Chapter Text
Back when I first started working for Josh during the campaign, CJ Cregg sort of took me under her wing. There were, I think, a couple of reasons for that. One, as much as I hate to admit it, is the fact that I was pretty pitiful in those days. There I was, just coming out of this terrible relationship, feeling used and vulnerable and trying to fake my way through all the stuff I didn't know. My young-woman-trying-to-put- her-life-back-together phase touched CJ's feminist sensibilities. She decided, in her own way, to look out for me.
Or, as Josh recently put it: "Her exact words were 'If you hurt that girl, I'll break your kneecaps.'"
The second reason, which I only recently discovered (from CJ, I should mention, not from Josh) is that my boss asked her to watch out for me in ways he couldn't. I was living off the money I'd gotten from selling my car. That was not a lot of money, believe me. It was an old car, and I was forced to sell it in a hurry in order to accompany Josh to South Carolina. And for the first month or so, I was not on the payroll. I actually slept that first night in Josh's office. Josh woke me up the next morning. He didn't say a thing about it, but that afternoon CJ offered to share her hotel room with me. I'm sure Josh suggested it, but I also know CJ well enough to be sure she wouldn't have let herself be talked into it if she hadn't thought it was a good idea.
All this is by way of explaining why I consider CJ a good friend. A better friend, actually, than Margaret, Bonnie, Ginger or the rest of the support staff. It has recently been suggested to me that I am perhaps too chummy with certain members of the senior staff. So I thought I'd explain why it isn't so unusual for me to be having lunch with CJ. Or why she is discussing Danny and the job offer.
"But he'd still be working for the Post?" I ask.
"Yes, but as an editor."
"But wouldn't there still be a conflict of interest if he keeps working for the Post?"
"To a degree. I can't deny that. But it would be much more workable than it is now. It would be like you taking a job in the First Lady's office. Which, you know, might be a solution."
I shake my head. "Josh would never go for that. He's obsessed with the idea of keeping me as his assistant. I suggested when we first got--"
"Do not say it," CJ warns.
I shrug. "Anyway, Josh is irrational about it."
CJ gives me the look that lets you know she sees too much. "And so are you."
"I like working with Josh," I admit.
"The two of you are a time bomb waiting to go off."
"And you and Danny aren't?"
"Danny is much more rational than your boss."
I like this. Even though CJ won't admit that she knows what she knows, there is something relaxing about not having a secret. It's good to be around someone who knows that Josh is my husband.
Which is why I'm not all that pleased when this pleasant moment is interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.
"Hello, CJ."
"Ainsley," CJ says. She shoots me a look that screams "watch what you say."
I look closely at the interloper. So this is Ainsley Hayes. She looked taller on TV.
I will be nice. I will not say what I'm thinking. I won't, you know, start singing Gilbert and Sullivan, but I will not say what I am thinking.
Lady, your precious Second Amendment almost got my husband killed. You think you could maybe say something like "I'm glad you didn't die" when you're discussing that fact in front of him?
No. That would be a bad thing to say. For several reasons.
CJ, with whom I have previously discussed my Ainsley issues, gives me an apologetic look and invites her to join us. "Ainsley," she asks, "have you met Donna Moss?"
"I do not believe I have, no," she says.
"Donna works with Josh," CJ explains.
"In what capacity?" Ainsley asks.
Did we skip hello? And Josh says my conversational style is unique.
"I'm Josh's assistant."
"What does that mean precisely?" she asks. "Is that an executive position of some kind or is your title, in its way, a misguided attempt at political correctness?"
"What?" CJ asks.
"She wants to know if I'm Josh's secretary. No, I'm not. I do answer the phone and I have even been known to type on occasion, but I do much more than traditional secretarial stuff."
"I must say," Ainsley comments, "that I am just constantly amazed by how informal you all are here."
This must be what Josh means when he complains about my changing the topic of conversation. You know, it is annoying when someone else does it.
"What I mean to say," Ainsley continues, "is that I am used to working in an environment in which the standards of decorum are more pronounced."
I'm not sure, but I think we were just insulted.
"Huh?" CJ asks, which sums up my reaction pretty succinctly.
"It is just that we are working here at the very highest level of government. Yet the staff are all so informal with their superiors."
"Well, there you go," I say. "I have never thought of Josh as my superior."
CJ starts laughing. "I'm sorry," she says to Ainsley. "It's just -- you have to know Josh and Donna. Trust me; it's an awfully funny idea."
