Thursday, November 28, 2002.
Mom and I are sitting at my kitchen table, drinking coffee when a rumpled, sleepy Donna emerges from our bedroom. I smile into the paper when she pauses to run her fingers through my hair, tilting my face up so she can give me a kiss.
"Good morning."
She yawns before mumbling a reply. Donna is not functional in the morning until she's had coffee or sex. Preferably both. This morning she's had neither.
Pouring herself a cup, she looks slightly disconcerted. "Shouldn't I be smelling turkey by now?"
I glance from the sports page to the clock. I put the thing in about an hour ago; it should maybe smell a little. Sniffing the air, I head to the oven. The oven that contains a twenty-pound fresh turkey that I got up at seven o'clock this morning to stuff.
The oven that I forgot to turn on.
Shit.
Both my mother and Donna start to giggle uncontrollably.
"Guess we'll be eating a little later than planned," Mom gasps.
Somehow, my forgetting to turn the oven on is the perfect capper to this very bizarre week.
Monday, for example, Donna was possessed by Satan. That's what Ginger claimed, anyway.
***
Monday, November 25, 2002
9:30 a.m.
*bing*
"Donna!"
It takes her a full minute to wander into my office.
"What?"
"It binged." I point at the new computer maintenance installed over the weekend.
"Binged?" She repeats.
I want my old computer back. I knew where everything was, I had figured out what all of the noises meant and I was capable of operating it. This thing is possessed. I've been fighting with it since 7:30 this morning, but this is the first time I've resorted to asking Donna for help. She is standing in my doorway with her arms crossed looking at me like I'm fundamentally stupid.
"That's it," She snaps. "IT is coming up here and giving you one of those Macintosh laptops that Sam and CJ have. Any moron can use those."
"Donna," I'm trying to be patient, but I think I might be whining. "I just wanna know why it goes bing."
"What are you? Like six? It just bings. If you don't like it, change the sound effect. Better yet, check your damn email." She huffs and storms back to her desk to call the computer geeks up here again.
Oh. My email. Where the hell did my email icon go?
From Donna's desk I hear, "Upper left hand corner, fourth icon down. Looks like a little LETTER!"
What the hell did I do and how the hell does she do that?
Great, it's from my mother. I forgot to call her yesterday like I was supposed to.
To: jlyman@whitehouse.gov
From: elisalyman@hotmail.com
Subject: Flight Info
Joshua:
Since you seem to be incapable of operating a telephone, I decided to try email. I wanted to let you know my flight gets in to National Wednesday at 9 a.m. You are still off on Wednesday, right? I am not flying up there and cooking dinner by myself. You WILL help.
Have you considered inviting Leo?
Love, Mom.
Standing up and stretching, I meander out of my office to Donna's desk. The glare she gives me when I plant my ass on her desk almost makes me wish I'd yelled from the safety of my office.
"What now?"
Definitely should have stayed in my office.
"Mom wants to invite Leo to Thanksgiving dinner."
"Can we talk about this tonight? I'm busy and you've got a meeting with the House GAO liaison in fifteen minutes." Donna effectively dismisses me by returning to her research.
I give up. Not only is my new computer possessed, so is my assistant.
"Yeah, sure. I'm sorry I bugged you. I'm going to head over to the GAO." I bail before she hurls something at my head.
The path out of the West Wing takes me past the coffee machine where CJ is tanking up on caffeine after her morning briefing.
"What's the matter, mi amour?" CJ is as chipper as Donna is pissy.
I'm not sure which is worse.
"Donna's in a mood," I admit, matching strides with her.
"What the hell did you do?" She demands just as I hang a right into the lobby.
Walking backwards through security, I shrug my shoulders. "If you can figure it out, let me know, so I can fix it."
***
I come back around 1:30. Trying to make up for whatever sin I committed, I drop a chicken salad sandwich off on Donna's desk on the way to my office. Ten minutes later, I discover that was a bad move when the sandwich, sans plastic container, is unceremoniously dropped on the report I'm reading.
"Jackass." I hear her mutter as she stalks out of my office.
What the hell did I do?
