Chapter Three: Beware The Flying Food
I have a terrible feeling I left the shower on. I don't think it ever
occurred to me to turn it off. I wonder if I should call Cammie or if I
should just have faith that she'll eventually notice the lack of water pressure
in the kitchen.
I also have the feeling that I'm being watched. Just like I
had the terrible feeling that on the way over here, we were being
followed. I may be getting paranoid, because I also thought that when we
walked through the front doors of Tony's, everything fell silent – including
the jukebox – just like in some old western movie. But, as I tug at my
skirt again, I think that even the hookers in old westerns wore more than what
I presently am.
"….so I give him a look and explain to him that it's not a
government vehicle, it's my car!" David finishes, chuckling at the memory.
I laugh and try to imagine what the heck he's talking about. No ideas
come to mind. Unlike certain other men of my acquaintance, he doesn't
make any extravagant hand gestures that would clue me in.
"I wonder what's taking so long with the food?" I say out
loud. I guess I'm trying to prove to him that I know where I am. It
doesn't work, because David gets that look that people have when they just
realized they've asked a store mannequin for directions. He smiles nervously at
me and passes me a bread roll from the basket on the table.
"This should help tide you
over. And…erm…" he stutters.
"Pardon?" I ask, swallowing a chunk of bread.
"Well, Donna…"
"Yes?"
"This is a little difficult for me, because—"
Flashing him my most encouraging smile, I urge him on. "I
don't bite, I promise."
David takes my hand and gently and holds it there on the
table. "Well, there's something I've been meaning to ask you," he tells
me seriously, and then starts rubbing the back of my hand with his thumb.
Hmm. If you put together the Italian food, the cozy atmosphere, the cute
table for two (at which I can feel everyone in the room looking at us), it
almost adds up to…
Oh. No. Oh. No. If he's about to do what I think
he is…oh no. The hand he holds quickly turns into a block of ice. I
try to think of some way to head him off without hurting his feelings.
Thinking.
Still thinking.
Oh, God.
As if in an answer to my prayer, two hands pop out of nowhere and cover
half my face. I know this trick. It's played at Frat mixers
everywhere. I believe the person is supposed to say "Guess who," but that
usually gives it away.
But it doesn't matter - I know who's standing behind me
anyway. It's not weird that I know every line, every ridge and every scar
on these hands by feel, is it? Even though I've never actually…you
know…made a serious study of them? Let's just hope that's perfectly
natural.
I sigh. "Josh, I'm trying to eat, here.
Will you knock it off?" I can't summon the appropriate degree of annoyance to my voice, though. Or
a great deal of surprise. Josh's genius for date sabotage has ceased to
amaze me. I no longer wonder how he wound up at the same sidewalk café I
sat at with Chad from the BLM last year, or how he managed to sit directly
behind me and Steven from Accounting when we went to go see the new Keanu
Reeves movie back in February. Josh just has this weird radar for my
dates - he honestly doesn't do it on purpose. We've both resigned
ourselves to the fact that the more informal my dates are, the better chance
there is that he will crash them.
It appears he hasn't lost his touch.
Josh knocks it off, gives me a rather roguish grin and pulls
out a chair across from me. Then he plops down in it. "Hey,
Donna! Dave. Sam and I are having some pizza. You wanna join
us? We could make it a party!" He waggles his eyebrows. "Get
a little Springsteen playing, or some REM…"
His smile is contagious, but I shake my head. "Josh, we are
not having any 'Shiny, Happy People'. Now go away."
"But Donna," he whines, "You're my backup! My musical
wing-woman! My groovy lady! It won't sound the same without you!"
You have no idea how hard it is to resist that face - what?
Oh, you do? I have to actually grit my teeth to keep from chucking my
date and starting up the floor show. Because I'm kind of in the middle of something important. "No,
Josh."
He shrugs. "Fine. You don't know what you're
missing. Hey, what are you kids up to?"
I'm speechless. David is still holding my hand, on the verge
of proposing, and Josh wants to know what we're doing? Could he be any
more thick-skulled?
Why do ask myself rhetorical questions?
"Well, actually Josh," David starts, "Donna and I were just
talking—"
"Really? That's great. So Donna, what'd you think of
CJ's party last night?" Josh asks, turning innocent brown eyes on me.
No. Don't tell me he's going to use the party card already. Not the
'Wow, how 'bout that party? I can't remember a thing' card. But
it's like watching a train wreck - I know what's happening but I can't force
myself to look away from Josh's face as he continues, "And man, I don't
know what kind of beer that was, but I gotta tell you, it sure packed a punch!"
