TEASER: Three women compare notes about the men they love. Donna Moss talks about the politician who doesn't know he needs to grow up.
DISCLAIMERS: The characters herein don't belong to me; I've borrowed them from Warner Brothers, Shoot the Moon Productions, Paramount, Bellisarius Productions, and Aaron Sorkin, et al. I promise to return them relatively unscathed and to cherish them as though I made multi-millions on each episode. I also hereby thank the actors who brought and bring these characters to life in their fictional worlds, because they are the ones who have provided the depth and motivations for these dramatis personae.
RATING: PG-13
FEEDBACK: Always welcome, but spare me the flames, please. Even New England gets warm in the summer. E-mail in my profile or through the review feature in the story pages.
SPOILERS: Everything in The West Wing through "Inauguration Part II: Over There"; bits and pieces throughout the entire run of Scarecrow and Mrs. King and through "Standards of Conduct" in JAG. It is not related to the "Roses" series I posted last year. And yes, I do know that The West Wing and JAG don't exist in the same timeline, but that's what artistic license is all about.
COMPANION PIECES: Lady Amanda and Raising Men: My Spy, posted on the Scarecrow and Mrs. King page, and Lady Sarah and Raising Men: My Sailor, posted on the JAG page.
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I'm still in shock. Josh actually said to the President, "Donna's mine." It didn't do him a bit of good, of course; President Bartlet would have ordered me to go if I hadn't willingly agreed after hearing about poor Mr. Talbot's condition.
Of course, I'm still in shock over the fact that the President picked me at all. I mean, Margaret and Debbie are both far more qualified to do this than I am, and I'm sure that Mr. McGarry wouldn't whine a millionth as much about Margaret's absence as Josh will about mine. I'd really like to call CJ to place a bet that Josh doesn't make his meeting this afternoon with the party leadership of the Senate. On second thought, Sam would have been the sucker for that bet, but Sam's out in California running for Congress. Damn – I could have used an easy $20.
So here I am at the Russian Embassy, about to play amanuensis for the American delegation to a high level gathering of the best intelligence analysts and operatives from America, Russia, England, Germany, France, Israel, Saudi Arabia, and China. I don't have the foggiest clue what I'm getting myself into.
Being greeted by the unctuous Clayton Webb does nothing to assuage my unease; when Josh and I met him at one of the inaugural balls last week, he introduced himself as the Undersecretary of State for Special Affairs. I wondered then if it meant he was really with the Central Intelligence Agency, but Josh – being his usual dismissive self – informed me that HE would know if such a position existed.
"Mr. Webb, are you really CIA?" I whisper to him as he takes my arm to lead me toward the two women he had been speaking with when I entered the room.
He smiles a little Josh-like superior smile and whispers back his answer. "It's Clay, please. Yes. And if Josh won't pay up without proof, call me."
Before I have a chance to wonder how he knows that Josh bet me Saturday off, Clay is introducing me to two of the most beautiful women I've ever met besides CJ and Mrs. Bartlet. "Amanda Stetson, Sarah Mackenzie, please meet Donna Moss, the woman without whom Josh Lyman can't unlock his office."
I titter a bit as Mrs. Stetson looks me over and Lt. Col. Mackenzie tries to decide if she's going to like me or not. I get the sense that blondes are not, in general, her favorite women. I try not to take her look personally; brunettes don't generally top my list and it's probably for the same reason: a very stupid man.
I stick my hand out to the older woman.
"Delighted," Mrs. Stetson finally says as she grips my hand the same way CJ does – firmly feminine. "I don't stand on formality, so please call me Amanda."
"Donna," I return, and a bit of my unease settles away.
The colonel smiles at me finally and takes my hand once Amanda has let it go. "Mac. Welcome to the dark side, Donna."
I know I have my dorkiest grin plastered on my face, but it's the only one that goes with what I'm about to say. "I work for Josh Lyman, Mac. This can't possibly be any darker."
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I may have to reassess that assertion. Finding out that we have had confirmation of an Iranian nuclear weapons research program for nearly 10 years freezes my blood; the next moment it boils when positive proof that North Korea has been supporting several terrorist organizations spills onto the table from the Chinese delegation. By the time we take our first break, I've experienced more temperature fluctuations than Toby has scowls in his repertoire.
I save the three open documents on the laptop I'm using and sit back in my chair to stretch. It's not for nothing that I keep bugging Josh to make the White House comply with OSHA regulations – I'm stiff already and it isn't even 8:45. By 5:00, I'll be lucky if I can crawl to the bar to meet him.
