Chapter 4 - What's Her Face and What's His Name

Oh God, what have I done? I can't go out with her again, I can't. I'm not strong enough. She's a predator; she'll kill me. And what's worse is that no one will know it. I won't show up to work tomorrow and they'll just give my job to Donna, she can do it, no problem. Bonnie and Ginger will fight over who gets to quit working for Toby and start working for her and by noon it'll be business as usual.

How did this even happen? It was like a snowball rolling down a hill; it just kept growing and growing, moving too fast to stop until it finally crushed us both, leaving no way for either of us to win. But Donna's safe; Monotone Mike won't kill her. He's nowhere near her type, granted, but he's a nice guy. What's her face is going to kill me; it's over for me and I haven't even written my memoirs.

I'm panicking. Get a grip, Lyman. There has to be a way out of this. Think. Fake an illness? I just called her, that won't work. Unless it's food poisoning! That could work. Or if my car were stolen and I was forced to spend the evening dealing with the police, that could work. Or if I could arrange for Kumar to bomb someone, perhaps that would do the trick. You know what I need? I need the list I use to keep Donna from dating. I wonder where that is.

"What're you looking for?"

Oh shit! She hasn't been in here for the last three hours and she picks now, while I'm looking for my list? I've said it before, and I'll say it again, she has cameras in here. "Nothing."

"You're looking for something."

"No I'm not." I said that really fast.

"Whatever. I'm leaving at three."

"Why?"

She gives me an evil smile. "I have to get ready for my big date."

"Your big date isn't until 7. Why do you need to leave at three?"

"I'm having a manicure and pedicure, plus I need to shave my legs."

Legs! Why does she need to shave her legs? "Why do you need to shave your legs?" Not the voice thing. For once in my life, I'd like to sound like a man when I'm freaking out.

"I'm going to want smooth legs with the skirt I'm wearing tonight."

Who's going to be judging the smoothness of her legs? And why isn't her skirt going to be long enough to cover them? "Maybe you should just wear a longer skirt! You know, if you dress… he'll think…" Now I'm waiving my arms around. Why do I do that?

She wiggles her eyebrows at me. "Like I said, I'm leaving at three."

She wouldn't sleep with him, would she? Just to piss me off? She wouldn't do that, right? I wonder how long it's been since she's… you know. If she's hard up, she… no, she's not going sleep with Monotone Mike just to get me. Right?

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

What is this, a job interview? We've been here for twenty-five minutes, and all what's her face has talked about are her qualifications. At least Amy and Mandy were subtle about it; this one has a lot to learn. I can't help glancing over at the door to the kitchen every time a waiter comes through it, hoping, nearly praying it's our food so we can eat and end this mess. I'm going to have to completely over tip the waiter after the snide comments what's her face has made to him. At this point I'm only hoping he doesn't spit in our food. Well, at least not mine. I wouldn't complain if he spit in hers, hell, let me back there and I'll do it myself.

"…but that was before I worked for the EPA. Did you know I worked there?"

She drones on and on about the work she did with the EPA before working for the Department of Health and Children, and I feel like I'm blacking out. I try to pass the time by thinking about Donna, but I keep picturing her in something sexy, smiling and flirting with Monotone Mike, his hand on her freshly-shaved thigh, her skirt ending four inches above her knee, just the hint of breast showing through the three buttons left open on her silky top. I'm driving myself insane.

"…that was by far the most mundane part of my existence to date."

Like this is the most mundane part of mine to date? Of course, I could picture Donna's date another way. I smile as I picture the two of them arguing about private education and arts in general. She's spouting facts and figures off in a way that would make the President proud. He's not getting it, not that he's stupid so much as he's set in his ways and unable to see past his own viewpoint. Finally, the discussion of sex education and making condoms available to students comes up and after arguing some more, she can't take it and shoves his head into his soup to get him to shut-up. I like that picture better.

"…you know what I mean?"

