josh tore it apart quicker than my seven-year-old nephew tears into a new batch of Pokemon cards.
"Well?" I asked.
"Coffee? You gave me coffee?"
"Not just any coffee. This is a very special gourmet blend."
"I give you a rare book, and you give me coffee?"
"It's the thought that counts, Josh."
"I'm almost afraid to ask what you were thinking."
"That now you can't say I never bring you coffee. Also that I could have bought you a very nice coffee press if I made more money."
"So the hidden meaning behind this gift is that you want a raise?"
"I wouldn't exactly call it a hidden meaning, Josh."
"If you ever got that raise, would you actually bring me coffee?"
"Only in your dreams."
He smiled. Josh, I must admit, has a great smile. He has a number of great smiles. I know; I've catalogued them. My personal favorites are the "I just said something clever" smirk and the "I know something you haven't figured out yet" grin. This was the latter. I should have realized then that I was in trouble.
"Okay," Josh said, "we had the carolers, the visit from St. Nick cleverly disguised as a morning news show weatherman, the drunken revelers at the office Christmas party, and the gift giving. What's next?"
"Well, we could watch It's a Wonderful Life, but I have a plane to catch in two hours."
"What about mistletoe?"
"Mistletoe? What are you talking about?"
"Mistletoe," he recited. "A plant traditionally used as decoration during the Christmas season. In European folklore, mistletoe was believed to bestow fertility and to be an aphrodisiac. Which, you'll admit, is a useful combination. The tradition of kissing under the mistletoe was originally associated with the Greek festival of Saturnalia and later with primitive marriage rites. The Scandanavian tradition holds that mistletoe represents peace; enemies could stand under the mistletoe to declare a truce or married couples could use it to kiss and make up."
"Josh, I'm impressed. Seriously."
"You don't work for Jed Bartlet this long without picking up some useless bits of trivia. So, Donnatella, should we move to the mistletoe portion of the evening?"
"Josh," I said, moving closer--just to make my point, you understand--"the tradition requires catching someone underneath the mistletoe."
He grinned again and pointed up. That was when I saw the mistletoe directly above my head.
And then suddenly Josh had his arms around me, and we were kissing. As kisses go, this was nice. Sweet. Completely appropriate. No tongues.
Well, not at first anyway. I don't know exactly how it happened; I'm not even sure who started it (though I'm willing to bet it was Josh), but, yes, tongues did become involved. This is not to imply that it was one of those sloppy, groping kisses where you feel like your date is examining your mouth for gold filings. This felt the way talking to Josh feels--fun and exciting and like I just don't want it to end.
I heard the door open, and we looked over to see CJ standing there.
Josh let go of me rather abruptly. "Jeez," he said, "doesn't anybody in this building ever knock?"
"I've said it before," CJ replied, "but I think it bears repeating: Boy, are you stupid!"
* * *
Sometimes there's just no reasoning with Josh. When he found out that CJ was there because she'd offered to give me a ride to the airport, he decided that I was somehow to blame.
"Me? You were the kisser; I was just the kissee."
"Oh yeah?" There was that snappy Ivy League patter again. You have to wonder if his parents ever felt the tuition money had been wasted.
"Yeah." I prefer to think of my own reply as succinct.
"Would you two listen to yourselves?" CJ said. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you could be in? Do you know how lucky you are that I was the one who saw you? There are press at that party. Press, Joshua! The deputy chief of staff consorting with his assistant behind closed doors--my god, do you have any idea how big a Christmas present that would be to most reporters?"
"I wouldn't call it consorting," I said. Josh was too busy sputtering to say anything coherent. He sat down behind his desk, where he seemed to be trying to tear his hair out.
"Donna," CJ continued, "do you have any idea what the two of you looked like? There are people out there with cameras!"
"It was just a little kiss, CJ," I pointed out. "There's mistletoe, see? It was perfectly innocent."
"What I saw sure didn't look innocent," CJ replied. "It looked like full-blown tongue hockey."
Josh looked up, with that malicious gleam in his eye--the one he usually reserves for Republican members of Congress.
"And the pot calls the kettle black," he said.
"What?" CJ and I asked in unison.
"So I kissed Donna. Under the mistletoe. On Christmas Eve. Big deal. It didn't mean anything."
