Wednesday, January 22, 2003 — 2 a.m.
Darling Donnatella,
I'm writing this while you are sleeping because I can not. Faced with the prospect of spending three weeks away from you, separated by an ocean, I can not bear to take my eyes from you.
I will have the wedding announcements addressed by the time I return. I will be a good boy and attempt to not offend anyone. I expect you to do the same. Take care of our little bear while I'm away. I know you told me to not worry so much, but I can't help it. You'll just have to accept it as a sign of my love.
I won't be able to call much. I doubt Congress will foot the bill for us to have trans-Atlantic phone sex on my government cell phone.
I'm going to give this letter-writing thing a try instead. All my love, Joshua.
***
Wednesday, January 22, 2003 — 9 a.m.
Donna,
I know you just put me on the plane, but these State Department pukes are driving me insane. They are loaning me an assistant. She's annoying. Sort of reminds me of Rachelle.
Speaking of the dimwit, I am trying to think of a way to talk Sam out of ever seeing her again, much less bringing her to the wedding. Unfortunately, I have been unable to come up with anything original.
Glenda, the wicked witch of the west, is glaring at me. I'd better wrap this letter up for now. I miss you already.
I'm back.
You know how much I hate long car rides if I'm not driving? I hate long flights if I'm not on Air Force One even more. I know this is a government Gulfstream state of the art flying machine, but still. I've been spoiled by Presidential travel methods. Glenda is evil. For six hours, she drilled me on policy notes I wrote in the first place! Save me! Please?
Are you feeling okay today? You said your back was bothering you a little yesterday. If I were home, I'd give you a massage. Well, I'd start with a massage. Knowing us, I have a feeling we'd end up pissing off the neighbors again. Do you think old Mrs. Jones was serious when she said she was going to call the cops the next time we have sex in the living room? I don't think they can arrest us for that, can they? Well, maybe for what we were doing last night
I'm going to try to sleep a bit, but I'm thinking about you — so there is tremendous potential for embarrassment here. Too bad there isn't a cold shower on this plane.
Don't forget to eat. Love, Joshua.
***
Thursday, January 23, 2003 — 8:30 a.m.
My Dearest Donnatella,
I am bored to death. I am sitting in a meeting with pompous jackasses who are in love with the sound of their own voices. Now, before you give me grief, and perhaps tell me I'm in the correct company, allow me to clarify a few things. First, I am not in love with the sound of my own voice — I simply have a lot to say. Secondly, Congress at least drones on in English. Thirdly, is that a word? Thirdly, I look like I am taking notes.
We got into Heathrow sometime after dark. My watch sucks and there was a time change. My best guess is around 9 or 10 o'clock local time. What's that? 5 or 6 DC time? Anyway, after we got in, they took us straight to the embassy for a three-hour security briefing. The local intelligence people think there is a possibility this meeting may be targeted by terrorists for reasons I won't get into in this letter.
After the briefing, we were assigned rooms in the embassy. Evidently, I'm not important enough to get my own room; some guy named Darryl had to make space for me. He's an officer with the Marine guard unit. Pretty nice guy.
I had all kinds of trouble getting to sleep without you in my arms. I ache to touch you, to smell you, to taste you, to simply hold you.
I'd better stop before I have the same problems I had on the airplane yesterday.
This meeting is to discuss our relative positions on easing the debt load of Third World nations. I won't get into why I think our position on this is wrong, we've discussed it many times. I do at least have a better understanding of why we have the position we do.
Know that I love you and the little bear. Let me know how your appointment with Dr. Williams goes. I miss you. We've only been apart for 36 hours and I can't stand it. I don't know how I survived travelling during the campaign. Can you ask Dr. Williams if this is normal? Love, Joshua.
***
Friday, January 24, 2003 — 1 p.m.
Donna:
Do you have any idea what crumpets actually are? Anyway, I'm sending these next-day air so hopefully you'll get them the day after I mail them. It's probably costing me more than phone calls, but there's something about putting my feelings down on paper and making them permanent. It seems to mean more.