"Well, I don't see why it is funny to want to prevent any untoward familiarity," Ainsley says. "I suppose you might call me old-fashioned, but I do believe that it is important to maintain a professional distance when men and women are thrown together in a professional capacity. In Donna's case, for instance, I should think that calling her boss Mr. Lyman would be one way to prevent any unwanted attentions."
The key word being "unwanted," I think. Luckily, for once I don't say what I'm thinking.
"What do you mean by untoward familiarity?" CJ asks. I honestly wish she hadn't.
"What I am referring to," Ainsley answers, "is the very sort of thing I would imagine you'd be concerned about, considering that you describe yourself as a feminist, CJ. You know, bosses being tempted to take advantage of their secretaries. Assistants, I mean. Excuse me, Donna."
"So if I want Josh to keep his hands off me, I just need to call him Mr. Lyman?"
CJ is turning green around the edges, I swear.
"You are oversimplifying my point," Ainsley says. "What I intended to convey was a sense that, when there are certain standards of conduct in place, individuals are much less likely to cross boundaries that should not be crossed. And the workplace functions much more efficiently when that sort of thing doesn't happen."
"Okay. See, what you're missing here is the idea of equality," I say. "If I go around calling my boss Mr. Lyman, that puts me in a relatively powerless position."
"You're his sec -- assistant. You are less powerful," Ainsley replies.
"My boss is deputy chief of staff. There are only two people in this building with more power than that."
"Which is precisely why you need the sort of protection that titles and proper manners provide," Ainsley says.
"That's why there are laws about things like sexual harassment," CJ points out.
"But that is my point," Ainsley says. "If more people obeyed standards of proper office decorum, most of these laws, which cannot be enforced without resorting to believing the story of one party over another, would not be necessary."
"Huh?" I ask.
"She just called Anita Hill a liar," CJ explains.
"Oh."
"You are deliberately misinterpreting me," Ainsley says. "Regardless of what I may think about the unfounded allegations against Justice Thomas--"
"Ainsley, you do not want to go there with me," CJ warns.
"I am simply stating that there are standards of conduct which should be observed in the workplace," Ainsley finishes.
"You don't find this attitude at all elitist?" CJ asks.
"Excuse me?" Ainsley looks confused.
"Should Josh call her Ms. Moss?"
"I would personally prefer Miss," Ainsley replies. Didn't you just know she would? "But no."
"And why not?" I ask.
"It is a token of respect toward a superior," Ainsley says. "If he wants to employ that title toward you, that is of course his privilege. But I wouldn't say he had to, no."
"So I should call my boss Mr. McGarry, and he can call me CJ?"
"Don't forget Mr. Ziegler," I add helpfully.
"This is a matter about which I feel very strongly," Ainsley adds.
"Okay," I say. "But what if the dreaded informality works for the people involved? 'Cause I have to tell you, the whole title thing is just not going to work for the two of us."
"What title thing?" a familiar -- and definitely masculine -- voice asks.
I look up to see my boss, aka His Excellency, Deputy Chief of Staff Mr. Joshua Mateusz Lyman, Esquire, standing behind me. I do my best not to beam like, you know, a newlywed. Judging by the disapproving look on CJ's face, I fail miserably.
"Ainsley thinks I don't show you a proper amount of respect," I say.
"She catches on fast," Josh says, as he sits down next to me.
"Ainsley's concern," CJ says, with quite the pointed look at Josh, "is that an informal relationship like you have with Donna can have serious consequences."
"What kind of serious consequences?" Josh asks.
"Sexual consequences," CJ says, giving him a warning look.
I can tell that Josh is fighting the urge to move his chair further away from mine.
Unfortunately, judging from the curious look on her face, I'm afraid that Ainsley's noticed it too.
As for CJ, given her worried look, she may still feel the need to break Josh's kneecaps.
I think we've just stumbled into another crisis here.
Damn.
***
We were so close to being done. So close.
Then CJ had to go and say it. Well, she stumbled around the subject for a bit, but eventually she said it.
Leo had just wrapped up the meeting, glancing around at the four of us. "That's it?"
Toby, Sam, and I nod. CJ, however, lifts a hand hesitantly.
"Yes, CJ?" Leo prompts.
"I may have a thing," she says.
Leo nods impatiently. "Okay."
"Well..." CJ pauses, ignoring Sam, Toby, and me. I should point out that the three of us are staring at her curiously. Well, Sam and Toby are curious; I am experiencing trepidation.