"What do you mean it didn't mean anything?" I asked. I don't think Josh heard me. He was in full attack mode and too focused on CJ.
"And, yes, we're co-workers," he continued.
"You're her boss," CJ said.
"Yes. We work together. It's not like there's a conflict of interest involved. It's not like she's a reporter and I'm, you know, the press secretary."
"This is about you and Donna, not me and Danny."
"But it could be."
"Are you trying to blackmail me, Josh?"
"No," I said. "No, he's not. No one is blackmailing anyone. It was just an innocent kiss." I turned from CJ to Josh. "And apparently it was completely meaningless." I looked back at CJ. "And nobody knows about it except the three of us. Disaster averted. Now if you two will stop arguing about it, CJ can drive me to the airport."
"Donna--"
"Trust me, Josh. You really don't want to say anything else right now." And with that, I left his office.
* * *
The cost of parking a car at Reagan for ten days is more than I could afford even if I got a raise. And the price of a cab from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue is even worse. So when CJ originally offered to drive me to the airport, it had seemed like a really good idea.
Now, of course, I was wishing I'd called the cab. After all, I know Josh's credit card numbers, and I figured he owed me.
Christmas Eve traffic in DC was like, well, Christmas Eve traffic in DC. We were inching along, as CJ divided her attention between the road and her anger over the public relations disaster she'd decided Josh and I were trying to create.
"Josh Lyman, besides being a royal pain in the ass, is a high profile member of this administration," she said. "And he has more than his share of enemies. Do you have any idea how many people on Capitol Hill would love to cause him embarrassment?"
"Forty-seven."
CJ looked rather astounded. "You're making that up."
"No, I keep count."
"You keep count? What do you have--a list? An enemies list? Like Nixon? Please, Donna, tell me you don't have a list!"
"Just in my head. Not written down or anything. What kind of assistant would I be if I didn't know who was out to get my boss?"
"Don't write that list down. Ever. Anywhere."
"I won't."
"Writing that down would be worse than...than..."
"Worse than kissing Josh under the mistletoe?"
"Don't mock me, Donna. You know that Josh has been hanging on by a thread ever since the Mary Marsh thing. The least appearance of impropriety could be disastrous for him. And it doesn't matter how you feel about him--"
"I am not in love with Josh."
"Whatever. Those forty-seven people--whose names I do not want to know--are only going to see the fact that he's your boss. They're going to scream sexual harassment. If we're lucky, they'll only suggest that the Deputy Chief of Staff is sleeping with his assistant in the White House. And nothing that gets said about you will be even remotely civilized. If you're lucky, the worst thing you'll get called will be bimbo."
"CJ, you are worrying for nothing. Josh and I are not lovers. We have never been lovers; we never will be lovers."
"Whatever. And then there's Leo's situation. Lillienfield is going to drop that bombshell as soon as the holidays are over. We can't possibly salvage Leo's career if we have to deal with charges against Josh as well."
"There's also Sam and the call girl," I suggested. Look, I like Sam; but I really needed CJ to get irate over something else.
"Dear god, is there anything the assistants don't know?"
"Nuclear missle codes. Although there's always a possibility that Mrs. Landingham has those."
"Look, Donna, all I'm saying is--"
"Don't kiss Josh. Believe me, CJ, I don't even want to look at him right now."
"That bad, huh?"
"Josh doesn't think about me that way. I don't think about him."
"Right. You're both completely thoughtless." This time when I looked at CJ, she was grinning.
"You know the irony here?" CJ asked. "I have always thought that you and Josh would be perfect together. God knows you're the only woman who can put up with him and keep his ego in check."
"But I thought you just said that my getting involved with Josh--which I have no intention of doing anyway--is a bad idea?"
"It is. For now. All I'm saying is that once we're out of the White House you might want to rethink your relationship."
"We're in our second year."
"I know."
"Then there's re-election. That's another four years."
"I know that too."
"You know, if I did have any desire to date Josh, that would seem like a ridiculously long time to wait."
"Tell me about it."
"Yeah. So how is Danny?"
* * *
CJ dropped me off at the US Air terminal, saying that she had a business dinner she had to get ready for. I hoped she had the sense not to let Josh know she was going out with Danny.
