Authors:
Posted: May 6, 2001
Donna stood in the wings of the stage as the debate raged into its final minutes. She kept her expression neutral with great effort, but she was mentally keeping score. Short of suddenly forfeiting out of compassion, Josh (and by extension, the Bartlet Administration) were skunking the competition tonight.
Josh had torn apart his three fellow panelists from word one. It was not a loud, roaring battle but a series of surgically precise strikes that cut his opponents' knees out from under them swiftly and decisively on nearly every issue on the board. Despite his strong showing, Donna had remained nervous throughout the three hours. Settings like this were tempting invitations for Josh to be... well, Josh; it was not out of the realm of possibility that he would turn his strategic weapons (his mouth and mind) on himself.
But not tonight, Donna sighed with relief as the moderator called the proceedings to a close amidst the applause from the audience.
She was impressed by the way Josh wove her research and notes into the administration's policies and positions into a tight rope that each of his opponents, one after the other, unwittingly slipped over their own necks--mistaking the traps for loopholes until it was too late and the noose was cinched tight around them. Which is not to say he was being a blustering, political mercenary the entire time. The fabled Lyman mystique, that at-times abrasive wit that drew scores of co-eds to stare in rapt attention and to giggle mindlessly at his from-the-hip quips, made an appearance as well. Donna never ceased to be amazed at how his sarcasm, when directed at others, came off as charming.
As the moderator finished his profuse thanks to the participants, his words were drown as the audience flooded the stage to speak with the various panel members. Donna waded through this sea holding Josh's backpack and his car keys. She edged her way to his side and waited patiently as he signed autographs the way movie stars did.
"You're just so... excellent," said one red-headed student as she handed him a recent issue of Time Magazine bearing his image on the cover. "My roommate is gonna die when she sees this."
"So long as I'm not named as an accessory," Josh quipped with a quick grin as he scrawled his name then handed back the magazine.
The student blushed deeply then hugged the pages to her chest and drifted back into the crowd. Donna had seen the reaction many times before and was still amazed how seemingly intelligent women could turn into knock-kneed, blushing teenagers in close proximity to Josh. The only thing harder to swallow for Donna was, naturally, the effect this had on Josh. The ego might be big enough to merit its own zip code after a night like this.
"Who does your research for you?" Donna asked, pulling his attention away from another admirer.
"Somebody who doesn't value her job as much as she should," he replied sporting a smirk that only she knew was a measure of thanks.
"We should leave before your ego doesn't fit in the car," Donna said handing him his backpack.
"I have no doubt you'd find a way to fix that," he said following close on her heels as they departed the stage. "I was good tonight, though."
"You did well," she said as they traversed a descended a back stairwell. "Of course, I did most of the work."
"You looked up some details and complied numbers," he said. "That was invaluable. I, however, knew how to use them."
"You're just no good at sharing," she informed him as they reached the ground level.
"You're right," he agreed. "I'm not. So it should come as no surprise that I won't be buying you dinner."
"Why was I here tonight?" she asked and stopped walking.
He walked a few steps beyond then turned back to face her. He grinned and shrugged.
"I thought you might like to see all your hard work put to good use," he replied.
"You're pathetic, you do realize that," she remarked.
"Actually, I'm quite impressive," he said.
As he spoke, an the sign on a door across the hall caught her eye. She read it twice then grabbed Josh's arm as she started toward the door.
"I don't believe it!" she said.
"What?" he asked stumbling after her.
"She's here," Donna said, pointing at the sign. "She's speaking right now. Oh, you owe me this, Josh. Just 10 minutes."
He read the sign announcing author SJ Rixon--a guest lecturer at the University for a semester--was giving a reading and discussion on one of her novels that evening. Josh shook his head. Before he could speak, Donna opened the door to the lecture hall and dragged him with her.
They took seats in the back. The reading was over and a Q & A with the audience was in progress. Donna shoved Josh into a seat and blocked his path should he try and exit. He merely folded his arms and shook his head again. Meanwhile, Donna focused on SJ Rixon, the petite blond sitting on a table at the front of the room as she took questions.
She was slight of frame but even from a distance Donna knew the light in her dusty blue eyes was a warning that this was a woman to be reckoned with.