"I-um—" I say, testing my powers of speech. Nope, still
don't have them back yet.
"I mean, I remember Ainsley tossing Sam for the last toquito – who
knew she was so strong? - and that's about it," he continues blithely on.
"At least this time I didn't end up on your…um…I mean…" he looks at Dave, and
finally sputters to halt. Dave looks at him suspiciously. They are
both oblivious to the fact that my world has just imploded. He played the
Party Card. He actually did it. I'm sure there are little bits and
pieces of vital organs scattered about my sudden, gaping emptiness.
But I rally. I'm really quite good at that. "No, I
don't remember much about last night," I reply coolly. Don't you dare cry
in front of him, Donna, I order myself. It's not like you didn't see this
coming. Think inner poise. Think professionally remote.
Serenity now. Shiny happy people holding hands… "I think that Toby
spiked the punch."
He looks like a man who has been kicked in the stomach only to
pleasantly discover that it realigned his spine. "Really?" he asks with a
heartbreaking grin.
"Yeah," I say hollowly.
"Donna?" David asks.
I turn to him, hoping he's realized I'm not exactly the most
comfortable person in the room at the moment. "My hero!' I think,
'Ask me to marry you and I'll accept on the spot. Just get me the hell
out of here!' "Yeah, David?"
He pokes at something the waitress just delivered. "Did you
order the chicken parmesan?"
Gah!! Idiots! All of them! Every single
one! I bare my teeth at him. "Yes, David, I did."
"Oh. Okay. Then what did I order?"
"Um….the spaghetti."
I decide I'd embarrass myself if I started banging my head on the
table, so I look instead for something to chew on. Josh makes fun of the
way I chew on office supplies, etc, but it really is a very good way to relieve
stress. Unfortunately, there aren't any office supplies handy. I
settle for taking another large chunk of my bread roll and stuffing it in my
mouth. The way I figure it, I think, chewing determinedly, things
couldn't get much worse than they are right at this point – the climax of a
nightmarish weekend. How can you top a nice cozy chat with the object of
past romantic fixation and your present boyfriend?
Huh? Can't think of anything, can you? It's not
possible to top that, that's why.
You'd really think by now I'd learn to stop thinking that,
wouldn't you?
But I haven't. And not three seconds after this thought passes
through my brain, Sam, CJ and Toby appear out of nowhere, like the Three
Stooges or Shakespearean witches or…Charlie's Angels. Ha. Sam's the
pretty one, Toby's the smart one, CJ's the sporty one.
Was it just me or did they pause for a moment to let the
cross-breeze blow dramatically through their hair?
"Then this is yours," David says, passing me my plate and nearly
taking Josh's nose off. I smile and give David his plate, this time
aiming for Josh's chin while it's owner is momentarily distracted by the
entrance of the Angels.
A chin that is not shaved.
The man is a stinking liar, I realize with surprise.
And now for a little background: after working with Josh for three
years, I know things. Like when he is playing Super-Politician, he likes
to look the part. Well, as close to the part as he can. Snazzy
suits, the walk, and he never, ever lets anyone see him if he hasn't
shaved. He said once it makes the other guy think you have a
weakness. You don't want to give that impression.
As Super-Politician, he's fine. But when something upsets
his personal life, that's when he forgets to shave. And if my
calculations are correct, the only thing that has had the opportunity to upset
his strangely compulsive nature has been me.
I think he remembers Saturday night.
My hand must shake or something, because somehow the entire
contents of David's plate end up in Josh's lap. He yips, jumps up, and
starts swiping at his pants with a napkin. "Donna!" he squeaks
reproachfully.
"You're a liar," I say before I can stop myself. He freezes
and looks at me. David freezes and looks at me. CJ, Sam, and Toby
halt in their approach and look at me.
"What?" Josh asks quietly. He knows he's been busted.
Guilt, embarrassment and appeal all flash across his face at the same time, and
he looks too petrified to be capable of further speech. But this works
because I know if I open _my_ mouth it will only be to call him not very nice
things.
He knows. He knows what he said on Saturday, and he is planning
on just ignoring it? Pretending it never happened? Was it all some
kind of joke? What if he found out about my little Christmas episode and
decided to have a little fun with the stupid blonde assistant? What if
somehow Toby let it slip?
Hey - I see your surprise. Toby, you ask? What does
Toby know that I don't? I guess I may as well tell you, because after the
day I've had, all bets are pretty much off anyway.