I know this isn't PMS, that was supposed to be last week. I keep a calendar in my drawer so I can prepare for it. Sam stumbles into my office as I contemplate what I could have possibly done. He's looking over his shoulder at my assistant.
"What the hell did you do?"
I dump the report, sandwich and all, in the trash. "I have no idea. Do me a favor? See if Ginger will make me another copy of FEMA's 2003 disaster projections?"
"They make disaster projections?"
"It's not like they're accurate. They just guess how many floods, hurricanes, tornadoes, wildfires and crap there will be and how much it's going to cost us each year. I've got a meeting with Tom Ludwig tomorrow afternoon and I need to know their projections. Donna just ruined my copy with a chicken salad sandwich."
"Sure. What are your Thanksgiving plans?"
"They have something to do with my mother. What's up?"
"Nothing. Don't worry about it," he stammers when Donna stalks back into my office.
"Hoynes. 5 minutes. OEOB." She snarls.
***
Meeting with the Vice-President is a blessing compared to my office. On my way back, I detour through Leo's office. Bypassing Margaret, I knock on his open door.
"What's going on, Josh?" he asks, motioning for me to come in and close the door.
"I don't want to go back to my office," I confess.
"I heard Donna was on a rampage. What the hell did you do?"
Shrugging my shoulders, I slump into a chair. "Leo, swear to God, I have no idea."
"Word is she dumped a chicken salad sandwich on your FEMA report."
"Yeah," I answer, staring at my shoes.
"You want my advice?"
"Sure."
"Hide in your office with the door closed for the rest of the day."
"Probably safest. Hey, Mom wants you to come over for Thanksgiving dinner."
"Elisa's coming up here?" Leo stops what he's doing and looks up at me.
What the hell is this? I know that look. I get that look. Sam and Toby have both described it as the specific look I get when I'm talking about Donna.
"Turkey. Thursday. 1 o'clock. Bring that cranberry crap." I inform him, opening his door to go. I can't handle more than one romantic problem at a time and mine gets priority today. My problem involves swinging by the mess to grab another peace offering. Because the last one went over so well.
***
I am slowly dragging my way through the hallways. When I hit the ops bullpen, it's all I can do to not burst out laughing. Someone, probably Ed and Larry, hung crime scene tape all around the bullpen and drew a chalk outline in the middle of the hallway. I think it's funnier than hell, but from the look Donna shoots my way I don't think she is amused.
"Donna?" I tentatively peek through the yellow tape surrounding her desk.
"What?" She doesn't bother to look up.
"I got this for you." I hand over the piece of chocolate silk pie hesitantly, petrified that I'll have to duck if she decides to throw it at me.
"Thanks." She takes the pie with one hand, still typing with the other.
Her acceptance of the pie makes me think whatever possessed Donna has eased its grip. Then I hear the thunk of the pie container landing in the trashcan.
At least she didn't throw it at my head.
I high-tail it into my office and slam the door shut. The rest of my day is reviewing reports. I can feasibly not leave my office until tomorrow morning.
Two hours later a sharp rap on my door pulls my attention from a recap of this year's hurricane related insurance losses. Toby slips into my office concern deepening the creases in his face.
"First of all, your entire staff is insane. Secondly, Ginger refused to bring this over after she heard about the pie incident. Evidently the destruction of chocolate silk pie is cause for an exorcism." Toby tosses me the FEMA report. "What the hell did you do?"
I drop the damage estimates and pick up the projections, flipping through them. "I have no idea, but I'm not leaving my office until she goes home. Unless the President can arrange an emergency, you know, exorcism."
Toby shuffles his feet, regarding me out of the corner of his eye. "You do realize you have to deal with this when you go home?"
"Yeah, but I can perform an exorcism of my own there," I grin at him. Toby hates it when I talk about my sex life. He glares at me and leaves.
I do as Leo advised and spend the rest of the day in my office with the door shut. Bored stiff, I have resorted to honing my computer game skills. Another knock interrupts my latest round of Tetris. Quickly grabbing the FEMA report, I pretend to immerse myself in it before yelling, "come in."
Donna sticks her head in. "It's 8:30, I'm going home."
"Take the car," I tell her, without looking up from my reports. "I'll be right behind you."