"CJ," I say. "Why don't we--"
"It's not really a thing so much as it is a..." CJ trails off with a distracted wave of her hand.
Oh, no. I have a very, very bad feeling about this.
"CJ," Toby says in that voice of quiet irritation. "Today sometime would be, you know, preferable, considering the fact that I have about thirty-eight pages of Sam's punctuation-free writing to edit."
"It's more of a wondering, I would say."
"A wondering?" Leo repeats in that tone that means he's about three seconds away from summarily kicking us out of his office.
"Yes," she nods. "I would call it a wondering."
"You know, I don't think that's really a noun, CJ," Toby comments.
"Toby," Leo warns. "CJ, can we, you know--"
"What would happen if two members of the White House..." She frowns, apparently unable to come up with the right word.
I swear I can feel my ulcer flaring up. I know exactly where she's going with this, and I can't seem to summon the powers of speech. It's like I'm behind glass, watching some tragicomic version of my life.
CJ shrugs. "White House citizenry. What if--"
"White House citizenry?" Leo repeats, exasperated.
Sam pipes up. "I think she's referring to people who are regulars here, but who may or may not fall under the heading of staff member."
Leo shifts his glare to Sam. "Thank you, Sam."
"Sure," Sam nods and sinks back into his chair.
Toby leans forward. "Could we please get back to, you know, running the country?"
"Good idea," I say, my words lost amid the general grumblings. "CJ, can I--?"
CJ lifts her hand again and speaks quickly. "What would happen if two members of the White House citizenry whose relative positions would make a personal relationship problematic got married?"
The silence is sudden and complete.
Leo, Sam, and Toby are staring openmouthed at CJ. For my part, I'm barely resisting the panicky urge to start issuing vehement denials. Or, you know, run screaming from the room.
Typically, Toby is the first to recover. "Did Danny propose at the eleven o'clock in between toxic waste dump sites and the thing about Congresswoman Douglas-Radford?" he asks sharply.
CJ looks somewhat taken aback. "No."
"CJ," Leo explodes. "You are absolutely not marrying Danny."
CJ nods furiously. "I know that, Leo."
"You do?" he asks. "Because I'm not quite sure where this is coming from if you're not, you know, engaged to a White House reporter."
"I am absolutely and completely not engaged," CJ says. "I was just wondering--"
"Wondering with no provocation?" Toby snaps.
"Yes," CJ says defensively. "It was a general wondering."
"I think Toby's right about that not being a noun," Sam interjects.
"Shut up, Sam," Leo says.
"Yes, sir."
"To what end?" Leo asks CJ.
"To see if a marriage would alleviate the problems with an otherwise..." She shrugs, "problematic relationship."
Toby snorts. "How, exactly, would marriage alleviate the public relations..." Toby pauses, one hand gesticulating wildly, "catastrophe that would ensue when the president's press secretary marries a White House reporter?"
"For the forty-seventh time, I am not talking about Danny!"
"Well, darn, CJ," Leo says sarcastically. "Because the idea of you and Danny is almost as appealing as... as..." He gestures at me. "Josh and Donna!"
Oh, shit.
I have to get out of here.
I stand abruptly. "Can we--?"
"Sit down, Josh," Leo orders. "You should absolutely hear this."
Oh, God.
I don't so much sit as collapse back into my chair. I am going to kill CJ.
"No one," Leo says, fixing us with an intimidating glare. "I repeat, no one here will marry someone else in the office."
Oops.
Empty barn. Open door. Horse very much gone.
I should really learn to keep my mouth shut when I can't even form complete sentences in the ongoing soliloquy that is my consciousness.
"Um, Leo?" I say. "Can you really dictate our personal lives?"
"If it involves this administration, it's no longer your personal life."
Oh.
I have a sudden image of Leo, hands on hips, standing at the entrance of a very large, very empty red barn.
CJ glances at me, then catches Leo's attention. "What if -- hypothetically--"
"CJ," I interrupt. "I don't think we should go blundering into hypotheticals."
"Shut up, Josh," Leo says. "CJ?"
"Hypothetically," she repeats. "What if two members of the White House citizenry were already married--"
I am hyperventilating here. I cannot control my breathing, and I may pass out. Which would probably be a blessing in disguise, because CJ might just stop talking if I fall unconscious at her feet. Maybe.
