10:34 pm
Fate has a really really sick sense of humor. I mean, it seems every time I manage to raise my spirits even just a little bit, another chunk of the sky ends up careening at my head.
Mrs. Landingham is dead.
I've been fighting a superstitious desire to look under my carpet to see if there's flames underneath- cuz this sure feels a lot like hell.
Josh got to tell me the news. I still sat nursing my coffee and my psyche in the Sagittarius rest room when he came back. It was only quarter after nine.
"Short meeting?" I asked, completely oblivious.
"Yeah. There's another issue we have to deal with tonight," he sighed and dragged his hand through his hair. It only makes him look more disheveled, but at that point, we all looked the worse for wear. In Josh's case, he looked like he had aged 30 years in the past 15 minutes.
He sat down next to me and quietly said, "There's been an accident."
"An accident?" I dumbly repeated. The only thing I could think of was "Omigod, the President. Is he okay? Is he alright? What happened?"
"Donna, it's not-"
"Is he still alive? Did they take him to the hospital?"
"Donna, no, Donna," he tried to stop the gibberish, but failed as usual. Instead, he took the coffee cup from my shaking hands. "Donna. The president's fine," he said firmly.
I remember the huge sigh of relief I gave. "Oh, thank goodness. He's alright?"
"Yeah. Look, Donna- it's Mrs. Landingham."
"What about her?" See? Completely. Oblivious. And was better for it.
"She was in an accident- a drunk driver, came out of nowhere"
"Oh. Oh no. Did she break anything?"
Josh gave me a look of sad pity. I knew that look. It's the same look that had been on everyone's faces when I walked into GW that fateful night and they had told me Josh had been shot.
"She's dead, Donna."
I don't remember getting up from the couch. My legs must have done that all on their own, because my brain sure as hell wasn't cognitive of movement. I just stood in front of Mr. Coffee, with my hand over my mouth to keep in sobs and my back to Josh. I couldn't let him see me- I had to be strong for him. I felt a hand on my shoulder.
Josh took my trembling hands and held them in his. If I hadn't been so shocked, so angry, so grief-stricken at the moment, I probably would have blushed from head to toe.
He just kept whispering "it's going to be alright." Over and over. And I cried on his shoulder. But only for a little while. There's a line, remember? He told me to go home. At that point, if he had wanted me to jump off a bridge, I couldn't refuse him.
But even now, I remember the warmth of his hands on mine, the gentle touch on my back trying to rub the sobs away, his whispers in my hair, and the arc of his shoulder. I shouldn't be reminiscing about Josh right now. But instead of mourning Mrs. Landingham, all I can think of is him. How he comforted me when I was supposed to comfort him.
She gave me a cookie once. After the shooting. I always considered it a pity gesture. She had always known that I liked Josh. She could sense it. And all this time, I had thought that she had given me that cookie- and it was a damn good cookie- because I needed comfort. But, after the last few hours, I think she gave it to me for a completely different reason.
Because I comforted Josh. Because I stood by him and helped him through one of the biggest crises of his life. And not just because I was in love with him, but because I was his assistant.
Like Mrs. Landingham was to the president. She was more than a secretary. And after today, I know that that sentiment counts for me too.
I'm going to miss her. I've decided that I'm going to organize something for her family from the secretaries and assistants of the West Wing. Because we owe it to her. She was the best of all of us. I bet the President never had to comfort her- she had a will of iron. Resilient, full of wit, and a kick ass cook.
I can only hope I turn out as well.
Tuesday, April 17th, 11:47 am Number of headaches 1 (but is really big- must equal at least 100 little ones) Number of Advil taken 4. Percentage of pain lessened 0. Number of smiles seen in the office 0.
I had thought that sleep would help the dull throbbing pain in my head that started around 9 oclock last night. I was wrong. If anything, it's gotten worse.
They're telling the staff now. Bonnie. Ginger. Margaret. Carol. They know. They know about Mrs. Landingham and they know about the President. Each one of them came to my desk at one point this morning to ask me if I had heard the news. I told them yes. They think Josh told me all about it early this morning. I don't have the nerve to say otherwise.
I mentioned the gift thing for Mrs. Landingham. We thought flowers might be nice. So, I'm collecting donations and I'm gonna call later. That is, if the rest of the sky doesn't come crashing down.
At one point, I would have thought that was a witty remark. Now, am completely terrified that it's true. Don't these things come in threes? I mean, one: the President has MS. Two: Mrs. Landingham is dead. Three could conceivably be me getting hit with a falling satellite.
Sense of impending doom is doing nothing for my complexion.