Well, back at Christmas with that whole PTSD thing, I may have let a few
things slip. Toby - although he would kill me if he knew I told anybody
this - is actually a very kind, caring person. I came out of my meeting
with Stanley, on the verge of tears, and Toby comes up to me and says, "You
want to talk about it?"
Did I. In retrospect I realize he was probably referring to my
meeting with Stanley, but I poured out the whole story of how much it was
killing me to see the man I loved set firmly in self-destruct mode. By
the time I left his office, Toby was quite visibly shell-shocked.
Emotional outpourings from a twenty-seven year old heart-broken woman are a
little hard to deal with, I guess.
He told me he'd never tell anyone. Once I came to my senses,
I made him promise that. But promises can be forgotten, and there will
always be leaks. What if Josh knows?
David breaks into my thoughts by silently offering Josh his
handkerchief, and I realize how ridiculous I'm being. This is Josh we're
talking about. Even if he did find out that I used to have a colossal
crush on him, he'd probably feel more like avoiding me for the rest of the term
– no, make that the rest of his life – than toying with me.
"Well," Toby says, after a few more minutes of silence, "This is
an unusual occurrence."
"Hey, is that chicken parmesan?" Sam asks, reaching. "I love
that. And Tony's makes the best—ow! What was that for?"
CJ glares at him. "Can we worry about your dinner
later? We have a problem to deal with, here."
Josh waves a meatball at her. "There's no problem here,
CJ. I was just trying to get Donna to sing."
I stare at him. "What? You don't want me to
sing! You want me to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary occurred
last night." I'm so upset I feel myself
lapsing into movie dialogue. Well, let me tell you something. I'm going
to sing like a bird, mister. After CJ
gets through with you, we could call it your swan song—"
"Whoa, Donna – stop with the film-noir stuff, will you? It's
kind of weird."
"Josh! You lied. You know what happened."
"Well, yeah. Kind of. Look, Donna, I didn't mean to—"
So much for my no tears resolution. I definitely feel a
sniffle coming on. "It was too much, Joshua. It's not a joke.
'Donnatella I love you' can't really be laughed off. I want an explanation,"
I tell him. Then I realize the entire restaurant, including David, is
staring at us. "What?" I yell. "Mind your own business!"
They immediately turn away. Josh looks impressed until he
remembers he's the one in the doghouse.
"Um, Donna?" David asks, tugging on my dress. "What's going on?"
Everyone ignores him. Josh goes back into Almost-Groveling
mode. "Look, I want to explain--"
"Here? Now?" I demand, jabbing him in the chest with my
finger. He watches it with alarm.
"But you just said you wanted an explanation!"
"I didn't mean in the middle of Tony's, right this minute!"
"Why not?" he yells, noodles flying off his clothing as he waves
his arms in aggravation. "What's so wrong with right now?"
"Because," I yell back, "I'm in the middle of a date, and my date was in
the middle of proposing to me!"
Dead silence. Wow. As I exhale an angry breath, I
realize that of everyone in the room, David is perhaps the most stunned.
Granted, Josh is a near second, with his whole 'you just ran over my dog' face,
but honestly, David looks as if he never even meant to…
Oh. Well. Well. This could be
embarrassing. Maybe I know fewer things about the ways of love than I
originally thought. "Um, David?" I say.
He has to clear his throat a few times before any words come out.
"Yeah, Donna?"
"You weren't trying to….you know….we're you," I state. And
damn my alabaster skin. David shakes his head.
"No. I was…I was actually going to ask…"
"Yeah?" I ask a little desperately.
He squirms a little, and clears his throat. "It sounds a
little crazy, but I was just wondering…" he trails off nervously.
"Oh, for the love of God, spit it out already!"
David blinks, and blurts out two words. "Operation Moss!"
I cock my head to one side. "Operation Moss?"
He cocks his head to the other side. "You don't know
anything about it? Oh. That makes me feel much better, because good
relationships are based on trust, and…"
"David, what are you talking about?" I'm so confused here I feel
like I've fallen into the second act of a play without seeing the first.
Next to me, Sam appears to randomly trip and fall over.
"Well, you have to understand – I wasn't snooping or
anything. I was looking for a memo."
"Right," I repeat, "A memo. Then what?"
"And I saw some of the notes Katie wrote on her blotter…."
"Okay…" His secretary
doesn't believe in paper and so just writes all messages on her blotter. It's up to the office to find out who's
called for them, which has created rather amusing problems in the past.
"And the basic gist of it was that someone wanted Katie to find
out about Patricia."
"Your wife?"