***
It's about 9:30 when I get home. I drop my bag by the door as I hang up my coat, kick my shoes off and collapse on the couch with the remote and ESPN.
The next thing I feel is a gentle kiss on my lips.
"Donna?" I mumble, cracking my eyes open.
"I didn't mean to wake you." I can feel her breath on my face. She took my tie and socks off and covered me with a quilt.
Stretching out, I sit up. "It's okay. If I sleep out here, I'll just end up with a crick in my neck and a sore back."
Donna sits next to me, resting her head on my shoulder. Her hair is still damp and she smells like flowers. "I'm sorry I was such a bitch today."
"You want to tell me what I did? So I don't do it again?" I shrug my shoulder to nudge her.
"You didn't do anything. I was just having a bad day and I took it out on you." She leans over, rewarding me with a deep kiss. "Come to bed, Joshua."
I grab her hand, keeping her on the sofa by wrapping my other arm around her shoulders. "Wait. I want to talk about Thanksgiving first."
"Leo." She confirms with some disbelief.
"They're old friends. Mom probably just wants someone, other than me, to talk to about Dad," I explain, trying to banish the image of Leo's face from my mind.
"If it will make your mom happy, then it sounds fine. I only see one problem."
"What?"
"Well, I've never actually cooked a turkey before. I'm not sure I want to start by making one for our boss."
That admission earns her a laugh. I pull her into my lap, kissing her neck. "Donna, your culinary skills are limited to grilled cheese and soup. I wasn't expecting you to cook dinner. That's my job," I tease, undoing her robe and running my hand slowly down her belly.
"That's right. I managed to find myself a man who can tell a spatula from a spoon." She sounds inordinately proud of that feat.
"Joshua?"
"Donnatella?" I mumble, not wanting to remove my mouth from her collarbone; my hand has trailed its way between her thighs.
"Let's go to bed."
She picks the remote up from the coffee table, clicking the TV off before leading me into the bedroom. Donna brushes my hand away when I reach to touch her. She sways closer to me, slowly undoing the buttons on my dress shirt. I start to help, but she stops me again.
"Don't make me tie you to the bed," she whispers in my ear, peeling the shirt from my body. My undershirt goes next. This is going to be one of those do-as-Donna-says nights. I love it when she does this.
***
"You are amazing." I roll over onto my back and shift up the bed. "Come here." She cuddles up next to me, pressing luscious kisses to my chest.
"What can I do for you?" I ask. What Donna did for me needs to be reciprocated.
"I stopped on the way home and got ice cream."
"Ice cream?" This could be fun; Donna is extremely creative with food.
"I think I want to save it for tomorrow though." Her yawn betrays how long a day it has been.
Wrapping my arm around her shoulders, I pull her closer. "Tomorrow it is."
***
Monday may have ended well, but Tuesday turned into a parade of giblet fools all wanting to avoid dinner with the President. I couldn't care less about any of them.
All I wanted to do was take Donna home and eat ice cream.
***
Tuesday, November 26, 2002.
8 a.m.
My post-coital glow is back today. So is Donna's.
We are both obviously in better moods, which might be why I can see Sam lurking around Donna's desk. He's wearing a look similar to the one I'm sure adorned my features yesterday.
I hear Donna allow him access. "He's playing Tetris. Go on in, Sam."
"Hey, Josh," he says, closing the door quietly behind him.
"What's up?" I look up briefly before returning to the computer game.
"Another new computer?" Sam asks, not answering my question. The desktop PC is gone and I'm hunched over a PowerBook that's set on a stack of old Congressional Records.
"I asked Donna one lousy question yesterday and she went off the deep end. They took away the replacement and left me this thing."
He walks around behind me to look over my shoulder at the laptop. It's newer than his. Envy radiates off his body.
Finished inspecting the new computer, he takes a seat. His eyes narrow at me briefly. "Do you get laid every night?"
"Does this have anything to do with what the hell is her name?" I ask, closing down my Tetris game. Since I obviously can't criticize Donna's love life anymore, Sam was the next logical choice. I have become a yente.
"Alex. Her name is Alex," he growls defensively.
"Okay. Alex. Does this have anything to do with Alex?" Leaning back in my chair, I plant my feet on the desk.