Amanda breaks away from whatever reverie she's fallen into when Mac returns to the table with a steaming cup of coffee. It's then that both the Marine colonel and I notice the beautiful ring on Amanda's left ring finger.
Mac beats me to the punch. "That's a beautiful ring, Amanda."
"Gorgeous," I affirm. "So, tell us about him."
The way Amanda met Lee is kind of like the way I met Josh, in an odd sort of way. I mean, Josh didn't come running toward me with a package, hand it to me, and tell me to give it to the man in the red hat or anything, but he did make me prove my worth by answering the phone. Of course, it sounds like it took Lee a very long time to actually find Amanda useful, whereas Josh handed me his campaign badge and that was it – I was his assistant. And, I think, so much more right from the start, even if we're only now touching at the edges of it.
I hear in the way she describes Lee at that point in their relationship much of what I see in Josh – the drive to be the very best, the unshakable conviction that he is right and the rest of the world wrong, the scarred and scared little boy under the tough shell he presents to the world. I want to meet Lee now, to be reassured that love and care can heal such a broken man and give him a happy future.
She's just about to tell us another story when we are gaveled back into session. Ugh. I'd rather talk to Amanda and Mac.
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I'm the speed demon when we get our second break, so I'm already sitting back at the table, protecting my cup of coffee out of habit, when Mac returns to the table.
"Do we have a coffee thief here today? Or is that learned behavior from work?"
My God, the woman has beautiful brown eyes. I really can't believe she's not married. "Josh," I say by way of explanation. "I refuse to get him coffee, so he tries to steal mine." I can't bring myself to leave the cup totally vulnerable, but I do move my hands off the cup. "I even protect my coffee at home alone now."
"Let me guess – it's a feminist protest."
I know I haven't hidden the glee in my eyes as I reply, "If he were at home with me, I'd get him coffee."
Before Mac can comment, Amanda returns and I share my musings about Lee with her. "So Lee is your own personal James Bond. That is so romantic."
"Actually, it is, isn't it?" she answers, and bites into the wonderful Russian pastry she brought from the refreshment table. "It took three years to happen – "
Mac inhales her black coffee down the wrong pipe, but manages to splutter a few words between coughs. "Only three? God, I'm past the six-year mark."
Well, at least we know there's a story there.
"Yeah, three years."
Amanda tells us more about the deepening relationship; I'm struck by the parallel development of my relationship with Josh. Where her decisive point was a fake wedding and a kiss that turned out to be very real, mine was a shattered window and Christmas Eve holding him in my arms as he cried and began the long, ongoing process of healing from Rosslyn.
Amanda closes out this part of her story with, "But I also knew then that I would have to wait for him to figure it out," as Mr. Webb comes over to tell us that the convener has given us another five minutes for our break.
Mac and I merely look at Amanda expectantly, so she goes on to tell us about the first real crack in Lee's protective armor and about the way that he came to like roses again after a trauma early in his career. He gave her roses as a thank you for helping him through a tough case. "And now he gives me roses at least once a month now."
Josh gives me flowers – roses, even – but on a day I'd just as soon forget. Someday, he'll get it right.
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I've added two more remarkable women to my pantheon of idols this morning.
Amanda's incisive questions brought out something that I think the French weren't very happy to share but which will probably be vital to the security of the world in the future. I can't even think about it or, as Clay just murmured in my ear, he'll have to kill me.
Mac is the reason I can reflect on this now; her language skills defy description. She's the only person here who is comfortable in a preponderance of the languages in use, although her Chinese is apparently limited to the menu at a restaurant across the street from her office in Falls Church. She sent an embassy secretary scurrying to fix translations of a Farsi language intercept tape that, to quote Mac, "Is the single most badly butchered translation job I've ever seen – in any language." That Mac is the only one in the room who could compare all three documents boggles my mind, more so when I think that she's conversant but not fluent in French, German, and Arabic, and speaks some badly accented but apparently passable Hebrew as well.
Anyway, we've taken what promises to be a fairly long break and Amanda is telling us more about her partner and their family. I almost lose it when she describes her gunshot wound, which was nearly identical to Josh's.
"I don't know why I still cry when I think about it," I say as an apology for my tears.
Mac and Amanda share a look before Mac gives me the first good answer I've heard for this phenomenon. "Because it's very hard to think about someone you love almost dying, even when you know he's survived."
She's right; I nod and smile at Amanda, prompting her to continue.
Her second son, it turns out, was my first real "star" crush; I remember cutting his picture out of People Magazine when he was profiled for saving the lives of a little girl and her mother during an international kidnapping. He's the same number of years older than that little girl as Josh is older than I am, give or take, and Jamie is waiting for her to grow up so he can marry her.