"I recently read a short story you wrote a few years ago," a man in the crowd was saying. "It was being reprinted I guess because now you're..."
"Somebody worth reading," the writer said filling in the embarrassing gap.
"I guess," the man said blushing dangerously red. "I was wondering what changed. I mean, that story was drastically different from your books."
"By that you mean it was dark and disturbing," she said. "Yeah, for those of you who have no clue what piece he is referring to, there's a good reason. No one else ever read it. It was a short story called 'The After Midnight Karma Club.' It was my first stab at profitable writing. It failed miserably, by the way, both critically and financially."
"I liked it, though," the man remarked. "But it's not like what you write now. Something was missing. The..."
"Funny?" she said finishing his sentence as her focused on the back of the room as though she was looking into the past.
"Yeah, there's nothing entertaining about story and there wasn't supposed to be," Rixon continued. "I wrote it about a... good friend and myself. We met in college. He was an amazingly arrogant suitor who I worshiped, but I never told him that. I named his character Aaron--Aaron the amazingly arrogant ass, in the first draft. Gist of the story is this: two college kids sit on a roof at night and muse about the rotten breaks life has tossed at them without realizing they're talking about how horrible their lives are because neither of them think their individual tragedies are as awful as they really are. Wow! That's a mouthful. Okay, now the truth behind the story: We were both night owls, and we'd sit on the roof of my dorm in the wee hours, just talking and generally feeling like the king and queen of the universe until sunrise. He was, and still is, the most fascinating man I've ever known, but not for what everyone else sees when they meet him; it's for what almost no one else sees--a tender soul filled with so much angst and passion you could drown in it. Plus he's got a cute ass and this killer grin. Well now, it's getting a little warm in here. One more question, and we'll wrap this up. I'm getting bored being the one talking."
She pointed into the crowd at an upraised hand, like aiming a pistol, making contact with such definite precision that all hands but the one chosen dropped immediately.
"You just said you based that character on someone you knew," the woman in the fifth row said. "Do you base all of your characters on people you know? What makes a person worthy of becoming..."
"Immortalized in fiction?" the lecturer asked.
"By the scintillating works of S.J. Rixon, precisely," the woman followed up quickly.
"Scintillating? Well, sucking up is a good step," SJ said, pulling a pen from behind her ear. "Spell your name for me."
Laughter rippled through the room. Donna joined in and turned her head to see if Josh was at least listening. Unless it was a political speech, election returns or some fancied sports event, his attention span was about as long as his patience. However, she was surprised to see him staring forward with rapt attention.
"Everyone is worthy," SJ continued. "Oldest adage about writing: write what you know. I know people. I know them because I listen. Never forget that people are the X-factor in every equation. You need to listen to them and to hear them as well--if nothing else, you might buy yourself some karma. I learned that sitting in the dark on the roof of a dorm next to a prince of darkness with killer dimples. Okay, that's really enough punishment for one night. Thanks again."
Applause broke out in the room as sponsor read a litany of supporters who made the evening possible and thanked the guest speaker profusely. She nodded as she gathered her notes. When the crowd began to break up, several members of the audience approached with copies of her books for signing.
"Oh, I wish we could have gotten here sooner," Donna said as she prepared to leave. "I really love her writing."
"You read her stuff?"
"Everything she's published," Donna said. "Her last one, Friends of the Program, is about people in Washington. Josh you should read it. I swear she knows all of us; I mean, not just us in the west wing, but everyone we deal with. It's almost scary. The way she writes is simple, but the stories are so intricate. You can tell she's very complex."
"She's a lunatic with a twisted sense of humor," Josh said with a grin.
"She's brilliant," Donna countered.
"She is not," he disagreed.
"Have you even read one of her books?"
"No," he said.
"Then how do you know she's not brilliant?"
"She's got a photographic memory and a sharp tongue," Josh said. "That doesn't mean she's brilliant--and she lies when she says her IQ is 177."
"How do you know any of that?" Donna asked. "Do you know her?"
Instead of answering, Josh started toward the stage without further word. Donna followed, curious. Though he had done a fair job of saying he was unimpressed with this writer, Donna also heard admiration and perhaps something deeper in his responses.
Donna stood at Josh's side at the edge of the group surrounding SJ as she signed several more books. The onlookers were still peppering her with questions.
