Disclaimers:  The West Wing and all the familiar faces belong to the creative genius of Aaron Sorkin and to his gifted team of producers and writers.  I'm just borrowing them to exorcise this story from my head so I can get on with the Scarecrow and Mrs. King story I've been trying to write for 6 months.  We won't discuss the work I get paid to do that I'm not taking care of right now…

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Roses

There are roses on Donna's desk.  There are roses on Donna's desk on Valentine's Day.  There are roses on Donna's desk on Valentine's Day and I don't know who sent them. 

I don't think I did.

See, it's like this.  I, Joshua Lyman, once again screwed up with Amy Gardner.  This is nothing new – obviously, or I couldn't have screwed up once again.  What is new is that this time, it was actually something serious, such that I can almost understand her being uncommunicative 12 hours later. 

I called her Donna.

Okay, all you Freudians out there are laughing and saying, "I told you so," but it wasn't in any sexual context.  In fact, to anyone else, it might even have been funny.  Amy was assisting me.  Donna is my assistant.  So I called Amy "Donna."  Twice.  Maybe three times.  On the day before Valentine's Day.  And I didn't notice.

I think Amy's mad at me not because I called her Donna, really, but because I didn't notice.  She had to tell me.

Which she did, in no uncertain terms.  CJ thinks that the bruise on my cheek is a great color for eyeliner.  Plum Delish, or something equally inane.  But I digress.

Amy slapped me when I laughed at the mistake.  And the bruise that CJ is so enamored of hurts like hell, even after the icepack I slept on last night.  Amy is warmer – but then, I suppose you'd guess that.

Back to the roses on Donna's desk on Valentine's Day – the ones that came from I don't know whom.  See, after Amy left last night, I did what I usually do when bad things happen.  I had a couple of beers.  Well, three or four.  I don't think it was five, because I never threw up, which I usually do after five beers.

And then I thought I'd try to make it up to Amy, so I called a 24-hour florist and paid an arm, a leg, and at least two major organs for 3 dozen long-stem roses to be delivered…

But I can't remember where I sent the 3 dozen long-stem roses.  And, even worse, I can't remember whose name I put on the card.  I was so drunk and so worried about screwing up again that I think I might have sent the roses to Donna with a note that says, "Amy, I love you.  Josh."

Which might be marginally better than sending 3 dozen long-stem roses to Amy with a note saying "Donna, I love you.  Josh."

More preferable would be a phone call from Amy saying, "Thanks, J, the roses are beautiful.  Not as beautiful as Tahiti might have been, but pretty nice."

I don't honestly know if I even want to contemplate the consequences of the last possibility.  Dear God, if the card in those roses – and I counted them, so I know that someone sent Donna three dozen roses – reads, "Donna, I love you.  Josh," then everything has gone to hell and I might as well curl up and die now.

Oh, not because of what Donna would do.  In fact, I think I might like what Donna would do, in the abstract, and possibly in real life, too.  It's what Amy would do when she finds out.  I wouldn't like what Amy would do in the abstract, either.

So here's my question:  Can I go check the card now, before Donna gets here?  Because if I didn't send those roses, then I'm pretty sure that Amy at least got some roses, and I can then prepare myself for plan A – that's the one where the card says Amy – or plan B – the one where it doesn't.  That's better than having plans C and D to consider, as well, and far less nerve-wracking.

If I didn't send them, who did?  What gomer is she dating now?  She hasn't mentioned anyone.  Of course, we haven't exactly been talking freely since… well, Cliff.  You know why I know his name.

Where is Donna?  I can't even yell at her, because she isn't late yet.  So, I'm gonna go check the card.  See, here I go.  I'm getting up from my desk and going to the door.  I'm walking across the corridor… I'm reaching for the card…

Donna's here.  I can hear her talking with Carol down the hall, and if I hurry, I can look nonchalantly businesslike at my desk so I can watch her when she reads the card.

Okay, this is wrong of me to think since I'm dating Amy – at least I think I am – but I can't remember a more beautiful smile on Donna's face.  Thank you, whomever sent the roses.  That smile was totally worth it.

She's opening the card now.  Damn, my phone is ringing. 

I missed it.  Thank you, Toby Ziegler.  You had to choose that moment to call me and ask me a question about the GDP.  Donna's assistant mask is firmly in place, and I missed the split second of her reaction before she put it on.

There are roses on Donna's desk on Valentine's Day, and I don't know who sent them.