"That is so incredibly…mature…for a man," Mac says, and I think that the pride in her eyes is because she attributes Jamie King's decision to the fact that he's a Marine officer. She's probably right.
A few minutes later, as we see activity that indicates we're about to get underway again, Amanda tells us something truly unbelievable. "Lee has actually grown up in the past few years. For instance, just within the last year he's stopped glowering at every man who tries to talk to me."
It's as though someone turned on a nitrous oxide valve at our table. Mac and I erupt into such uncontrollable laughter that the convener of the meeting glowers at us for almost a minute before we get ourselves under control. The look we share as we finally settle down says it all. Not in my lifetime!
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Amanda offers me a job – or almost so, anyway – after she reads the personal log of observations I've been keeping along with the actual minutes and the log of observations she and Clayton Webb are making to me as we go.
"Donna, when you're done at the White House, I expect a call from you. These are brilliant."
"Really?" I ask in my most incredulous voice, because I am.
"Really, Donna. Surely you've had other opportunities to show this kind of initiative."
"Mostly just with Josh, and he doesn't appreciate it," I mumble, but she apparently didn't hear me. Which, all in all, is probably for the better.
I hear Mac before I see her; she's stomping in a Toby-worthy way and the smoke rising from her clearly says "Don't mess with me" in whatever way an angry Marine would actually verbalize that sentiment. "That man is the second most annoying man in the world," she snarls, picking up her briefcase.
She's obviously referring to Webb. Amanda and I voice the same thought at once. "Who's the first?"
"Commander Harmon Rabb, Jr., Naval Aviator, JAG Lawyer, and all-around pain-in-the-ass."
"Your turn," we say together again. The three of us head for the embassy's main dining room, where a traditional Russian lunch has been set out for us.
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The Saga of Mac and Harm makes the Josh and Donna Story look positively tame by comparison. The most I've ever done to antagonize Josh is date men he not-so-affectionately terms "gomers." Mac almost married a man she didn't love because she couldn't get Harm to admit his feelings.
But what they've done for each other through the years, well, that really speaks for itself. I guess my taking care of Josh after he was shot sort of qualifies in the same league, as does the Christmas Eve care and Josh's diary-related protectiveness. Interestingly, Josh's treatment of me after that parallels Harm's treatment of Mac after her trial for the murder of her first husband – distant mistrust covered in agonizingly polite relations that tortured me to the bottom of my soul until we finally got past the whole MS scandal and Josh forgave me.
It's frightening that as I'm coming to the realization that there really is only one man in the world that I want to spend my life with, Mac says, "I will never marry again unless it's Harm waiting for me at the end of the aisle. No other man completes me the way he does." How can two women – three, really, counting Amanda – who just met have so much in common?
But the Baby Deal is definitely a Mac and Harm original. You know, why couldn't Harm have just proposed then and there and saved all the heartache of the last four years?
Come to think of it, why didn't Josh just propose the night of the inauguration last week and save us what promises to be several months – if not years – of miscommunication and heartache?
Men.
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During our single afternoon break, Mac says with a smile that she's glad, given our attempt to be done at 4:30 rather than 5:00 as scheduled, that she told Harm to meet her at the bar in Scott Circle at 4:30.
"Prescient?" Amanda asks.
"Not really," Mac replies. "My sailor isn't exactly known for his timely arrivals."
I smile and am tempted to ask if Harm's watch sucks, too. Instead, I query, "How late will he be?"
"He'll be there about 5, I suspect. Just a little less than half an hour to wait once we get there."
"Josh had better not be there at 4:30," I warn. I'm shaking my finger as though he's standing in front of me – it's such a necessity when dealing with his ego that I find myself doing it to the refrigerator out of reflex.
"Maybe his meeting will be out early," Mac says hopefully, protecting a man she doesn't even know.
I just shoot her a look that belies the possibility. "If he arrives before 5:00, it means he screwed up, he will blame me, and I will have to fix it. Then he'll apologize in some cute but ineffectual way."
Mac returns the look and I suddenly wonder if she was born with it or if it was issued to her at Quantico. "If it were really ineffectual, you'd have left your job a long time ago."
She's right, of course. I certainly wouldn't have put up with his interference where my dating life is concerned. I tell them about his comment – admittedly PTSD-induced – that if I plan to have sex I'd better do it during dinner because he needs me back in the office, which earns him looks that might kill at the distance between where we are and where he had better be at the moment. I also relate his initial jealousy and then his apologetic attempts to get that Navy man I'm not thinking about anymore to ask me out because I really wanted to see if the chemistry really was what I thought I wanted.