"Yes. Alex decided I was not devoting enough time to our relationship," Sam admits.
I nod. Been there, done that. "Sam, you break up with women all the time. What's the deal?"
"Rumor has it there's a giblet alternative this year to the annual Presidential Turkey Trivia session this year."
"You were supposed to go to Alex's for Thanksgiving?" At his nod, I bellow for Donna at the top of my lungs. Sam flinches, but he's the one who closed the damn door.
She slams it open and glares at me. "It is eight o'clock in the morning, Joshua. Must you bellow so early?"
"Sam is homeless for Thursday."
She turns her faux glare on Sam. "Good."
Donna didn't like Alex either. She nods at my unspoken question and heads back to her desk.
"Dinner's at one. Bring rolls," I tell him.
***
CJ is in my office when I return from a morning meeting with the DNC regarding inauguration plans. We're thinking about going with a 20s swing theme.
"What?" I demand from the doorway.
She's sitting at my desk, drooling over the laptop.
"Yours is newer than mine. It's got the new high-speed processor and OS X."
"No, CJ. What do you want?" I turn my back and start writing notes for the staff ball on the white board.
"Sam gets an invitation to a covert turkey and giblet dinner and I don't?"
Whoops, CJ sounds a bit ticked. And does anybody actually like giblets?
"Sam came in and begged. I have no idea how he heard about it, CJ. It started as just my mom, then she wanted to invite Leo and then Sam invited himself," I'm rambling, trying to get myself out of this hole.
"What? I'm just supposed to just attend dinner with the President? He's planning a lecture on the history of those hats the pilgrims wore, Josh."
"Dinner's at one. Bring the wine." I relent. Nobody, except maybe Doug, deserves that lecture.
***
Toby makes his presence known in my doorway simply from the weight of his stare. Looking up, I sigh, continuing my review of the newest budget numbers. "One o'clock. Bring beer, chips and dip for the Cowboys-Redskins game."
Donna replaces Toby. "I invited Margaret on the condition that she stop telling people. She's bringing marshmallow salad."
"The pink fluffy crap?" I make a face. I hate that stuff. "What does that bring the total to?"
"Eight. You are off tomorrow though, so you can find a turkey and get most of it out of the way. Josh, it's after seven. You're done. I'm done. Let's go home."
Shutting the laptop, I grin at her. "Ice cream?"
"You and me and Ben and Jerry."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Karamel Sutra."
Donna finds it necessary to spend the entire drive home with her hands in my crotch. Add that to the fact that I spent most of the day thinking about what to do with the ice cream and I can barely walk.
By the time we get upstairs, I'm ready to say the hell with Ben & Jerry. Slamming the door shut behind us, I press Donna up against it.
"You're so mean," I tell her before devouring her lips. Holding her to the door with the kiss, I undo my trousers.
When I reach my hand up her skirt, I discover two things. First, it's a garter day. Second, yeah second
***
"I'm mean?" She demands after we untangle ourselves.
"You're just going to have to wait." I reply.
She follows me into the bedroom. "This is so not fair."
Hanging up my suit, I turn to leer at her. Then I realize that I am totally naked and she is fully clothed. Leering should be her job.
"Get naked. Meet me in the living room." I strut into the kitchen to grab a spoon and the Ben & Jerry's Karamel Sutra. This is new. Hmm, a core of soft caramel encircled by chocolate and caramel ice creams and fudge chips. This could be very fun.
Donna fails to completely follow my instructions. She leaves the garters and stockings on. I'm sitting on the sofa waiting for her. My nod at the coffee table in front of me tells her where I want her to sit. This one is much sturdier than the old one.
I move to the floor between her legs. As much as the garters excite me, they've got to go. Donna's blue eyes sparkle at me when I start unsnapping the stockings.
Slowly, I roll them down her legs with the palms of my hands. Finally reaching her toes, I toss the stockings over my shoulder without breaking the eye contact I have with Donna.
Her toes are what I was after. Donna loves it when I suck them. Massaging her foot, I do each toe in turn.
"I changed my mind." Her voice is doing that thing where it gets all low and sultry.
Changing feet, I just cock an eyebrow at her.
"You aren't so mean," she informs me.