"I really liked what you said about both listening to people and hearing them," one young man remarked. "I wish the folks down the road would do that."
"Who would that be?" she asked handing him back his book.
As she did so, her eyes fell on the two newcomers to the group. She fixed her gaze on Josh. The slightest hints of a grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"Congress and the White House," the student continued. "I'd guess from what you've said and what you write that you can't stand politics."
"On the contrary," she said not shifting her gaze a millimeter. "I fell in love with politics in college. If you don't believe me, turn around and ask my poli-sci tutor."
The student turned and stared for a moment. His face then blanched with recognition.
"It wasn't the politics that you loved," Josh said confidently.
"You're right, it wasn't," SJ replied warmly.
Donna's chin dropped slightly as she watched the lingering gaze between the two. Josh offered her that sly smile, the one Mandy used to bring out in him on occasion. Suddenly, Donna felt awkward and out of place. She made a move to step away when SJ turned her sights to the left.
"You would be Donna Moss," SJ said firmly. "Sammie says your Joshua's shadow and do a fair job of keeping him in line. I expect you and I could have quite an interesting, provocative conversation."
"But you won't," Josh said. "I'm sure you're too busy."
"I am, but we will," SJ countered.
"Donna, keep in mind that this woman lies profusely," Josh said. "That's why she writes fiction--she has no concept of truth or reality."
"Two words for you, Lyman," SJ said. "Naked breakfast."
"Three words for you," he countered. "Ripped Blue Thing."
"I see," SJ said nodding. "I believe we are at an impasse."
"The proper term is detante."
*****************
A win is a win and must be flaunted to death in front of your assistant appeared to be his motto. Donna was thankful when each Friday rolled around again. She was weary from the 107 new tasks Josh seemed to drop in her lap daily, but she was getting her groove back as August disappeared into September and the fading rays of summer gave way to a stiffer breeze that announced October was just around the corner.
It was on a still-sultry Thursday afternoon early in autumn that a package was dropped on Donna's desk emblazoned with the insignia of the Baltimore Orioles and Josh's name. The size and weight of the package hinted a video tape was enclosed. Strangely, there were no stamps showing where the package originated. She thought that odd, but dismissed it as inter-office mail. On the back side was the bold announcement: Open Immediately.
Following the order dutifully, Donna carried the package into Josh's office.
"Josh, a package was just delivered to your office, " Donna said.
He was seated at his desk going over memos and polling numbers arise from the latest round of legal wild fires still burning from the President's shocking health announcement the previous spring. From Josh's weary look, Donna knew he would welcome the distraction.
"Donna," Josh sighed as he dropped his sheaf of papers on his desk. "What is that?
"Don't know," she said handing it to him. "Came for you."
"Does it contain any of your personal apparel again?"
"It's something from the Baltimore Orioles," Donna said.
"So I'll ask again..."
"Obnoxious hour isn't until 4 p.m.," Donna informed him. "Burt for the record, I've never been to an Orioles game, and don't know anyone with the organization. Do you?"
"I don't know half the people I know," Josh said with an exasperated sigh. "Probably some ploy to get the President to do something for next year."
Josh reached for the envelope. He opened the padded package, revealing a videocassette tape. On the tape was a note. Josh read the note and a small grin appeared. Donna noticed the grin and was curious as to what the note said to make Josh smile. She hadn't seen a smile like that on him since the lecture at Georgetown during the summer.
Donna started to reach for the tape, but Josh quickly maneuvered over to the VCR, anxious to put the tape in. He pressed the play button and nervously tapped his foot, wishing the tape to speed up. The tape finally began and Josh pulled a chair over, sitting down. Donna stood behind Josh.
On the tape was what looked to be like a press conference. An older man was at the podium announcing the hiring of a new general manager. Donna leaned forward to gage Josh's reaction, but she noticed that his gaze wasn't on the gentleman, but rather on the petite woman to his right. The woman was dressed in a simple, yet powerful black suit. Her short, brown hair was styled ever so professional and her glasses impeccably clean. She looked all business. Finally, the gentleman left the podium and the woman stepped up. Josh turned up the volume.