Convoluted, but you know what I mean. It wasn't, of course.
I want Josh. More accurately, I want Josh to grow up enough to know that he wants me, too.
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"Ladies, it's been fun." Clayton Webb is already on his feet before any of us can stand up after the gavel bangs the meeting adjourned. "As much as I'd like to walk you to the bar, I think it's best that I leave now to get a jump start on what tomorrow may bring."
"You're just afraid Commander Rabb will be there early," I say. Webb is as much hot air as the President can be sometimes; I can't call the President on his bluffs, but Clay, it's safe to say with Amanda and Mac surrounding me, is an easy mark.
He draws back from the attack, like I've seen Toby do when CJ goes after him. But somehow, he's less gruff than Toby when he answers. "I most certainly am…"
It must be the admission of fear in his tone that brings Mac to kiss him on the cheek. "Wimp," she harasses. "I can take Harm."
"You're a Marine," Clay points out before he walks away with a flip of his hand.
"That man is…" I can't quite find the words to describe him.
"In need of someone to raise him properly?" Mac tries.
Amanda and I laugh as she mumbles something I don't catch under her breath. I almost don't want this day to end, but the thought of being at the bar when Josh arrives warms me through and suddenly I want to speed up the next half hour.
As we pack up, I tell Amanda and Mac about Josh's sweeter side. The skiing book with its inscription, the "buy the dress" comment that melted me into a puddle of womanhood aching to be kissed, the banter that is the lifeblood of our relationship, and the musical interludes by Rogers and Hammerstein or Gilbert and Sullivan – although the latter are less frequent now in the absence of both Ainsley and Sam, sadly. I tell them about the time Josh and the rest of the staff took me seriously and I helped Senator Stackhouse get the appropriation for autism he wanted. Josh took me to dinner when he got back from Florida, even though Mike Piazza didn't call him "dude."
I backtrack a little to talk about the whole PTSD thing, which still gives me nightmares when I realize just how close to losing him we – I – came that awful Christmas Eve. It's one more reason I wish Josh and I were together, so he could comfort me when I have bad dreams and I could comfort him, because I know he still has them occasionally.
I tell them only the basics of the story of my diary and my near perjury charge for unintentionally lying about its existence. His defense of me, while a tremendous strain on our relationship for several months, proved to me that he cares about me. He thinks I think he did it for the administration, but I know him well enough to know that he did it for me and would have done so even it had hurt the President instead of helped.
When we finally get outside, Amanda turns for one last look at the building.
"Hard to believe that the enemy is such a different thing after less than 15 years," Mac says softly.
"It was easier back then." Amanda seems surprised that she actually voiced the thought.
I nod; I remember the late 70's and the 80's quite clearly. "Yeah. It was just 'us' and 'them', not 'us' and 'them' and 'them' and 'them'."
Mac and Amanda laugh with a touch of irony. They have had their fair share, it seems from what I learned today, of the "them" and "them" and "them". I don't think any of our lives are going to be any different after just one meeting like today, but maybe if we have enough of them, the world will eventually be a better place in which to raise children.
Not that there are any other options for that, of course.
The remainder of our time together consists of my retelling the story of my sojourn to the American Heartland with Josh and Toby, which, I tell them, now makes me imminently qualified to care for Andi's Wyatt's unborn twins when they are toddlers. Amanda in particular howls at that thought; she must know Andi somehow.
And I have to finish with the night of the inauguration – the one that has convinced me that one way or another, Josh and I will be together as something much more than boss and assistant by the time our final four years in the White House have passed. "So he's standing outside my building with all the men of the administration like some frat gang on a prank and they're pelting my window with snowballs," I'm saying as the bar comes into view at the far end of the street. "When I come outside, Josh tells me he knows I took the fall for the Navy gomer and that I really have to come to the balls with him."
"Were you dressed?" Amanda asks.
I blush a little. "Yeah," I say after an embarrassed moment. "I guess I was kind of hoping that he'd figure it out and redeem me." I go on. "He flat out wouldn't let me out of his arms when we did get to dance, which wasn't often given what happened that night. And when I suggested that he needed to dance with CJ, Zoey, and Mrs. Bartlet, you'd have thought I asked him to strip naked and do the Chicken Dance."
Obviously, my two new friends think this image is hysterical, as we are all laughing even as I say again, "Immature and in need of some serious growing up he may be, but I love him with my whole heart."
They nod because they know exactly what I mean. And we all have the same thought as Mac opens the door to the bar:
"It's hell raising men."
Fine