Day 3
12:36. Donna will be back from her shopping spree in 24 minutes with my salad and milkshake. I, of course, went to the mess about 45 minutes ago and got a burger and fries. I made sure I went when no one I know was around, and then ate in Toby's office while he was in a meeting on the Hill, so she wouldn't smell it in my office. Then, I threw away the evidence in a trashcan in the east lobby. No, I'm not afraid of my assistant.
My assistant, who took my credit card right out of my wallet when she left to go to Nordstrom's, saying something about me needing a new tie. Let's ignore the fact that I have at least 20 ties in my closet, plus the three or four I keep here. If I reached into her purse for something, it would be over for me, she would cut off my hand. Yet, she tells me to give her my wallet and I do, no questions asked.
12:44. I'm a little worried about my milkshake. I forgot to tell her that I wanted strawberry. What if she gets some weird flavor like, I don't know, chocolate? This could be a disaster. Well, not a 6.2-earthquake disaster; more like a mini-disaster. But a disaster nonetheless.
12:53. Donna walks past my office and into her cubicle. A minute later, she walks into my office and puts a milkshake and a bag on my desk and leaves. I assume the bag contains the rabbit food she thinks I'm going to eat for lunch. I put the straw in the shake; it's chocolate. Doesn't she know me by now? We've been together, let me rephrase that, working together for, like, our whole lives, has she ever seen me drink a chocolate shake?
"Don't, that's mine." She's back with several bags in her hand.
"A milkshake was in the deal, you don't get to drink it." Even though I don't want this… this…excuse for a shake.
"But that's chocolate, you hate chocolate shakes." She does know me!!
Yet she bought me chocolate anyway? "So you bought me a chocolate milkshake knowing I'd hate it, just so you could drink it?" I'm impressed, Moss.
She doesn't answer me; she just walks out of my office, leaving the bags. A few seconds later, she returns with another milkshake in her hand. "This strawberry one is yours. The chocolate one is for me." She's smiling. I love her smile. I've mentioned that once or twice over the last few days, haven't I?
"I am, however, going to eat your salad."
Now this is a tricky situation. I don't care if she eats my salad, but I can't let on to that, or she'll know about my covert lunch operation. "But Donna, that's my lunch." I put a whine on it, just to keep up appearances.
"No it's not, you had a burger and fries from the mess." How does she know that? I took all necessary precautions to prevent her from knowing that.
"Donna, how could you say that?"
"Joshua." She looks at me and rolls her eyes. Then she takes the salad, dressing, and a plastic fork out of the bag and begins eating my lunch.
"You have spies in the mess, don't you?" This earns me a chuckle. She thinks I'm kidding. Truth is, I think she does have spies. For a while I thought she worked for the CIA, and I was her assignment. Throughout the years, at one point or another, I've believed that my mailman, my mechanic, my cable guy, the head cook in the mess, the entire crew at the Starbucks by my condo and Toby are all spies for Donna. And no, I'm not paranoid.
"You want to see your tie? All the girls are gonna love it."
I smirk. "Well, I can make anything look good. Let me see. "
She leans over and picks up four bags from the floor. That's when I see it. I can't believe I didn't sense it in the room. There's something inside of men, it's a basic part of us. Like watching baseball or preferring beer to wine, spotting Victoria's Secret bags from a hundred yards away is a basic part of men. What is she doing with that in here? I know I've asked before, but I think it bears repeating. Is she trying to kill me?
"What is that doing in here?" I'm beginning to panic. I'm beginning to sweat. I'm beginning to imagine what's in that bag, and worse yet, I'm beginning to imagine it on Donna.
She, however, has no idea what I'm talking about. "What? I took the metro today. I need to leave these in here until I go." She can't leave that here. She cannot leave that here. Doesn't she know what a Victoria's Secret bag does to a man's concentration, not to mention his blood pressure?
Act cool. "You can't leave that in here!" I think I screamed that. She doesn't get it. She can't get it because there is no male equivalent to Victoria's Secret. A Victoria's Secret bag turns a man's mind to jello. There is no bag I could walk in here with that would do that to her. Men don't have stores that turn women into jello. So, she can't know what I'm going through.
"Joshua, don't be a baby. They won't get in the way." They, like I give a damn about the other three bags.
"What's in… I mean… weren't you… how'd you have time… I… I thought you were going to buy a sweater and a tie. What's… all that stuff?" I'm waiving my hands around like a mad man at this point. The walls are closing in around me.
"It didn't take me as long as I thought it would, so I went to a few other stores too. I made it back in just under two hours, I'll have you know." This is totally normal to her. There is a Victoria's Secret bag in my office, and this is normal to her. My throat is dry.
"Yes, but you made it back with a Victoria's Secret bag!!!!!" I'm staring at it. I can't take my eyes off of it. It's like an accident. You should look away, but you can't.