My plane was ninety minutes late boarding. This sort of delay always happens to me. During the campaign, I once ended up stranded in an airport overnight. Josh got so worried about my safety that he gave me his VIP lounge card. That was where I headed now. The place was full of business travelers. One man, who had obviously had a few too many cups of holiday cheer, was annoying everyone else by singing "Silent Night." That was what made me think of Josh. Josh has a very sensitive system, and the eggnog was spiked. I thought I should call and remind him not to have a second cup, so I got out my cell phone.
He answered on the first ring. "Josh Lyman, deputy chief of staff and despoiler of virgins."
"I'm not spoiled, and I'm definitely not a virgin."
"I thought you weren't speaking to me."
"I'm not. Except in my official capacity as your assistant."
"Then in my official capacity as your boss, tell me what you got on CJ."
"What?"
"I figure it was a nice long car ride; and you're doing the whole Thelma-and-Louise, men-are-scum thing. She let some juicy little tidbit slip. Something we can use against her for the next few years. It's about Danny, isn't it?"
"Joshua Lyman, there are days when I am ashamed to admit I know you."
"Come on; what did you get? Cause I was thinking of getting the IRS to investigate whether her goldfish constitutes an illegal gift, but I might be on shaky ground there."
"You think?"
"Donna, you must have got something."
"Yes, I got a very long lecture about why you were at fault."
"Me? If I'm going down on this, Donnatella, I'm taking you with me."
At that moment, I heard the click that meant somebody was switching us to speakerphone.
"Under the circumstances, Josh," I heard Sam say, "that last sentence was quite the unfortunate choice of words."
I put my hand on my forehead. I could literally feel the headache coming on.
"Sam?" I asked. "What are you doing in Josh's office?"
"I'm providing comfort in his time of tribulation. And can I just say that I'm totally behind the idea of you two crazy kids finding love?"
"Oh god, no! Josh, please tell me you didn't tell Sam."
"Okay, I won't tell you," Josh replied.
"Josh," I asked, "how much eggnog did you drink after I left?"
"Three cups."
"Okay. Sam, here's what you need to do: you're going to have to take Josh home; he'll never make it there on his own. Then brew some coffee. Just don't let him drink any until after he throws up."
"Can't I just put him in a cab?" Sam asked.
"No," I answered. "He forgets how to use a key. Stay with him until he's sober because otherwise he'll be calling the Post to issue a denial."
"But, Donna, I have a plane to catch," Sam protested.
"So do I," I said.
"Yes, but you're Josh's co-conspirator here. You're his forbidden love."
"Dear god." My headache had reached migraine proportions. "Please tell me he didn't say anything like that."
"I get paid to read for subtext," Sam answered.
"There is no subtext! There's not even text!" I insisted.
"Well, as much as I hate to disagree with you there, Donna," Sam said, "in my experience--"
"Would this be your experience with call girls or your experience with Leo's daughter?" I asked.
"You know, you were a much nicer person before you started working for Josh," Sam said. He sounded wounded. For a politician, Sam Seaborn has a very thin skin. "However, my point is that when two people spend this much time denying their attraction, they're usually crazy about each other."
"I'm not crazy about Josh," I answered. "I am being driven crazy by him, but that's not exactly the same thing."
Then I heard a voice in the background--one which was getting less coherent by the moment--saying, "I wanna talk to Donnatella!"
"Josh, you're on speakerphone," I said. "I can hear you just fine."
"I think I'm drunk, Donna."
"Yes, Josh, you are. You have a very sensitive system."
"I was not drunk when I kissed you."
"Okay," I said. I was kind of curious to see where this was going.
"Cause I just wanted to clarify that."
"Okay," I said again.
"And you did too kiss me back. You were not just the kissee."
This did not warrant a reply. "Sam," I said instead, "do what I told you. And remind him that he has an appearance on Meet the Press next Sunday."
"Donna," Sam protested, "my plane--"
"Look at it this way, Sam. You can reschedule your flight. Yourself. Don't let Kathy do it. She'll ask too many questions. And if you do this, Josh will owe you for three months at least."
"Oh, this is worth six months minimum," Sam said.
"Done," I agreed.
"I do not love you, Donnatella Moss," Josh said.
