W.W. –Wednesday afternoon
At the hotel, something resembling a normal routine returned. Josh and Donna had a suite, a nice suite, with two bedrooms and a common room with a bar and a dining/conference table. There were faxes and conformations and some emails and phone messages waiting. Both Josh and Donna could do a full hotel deployment in their sleep, and often had over the years.
Donna particularly seemed to fall into the routine with some relief. Roles were defined and procedures were well understood. She could check them in and arrange the schedule without having to think about how things hand changed, about what it all meant. She needed that for just a little while, as it had been a really busy twenty-four hours, even by their standards. She had room service send up sandwiches and got them both fed before the first meeting of the afternoon was scheduled.
Josh was showered and changed and had checked in with Leo and C.J., and was ready for their meeting, a sit-down with Alan Parker, a former Congressman from Orlando who had retired and now served as an advisor to the state Democratic committee. As they waited for Parker and his assistant to arrive, Donna went to fix Josh's tie. She reached out to adjust it, and then she stopped, hands hanging in the air before him.
"Your tie is straight," she accused him.
"Well, yes." He looked slightly embarrassed.
"Your tie is never straight Josh. You are unable, famously unable, to make yourself presentable without my help. I am naturally suspicious of this sudden change."
He grinned and shot her a sheepish look. "I like you straightening my tie."
"Well, I don't mind doing it, but this is a tie is straight. If you can tie a decent knot, why have I wasted some part of almost every day in the last six years fixing your tie?"
"Well," he admitted, his face an interesting study in frank honesty, regret, and sly smiles all at war, "well, on the first campaign in Nashua, that first day, you grabbed my tie and straightened it before I left for the hall."
"And?" she asked, hands moving to her hips as she regarded him with increasing sternness.
"I liked you fixing my tie. I still do. Every day, you find something wrong with my tie, and you step close to me and start doing whatever you do to make me acceptable to you." He looked off into space, eyes crinkling and his grin spreading. "No matter how ticked off you are at me, no matter how stupid I've been or what gomer you've been seeing, for a few moments you're standing six inches from me, with your fingertips touching me. My day doesn't really start till you've done it. I've never thought of it as wasted time."
"But, but," she stammered, honestly flummoxed buy the combination of charm and manipulation and rampaging subtext. "But, if you can tie such a nice knot, how do you know I'll need to adjust it?"
He looked at her, smirking. "Because just before I walk in to the West Wing, or out of the hotel or whatever, I do this." And he grabbed the knot, jerked it down, then slid it roughly back into place. It was still a nicely tied tie, but no longer perfect.
She stared in shock.
"You are not technically sane, either," she accused. "I'm just pointing that out."
"True, but I blame you." There was a shadow of a dimple in his grin.
"Well, you can fix your own tie. I mean, honestly."
"Mmm, I think we both know that's not going to happen, don't we?" he asked her with an increasingly smug grin.
There was a knock at the door. It was time for him to meet with Parker. They stood for another moment, facing one another without speaking.
"Argh," she muttered explosively, reaching up to adjust his tie with the skill of long practice. "You're impossible, Josh Lyman."
"And yet you love me anyway," he breezed as he went by her to the table. "Show Mr. Parker in, Miss Moss."
W.W.
Still rattled, Donna got Parker and his assistant, a young woman named Valeria, introduced and organized at the table. As Josh settled down to discuss opportunities for improving voter mobilization for the next national election, Donna retreated to the other side of the suite.
She had her laptop and research materials set up, and was putting the polish her position paper. She had reached the point she had grown to fear in school, where the work was done but her fretting over the last comma and word choice was not. She began to remember that dropping out had not been entirely about supporting her boyfriend. Maybe she should start over, write a second paper, and then compare it to the first to see which was better?
W.W.
The phone rang and Donna answered, "Josh Lyman."
"Hey Donna, how was your trip?" It was Leo's assistant, Margaret.
"Very different. You know, with the train." Donna was speaking softly to avoid intruding on the conversation going on across the suite.
"Must be nice to get away from DC in January. I'm glad you had fun," Margaret said, and Donna was sure that her blush would be audible to Margaret through the phone line. "Listen, Leo asked me to see if you can send him your draft before the Domestic Policy workgroup meeting at 4:00. Is that a problem?"
"4:00 today?" Donna squeaked, a little louder than she meant to. She saw Josh look over briefly, eyebrow raised. Donna went on more calmly and quietly. "I have a draft but it's not polished. It still needs polishing."
"Well, whatever you have. I think the President asked him to look at it. Everything else is going good here. With this TV thing, you'll be the talk of the bullpen for a week. Are you two really going to hide out till the weekend?"
"We're not hiding out," Donna hissed, trying to stay quiet. "We are following instructions. I'm emailing this file, but make sure you explain to Leo about the polishing, okay? Promise me?"