Any and all of Josh's perkiness over creaming Big Tobacco got completely smushed overnight. Apparently, with this Haiti embassy crisis thingy goin' on, CJ's going to be tied up in briefings all day. First she's getting them, then she's giving them. So much for the spicy comments. Won't make the front page of the Times today.
11:50 am
Was Carol with the last of the contributions. She asked me if I have any idea of what I'm going to get. Honestly didn't know, but made some perfectly believable lie that I did and it was going to be beautiful.
Think I should go to a florist's on my lunch break. Maybe they have a showroom. Point. Pay. Done.
1:03 pm
Is sooooo not easy to get funeral flowers. Florists know what they're doing. They've done funerals before. In fact, they do them so much that they have a big ass book, thicker than a phone book, filled with arrangements everywhere from $30 to $300.
Needless to say, it was no picnic. There were crosses (too religious), "bleeding hearts" (too freaky- never knew flowers could look gory), wreaths (too depressing), baskets (too inappropriate), and finally vases. Now, vases are nice. Expensive as hell. But perfect. So, I ended up spending a little over the contribution, but hey- it's on my credit card. I won't have to worry about it for at least a week. And think of all those frequent flyer miles.
At the register, I saw the neatest thing. The florist apparently does food baskets too. One of their specialties is these decorated cookies. They were so cute- little bears in different outfits, outlined on a sugar cookie in colorful icing. I munched on a doctor bear on the drive back.
Did I mention that I got Josh a little something too? Uh-huh. In fact, I think I'll go give it to him now.
"Josh?" He's hunkered over papers, only has one of his lights turned on, and still showing the signs of not sleeping. Disheveled. In need of mothering. Kinda cute.
"Yeah."
"Did you eat lunch?"
"Wha- yeah, yeah, I picked up a sandwich at the mess. Why?"
"I got something for you." I hold up a bag. He doesn't move. I shake the bag,
He looks up. "What's that?"
"I got something for you."
He sits back in his chair and stretches his arms, until they rest clasped behind his head. "You got me what?"
"Open it and see for yourself." I toss the bag onto the desk.
With a raised eyebrow and a slight grin, he lifts up a corner of the bag and peers in. Geez, he can be childish! And he pulls out my surprise: two cookies. One bear dressed in red with blond hair (can you guess who that is?- I'll give you a hint- even though the florist lady couldn't capture it through sugar, the bear has alabaster skin) and another in a business suit- conspicuously with no tie (three more guesses- and another hint- both are present in this room now).
"You got me cookies?"
"Uh-huh."
"Bear cookies."
"Aren't they adorable?"
"They're all dressed up." He's flipping them over in his hands with a funny expression on his face. Like he's not sure what to make of them.
"Yeah."
"Why are they all dressed up?"
"Would you prefer to eat naked bears?"
"I'm just saying I don't see the advantage of eating a dressed versus a non dressed bear."
"Do you recognize them?"
"Should I? Have I recently seen a large bear in a business suit skulking around the West Wing?"
"The bear isn't wearing a tie."
"What are you, the forest fashion police? Give the poor bear a break, he probably left it in his cave."
"Someone else doesn't wear ties," I say in a sing song voice.
"You're saying this is me?" I nod. Josh is amazed. He's looking at the cookie in his right hand with a weird intensity. "And who is this?" he asks, mockingly, holding up the cookie in his left hand.
"Me." Must be beet red right now. Can feel it. Isn't it hot in here? Shouldn't we open a window- like right now? So I can climb out and escape? This was a bad idea, this was a really bad idea.
"You got me a cookie of you?"
"Yeah."
"Didn't you fear the significance of me biting your head off?" he asks playfully, gesturing with my little bear.
"I was being nice. They're cute." I'm getting defensive. I guess he can tell cuz his smile diminishes a few watts.
"And you found these where?"
"Flowers by Gina on St. Paul street."
"What were you doing there?" he asks, genuinely puzzled.
"The assistant staff got an arrangement for Mrs. Landingham."
"Oh. I should do something. Can I get in on this?"
"The flowers are paid for, Josh."
"I could add it on to your salary."
"You could just give me a raise."
"Yeah, but then I wouldn't be expressing my sympathy for Mrs. Landingham."
"She was an assistant. She knew what it was like, the crappy salary. I say, poetic justice." I look at Josh and realize the fooling isn't working. "But you're right. You can sign the sympathy card," I concede.
"Do you have it?"
"No, Margaret was in charge of picking one up."
"Was that a necessarily wise thing to do?"
"Margaret happens to be very good at her job!"
" Margaret's also a few fries short of a happy meal."
Fed up now. Left office. Not like there isn't a hundred things to get done besides making sure Josh stays stable. Sit down on whirly chair too hard and get pushed away from desk.
"DONNA!" Argh. Can't he ever learn not to shout? I pull my chair back up to my desk and finish typing the memo I started before lunch.