"I don't love you either, Josh," I answered. With that, I hung up. I find that it's always a good idea to try to get the last word when you're dealing with Josh.
After hanging up on Josh, I tried to concentrate on the mystery novel I'd brought along to read on the plane. Even though it was the latest installment in a series I love, I couldn't keep my mind on it. For once, I just didn't care whether Amelia Peabody's idiot son would finally get the nerve to tell Nefret he's loved her for years. So I opened the other book I'd been carrying around with me--The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing. Not a real page-turner, that one--not that I've ever made it past the inscription.
Look, you already get why I deserve hazard pay for putting up with Josh Lyman, right? He's demanding, sarcastic, hostile; I spend half my day trying to keep him from screwing up and the other half apologizing when he does. But Josh can be funny and sweet and oddly endearing at times. Even when he's drunk and telling me he doesn't love me. And when he's buying me some silly book instead of any of the seventeen sensible items he could have chosen from the list I thoughtfully provided him. After all, skis wouldn't have come with a note like this:
Merry Christmas, Donnatella. Sorry it's not skis, ski boots, a ski jacket or any of the fourteen other items you suggested. As compensation for the disappointment you're going to tell me about for the next month, I give you this confession: I do not know how I would function without you. I don't just mean your skill as an assistant. I can't imagine what this office would be like without your wit, your compassion or your incredible smile. I'm not sure sometimes why you put up with me; I just know that there is more joy in my life with you here.
Josh
You see how something like that could lead to a momentary lapse in judgment, don't you? I mean, if the man wasn't such a jerk sometimes, he could melt your heart. In a completely platonic manner of speaking, of course.
* * *
I love my family; I really do. It's just that I love them more when I'm in DC and they're in Illinois. This is not to say that Christmas wasn't good. I had fun. I went shopping with my mother and my sisters; I ate too much turkey; I watched A Charlie Brown Christmas with my nephew. I argued politics with my Aunt Sadie's new husband, who is a Republican and remarkably ill-informed. I watched Josh on Meet the Press, during which my mental enemies list hit fifty.
But when my ten days of vacation were up, I headed back to DC with a certain sense of anticipation. I love my work; and what with the State of the Union speech coming up, I knew Josh needed me. In a purely professional manner.
Still, coming back from vacation always makes me melancholy. I usually feel like I'm the only person getting off the plane who doesn't have someone waiting for her. If I'd been thinking clearly Christmas Eve, I could have made plans for someone from the office to pick me up. Instead, I was trudging along toward baggage claim alone when I heard a familiar voice yell out, "Donnatella Moss!"
He was sitting at a Starbucks kiosk, looking extremely rumpled. I wondered briefly if he'd bothered to go home most nights without me there to remind him.
"Josh, what are you doing?"
"Picking you up at the airport." He took my overnight bag out of my hand, which immediately made me suspicious. That's just the sort of ordinary courtesy Josh tends to ignore. He started carrying on a monologue about all the work that had piled up while I was away.
"Is that what this is about?" I asked. "You think you can talk me into going to the White House and working tonight? Well, no, Josh. Just no. I have ten hours of vacation left. No."
"Well, it's just...there might be a message on your answering machine when you get home. I didn't want you overreacting to it. I'm sure we can straighten everything out."
"Straighten what out? What have you done now?"
"I didn't do anything. It was Sam. And Toby. CJ didn't exactly offer to help, but that was probably because I compared it to her thing with Danny."
I stopped, nearly colliding with a family of five wearing identical Disney World sweatshirts. "Josh, please tell me this isn't about what I think it's about."
"Do you think it's about what happened at the Christmas party?"
"Yes."
"Then it's exactly about what you think it's about."
"What did Sam do, Josh?"
"And Toby. CJ is not without blame."
"What did they do, Josh?"
"They talked."
"To whom?"
"Each other. Initially."
"Initially?" I heard my voice come out about three octaves too high. Josh noticed too and grinned.
"You're sounding like Minnie Mouse there, Donna."
"Josh, please just tell me what happened." We started off toward baggage claim again.
"Well, Sam knew that CJ knew, and he sort of forgot that Toby hadn't been there."
"Okay. Toby knows. That's embarrassing, but I suppose we should have expected it," I said.