"You got it, Sister. Now you guys have fun. I wish I got a train ride. I rode the Metroliner to New York a few times, but that was just like going on a plane but with more legroom. What was the sleeper like? Was it awfully romantic? Or was it spoiled by Josh?"
Margaret had a tendency to go off if you didn't keep her on the rails.
"Yes. I mean no. I mean, I was working." Donna sighed. "Will you get back to work? And don't forget to tell them about the polishing. You promised."
"Okay, talk to you later." Margaret sighed once more. "try to get some sun. Oh, and give Josh a kiss for us."
"What does that mean?" Donna was choking and wished she'd thought to get a glass of water.
"Nothing, Donna. I'm just teasing. Sensitive much? See you later."
"Bye." Donna hung her head for a moment and thought about her reactions to Margaret's teasing. It wasn't anything unusual, but it was hard for Donna to shrug it off. She needed a break. Instead of the promised polishing of her position paper, she surfed over to the Orlando visitors' bureau website and read up on the area. She's never been to central Florida before.
W.W.
"Okay, Alan, Valeria," Josh looked at his legal pad and made a quick assessment, " I think that about does it. Unless you had anything else?"
"No, sir, Mr. Lyman," said Valeria. She had given up trying to call him Josh. She was a little star struck, having mostly dealt with local contributors and the occasional national party flack. Having sat across the table from Josh Lyman for an hour, she understood the fan clubs and the web sites. When he turned his attention on you, Josh Lyman had the kind of indefinable charisma that turned beliefs into passions and passions into causes. "Thank you, sir." She glanced at her boss to make sure they were done.
"Valeria," drawled Parker with the Texas twang he had not lost in almost 45 years living in Florida, "be a good girl and let me and Josh have a quick word, will you? Maybe you could go arrange to have the car brought around?"
"Of course. Mr. Lyman," she nodded to Josh. "Just ring when you want the car, sir." She excused herself and headed downstairs.
"Nice kid," Josh observed casually. "Polite. So, what else can we do for you, Alan?"
"Actually, I just wanted to float something past you. I know you're doing good work for the President, Josh, and we all appreciate it."
"Thanks, but I'm sure you have something more on your mind?"
Alan leaned forward and regarded Josh over the wire rims of his glasses. "You know I'm on the governing board of UCF, don't you?"
"The Universoty? Sure," Josh thought for a moment. "You had that quarterback who went in the draft a while back, Culpeper, right? And some artist who was in DC at the National Gallery?"
"Right you are. Well, the school currently offers graduate poli-sci programs in Political Analysis and Policy, International studies and Environmental studies."
"I remember something about that. You sponsored a bipartisan board on wetlands conservation and business ethics, something like that?" Josh was recalling the 'back of the envelope' notes he'd made when prepping for his meeting with Parker.
Josh liked knowing everything, or appearing to, and Donna had found a nice summary of Parker's involvement with the wetlands board. It had caught her eye because Governor Ritchie had endorsed the board as a sign of bipartisan action, and then disregarded most of its recommendations.
"Yeah, that was ours. The thing is Josh, some of us, some of us in the alumni association and on the University board, are looking to raise the profile of the program."
"Do you want me to drop a word with the DNC? They might be able to shake loose a few internships for you."
"I had something different in mind." Alan leaned back in his chair and regarded Josh appraisingly. "What would you think about a position leading a new program, a school of government and leadership studies? Associate professor, full campus privileges, light class load, just enough to give the students your experience but enough free time to keep in touch with the national committee. Plus, regular office hours and home to your own bed most nights. Sound interesting?"
"Teaching- for me?" Josh blinked. "Well, yeah, I mean, no, I have a commitment to the President and to the DNC, Alan. No. No, we have a lot on our plate before the next guy comes, and we need to make sure the next guy is our guy. No. No."
"I know it's out of left field Josh, but I want you to take a few days and consider it, would you? We wouldn't need an answer till the end of January, and you would have plenty of time to arrange a transition in Washington."
"No, it's not that, it's…" Josh wished he could express clearly why his job wasn't voluntary, why it was what he needed to be doing. "Sure, I mean, I'll give it some thought, but I can tell you, the President needs me. Leo McGarry needs me."
"As I said, just give it a thought. We'd like to have a candidate named before we shape the curriculum and start recruiting, and I'd rather wait for the right guy then grab the best one left on the shelf." He stood, and shook hands with a warm smile and a firm handshake, still the political player even past his prime.
"Just remember one thing, Josh."
"What's that?"
"If the next guy, and the guy after that, are going to be our guys, we need to make sure there is a renewable supply of our guys. A good school, with the right leaders, can do that. I think back to that policy review series at Yale. I recall a certain student who wrote to me for about six years after we met on campus, explaining in great detail why everything I said was wrong."
Josh grinned. "It's amazing how much smarter you got the older I got, Alan. I'm inclined to save your time and tell you 'no,' but I promise to think it over."