"CJ," Leo bellows. "Tell me you and Danny aren't already married."
"I am not married," she yells back. "And this is not about Danny!"
"Then what the hell are we talking about here?"
CJ takes a deep breath. "I'm trying to determine if, by being secretly married and still working as efficiently together as they did before they were involved, two members--"
"So help me God, CJ," Toby shouts. "If you say 'White House citizenry' again--"
"Toby, simmer down," Leo says. "CJ, what in God's name are you talking about?"
"If I could finish a sentence--"
"We would all be grateful," Toby mutters.
"Toby!" Leo and CJ shout in unison.
Toby throws his hands up in frustration. "Fine."
"Thank you," CJ says sarcastically. "I was attempting to determine whether the White House policy prohibiting relationships between co-workers--"
"CJ," I interrupt.
"Joshua!"
"I have something to add here, CJ."
"No, you don't, Joshua."
"I really do."
"I am going to fire all of you," Leo yells.
"Can I just make a point here?" I ask.
CJ glares at me but doesn't protest.
Leo merely rolls his eyes. "I don't see how I could stop you."
"White House policy does not prohibit relationships between co-workers."
CJ's jaw drops open, and she just stares at me uncomprehending.
Sam narrows his eyes. "You're right."
"I know."
He shakes his head. "No, I mean--"
"Wait a second," CJ interrupts. "White House policy doesn't prohibit--?"
"Relationships between co-workers," I nod. "It doesn't."
Judging by her expression, CJ is pretty pissed at me.
"It doesn't?" Leo echoes, looking to Sam.
"Nope," Sam shakes his head. "The government's personnel policy is notoriously years behind the rest of the country--"
"Please tell me we actually have sexual harassment law in place," Leo says caustically.
"Well, yes," Sam nods. "But it's not very far-reaching and the burden of proof falls on the complainant."
Toby scrubs a hand over his face. "And this has what to do with marriage between staffers?"
Sam shifts in his seat. "Basically," he pauses with an intimidated look in Leo's direction. "Leo can't keep us from marrying someone on the staff. Or from dating other staffers."
"I can't?" Leo snarls. "Why not?"
"Because that would be illegal," Toby answers quietly. "An infringement of our rights to free association."
"Since when is marriage free association?" Leo says. "And I don't care what the rule book says; you are not dating your co-workers." Leo eyes us all in turn, then points to the door. "Now get out of here."
I'll certainly have to thank CJ; that went well.
*
Sam knocks twice, then pops his head into my office.
"Hey," I say, gesturing at the visitor's chair. I'm more than happy to put aside the depressing briefing memo on orphans, foster care, and child abuse. I could use a little cheering up.
"So here's the thing," Sam says. "Ainsley Hayes has been put in charge of revising the office policies on dating."
Okay, I do not feel at all cheered up.
"You're kidding," I say.
"Nope."
"Sam, please tell me you're kidding."
"Nope."
"Shit."
Sam grins at me. "So you are dating Donna."
"No, I am not." Hey, we're married, not dating.
"You're not?" Sam asks, puzzled.
"No."
"Okay," he says. "So why do you care--?"
"That a Republican lawyer has been put in charge of revising an office policy for the entire White House? Gee, I don't know, given the Republicans' long and illustrious record of progressive social policy."
"This isn't exactly social policy, Josh."
"Inter-office dating is no longer considered a social thing?"
"You know what I mean."
"No, Sam," I say. "I'm afraid I really don't."
"Social policy is affirmative action, gays in the military, the hate crimes bill, equal pay for equal work--"
"I'm familiar with these concepts."
"That's social policy," Sam repeats. "Inter-office dating is..." He shrugs, "office policy."
"They actually pay you money to write?"
"Josh--"
"Seriously, Sam," I interrupt. "Office policy? It's codifying social conventions into law -- or, if you prefer, rules. How is that not social policy?"
"Because we're not legislating -- or even suggesting legislation -- for the rest of the country. Just for the people who work in this office."
"It's the White House, Sam. It's not like we work at Ford." I am just getting warmed up. "And what happens when the language in her little revision prohibits inter-office dating for homosexuals but not for heterosexuals? Or when the penalties are weighted unfairly on the side of the assistants? Or--?"
"I understand your point, Josh," Sam argues. "But I don't think it's fair to just lump Ainsley in with the Republican agenda of days gone by."
"Days gone by?"
"Josh--"
"They just passed legislation limiting marriage to a man and a woman. Federal legislation, Sam," I say.