"Yeah, but Sam told him while they were on their way to the senior staff meeting yesterday. And by the way, I would have been there to head off disaster myself if I hadn't been running late because I generously gave my assistant an extra three days off."
"Your assistant worked five weekends in a row to get those three days, and will you please just get to the point?"
"Promise you won't get upset?"
"Josh, I've gone way past upset already."
"Well, Sam was telling Toby about...about the thing that happened Christmas Eve. And you know how preoccupied they get. So I guess they weren't paying attention to where they were going or who was behind them and, well, Leo sort of overheard."
I grabbed Josh's arm for support. (And by the way, he must have left the office some time during the last ten days cause from the way his muscles felt he'd been working out.)
"Leo knows?" I squeaked again.
"Yeah."
"Leo McGarry?"
"Do you know another Leo?"
"Leo McGarry our boss?"
"Well, technically Leo's my boss. You've got to get clear on this whole chain-of-command thing, Donna."
"Leo knows."
"We've established that. It's time to move on and develop a strategy."
"Josh, there is no strategy. You kissed me--"
"You kissed me back."
"That is so not the issue. You kissed me. Leo knows. We're screwed."
"Now that's what Sam would call an unfortunate choice of words."
"This is serious, Joshua."
"Yeah, that's what Leo said. And Toby. CJ said it twice."
"Which is when you mentioned Danny."
"Yeah, I think she's kind of pissed." The problem, from my perspective, was that Josh wasn't pissed. Or worried. He was gearing up for a fight, which always makes him happy.
"Josh, just tell me about the message on my answering machine."
"Oh, that's from Leo. He wants the two of us in his office at 8 a.m. tomorrow."
And that brings us to today.
* * *
Some people have regular jobs. They get to work around 9 a.m., leave by 5 p.m., and never have to work nights and weekends.
I work for Josh.
That means I'm used to being at the office by 8 a.m. Lots of people are there early in the morning. If you're fond of forty-hour weeks, a career in the White House is probably not for you. To be honest, one of the things I most love about this job is the pace of it--the fact that there's always something (usually something very important) going on, always lots of people scurrying around, lots of noise. You either thrive on trying to make order out of the chaos around here, or you quit within a week. Me, I thrive.
So there is nothing particularly unusual about my getting to the office at 7:30. And maybe it is just my imagination when I think that the security guard who's waved me in every day since President Bartlet took office is looking at me with sympathy. I could be wrong too when I think the six people talking near my desk look up guiltily when they see me. However, I know for a fact that people start talking again as soon as I walk into Josh's office.
He's wearing the same suit he had on when he dropped me off at my apartment last night. It looked rumpled then; it looks ready for the trash heap now.
"You're wearing that to the meeting with Leo?"
"Good morning to you too, Donna."
"You're not wearing that to our meeting with Leo."
"Fine, thanks. And how are you this morning?"
"Josh, I've told you this before: you need to keep an extra suit here if you're going to work these kinds of hours. Your clothes make an impression. Haven't you ever read Dress for Success?"
"You're worried about my clothes? Cause CJ, Sam and Toby have all been here this morning, and none of them thought that what I was wearing was going to make any difference. Or at least, if they did, they didn't mention it."
"What did they say?"
"CJ harangued. She called me a thoughtless, misogynistic jerk. She said it had only been a matter of time until I dragged you down with me."
"She's right," I reply. "What about Sam?"
"Sam cackled."
"Cackled?"
"Seriously. He is, in his words, filled with glee. He left here whistling Hello, Young Lovers. I, for one, did not find that amusing."
"What about Toby?"
"Oh, he just wanted to know where the briefing memo on the commerce bill was."
"He didn't say anything about us?"
"Well, I mentioned the meeting in Leo's office, and Toby said they should fire me and make you Deputy Chief of Staff. Frankly, I'm afraid he might pass that idea on to Leo."
"You could be my assistant. This could work."
"You expect me to live on what you make?"
He walks over to where I'm standing. I should tell him to stop doing that thing where he invades my personal space. For some reason, I don't.
"Josh," I ask instead, "how much trouble are we really in?"