There is a reception tomorrow night at some hotel. I hope I don't need to wear a tux — I didn't bring mine. I'm really not looking forward to it, I haven't found anyone here I actually like enough to talk to. Love, Joshua.
***
Saturday, January 25, 2003 — 11:30 p.m.
Donnatella!
Yes, I've been drinking. No, I'm not drunk, despite the best efforts of the Lord John Marbury. He says hello, by the way. I hope you don't mind, but I invited him to the wedding. Before you yell at me, let me explain.
He rescued me from the unwanted and determined advances of the very married French economic minister. She's older than my mother and not nearly as beautiful as you are. Am I forgiven?
Darryl has guard duty tonight, so I have the room to myself. I came back from the reception thinking of you. Faced with either taking another cold shower or well, you know. I went with the latter. I thought it might be slightly unhealthy to continue getting aroused thinking about you and then not, well, you know.
I hope you don't mind, but I imagined it was you on the coffee table the whole time. Not that it took long.
I was very frustrated.
I am very frustrated.
I'm going to mail this now, before it gets all sticky.
Are the gomers in the mailroom reading these?
How was your appointment this morning? Is everything okay? I should stop worrying, right? All my love, Joshua.
***
Friday, January 31, 2003 — 9 p.m.
Donnatella,
I can only be slightly glad I wasn't home to appreciate what your delightfully twisted and devious mind actually had in store for me.
I should have known last year was too quiet.
Thank you very much for the dozen black roses and the huge, plastic tombstone you had delivered to the conference room. Everyone found it very funny.
I hope there would have been a reward for having stoically endured your abuse.
Tell Dr. Williams thank you' for the book she sent me. It's very informative. What exactly are you telling her anyway? She wants to know if I have a brother
Back to my reward. I'd like to go ahead and pre-order it.
You can start with one of those fingertip massages. The ones where you barely touch me? Those are my favorites. I like it when you lead, so after the massage, I was thinking you could do some finger sucking. I'd use my free hand to reciprocate — don't worry.
No, I'm not drunk. Just wishing we were together on my birthday. Spongebob misses Squarepants. Rosie isn't an acceptable alternative.
It has been an incredibly busy week, I'm sorry I haven't written more often. It isn't because I'm not thinking of you. It is because the closer we get to the summit, the more attention I have to give to what I'm supposed to be doing. We've moved past the boring basics and into the actual policy changes we want to make. After the sessions each afternoon, I'm doing the schmooze thing. Dinner and drinks with whomever I feel is most receptive to our positions. I don't know if I'm doing any good. American political maneuvers don't seem extremely effective over here. I'm not drinking too much, I promise, and I'm running every morning with Darryl.
Only 17 more days until I get home and only 28 days until we get married. Love always, Joshua.
***
Tuesday, February 4, 2003 — 1 p.m.
Dear Donna,
I haven't been this out of place since I took auto shop in high school. We're discussing preliminary changes to some international banking laws. This meeting is the reason I have an accountant.
Sorry I haven't written since Friday. I wanted to, but I had a weekend full of security briefings and some meetings to set up this week's agenda. We are debating the benefits of freezing assets belonging to suspected terrorist organizations and governments. Since we're pushing for the changes, I have stuff to contribute and some points to prove.
I'm doing pretty well. I think the President will be happy with the resolution we'll get out of this.
Tomorrow's sessions are about electronic currency transactions. Way over my head. Fortunately, we get neat little summary sheets after each session.
Hold on a second, I have to point out to this guy that he is a moron.
Okay, I'm back. I'll need you to send an apology note to him later though, please. The Swiss banking rep. I'm not sure what his name is.
I finished addressing the announcements. Are you proud of me?
Promise me you are taking care of yourself. I know you are, but the book Dr. Williams sent me says I should be politely, yet firmly, attentive to the needs of our developing child and its mother. You simply choose to call it nagging. So take care of yourself or I'll be forced to come up with some Rules. All my love, Joshua.
***
Wednesday, February 12, 2003 — 1 a.m.