"It's hardly an agenda of days gone by."
"Fine," he shrugs. "That doesn't mean that Ainsley Hayes is in favor of draconian dating measures. We're not..." He trails off. "What's that college? You know, with the dating stuff?"
"The dating stuff?" I repeat.
"Yeah, where they have to ask for permission to kiss or to hold hands?"
"Does it really matter?"
"I guess not," Sam admits.
"What I'm saying, Sam, is that I don't want a Republican office policy that makes asking someone's permission to kiss them moot because kissing them in first place is-- is--" I'm so flustered I'm stuttering.
"Against the rules?"
"Yes," I say. "That."
Sam just stands there for a minute. "Maybe you should kiss her now."
"What?"
"Donna," he explains. "Maybe you should kiss her now. You know, before it's against the rules."
It's really hard to stay mad at Sam when he has such a naïve and credulous view of the universe. I give him a small smile. "I'll take that under advisement."
"I'm just saying," he says.
"Thanks for the heads up."
***
Less than five minute after Sam leaves his office, Josh bellows my name.
"Yeah?" I yell back.
"You maybe want to get in here?"
"Not if you're in that kind of mood."
"Now, Donnatella!" he shouts.
"Close the door," he says the minute I step into the office.
"What?" I ask as soon as the door is closed.
"Did you know that the White House Counsel's office is updating the policy on inter-office dating?"
"Oh, this can't be good," I say.
"It gets worse," Josh answers. "Who is absolutely the last person in the Counsel's office you would want writing that policy?"
"No. Not her."
"Her."
"Ainsley Hayes?"
"Ms. Proper Decorum herself."
"She prefers Miss."
"She would," Josh mutters.
"This could be very bad, Joshua."
"Could be?"
"Okay, it is bad. Very, very bad. What are we going to do?"
Josh opens the door connecting his office and CJ's. "Claudia Jean," he shouts, "get your ass in here now!"
CJ looks at us both carefully. "Why do I get the feeling that the sky is falling?" she asks.
"Because it is," Josh answers, "and that is all your fault."
I'm confused again. "How is any of this CJ's fault?"
"And what exactly is this?" CJ asks.
"This," Josh answers, "is the new policy on inter-office dating that Ainsley Hayes -- Ainsley Hayes the Republican -- is writing."
"Oops," CJ says.
"And," Josh adds, turning to me, "it is CJ's fault because of what she said to Leo in senior staff today. She asked him questions. About us."
"What?" I practically scream. "CJ, have you lost your mind?"
"Hypothetical questions," CJ tells me. "And I was publicly humiliated for my trouble."
"Good," I say. I'm that upset.
"Not good," CJ replies. "People thought I was talking about Danny and me, not you and Josh. It was embarrassing."
"Well, imagine what they'd think if-- if--"
"If they found out that Donna is my wife."
CJ looks at him, horrified. "I did not hear that," she says. "I was never in this office, and I never heard that."
"Yes, you did," Josh says. "You've lost any right to plausible deniability after this."
I'm beginning to calm down, and I'm thinking that losing CJ as an ally is not a wise move. I attempt to be the voice of reason. "It's not going to help--"
"Do you know what the White House policy is about married couples working together now, Donna?" Josh asks. Typically, he doesn't wait for an answer. "There was no real policy. Just a very vague statement about leaving matters up to the discretion of the employees' immediate supervisor. Which would be Leo."
"Who could be convinced if we could prove we're the model of professionalism and efficiency," I say. "It was such a good strategy."
"But now we're getting a policy written by a conservative Republican," Josh adds. "Thanks to Claudia Jean."
"I was trying to help," CJ protests. "You should be grateful."
"Grateful? A Republican who just finished lecturing you and Donna on why assistants--"
"Secretaries," I mutter.
"And bosses should not show -- What was her phrase, Donna?"
"She seemed fond of 'untoward familiarity,'" I answer.
"Yeah. That. So I don't think it's likely that she'll end up writing a policy that is pro-- pro--" Josh is sputtering. This is never a good sign.
"Nevertheless," CJ says, "I am not responsible for this turn of events."
"Yes, you are," Josh says. "You brought this to Leo's attention."
"No, Josh, you brought it to Leo's attention," she responds. "You're the one who made a point of telling Leo that there is no White House policy regarding employees dating."
"You did what?" I shout.
Josh turns back to me. "I was just pointing out the facts. Which were in our favor."
