One Lonely Shoe Part 3/?
Author: Nefret24
Disclaimers and stuff: see parts 1+2
Author's Note: Do recall that this takes place in early/mid second season, i.e. without MS crisis and no Mrs. L death.
****
So Donna had a date. Did I mind? No. I do not have any interest whatsoever in the personal life of my assistant. If she wants to date gomers by the dozen, so be it.
Okay, so that's a lot of bullshit. This I have come to know. Painfully, and long in coming, but yes, I admit, I do have an interest in Donna's love life.
But purely for professional reasons.
No, no, really.
She gets herself all worked up over these inadequate excuses for men, which causes her generally to leave early and skip out on important government business like getting me my dinner from the mess. And then she returns heartbroken and sniffly and full of All-Males-Are-Evil-Angst and I have to put up with soggy files and insults.
The federal government simply will not stand for this decidedly unprofessional behavior. Which is why I generally take it upon myself to sabotage her dates.
For her own good. And for the United States of America.
Yet, however, I am not always successful. Like today, for instance. After Sam left, I had decided to grill her on exactly what sort of engagement she had planned for Friday night:
"So what's Friday night?" Kept it casual, like any normal topic that regular ole Josh would bring up.
The everyday crazy, jealous, saboteur Josh.
She gave me a weird look- and to tell the truth, it wasn't annoyance. Generally when I pry into her personal life- no, when I casually inquire after her personal life (much better), she gets huffy and throws things.
"I have a date."
"Yeah, so who's the lucky gom- guy?"
"His name happens to be Sergio." She had that odd half-smile on her face as she looked up from the folders she was sorting.
She had to be kidding. "Sergio? Ser-Gee-Oh. Any relation to Fabio?"
"Accent free, born and bred in the US of A."
"Then what, were his parents demented or something? Ser-Gee-Oh, dahl-ing, please pass the I-Can't-Believe-It's-Not-Butter"
"You don't like his name?"
"I'm just saying you don't hear it used much anymore."
"I think you're jealous." She appeared to be very amused with the whole conversation. I thought that I was definitely missing something.
"What? Me? No! No. I think he's girly."
"I think you're jealous that I got a date and you didn't." Big Donna smile. Hell, and she's right. I hate that.
"I think he likes guys." Am I the comeback king or what?
"I think that you make way too many assumptions without thinking at all."
Oooh, a zinger from Donnatella. Probably on the mark with that one, but we Lymans are quite the proud bunch.
"No, it's just that I think really fast. Faster than most normal men."
"Ah, I see." I can't tell if she's agreeing with me or mocking me. Odds are, she's mocking me. I hate that too. If anyone's going to be mocking others, it ought to be me.
"All that know me are cowed by my intellectual prowess," I declared, waving my arms to the bullpen with a sweeping gesture that I think I can without hesitation call, in a word, mighty.
"And this would be who?"
"Whom. Let's be grammatically correct, Ms. Moss."
"Oh, let's, Mr. Pedant."
"I am not a pedant!" Goddammit if my voice didn't crack when I yelled er, stated that in perhaps a slightly loud voice.
"Yes you are." And she got up to leave.
"Slink away, inferior orator, but know that greater men than you have come before me and failed to meet my standards."
"You're too magnanimous, Mr. Pedant."
"AM NOT!"
Now the little people who work in the bullpen- mostly interns and other people whose names I don't know but I fake it til I make it- or call them any name that pops into my head- started to look at me funny cuz I think I said that a bit loud again.
Whatever. I'd just like to state for the record that Joshua Lyman is not a girly man, nor is he a pedant and his intellectual prowess has reduced men of great stature to shriveling and weepy children.
And he at that moment he was available to any female that would have him for a date on Friday night. Even that freaky ass chick Kathy Bates played in Misery would have sufficed okay, well, maybe not. I could just probably do better than an overweight, homegrown psychopath.
That was a very conceited little thing I did there and looking back on it does not bolster the ole Lyman ego but hey, nuthin' but the truth.
And in the spirit of all this honesty, I have to admit that Donna's little comment about Joey Lucas did spark some hope. I mean, she'd go out with me. That is, if she wasn't in California.