He's standing next to me now, exactly where we stood on Christmas Eve. He reaches out and touches my cheek and he grins. "I'm not worried," he says. "I figure nobody here is going to be stupid enough to let you go, and they know you won't stay without me."
"They do? Who told them that?"
"I may have suggested something along those lines yesterday," Josh says.
"So what you're saying is that your fate is in my hands?"
"I wouldn't go that far."
"Cause I'm liking this idea. Be nice to me, or Leo fires you and I get a new boss."
"I may have overstated the case."
"Would my new boss pay me more?"
"Not if you take this attitude with him."
"Could I work for CJ? Cause, you know, we have that whole Thelma-and-Louise, men-are-scum bonding thing going."
"You enjoy making me miserable, don't you?"
"Torturing you does brighten my day."
"You're a hard woman to live with, Donna Moss."
We head off toward Leo's office. Wherever we go, people stop. They stop working, they stop talking, I swear some of them stop breathing.
"Why do I get the feeling I'm about to face a firing squad here?" Josh asks.
Outside Leo's office, Margaret jumps up from her desk and hugs me. She's on the verge of tears. "I blame myself," she says.
"Now there's a strategy," Josh says. "Let's blame Margaret. Why are we blaming Margaret?"
"The mistletoe in Josh's office," she says. "I was spreading holiday cheer."
"You couldn't have put up a wreath?" Josh asks.
I punch him in the arm. That shuts him up long enough for me to reassure Margaret that it's not her fault. "Because, you know, Josh has never needed any help being a jerk."
"Excuse me?" Josh says. "Can we just review events here? I think I've mentioned before that I was not acting alone."
"Josh, shut up," I say.
I must sound upset because, for once, he actually does.
Leo is making us wait. He is purposely making us wait. Margaret has gone in and out of his office twice. We all understand Leo's tactics; we've watched him use them on other people. And it's making Josh crazy. He jumps out of his chair, walks around, sits down, jumps up again. I'd usually put a hand on his shoulder to calm him down, but I guess that's not a good idea today.
Finally, Margaret makes one last trip into Leo's office and back. This time, she nods and tells us we can go in.
"Show time," Josh whispers into my ear. And, you know, I realize he's trying to be encouraging, but I wish he hadn't done that. It's kind of distracting.
We're standing in front of Leo's desk like a couple of teenagers who got sent to the principal's office for talking in class. And the principal looks like he wants to expel us both. Leo's not saying a word, which is surprisingly effective. Josh knows he doesn't dare say anything before Leo talks; after all, there's always the chance that Leo heard the story incorrectly. Then Josh and I can be outraged and claim the moral high ground. You haven't truly lived until you've seen two professional politicians try to psych each other out.
Leo breaks the silence with a nice all-purpose question: "Just what the hell is going on with you two?"
There's only one safe answer to that question, and Josh beats me to it. "Nothing. There is nothing going on between us."
Leo looks as though he doesn't believe Josh. "Are you sure? Because that's not the story I heard from Sam."
"Sam just misunderstood something I said," Josh replies.
"That's not the story I heard from Toby."
"Toby wasn't even there," Josh says. He looks at me like he's hinting that I should get involved in the conversation. If we were alone, I'd remind him about that whole chain of command thing.
"You do understand that this is the White House, don't you?" Leo asks. "We are supposed to be held to a higher standard of conduct here. You can't be consorting with every pretty girl who works for you, no matter what the circumstances. If the two of you can't work together professionally, you're not going to be working together at all."
"You know," Josh says, "I'm not completely sure that's fair. I mean, we're two consenting adults. Suppose we wanted to...to...well, just suppose. What gives the federal government the right to tell us we can't?"
"This is about political perceptions, Josh," Leo answers. "You of all people should understand that."
"Yeah, well, I don't. Cause if you want to talk about perceptions, what's it going to look like when you fire Donna because we're having an affair?"
Leo is the only person I know who can bellow louder than Josh. "You're having an affair with Donna?"
"Hypothetically, Leo," Josh clarifies. "Hypothetically."
"Because I thought this was about you kissing her. If I'd known things had gone that far--"
"Hypothetically," Josh says again.
"I'm not sleeping with Josh." I figure it's time to ignore the chain of command before Josh gets us both fired. "I have never slept with Josh. I don't want to sleep with Josh. I never will sleep with Josh."