"Do you ever stop to think?" I ask. I realize (and not for the first time) that I am married to an idiot. "Did it not occur to you that Leo would want to rectify that little matter?"
"Well," Josh says, "on the plus side, we can argue that we did get married before the policy was written."
"Okay," CJ says, "first of all, I did not hear that."
"Yes, you did," Josh and I reply in unison. It's nice to know we agree on something.
CJ gives us a look that can best be described as lethal. "And even if I had heard it, in a strictly professional capacity as press secretary, I would have to point out how very, very bad it would look for this administration if the deputy chief of staff's marriage to his assistant came out after this policy was announced. This is a policy about sex. It's going to get lots of media attention. Anybody who wants to accuse this administration of being hypocritical is going to love you two. My best advice is that you go straight into Leo's office and confess now. We can take this out with the trash on Friday."
"Not an option," Josh says.
"He's not going to fire Donna," CJ says. "I'm almost sure of it."
"Almost?" Josh asks. He looks furious.
"He likes Donna," CJ points out. "He's not going to blame her for having questionable taste in men."
"He will, however, assign her someplace else. Away from me."
Okay, a minute ago I was furious at him. But now he has his depressed face on, and he's breaking my heart. I don't want to be assigned to work for somebody else. I like working for Josh.
Besides, he will fall apart without me. I'm the only one who can keep him on track.
"Kids," CJ says, "there is absolutely no need to panic. I'm sure that if we just ask Leo a few general questions, we can--"
"Not again," Josh says. "No more of your 'wonderings' in front of Leo."
"Wonderings?" I repeat. "Is that even a noun?"
"I'm afraid that it's your only option," CJ says. "You can't have everything your way, Josh. You have to come clean to Leo and just accept the inevitable fact that Donna will be reassigned."
"I am not doing that," Josh says.
"For the love of God, Josh," CJ says, "stop acting like a spoiled brat before you end up destroying everyone's career. Including mine."
"Yours?" I ask.
CJ shrugs. "I might as well admit the truth. After what I said in Leo's office today, he's going to realize I'm... Well, I'm a co-conspirator now. He's going to be pretty pissed at me too."
"Exactly," Josh says. "This is why none of us can go to Leo now. He was furious when you started in with your whole wonderings thing, CJ. Just furious. He'll end up firing all three of us. At the very least. Yeah, if we're lucky, all he'll do is fire us. Going to Leo now is a truly terrible idea."
"I have to agree with Josh," I say. My husband, for the record, beams at me. He loves when I do the supportive wife thing. "You know Leo's temper, CJ. He will get irrational about our timing here. And then Josh will get nervous and hostile and ruin everything."
Josh stops beaming. So my supportive wife skills need work. I have to be honest, don't I?
"There is that," CJ admits. "But I could coach you through it, like last time with the emails."
"Absolutely not," Josh says. "I am not going through that again."
"I do think waiting's a good idea, CJ," I say.
"Whatever." She shrugs. "I'm just predicting that you're headed for disaster. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"So noted," Josh replies. "And for the record, CJ, I no longer owe you any favors."
"Hey!" CJ protests. "Who saved you two from getting fired after the email fiasco?"
"Well, we're on the verge of disaster here again," Josh points out, "so unless you've got a way to save us right this minute, we're no longer indebted to you."
"You could--" She pauses. "You know, there's pretty much nothing you can do about this one. Either tell Leo the truth and accept the consequences, or wait for it to all blow up in your faces." She heads back toward her office. "And you do too still owe me," she says over her shoulder as she leaves.
I have to agree with Josh on this one. We so don't.
*
"What the hell kind of name is Ainsley anyway? Who names a child Ainsley? Who would actually do that to an innocent baby?"
Josh looks not particularly interested in my reasonable questions. Of course, that could have something to do with my new nightgown. It's slit up to the thigh, and Josh seems to find that distracting.
"How should I know?" he finally answers. "I'm still trying to figure out why your parents named you Donnatella Viridis Moss."
"You don't like my name?"
"I have always liked your name. It's amusing."
"And by amusing you mean attractive, desirable, seductive?"
"By amusing, I mean funny as hell."
"Excuse me?"
"Your name literally translates as 'gift of green moss.' You have to admit the comic possibilities in that."
"'Gift of green moss'? What are you talking about?"
"Donnatella means gift. Viridis means green. Put them together with Moss, and you get--"
"You know what my name means?"