But see, I didn't know for sure where she was. She moves around. She visits places. She's a mover and a shaker. She visits DC a lot.
She could be here at any time and there is no written law that says I would know about it. Should be, but hey, it's not the case.
As it turns out, she was. In DC.
Exceptionally bizarre. The Lyman luck strikes again. See, most people follow that adage that if you're lucky in cards, you're unlucky in love and vice versa.
I suck at cards. Just ask Sam- I have a really lousy poker face. He must have taken me for a couple hundred bucks throughout our whole acquaintance cuz we like to have little tests of manhood called Poker Night. Poker Night generally occurs when I'm drunk so I confess that this could be partially the reason why Sam kicks my butt.
But what I was trying to say was that while I'm unlucky at cards, I'm lucky in everything else and hey, Joey Lucas was in town when I needed a date.
To quote a very inconsiderate assistant, it was the season of rosebud gathering.
Now, how did I know she was in town? I just knew. I'm psychically connected like that and have powerful spy satellites at my disposal.
And possibly I heard from my friend at Justice that he had been talking with a very nice senator from Nevada who had a very nice, very pretty, and very deaf pollster working for him on a little project here for the next week and a half.
And being the Deputy Chief of Staff typically affords you things like phone numbers to senators' offices- and sometimes even their homes.
Yeah, I love my job.
Which is pretty much how the Joey-Sergio Bloodbath o' the Century began.
****
Josh is a very transparent man. He likes to pretend that he is completely disinterested in my personal life. He is either deeply in denial or he really sucks at being disinterested- cuz generally some freaky ass big-brother instinct kicks in and we have to start Twenty Questions every time he hears I have a date.
I didn't have the willpower to tell him that Sergio was a dog. I was having too much fun watching him make a fool of himself. More than usual, that is.
He kept attempting to tip-toe over to his door when I wasn't looking in some weird attempt for stealth-which he cannot do, cuz he tiptoes like a parade of elephants- and then closing the door whenever he had to make one of "those" calls. Those please-please-go-out-with-me-but-don't-give-me-any-responsibility-the-day-after-like-remembering-your-name-type calls.
It was hilarious. A girl can't find better entertainment. Unless, perhaps, you count the time he spilled coffee on his pants and was skulking around his office in his boxer shorts all morning but that's another story for another day.
Anyway, I was having a pretty pleasant sort of day until Josh courteously informed me that Joey -as I like to call her- "Friggin' " Lucas was in town and snuck back into his lair, closing the door quietly behind him and stuffily asking not to be disturbed.
Then my day pretty much sucked.
Insufferable Obnoxious Josh had returned, making numerous references to his confirmed date on Friday.
"Yeah, you are really somethin', Josh, " I had conceded. Once. And only once.
He smiled.
"Not only did you finally ask out a girl, but a guy too! All in one foul swoop! Tell me, are you going to get Kenny a boutineirre to match Joey's corsage?"
The smile fell. All those innuendos about sexual prowess and all those veiled hints about good times crumbled. Apparently, it had finally dawned upon him that those kind of things might be awkward to fulfill under the watchful eye of a certain pollster's interpreter.
"Learn sign language yet, Joshua?" I smirked.
He grumbled unintelligibly- something about not needing words for the International Language- what the hell is up with that?- and spent the rest of the afternoon tossing his head back and forth, as if he had a long mane of hair and saying, "I Can't Believe It's Not Butter" with a thick accent. The voice was pure Obnoxious Josh but the whole head tossing thing was completely disconcerting. It looked like he was having some kind of bizarre, uncontrollable spasm that should be reported to medical personnel immediately.
Sam agreed with me. He happened by the bullpen and stopped by my desk. Using a conspiratorial whisper, he asked me if Josh was in his right mind.
"Is he ever?"
"Point taken. But he's been doing this thing"
"With his head."
"Tossing it from side to side."
"Yep." I nodded.
"So I'm not alone in this?"
"Nope."
"Does he need a doctor?"
"No, he needs a psychiatrist. He's trying to be Fabio."
"Fabio? The butter guy?"
"The very same."