"Yeah. Then it had a number, and it was _your_ phone
number. And it said Op Moss. I guess it could be 'operator Moss',
or 'opposition Moss', but we work in the White house so I just kind of
figured…"
"…that it was an operation and I had something to do with
it." I start nodding like everything makes perfect sense and in fact I
knew about it from the beginning. "Um, Josh?"
He snorts, and then covers it up with a cough. I think he
may be hysterical. How can someone look so guilty and so amused at the
same time? "Yeah?'
"What is Operation – now what the hell are you laughing about?"
Josh gives up the battle and holds his stomach. He's
laughing at me again. No, he's laughing at himself. There is a
certain tone to his laughter when it's self-depreciating, and he has that tone
now.
And yes, I'm still completely lost, in case anyone was wondering.
"It's just…you thought…" he gasps out, "and then Dave….front of
everybody…Operation Moss…this is just too…HA HO HAW!!!"
"Josh," I order. "This whole 'let's laugh at humiliated
Donna' thing you have has got to stop."
"…HA HA HUH HAW HO….!!"
"Josh!"
Toby pegs him with a bread roll and CJ slaps him across the
head. He stops laughing abruptly. "Ha – Hem! Er…what were you
saying, Donna?"
I lean towards him and whisper dangerously, "Operation Moss?"
"Oh. Yeah. That." If Josh had been wearing a
tie, he would have loosened it. "It's not really anything."
Toby picks up another bread roll and tosses it from hand to
hand. "The idiot's been checking up on you, investigating your boyfriend…"
"What?" I cry, at the same time Josh cries, "Toby!"
Toby continues, "Sabotaging your dates…just generally acting
pathetically jealous and pissing off most of the senior staff."
I stare at Josh, who looks just plain guilty, now. "Then
this whole…whole thing with you 'accidentally interrupting' my dates—"
"It _was_ accidental, I swear. I would never –"
I hold a hand up. "Don't, Josh. Just…I don't even want
to hear it."
David finally gets a clue, and after firmly glaring at Josh he
turns to me. "Donna, would you like me to take you home?"
"Yes, please," I answer politely, clasping my shaking hands
together so no-one can see them. There's something vaguely squishy in my
left fist, but I ignore it and allow David to take my elbow, guiding me towards
the exit.
"But – Donna! Wait!" Out of the corner of my eye I see
a flurry of movement and then hear a thud. When I turn around, Josh is
lying on his back atop a large puddle of spaghetti. He slides around in
an attempt to find his feet, and fails. After another moment of this, he
settles for propping himself up on his hands and looking at me from the
floor. "Donna," he says quietly, "I meant it. What I said last
night – I meant it."
The remains of my mutilated bread roll falls from my numb hands,
and my eyes fill with tears. The restaurant has again fallen silent, so
I'm sure what I think I just heard was just some auditory hallucination
extrapolated from the ringing in my inner ear and not actually… "What?" I
croak. He grabs onto a chair for support and pulls himself up to his
feet.
"I love you, Donnatella. And I really, really mean it.
Oh – no wait, don't get all…please…I'm sorry, I didn't want you to get all…"
If I wanted to, I could break away from David, and walk straight
into his arms. If I wanted to.
Oh, who am I kidding? This has nothing to do with what I
want. This is a spectacularly bad thing, and I know it. I fix my
eyes on a spot just over Josh's left shoulder. "Shut up, Josh," I
sniff. "I'm going home."
"Oh." He looks positively stricken. Someone kill me
now. "Oh. Okay."
I turn back towards the stained-glass front doors, and don't
look back. If I look back, I know I'll end up making a huge mistake, one
way or another.
Right before the door swings shut, I hear another huge, soggy
thud. Josh, Josh, Josh. You couldn't have timed this worse if you'd
tried.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
"So you didn't even say anything?" Cammie asks in disbelief, an
hour later. "Not, 'Oh, Josh, I love you too!' Or, 'Take me now' or
anything?"
I swing my feet over the edge of the fire escape and look at her
skeptically. "Cammie, I told him to shut up. And if I ever told him
'take me now', I think he'd have me committed."
"But, the moment is gone. No chick-flick ending for you,
Donna. You missed your chance." Cammie mournfully tosses a White
Castle hamburger over the railing, and I listen for the splat. Cammie's Aunt Carlotta
died three months ago, leaving Cammie her extensive Tupperware collection and a
freezer full of White Castle boxes. Even a chef of Cammie's caliber was
unable to make anything out of the small, frozen hockey pucks, so now we use
them to feed the neighborhood strays. We're guessing they have all major
ingredients of dry cat food, but it's hard to be sure. I unwrap another
one and send it sailing.