"That's all I ask. Maybe you'll find over time that I'm still getting smarter, eh? Give my regards to your mother. You seeing her while you're down?"
He noticed the way Josh glanced at his assistant before quietly answering. "She's down in West Palm. I imagine we'll be too busy to go down this trip."
They promised to keep in touch, and made a few more minutes of small talk before Parker excused himself and headed to his car. Josh stood for a few minutes looking at the closed door, lost in thought after Parker left.
"Donna!" His habitual call, in the comfortable suite, seemed loud even to Josh's ears.
"What? Again, with the shouting. Honestly, I'm right here." He turned, a little surprised. She had her legs pulled up under her at the desk, her hair in a loose knot at the nape of her neck, and a pencil behind one ear. She was stunning.
"What's next?" he asked, remembering even as he asked.
"I was hoping you'd tell me, actually. Your itinerary says Lake Buena Vista Development Company outreach, blocked out for over 5 hours, but there's no contact info and I never got a confirmation. Margaret said you requested it."
"Oh, yeah. Get changed. Comfortable shoes and that sweatshirt you stole from me." He walked over and handed her the envelope the concierge had slipped him when they checked in.
"What is-" She peeked in the envelope. Inside were two credit card-sized wafers of bar-coded plastic, one with Mickey Mouse and one with Minnie Mouse across the front.
"We need to be back here at 10:00 for the conference call. Until then, it's way past time someone showed you the house the mouse built."
She looked at him, at the tickets, at her schedules.
"Lake Buena Vista is the address of the Disney parks, isn't it? I read that. You moved a meeting and a briefing, so I could have five hours in Disney World." It wasn't a question.
"It'll be more like six hours if you'll move your cute little ass and go get some walking shoes." He grinned as she flew to her feet and went searching for her flats and her camera. She suddenly stopped when she reached the doorway and looked back.
"You really think it's cute?" she asked him, looking back over her shoulder at her derriere. She gave an experimental wiggle.
"Good God, woman, get your shoes!" he raged in mock anger and frustration, while trying not to dwell on the sight of her waggling bottom. He was struck by the thought that whether he stayed in Washington or took a job outside the Beltway, some day in the not too distant future, Donna Moss was not going to be his assistant any more.
Who would he muss his tie for then? He wondered if college professors got assistants, and what they did instead of putting in 18- to 20-hour days at the White House.
Donna reappeared, with his old Harvard sweatshirt wrapped around her waist and her camera in one hand and the tickets in the other. Her smile would stop traffic. Mmm. Wrong thoughts. He laughed. Very, very wrong. His smile spread till his dimple pinched his face on the right side and his eyelid started to flutter. It felt great. It was a good day.
W.W.
"Leo?" The President looked over his glasses at his Chief of Staff. "Do we have a response from Figueroa?"
"Ah, no sir. This is about the other thing. I can give you a minute…"
Jed Bartlet took his reading glasses off and stood up. An eager grin took about fifteen years off his face as he hopped out from behind his desk.
"The paper, already? I wasn't expecting anything till Monday or Tuesday!"
Leo grinned for a moment. More than one staffer referred to this particular expression as "The Grinch" because he looked just like the Grinch carving the roast beast. The grin faded a bit as he handed the document in question to the President.
"I asked Margaret to let me know if we'd have a draft this week, and being Margaret, and not knowing what it was for…" He shrugged. "When Donna heard Margaret wanted to show me a draft, she sent this."
The President was reading, his hand once again holding his reading glasses by the temple as he rapidly scanned the paper. A few times he grinned at a particular turn of phrase, then he frowned. The frown deepened as he jumped to the sources and supporting documents attached.
"This is all new, and supported?" He handed the paper back to Leo.
"Yeah. I ran it by Toby and had him look at the language. It doesn't really match anything we've done before. It's definitely hers. And the conclusions, especially that first part there, aren't so good."
"So what do we do about it now? I assume you have some ideas."
"Well, Mr. President, we obviously need to sit down with Donna when she gets back. I have a few ideas, but I want to tiger team things with some people, maybe tomorrow, before they come back."
"Keep me posted. Sure you aren't coming to the Kennedy tonight?"
"No sir, but you can fill me in at the Brazil briefing after." Leo hoped to wrap things early, since he worried the President was taking too many late nights. The strain was beginning to show on them all, but the President was not an entirely well man.
The President nodded. "Sounds like a plan. See you in a few hours."
As the President left the Oval Office, Leo went back to his office, shaking his head. Some days he wished he still drank. Okay, every day he wished he still drank. But when something like this happened, when everything good came with a complimentary shot in the gut, it made him remember why he had quit. It took emotional reserves to shake off bad news and keep working, and drinking took those reserves away. Donna had done some nice work, but she'd also put the spotlight on some looming problems that they would have to face sooner rather than later.