"Why would he want to be the butter guy?"
"Cuz he's Josh and he's twisted that way," I sighed.
"I don't even think he's working anymore." Just then, Toby passed by. "Hey, Toby, you remember Fabio? That guy who did the commercials for the butter?"
"Yes, and before you begin, I don't even want to know why you're bringing him up"
"What is he doing? You know, I don't think he makes those commercials anymore" wondered Sam aloud.
"Thank God," said Toby. "I'm going to go get some coffee and pretend I don't know you people."
"Maybe he sits at home and makes toast," I offered.
"Well, I'm sure he got a lot of free butter," conceded Sam.
"It isn't really butter though, it's"
And in the middle of sharing my knowledge of food products with Sam, a "Hey Don-na" in a forced accent came over my intercom. I gave Sam a do-you-see-what-I-put-up-with glare.
"He's talking like him too?"
"Yes, Sam."
"Don-naaa" the intercom said again.
"Joshua"
"I can't find the Kallender file and"
"And what?"
"I seem to bring myself to admit that this is not butter"
Sam giggled. After I glared at him, he stopped pretty damn quick.
"Josh, I refuse to continue working today until you resume your normal voice and refrain from all references to butter, margarine and other condiments."
Josh came out of his office and placed his hand on the door frame. He began to do the weird head tossing thing again. Sam tried to hide his smile underneath his hand and I glared.
Toby walked by and did a double take at seeing Josh. He stopped and said," You really should see a specialist about that twitch you've got there."
Josh stopped and looked confused. Sam lost the battle for composure and laughed.
"Sam, I believe you have a reprimand to write" he added, glaring at him.
"Yeah, sure, in a minute"
"Like now, cuz last time I checked you still had no punctuation and talking about some butter guy is not going to remedy that!"
"Imagery, Toby! It's called imagery!" And the two of them continued to bicker down the hallway to the communications offices.
"Do you see what you've started?" I said to Josh.
He was watching them walk away. "Do I have a twitch?"
"Yes. Yes you do." I'm too tired to explain that they all think he's ill because of this singular attempt to provoke me.
"I do? I never knew I had a twitch"
"You'll get over it, I'm sure"
"Is it like a Herbert Lom twitch?"
"Your eye isn't the problem, it's the head movements that does it"
"I was being Fabio!" Ah, realization had set in. Good- cuz I really didn't need a neurotic Josh asking me medical questions about the nature of his twitch.
"So you thought."
"You don't get the same effect without the hair I suppose"
"No, cuz it looks like you have a twitch."
"Do you think I'd look good with long hair?"
"God, no."
"I should grow it long and then I could toss it from side to side"
"And look like a complete idiot."
"Fabio doesn't look like an idiot- so you say."
"So I did say- cuz he looks good with long hair. You would look horrible with long hair and so I say again: you'd look like a complete idiot."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Anytime."
"So are you going to get me the Kallender file?"
"Would it kill you to get it yourself?"
"I have a medical condition!"
"Terminal stupidity. Here's your file."
"Did I tell you of the school voucher smack-down?"
"No, you did not."
"The WWF has rarely seen such slaughter."
"You didn't take a folding chair to Greggs, did you?"
"No- but I bet it feels like I did. My intellectual prowess, you know"
"Oh, brother."
So it was all settled by the end of the day. I got the key to Margaret's sister's house and scheduled lunch with her for a briefing on what to do with Sergio and what purse she should take with her to the ball.
Josh was confirmed to go with Joey (and consequently, Kenny) and was feeling pretty smug about it, yet conceeding to my request, mentioned butter only five more times during the remainder of the evening. Not really a victory, but the best I can do when Josh gets in one of those moods.
At least he stopped doing the voice. Once he answered the phone "in character" and it was Leo. I shudder to think what he thinks is going on over here.
Josh was still asking me questions about Sergio and I kept making up vague answers and/or changing the subject. He also seemed bent on comparing my "date" and his with Joey.
I think since his is actually human - though on my more resentful days, I have doubted that and considered her rather as the spawn of Satan- that he has one-upped me in this case.
Ah well. There's always tomorrow.
****
TBC