"I may have looked it up once."
"When?"
"I don't know. Couple of years ago."
"A couple of years ago?"
He shrugs, and I swear he's almost blushing. My, but I am enjoying this!
"It's a unique name. I was curious."
"You were smitten."
"Not at that time, no."
"Admit it, Josh. You were smitten with me."
"I may not have been entirely indifferent. However, 'smitten' has connotations--"
"You had a crush on me. A couple of years ago."
"I never said crush."
"When I was completely and totally indifferent toward you. You liked me first!"
"I did not. And I thought the subject was this Ainsley person."
"It was. But I'm suddenly more interested in why you were looking up what my name means."
"Because we really should talk about the Ainsley Hayes situation, Donna."
"She's a situation?"
"She's a Republican."
"Which automatically makes her the spawn of Satan?"
"I thought you didn't like her."
"I don't, Josh, but not just because she's a Republican. I have met some nice people who happened to be Republicans."
"Heresy. My wife is speaking heresy."
"Half my family is Republican, Josh." And then it strikes me.
It's too funny.
I can't stop laughing.
"What?" Josh asks.
I have trouble getting the words out in between giggles. "They're your in-laws, Josh. You are now related to Republicans."
"I am not!"
"Are too."
"Donna, that is not funny."
I keep laughing.
"Real Republicans?"
"My parents voted for Reagan. Twice."
"Donnatella Moss-Lyman, please tell me you were adopted. I'm begging here."
"Sorry."
"This is a depressing turn of events."
I'm laughing too hard to reply.
"You think you know a woman. You think you could spend your life with her. And then you find out this," he says.
I'm still giggling. Josh has just warmed up to his theme. "We'll have to hide the shameful truth from the kids, of course. We can never let them know their mother--"
"Kids? Because we have never discussed that subject."
"Well, hypothetically speaking, kids would not be a bad idea."
"I agree. Hypothetically speaking, two is a nice number."
"Two is workable."
"Not until after re-election, however."
"Why not?"
"First, I don't want to miss the whole campaign because I'm pregnant or taking care of an infant or something. Because I sure as hell am not going to be the only one around here changing diapers and getting up in the middle of the night and stop smirking."
"I'm not smirking."
"Josh, you're always smirking. It's your natural state."
"Second?"
"What?"
"You said first. That implies a second. Possibly a third."
"Second," I say, "I know you. If it came between waiting for the exit polls or taking me to the delivery room, I'd be in real trouble."
"But the First Lady will be right there. She can always deliver the baby."
"The hypothetical baby."
"Which, you know, would be great press. Kid could win the news cycle her very first day."
"You're finding a way to turn the birth of our hypothetical daughter into a political victory. This is so typical."
"I'm just reviewing our options."
"Whatever."
"We still need to discuss the Ainsley situation, however," he says.
"I didn't know she was a situation. An unpleasant person, yes. But not a situation."
"Donnatella Moss-Lyman, what brought that on?"
"What she said to Sam."
"She said a lot of things to Sam. Which one in particular?"
"About guns."
Josh goes very quiet for a minute. For obvious reasons, this is not his favorite subject these days. "How'd you hear about that?" he asks.
"Sam told me."
"Sam told you?"
"Yes, Josh, people other than you do talk to me."
"They talk to you about me."
"Sam was concerned. There was a debate. There was a Republican making stupid arguments. You didn't pounce. Sam was concerned."
"And this is when you decided you don't like Ainsley Hayes?"
I nod. "I'm going to hate her now and avoid the rush."
"Because of her opinion on guns?"
"Because of her lack of common courtesy."
"And again I find your train of thought difficult to follow."
"Yes, well, you might find it easier to concentrate if you stopped doing -- that."
"You don't like what I'm doing?"
"I didn't say that. I just meant that your mind is obviously not on the conversation."
"All right." He stops what he was doing, which is regrettable, but I did more or less tell him to. "What about her lack of common courtesy?"
"Sam talked about what happened to you. You were standing right there. She ignored what he said. She ignored you. The courteous thing to do -- the thing that common decency required -- would have been to acknowledge that. She could have said that she was sorry for what happened to you. She could have said she was glad you were all right. She could have said all that and still argued her points. She didn't. I don't like her."
"So you've decided you can't stand her, not because she's a Republican or because she's wrong, but because you think she didn't say she was sorry I got shot?"
"I'm honing my supportive wife skills."
***
END PART I