"So there's nothing going on here, Donna?" Leo asks. "Josh isn't taking advantage of you?"
"Well, sure, but that's what he does," I answer.
"That was certainly helpful," Josh mutters.
"I don't mean sexually," I explain to Leo. "There's nothing going on sexually. I don't even like him half the time."
"You're sure about this?" Leo asks us. "Because I gotta tell you, I've wondered about you two myself."
He has?
"You have?" Josh asks.
"Yeah, sometimes you two act like you're already married."
"We do?" I ask.
"Sometimes," Leo says. "And if that's where things are headed, you can't work together. Not in this administration. We could always find another job for Donna, but not as your assistant."
"That is not fair," Josh starts again. I swear the man is intent on snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
"It's also not an issue," I add.
Josh, of course, ignores me. He's making an argument now, and he doesn't care that it's a non-issue. "Donna is the only assistant I've ever had who can keep me on track. I'd fall apart without her. I couldn't function. I--"
You know, at moments like these, I wish I had a tape recorder. Then I could play his own words back to him every time he yells at me.
Leo shakes his head. "I'm getting very mixed signals here," he says.
"No," I say. "No mixed signals. Josh is just being Josh; you know how hostile he gets. There's nothing going on."
"You're sure?" Leo asks again. "Cause I keep hearing subtext."
Has he been talking to Sam?
Josh finally comes to his senses. Sort of. "There's no subtext," he says. "Leo, you can't split us up."
"All right," Leo says. "For now. But consider yourselves on probation."
"What does that mean?" Josh asks.
"It means no more kissing. I don't care if it's Christmas, Passover, Valentine's Day or if the groundhog just saw his shadow. One hint of impropriety, and one of you is out of here. And, Josh, it will probably be you because people actually like Donna. No hugging either. No holding hands. No touching."
"But I've always touched her," Josh protests.
"What?" Leo yells. Again.
"Good touching," I explain, "not bad touching. Like putting his hand on my back when we're walking."
"Try not to do that any more, Josh," Leo says. "Don't open yourself up to more gossip."
Which is a good point and I hate to bring it up, but I do have my duty.
"I think the gossip's already started," I say.
"Margaret!" Leo yells.
She must have been standing by the door.
"Yes?" she asks as she comes in.
"Is there gossip about these two?"
"No more than usual," Margaret says.
Leo is this close to splitting us up again; I can feel it.
"About the kiss, Margaret?" I ask before Leo can say anything.
"Oh, that," Margaret replies. "CJ's fixing that."
"How?" Leo asks.
"Well, she told Carol to tell Bonnie and Ginger--you know, in the strictest confidence--that Sam totally misunderstood something she told him."
"Which was?" Josh asks.
"Well, she thought at first that you were kissing Donna, but you weren't. The two of you were just standing under the mistletoe and trying to figure out who put it up. But Sam got the story wrong."
Leo looks confused again. I'm starting to feel sorry for him. "How will that help?" he asks.
"Well, Bonnie and Ginger will feel guilty about helping pass the rumor on in the first place, so they'll tell Kathy and me," Margaret explains. "We've got it covered from there. By the time the new story finishes making the rounds, Donna won't even like Josh."
"Finally, the truth emerges," I say.
Leo dismisses us, and we head back to Josh's office. CJ's revised rumor must already have made the rounds; hardly anyone pays attention to us as we make our way down the hall.
"Probation," Josh mutters. "I feel like I'm in junior high."
"It's not a big deal."
"I think it could be unconstitutional," he says. "Get me everything you've got on--"
"Josh, forget it. It's not like we're--"
"I know, but if we were--"
"But we're not."
"I know, Donna. But if we were, it would be unfair."
"But we aren't. And we won't."
Josh doesn't say anything else on the subject, and I know it's just become another one of those things we don't talk about. I've been thinking about it, however, and I realize that Leo gave us two options: either stay together with a platonic working relationship, or stop working together and have a non-platonic relationship. Not that I think about Josh that way, you understand, but it occurs to me that there is a third option: work together, have a sexual relationship, and just don't tell Sam, CJ or Toby.
Not that I'd ever consider sleeping with Josh. It's just always nice to know you have options.