Finished with her feet, I run my hands up her legs until I encounter her hands on her thighs.
"Come sit with me." Leaning back against the sofa, I nod at the ice cream and pull gently on her hands.
"There's only one spoon," Donna observes, sitting between my legs. She's facing me, with her legs over mine.
Cracking the top of the container open, I stick a finger in. It's dripping with half-melted ice cream when I run it across Donna's lips, allowing her to lick it off.
"Good?"
"Very."
I stick the spoon in, this time coming up with mostly caramel and chocolate ice cream. Offering it to Donna, at the last moment, I pop it in my own mouth. Then kiss the pout off her face. When she pries my lips apart with her tongue, she encounters the taste of the ice cream.
***
Dropping my butt to the floor, I land on the damn spoon.
"Ouch! Shit."
Helping me get up, Donna kisses the little spoon indention on my butt. Crawling onto the sofa, we spoon together under the quilt we left out last night. I can't think of a better way to spend a quiet evening than naked on the sofa, watching TV with Donna.
***
I doubt the chocolate stain will ever come out of the carpet.
Something I'm not sure I understand lately is Donna's suddenly insatiable sex drive. Don't get me wrong, we have a lot of sex. It's just a little weird lately is all.
She's having mood swings, she was a little sick the past couple of mornings. There are a couple of other things I've noticed. I'm not completely stupid, I can add to three.
Maybe I'll ask my mother about it.
***
Wednesday, November 27, 2002.
I spot my mother scanning the concourse from my perch near a column. I lean against it until she spots me, looking like I don't have a care in the world.
"Who are you and what have you done with my son?" She rakes an appraising eye over me.
"You've been telling me to relax my entire life, Mamme," I laugh, wrapping her up in a hug. "I finally take your advice and this is what I get?"
We pick up her luggage and head out. It's snowing, so I leave Mom in the terminal and go to get the car.
"How are things, Joshua?" she asks. From the tone of her voice, I know what she's asking about.
I sigh, raking a hand through my hair. "I don't know," I tell her honestly. "I mean Donna's mother is taking care of the cake, the reception hall, the DJ, the church, the food and the booze. She even found a place for the rehearsal dinner. Donna has her dress. The bridesmaids dresses are covered. I finally scraped up some groomsmen who already own tuxes. We hired one of the White House photographers. In fact, the engagement pictures are supposed to be back today. But we haven't ordered invitations and I have a feeling those should be mailed soon."
By the time I finish explaining the hazards of wedding planning around a presidential election and stop to pick up a turkey, we're home.
Mom installs herself in the spare bedroom to change clothes. I head for the kitchen to start working on the pies. Which is where she finds me, covered in flour, rolling out piecrust.
"When did I teach you that?"
I learned to cook from my mother, but baking is something she absolutely hates. I figure if I do this, she'll make her oyster stuffing.
"Why don't you peel an apple or twelve?" I reply, pointing my rolling pin at a bag near the sink.
By the time I make two apple pies, two pumpkin pies and a loaf of pumpkin bread, I'm feeling cocky enough to try a chocolate mousse. Mom peeled the apples and then stole half of them for her stuffing. After that she moved on to a corn casserole she refuses to give me the recipe to. She has also been picking at me all afternoon. She thinks something is bothering me. She's sort of right.
Finally finishing the mousse, I check the clock. It's almost 5. Donna was planning on leaving work at 5:30. Having spent the entire day in the kitchen, I have no desire to cook dinner. Grabbing the phone, I settle for Chinese take-out.
After I hang up the phone, Mom looks up from the potatoes she's peeling to take one last shot at me. "You want to tell me what's wrong before you have to go get that?"
Grabbing another knife, I start to quarter the peeled potatoes, finally opening up. "Donna went off the pill last month."
The tiniest grin starts to form on my mother's face.
"Her sister had all kinds of problems getting pregnant," I continue.
"Joshua, I know your father had this discussion with you many, many years ago," she laughs, trying to lighten my mood a bit.
"Mamme, you're killing me, you really are," I tease her back. "It's just the past couple of mornings Donna's been a little sick. Not like vomiting, but not feeling well either. And she's late."
"How late?" The tiny grin expands exponentially.