Uh oh. I look up from my salad and smile. I have no idea what she's talking about. How is it that a perfectly attractive woman can hold so little appeal to me? Where did the Josh go that craved these power hungry women? The one who saw them as a challenge, a fight, a game to be won? I mean really, she's really quite attractive. I mean, she's no Donna, but with the alabaster skin and the gorgeous naturally blonde hair that hangs so beautifully around her face, who could be? But still, once upon a time I would've found what's her face attractive. I would've been drawn to her…frankness, to put it nicely. She has shoulder length dark brown hair, she's petite, short… to be honest, she's like a cross between Amy and Mandy. Short and petite like Mandy, hair like Amy's, outright vicious like Mandy, hiding behind a worthwhile cause like Amy. At one point in my life, she would've been my type. I find myself feeling a little ill at the thought that I've not only found women like her attractive, but that I've dated them and even slept with them.

"…at least she knows her place. There's a difference between knowing facts and understanding something well enough to offer a valid opinion."

Her place? What poor unsuspecting woman is she talking about now? "Uh, ok." Whatever.

"Take your press secretary for example. Her job is to handle the press. She tells them what's happening with the decisions you make, she doesn't make decisions, she doesn't offer up advice to the President. She knows that's not her job."

I slowly put my salad fork down and look up at her. What's her face has no idea what danger she's in right now. If CJ had heard that, she would've killed her here on the spot. Sure, she would've gone on living, but it would have been a shell of her prior existence, and probably wouldn't have been in the DC area. Damn, I wish she were here. "Actually, CJ is very vocal to the President. She's one of his chief advisors, and advising him is most definitely part of her job."

She tilts her head and smiles a little bit. That's the first time I've seen her smile, it's kind of weird. It makes me think that must be what a serial killer looks like when he smiles. "Well, that didn't help my theory, did it?"

I take another bite of my salad. I'm purposely eating quickly so the waiter will take heed and get our main dishes out. Surely he knows I'm dying over here. He's seen the pleas for help I've been giving him with my eyes. "Theory?"

"That some people don't know their place. Like your secretary for instance." My eyes shoot up. "She knew enough about classical music last night to know I like Baroque. She didn't pretend to know enough to offer an opinion on it herself. She knew the facts, but that doesn't make her a classical musician."

Stay calm Josh. "Actually, my assistant, who has a name, loves classical music. Just because she didn't mention any specifics…"

She cuts me off. "You're misunderstanding me. I'm not putting her down; in fact I'm complimenting her. I'm a fan of classical, specifically baroque music, and my reasons for liking it are purely aesthetic. I wouldn't think to tell someone who prefers Mozart that Bach was the better composer. I don't know enough about it to make that judgment. And Donna was the same way, she didn't offer up commentary on why one composer or work is better than another. That wasn't her place in the conversation, just as it wasn't mine."

Oh. Well, that's ok, I guess. I nod. "Just for information purposes, she likes Russian composers. Shostakovich, Tchaikovsky, Prokofiev…"

"And I don't know much about them, so I won't comment." I nod. This isn't so bad. "My concern with your secretary… sorry, your assistant, came during the discussion with her boyfriend." Or maybe it is that bad.

"He's not her boyfriend." Hmm… that came out pretty defensively, with a rather large stress on the word 'not.'

"Whatever," she says as though she couldn't care less, and let's face it, she probably couldn't. "The way she went off about the arts programs… I mean, he's the teacher, don't you think he knows more on the subject than a secretary does?"

"Actually, our administration has worked on arts in education extensively. Donna knows more than her fair share. In fact, I've never known Donna to spout off about something unless she has a clear grasp of it." I leave that hang there for a minute and try to control my anger. I did this. I asked for a second night of this. This is how she is, and I'm not going to go off like a barbarian in the middle of Bardeo's. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to use the restroom," I say, standing up.

I stand in the restroom for a few minutes and try to get a hold of myself. I can't do this much longer. When is the main dish coming and why didn't I give more thought to the food poisoning idea?

I've messed up. It's time to be a man and admit it. And I need to hear Donna's voice. I take out my cell and call her. Pick up. Pick up. Pick….damn it, her voice mail. "This is Donna Moss, assistant to Josh Lyman. Please leave me your name and number, as well as what this is concerning and either Josh or I will get back to you as soon as possible."