"DONNA!" I refuse to get up. Nope. No sirree. Here I am, trying to make sure Josh gets some kind of food into his system and offer some degree of normalcy to help him get through what is a very stressful period right now, and he begins mocking my friends. I will not be moved.
My phone rings. "Josh Lyman's office."
"Donna, I'd just like you to know that I'm eating you now, [crunch crunch crunch] and you're very tasty."
"Your welcome." And I slam the phone down hard. And goddammit, I'm blushing again! Something is seriously wrong with me.
4:43 pm
Sam came by to talk to Josh. Apparently, Josh showed him the cookies cuz when Sam came out he started asking me about them.
"You got Josh cookies?"
"Yes."
"That look like you and him?"
"Yes."
"Bonnie never does that for me."
"Uh-huh."
"He's eaten most of you, you know. There's nothing but your little bear head left."
"He's eaten all of me but my head?"
"You didn't know?"
"That he was saving part of me for later? No, Sam, I was not informed as such."
"Oh. Um, Donna?"
"Yes, Sam?"
"Do you think you could give the number of that florist to Bonnie?"
"No, Sam."
"But it might serve as a little hint"
"She's not getting you cookies, Sam."
"How do you know? Maybe she's always wanted to get me cookies, but never knew where to get them"
"I highly doubt it, Sam."
"Worth a shot." And he went off in search of caffeine.
Whatever. Sam is very weird. Though not as weird as Josh. Definitely not as weird as Josh. Who not only has eaten the majority of my facsimile, but took the opportunity of my conversation with Sam to sneak out of his office and leave me a little surprise.
HELP ME. I'M A CRIPPLE. Written on a small scrap of paper in a suspiciously familiar handwriting. Next to a small bear cookie, wearing a suit and no tie, that was missing one leg. Completely bitten off. And now equipped with a crutch fashioned out of rubber bands and number two pencils.
This is the work of a demented man. Namely, Josh. There could be no other culprit. Really, can you see Toby doing this? Or Leo for that matter?
Margaret hasn't even begun to foray into this kind of mania.
Okay, hot shot. You wanna play games. We'll play games.
"Jo-osh?"
He pokes his head out of his office door. He was so watching me from the other side. Grrr
I ostentatiously pick up the Lyman cookie, and bite off its other leg, chewing loudly. Josh stands there with a mock expression of horror.
"You bit my leg off!" This was said entirely too loud for my liking. Now some interns are giving me weird looks.
"I can't believe you bit my leg off!"
I just chew complacently.
Sam happens to be returning from getting coffee. Josh sidles up to him, pointing accusingly at me. "She bit my leg off!"
"What?"
"Look, look, what she did!"
I hold up the legless cookie for Sam's benefit. He smiles but recovers quickly in deference to Josh. "You have no legs," he comments observantly.
"Tell me about it," Josh mutters.
"Now he doesn't need the crutch," I say.
"You made the cookie a crutch?" Sam asks bewildered.
Sheepish grin from Josh.
"Like we don't have enough problems on our hands right now, and you made a cookie a crutch?"
"It's a fine piece of workmanship!" Josh says defensively. "Besides, I made it while I was on hold."
"Oh, well, that makes it okay then."
Sam leaves, shaking his head in disbelief. I return the cookie and the crutch to Josh.
"You took a bite out of my cookie," he mumbles.
"So what? Now I have cooties?"
"You bit my leg off." Whining now.
"The amputation was for the best."
"That's what all you crack pot doctors say." Ah. All's well again.
We both return to our desks. "Oh and Josh?"
"Hmm?"
"You were tasty too."
Got a big Lyman grin before the door closes. Funny, my headache didn't seem that bad for a while there. Thank goodness for over the counter drugs.
10:59 pm
Not a bad day. Tomorrow's going to be worse. Mrs. Landingham's funeral, plus the disclosure and press conference. It's going to be hell.
There's a storm brewing. I don't just mean that in my figurative diarist way but literally. You know how you can tell it's going to rain? There's that smell in the air and the weight in the clouds and you just know.
It's going to rain tomorrow. I need to find my umbrella. I can't seem to find it in the hall closet and I hope Candi didn't steal it cuz then I'd have to hurt her. I asked her cats. They don't know either.
It doesn't rain but it pours. What an apt saying, that. Of course, it adds to the ever mounting heap o' cliches that I'm creating but right now I don't care. These things come in threes.
It's gonna pour tomorrow. And I don't have my umbrella.
TBC
Author's Note: Hard at work on Part 4which of course will take place during "Two Cathedrals"- that Wed being "tomorrow" any last minute ideas? Drop me a line- nefret21217@yahoo.com