"Thank you, Mr. Angelos," she said. "Like he said, my name is Marilyn Rogers and I am extremely excited and proud to be the first female general manager of a Major League baseball team. Like every professional baseball player, I, too, worked my way up through the minor leagues. I know the ins and outs running a baseball team. I've done everything from sell food, to work the PA, to even pulling tarp when it rains. "
"Ms. Rogers, how will you change the Orioles during your reign as GM?" a reporter asked.
"Well, let me say this. While nothing pleases me more than watching baseball…"
"I know something that did," Josh commented.
"This game is still a business. I have given this team a three-year time frame to turning itself around. I have put out a notice. The Baltimore Orioles will no longer be the red-headed stepchildren to the New York Yankees."
"Boy, hope Toby didn't hear that," Donna said.
"Shh," Josh said hotly. "I'm trying to watch this."
"Ms. Rogers," a second reporter spoke. "What are you plans if the team doesn't succeed? Will the elder players be shipped out, to make room for the upstarts?"
"If it comes down to it, yes," the woman answered frankly. "Hopefully, this will make the veterans step it up a notch to show the minor leaguers just how the big boys play. And they will provide leadership to the rookies and we will have a team, not individuals. I see one individual; he has to answer to me. Thank you all for coming and we will see you hear on Opening Day, 2002."
Josh stopped the tape. "She actually did it."
"Who did what?" Donna questioned.
"Marilyn," Josh said gesturing to the blank screen. "She said she would be the first woman to lead a Major League baseball team, and damn if she didn't do it."
"Wait a minute," Donna said skeptically. "You know her?"
"I did," Josh said softly as he got up from the chair. "Marilyn worked the Hill with me and Sam briefly."
"I don't get it," Donna stated. "How was that? I thought she said that she worked in baseball all her life."
Before Josh could answer, Sam came barreling into the office.
"Josh!" He said excitedly. "Did you see who the new GM of the Orioles is?"
"Yeah, I just saw a tape of the press conference," he said. "Was it just announced today?"
"Yeah, this morning," Sam grinned. "About that, Josh..."
"So I assume Marilyn sent the tape," Josh interrupted. Donna could hear both admiration and something more intimate in his voice. "Why did I ever doubt her?"
"Excuse me," Donna said, raising her hand. "But could someone please fill me in?"
"I'd be happy to," came a soft southern voice from behind Donna and Sam. "How's life, Yankee boy?"
Donna and Sam turned around to see Marilyn standing in the doorway. She was no longer in her power suit, but dressed in form fitting jeans and an Orioles golf shirt. Without even waiting for a response, Marilyn breezed past Donna and Sam, making a beeline toward Josh. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. Donna let out a gasp.
"Oops, forgot there were others," Marilyn whispered, breaking the kiss.
"What?" Josh remarked stupefied as he shook his head.
"Sam didn't tell you I was here, huh?" Marilyn said as she backed away then smoothed out her shirt.
"What makes you say that?" Josh replied with a vacant stare.
"Close your mouth, Josh, you look stupid like that," she said as she turned toward Donna and offered a firm handshake. "And you must be Donna Moss. Sam told me all about you."
"He did?" Donna remarked. "What did he say?"
"That you're Josh's right hand man--or woman--I should say," Marilyn grinned. "We really should get together sometime and talk about Mr. Lyman."
"You really don't," Josh interjected. "Besides, don't you have a baseball team or something to run now, Rebel Girl?"
"Don't you have bridges to burn?" Marilyn shot back.
Donna noticed Josh turning several shades of red.
"None would be as fun as you," Josh said.
Marilyn flashed a grin that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous.
"Listen, I had official business here," Marilyn continued. "I came to extend the official invitation for the President to throw out the first pitch next season. The President and the entire staff are invited as my special guests."
"I think it's safe to say that the President will be delighted," Sam said.
"And even if he's not, we'll see to it," Josh said confidently.
"We will?" Sam said and caught a stabbing glare from Josh. "Oh, right. Yeah, we will."
"Great. I'll pencil you guys in," Marilyn said, turning towards the door. She began to leave but stopped next to Donna. She leaned over and whispered. "We'll definitely get together and have a pow-wow. I'll call you."
And with that, Marilyn walked out of Josh's
office and disappeared around the corner. Donna watched as Josh's
gaze lingered in that direction and a wistful look hung on his face that
slowly melted into a grin.