Donnatella:
I'm hiding in the bathroom because Darryl's trying to sleep. I can't, even though I'm exhausted. The closer we get to the deadline, the more issues pop up. We were in meetings until midnight tonight.
All I can do right now is think about you and how I want to be home with you.
Which is, of course, why I'm in the bathroom. I've completely given up on cold showers. They weren't working anyway.
Do you still have a vibrator? Are you using it? If you aren't, can you send it my way?
When I started writing these, I meant them to be sweet and romantic. They've become increasingly trashy, haven't they? It's because I can't touch you or make love to you. Only 5 more days. I love you, Joshua.
***
Thursday, February 13, 2003 — 8 a.m.
"You packed?" CJ asks tossing me a bagel from the staff meeting.
"I'm ready to go, sister. I even managed to reschedule my OB appointment for this afternoon." God, I'm hungry and I ate breakfast a little over an hour ago.
"Why are you going every two weeks, isn't that a little excessive at this point? You're only like 4 months along."
"I go every three weeks and this is Week 17, so I'm almost halfway there. Dr. Williams is a little worried about the amount of weight I'm gaining. Well, not gaining would be a better way to put it. She wants to keep a closer eye on things." I explain, between mouthfuls of the bagel she gave me.
"You eat all the time!"
"Tell me about it." I pat my slightly protruding tummy. "I am apparently not gaining any weight, I'm just redistributing it."
Two Fridays ago, on Josh's birthday, I went from my clothes still fit' to wearing Josh's dress shirts because I had no baggy work clothes. CJ, Margaret and I already had Saturday off for my final dress fitting; we just added power-shopping for maternity clothes to the list of things to do. I've never been so glad I picked a loose, flowing wedding dress. I doubt anyone will even notice the baby when I'm wearing it.
***
"You've managed to gain two pounds since your last visit. Six pounds total," Dr. Williams announces. "I want to do an ultrasound today, to make sure everything's okay."
One of the best things about Dr. Williams is she does the ultrasounds herself. I lie back on the table, watching the little black and white screen. You can make out the baby's head and you can see its tiny heart beating. The doctor checks but can't tell if it's a boy or a girl.
"Everything is normal, the baby is just very small." Dr. Williams asks, helping me sit up when she's finished and handing me a printout for Josh, who is collecting them like baseball cards. "I want to see you again in three weeks."
***
My husband has the sensitivity of a complete and utter jackass. Don't believe me? Take a close look at Donna Moss. She's been miserable since the inauguration. More specifically, she's been miserable since my jackass husband sent her fiancé to another continent.
Nothing is more heart-wrenching than a miserable pregnant woman.
There was absolutely no reason Jed had to send Josh to London; I'd lay odds Jack Norris didn't even have a heart attack. Don't think I didn't give him an earful when Zoey told me about it.
Jed's response? Josh needs the foreign policy experience.
I find his answer amusing on various levels, not the least of which is he hired Josh to do domestic policy. Mixing Josh Lyman and foreign policy seems on par with leaving a toddler unsupervised in a room with the button to launch nuclear weapons and then wondering why Cuba doesn't exist anymore.
At any rate, Jed conceded to bringing Donna along on this trip at my insistence.
I have been conspiring with the British Prime Minister's wife to arrange suitable punishment for both Jed and Leo.
"Did you find it?" I ask CJ when she sits down next to Zoey and me.
"It was still at the cleaners. Donna hadn't had time to pick it up yet," she confirms. "He's been writing her letters."
"Letters? The kind you hand write on paper and send through the mail?" I can't help but laugh. Every time I think I get Josh Lyman nailed down, he comes up with something new.
"You can tell the day after she gets them, she glows."
"What's in these letters?"
"From what she told me, they're pretty mundane. Just how much he misses her and how they stuck him with a roommate at the Embassy. Mostly how much he misses her. They're basically love letters."
"Love letters? Josh is writing love letters?"
