I have a terrible feeling I left the shower on

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…