Maybe it's because I couldn't defend her out there the way I wanted to. Maybe it's because I got angry and pushed this morning. Maybe it's because I just like talking to her, but as soon as I hear the beep, I start ranting. "Donna, it's Josh. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I was wrong. She is worse than Monotone Mike. She's worse than Amy, she's worse than Mandy; hell she might be worse than Hitler. She's a living nightmare. We've only been here….oh man, 42 minutes. I'm not going to make it. I don't even know what I'm doing here. I mean really, what were we thinking this morning? Anyway, I've been hiding in the bathroom for several minutes now, so I have to go back out there. I'm sorry if your night is as bad as mine, and I hope your skirt isn't too short. And, well, if you get this, and you want to call me back and get me out of this nightmare with a fake emergency, I'd welcome it, but if you want to make me suffer through the night, that's ok. I deserve it. Call me when you get home so I know your ok. Bye."

And with that, I take a deep breath and go back out to what's her face.

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

The vibrating of my cell phone wakes me from the coma I'm in while waiting on our main dish to come. Thank goodness our next stop is a movie. At least what's his name will have to be quiet for two solid hours. It's not so much what he says as how he says it. His voice is so freakin' monotone. I have to keep blinking to make sure I'm sill alive.

I look down at the caller i.d. It's Josh. Hmm… should I get it? He's probably calling to tell me what a great time he's having. To tell me that if I need him in the morning, I'm going to have to call his cell, because he won't be home. Bastard. I actually don't think there's any chance at all that he's really having a good time, but he might fake it for my benefit. Of course, he could be calling me about a work emergency, so I should answer. Here's what I'll do. I'll let the voicemail get it, and then I'll check it, in case it's work related.

I remember telling Josh this morning that if he and Kelly-'ho hadn't interrupted our date, I might have found some things what's his name and I have in common. Well, I was wrong about that. Apparently, there's some woman named Deborah Renshaw who he's a fan of, and he's also pretty complimentary about some guy named Keith Urban. I don't have anything against either of them, but of course, how could I? I've never heard of them.

When my phone buzzes once more, telling me I have a message, I excuse myself to use the restroom. Please oh please let my chicken teriyaki be here when I get back so we can eat and get to the theatre to move this thing along. When I call my voicemail, I find that Josh has left me a very sweet message.

"Donna, it's Josh. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I was wrong. She is worse than Monotone Mike. She's worse than Amy, she's worse than Mandy; hell she might be worse than Hitler. She's a living nightmare. We've only been here….oh man, 42 minutes. I'm not going to make it. I don't even know what I'm doing here. I mean really, what were we thinking this morning? Anyway, I've been hiding in the bathroom for several minutes now, so I have to go back out there. I'm sorry if your night is as bad as mine, and I hope your skirt isn't too short. And, well, if you get this, and you want to call me back and get me out of this nightmare with a fake emergency, I'd welcome it, but if you want to make me suffer through the night, that's ok. I deserve it. Call me when you get home so I know your ok. Bye."

I can't help smiling as I picture him staring at his fork like it might be better to just shove it through his eardrum rather than listen to her talk any longer. I know I've been staring at mine that way the entire evening.

I could call him, and he could use it as a way to get out of his date, but that's not fair. It's not fair to Kelly-'ho, who he asked out just to prove a point to me, and it's certainly not fair to me. If I have to suffer through this night, so does he. Of course, I could have him call me back with an excuse to get me out of my date, but that wouldn't be fair to what's his name, who only got a second date out of me because I was trying to prove a point to Josh. What webs we weave...

On the other hand, I don't want Josh to think I hate him or I'm pissed at him. I mean, yeah, I was pissed, but that fight we had this morning took two. He didn't cause it completely alone, and I didn't have to drag what's his name into it, so I'm just as much to blame as he is. Well, not as much, really. He's more to blame, but I'm a little to blame.

In the end, I decide to text message him. This way, he'll see I'm not mad, but won't be able to use it to get out of his date. After several tries, this is what I come up with. "Having similar night. We're idiots. At least I get Tom Hanks and Milkduds later. Be nice, we caused this. Will call when I get home. Skirt ankle length."

And with that, I take a deep breath and go back out to what's his name.