She doesn't even look up from my salad. "Oh, well, I needed a few things from there too." What does she need from Victoria's Secret? Who is going to see that stuff? Oh no, she has a date. A hot date. A date in which she expects to be having sex. I'm going to pass out.
"What…what…what… what things?" And who is going to see them on you?
"Josh, do you want to see your things or not."
Me? "I get to see them? Yes. Yes. I definitely want to see them. Yes. Please. Yes. Yes. I'd like to see them. Yes." How many times did I just say yes?'
"Of course you get to see them. They're yours." They're mine? Is she saying what I think she's saying? She bought Victoria's Secret things for me? She's going to wear Victoria's Secret things for me? I'm the date she's going to have sex with? Is this a dream? I can't breath. Is she going to try them on for me? Is she going to try them on for me now? Here? I should shut the door. I should lock the door. I should breathe. I should say something. She's going to…
She pulls a tie out of one bag and a shirt out of another, and that's when I realize we're not talking about the same thing. My head drops to my desk with a rather large thud.
"You were just going to get a tie, but this shirt goes perfectly with it, so you bought it too." She's very please with herself.
"Really. Did I buy anything else?" Cause if I bought anything in the Victoria's Secret bag, I'm going to need to see it.
"Just your lunch and our shakes."
I'm shaken out of my daze for a moment. "But, it's really your lunch now," I say as she takes a bite.
"It's not my fault you ate a burger and fries."
"You don't know that." She rolls her eyes again. "I didn't want a salad." I'm whining now.
"You should have negotiated better yesterday." That's my girl. She's quite the political mastermind. She learned it from me. I'm proud of her. Scared, but proud.
"And you got the all-important sweater?" And lingerie?
"Yes, 50 off. And, I ran into Congresswoman Miller. She was shopping for her husband. She wants to meet with you on the welfare reform bill. I think you're going to be able to win her over."
Who is the lingerie for? I have to find out, but obviously I can't ask. What? Congress, welfare? What is she talking about? We're discussing Victoria's Secret, not congressmen.
"What else did you get?" I'm not looking at her; I am once again mesmerized by the pink and white bag sitting on my desk.
"Just this stuff," she says, pointing to said bag.
"Do I get to see that too?" I didn't just say that. I did not say that. Please tell me I didn't just say that.
"Sure, I'll try it on for you. You can tell me what you think." What???????????????
"Ok." That was more like a squeak than a word. "Right now?" Still a squeak. Is this really happening?
I finally look up from the bag to her face, her not in a million years' face. She has no intentions of trying anything on for me. I think I whimper when I realize this.
"So, you're not going to let me see what's in the bag?" She just laughs, then gets up and puts all four of the bags in the visitor's chair and walks to the door.
"Good guess. Go back to work. And no, I don't have a hot date, at least not tonight." With that she raises her eyebrows, then turns and leaves.
2:09. There is a Victoria's Secret bag in the visitor's chair across from my desk. It's been there for about an hour. Twice, I've gone over to the chair and tried to look into the bag. I didn't actually touch it; I just tried to peek inside. Unfortunately, there's all this tissue paper coming out of the top, barring me from seeing its contents. So, now I'm trying to devise a plot to get a look at what's in that bag.
3:10. I've got a plan. I'm going to get something from the top of the bookshelf. To get up there, I need to stand on the visitor's chair. To stand on the visitor's chair, I'm going to have to move the bags off of the chair, and I'm going to accidentally knock over the Victoria's Secret bag, spilling its contents. That's the plan.
4:04. I haven't gotten up the nerve to carry out the plan. I still can't take my eyes off the bag, and I have mental images of Donna wearing whatever's in it. It's very warm in here; I've gone through about three bottles of water plus my strawberry shake.
6:11. I quietly and slowly get up from my desk. I walk over to the chair and set the bags on the floor. I "accidentally" knock the Victoria's Secret bag onto the floor and on its side. I reach down to pick it up and…
"What are you doing?"
"Ahhhh!!!" She's a spy. I'm telling you, she's a spy!
"Josh, why are you screaming, and what are you doing?"
"I just… I needed…I couldn't reach…" I'm panicking. I'm a master politician and I'm panicking at the thought of being caught going through my assistant's underwear. I'm pointing towards the bookshelf and glancing at the floor, and then back to the bookshelf. I am sleaze.
"Oh, what do you need from up there? I'll pull it off the computer." She has no idea what I'm really doing. She's buying the story. She's so innocent. You've got to love her.
"I need the report for the thing." The report for the thing? Never let it be said that I can't think quickly on my feet.
"Ok." She leans over, picks up the bags and puts them back on the chair. Then she starts to leave to get the report for the thing, I don't know what thing. "Oh, and Josh?" I look up at her. "Stay the hell out of that bag." She smiles and walks out.
I'm still standing by the chair and I look back at the bag. I don't touch it; I just look at it, and I can't help thinking of Tom Hanks in Apollo 13. He came so close to the moon.