"A little over a week," I admit.
"Have you two talked about it?"
"Having kids? Yeah, we both want kids. That's not it."
"No, Joshua. About this," she makes a motion with her knife indicating what I just told her.
"Not yet. Don't tell her I said anything, please. I don't want her to worry, you know?"
"I'm going to give you one piece of advice, one word of warning. Pregnancy sends some women's sexual desire into overdrive."
While that might have been the answer I was looking for, I am not having this conversation with my mother.
***
Thursday, November 28, 2002.
I have been abused, coerced, threatened and pumped for information more times than I can count since Monday. Which is why it is no surprise that I forgot to turn the damn oven on. At least I remembered to put the turkey in it.
Sam shows up first, dinner rolls in hand. Mom greets him at the door.
"Samuel!" She holds him at arms length, subjecting him to her critical eye. "You look like shit."
"Thanks, Mom." He cracks a smile for her before tossing me the rolls. I'm in the kitchen mixing mimosas for the women.
"No football in the house!" is shouted at us from two directions.
"You know it's only 11, right?" I hand Sam a sample glass.
"I wanted to see the Detroit-New England game." He gestures to the TV in the corner with his glass. The game has just kicked off.
Mom and Donna have appropriated the living room TV to watch all the parades while they gossip about me and my apparently long-standing inability to pick up my underwear. Sam and I hide in the kitchen with the Pats game.
It's the second quarter when CJ and Toby show up together.
"Dinner's going to be closer to 2." I hear Donna tell them after she introduces my mother.
"Why?" CJ asks.
"Joshua forgot to turn the oven on." My own mother blabs.
I set another pitcher of mimosas on the coffee table and hand CJ a glass. "One word, CJ. One word and I'm calling Charlie to come get you. You'll spend the day listening to the pilgrim lecture."
"How's the wedding planning, Donna?" CJ pours herself a drink and settles onto the sofa.
Toby follows me into the kitchen, evidently preferring football to wedding talk any day.
I know Margaret arrives when a bowl full of that pink fluffy shit lands on the table in front of us. From the raucous laughter in the living room, I can tell they aren't talking about the wedding anymore.
"What do you think they're talking about?" Sam asks.
"My mother is probably telling embarrassing stories. Like the time you and I got drunk and ended up sleeping it off in the flower bed." This situation demands beer. I need to be drunk by dinner, I can tell.
Toby accepts the bottle I hand him. "Leo's coming, too?"
I take a drink. "Yeah. He got this look on his face though, when I told him Mom wanted him to come."
"What look?" Sam steals my beer.
"That look you say I get when I talk about Donna."
"Leo gets that look about Mom?" Sam's eyebrows are up around his hairline.
Leo arrives at the appointed hour of one o'clock. Presented with the choice of staying in the living room with my mother and her cronies or hiding in the kitchen with the football game, Leo joins us.
"Forgot to turn the oven on, Josh?"
I take the can of cranberry crap. "If I let you carve the damn thing, will you drop it?"
***
By the time I kick Margaret out the door with her uneaten bowl of pink fluff, it's eight o'clock. The leftovers are put away, the dishes are put away and my mother is passed out on the sofa in front of the TV. Donna is in the bedroom changing clothes when I slip up behind her.
"I made something just for you," I whisper, wrapping my arms around her waist.
"What?" Curiosity overwhelms her.
"Chocolate mousse."
"Josh, I swear, I can't eat another thing."
"You're not going to eat it," I tell her.
"I'm not?" She turns around in my arms.
"Nope."
"What am I going to do with it?"
"It's going to be a Chocolate-Donna Mousse," I smirk at her.
"Oh it is, is it?" Donna looks over my shoulder at the small bowls I set on the nightstand. "This could be fun. Is there enough for a Chocolate-Joshua Mousse?"
"There might be." I take her earlobe into my mouth, sucking gently.
"I'd hate to deprive you of dessert." she teases, pulling out of my grasp.
***
Collapsing on top of her, I happen to glance up at the wide-open bedroom door. The faint sound of the TV being turned off reaches my ears.
Donna notices the look of horror on my face and tilts her head back to see what I'm staring at just as my mother steps into the room far enough to close the door.