"What chance?" I ask. I'm trying not to sound bitter, but I
don't think I'm successful. "A relationship with a politician?
There's no such thing as a happy ending for one of those."
"But you used to—"
I smile. "Yeah. But you know me and my imagination,
Cam. I guess I forgot that even if by some miracle Josh did develop
feelings for me, that he would be persecuted. And so would I. I
mean, seriously," I say, twisting to face her and getting really caught
up. "Do you know what makes Josh stand out from other politicians?
What makes him so good at what he does?"
"Stubbornness and a killer smile?" she suggests.
I roll my eyes. "Integrity, Cammie. People respect
Josh Lyman. And a relationship with his assistant would destroy that."
Cammie throws another mini-burger, and the cacophony of cats below
increases a decibel. "Donna - this thing between you and Josh isn't
just another cheap Beltway affair. For God's sake, you're both
single. You're both professional."
"It would ruin his career."
"I think you give yourself too much credit. You all by your
lonesome could not ruin the career of the Deputy Chief of Staff."
"I could severely dent it."
"I see." My room-mate experimentally bends a patty between
her fingers. It snaps in half. "What _are_ these things made of?"
she wonders out loud, before dropping both halves over the side. "So by
lying to Josh, you're just looking out for him, right?"
I'm quiet for a moment, listening to the cats below, my neighbor's
booming music, and the sounds of the nation's capitol gearing up for another
Monday. I love Washington. I mean, not the smog and the traffic and
the heat, but what it represents. This is, as Josh would say, where the
action is.
"I'm afraid that something's going to happen," I answer her.
"I like things the way they are. I like going to work and making a
difference. I like spending my days with the smartest people in the
country. Josh will get over me, and things will go on."
Oh, how pathetic am I? All I need is a little sea spray and
Celine Dion in the background. I dump the rest of the contents of the
White Castle box into our empty tortilla chip bowl, and then trace the little
logo with one finger. Beside me, Cammie snorts.
"Donna, dear, how many women has Josh dated in the time you've
known him?"
"I don't see what that—"
"How many?"
"Um…there was Mandy the dragon lady - but they broke up pretty
soon after I joined the campaign, and there was Sarah Wessinger of the smoking
jacket fame, Susan Delphi from DOA, and Joey Lucas from California - but they
never really went out….and…I guess that's it."
"You're his One," she says decidedly. "And you need to grow
up."
"Hey!"
In the moonlight, Cammie's green eyes glitter like a cat's.
At the moment, it's a little disconcerting. "I mean it. You know
what you want, now you have a chance to have it - and who knows, maybe it's
your last chance. Go after Josh, Donna. To hell with the
consequences - you can handle them, anyway."
"Have you been talking to Norie again?" I ask.
"No. Sam Seaborn."
"Sam?"
"Um, yeah," she mumbles, and then brightens. "Oh, you know
what? I did see Norie's latest article. Although I think that 'How
To Sleep With Your Boss And Not The Office Politics' was a bit obvious, even
for her."
"Yeah," I sigh.
"So you should go and collect your daisies, or whatever."
"You mean gather my rosebuds?"
"Yeah, that. Go jump him," she advises.
"Shut up," I laugh. Then I actually stop and think about
what she's said. "You're right. I hate it, but you're right,
Cammie. I'm going to have to fix this, once and for all."
"That's right."
"End this now," I state.
"Absolutely."
"I can't let myself go through another week like this one."
"Nope."
"That's it. I'll make a decision!"
"You go, girl!"
"But…I think I'll do it tomorrow."
He shoulders slump slightly, but she shrugs. "I guess
that'll do. Now throw another patty. This time you have to close
your eyes and make a wish."
"Okay," I grin, selecting one from the proffered bowl and feeling
much better about myself. I close my eyes, mutter something under my
breath, and let it fly. Almost immediately, a car alarm screeches through
the night, followed by a masculine shout.
"Oh my God!" I peek over the railing and survey the vehicle
parked below. It's a dark, shiny car, with a brand new spider-web shatter
in the middle of the windshield. When I turn back to Cammie, she's
holding a hamburger with a newfound respect and a certain amount of awe.
"It's his car!" I squeak at her. She nods, and continues to
stare at the object in her hand.
"Wow," she breathes. "These are _amazing_!"
"Cammie!"
"What?" She looks up from the burger, gets a good look at
my expression, and assumes the `sad but supportive friend' face. "Well, if you're sure you've made up
your mind... Let him down gently, Donna. And hey," she forces a laugh, "let's hope he's got insurance,
huh?"
TBC…