"She says he's been nagging her, even threatened to come up with rules." CJ and I share a laugh, remembering the Rules. We find it slightly poetic that Josh is trying to turn the tables.
***
I'm standing at the limo, waiting for the Presidential party to debark Air Force One, when I see a face I know is not supposed to be here. Not that I'm not overjoyed or even ecstatic to see her. In fact, it is all I can do to not go running across the tarmac and sweep her into my arm in some cheesy Gone With The Wind inspired public display of affection.
Even from here she looks tired.
***
I spot Josh instantly when we exit the plane. He's leaning against a limo with his arms crossed. I have the overwhelming urge to run down the stairs and throw myself into his arms like a scene out of Casablanca or something.
Even from here he looks tired.
***
Jed reaches Josh and the limo before Donna is even off the plane. Josh nods quietly at something Jed says and then opens the door for him. He looks up before he gets in, making eye contact with Donna.
You'd have to be blind to not see the look of unhappiness pass between them as they both realize their reunion is going to have to wait.
My husband is a four-star jackass.
***
Dr. Bartlet is shaking her head a something as the Presidential limo speeds away. I'm not sure what I was expecting, the breakfast session starts at 8 a.m. and it's already 7:30. I'm also not sure what I'm doing along on this trip.
"Come along, Donna," Dr. Bartlet takes me by the arm, guiding me towards another limo.
Zoey decided she needed a weekend of shopping in London, so she came along on this trip. I personally think she wanted to spend Valentine's Day with Charlie. Oh, yeah. Today is Valentine's Day.
The three of us crawl into the limo and are greeted with a cheery good morning' from an impeccably dressed woman I'm pretty sure is Linda Smyth, the British Prime Minister's wife.
"How does breakfast sound? Then we can swing by Harrods and then do some sight-seeing?" Mrs. Smyth asks as we get settled.
"Sounds like a well thought out plan," Dr. Bartlet comments.
***
I'm dead on my feet by the time the day is over at 6 o'clock. The best part of this almost being done is I got moved out of the Embassy and into the hotel. The worst part is I have an hour to shower and change for the reception this evening.
After spending five minutes struggling with the key card, I finally get the door to my suite open to find Donna curled up on the bed asleep, wearing nothing but a robe.
Dropping my bag, I snuggle around her, pressing kisses to a bare patch of skin on her neck.
"Josh?" Her eyes are still closed, so I'm going to give her that one.
"I missed you," I murmur into her neck.
"You missed my body," she states, opening her eyes.
"I missed everything about you." I clarify between kisses, my exhaustion melting away.
"This suite has a coffee table."
***
Josh's eyes light up when I mention the coffee table. He crawls off the bed, shedding his clothes as he goes. It doesn't a minute before he's dragging me by the hand to the coffee table. I can't help laughing at his exuberance.
"How do we want to do this?" I ask, wrapping my arms around his body, kissing his shoulders.
"You sit," he points at the edge.
I do as he tells me, smiling when he kneels in front of me. His eyes linger on my stomach, tinged with a bit of regret.
"You got poochy," he declares, leaning forward to kiss my belly button.
"Yeah, we need to talk about the Visa bill." I run my hands through his curly hair.
***
"Happy Valentine's Day?" Josh finally says, smirking at me.
"Help me off this thing."
***
I scoop her up and carry her to the sofa. There's nothing more I'd rather do than spend the rest of tonight making love to Donnatella, but if we don't shower and get dressed, we're going to be late for the reception.
***
We shower together, normally a recipe for disaster, but in a great display of willpower, we manage to keep our hands off of each other. Mostly because Josh kept promising me he'd be able to take his time tonight.
I'll believe it when I see it.
***
"Is anyone else worried about that?" I ask, interrupting the British Prime Minister's dissertation on cricket.
That' is the Sisterhood: Donna, Zoey, CJ, Dr. Bartlet and several others, huddled in a corner drinking wine and laughing hysterically.
"What are they up to?" Leo asks, joining us and staring in the same direction we are.
"I am afraid to contemplate what those devious ladies are concocting."
Toby's been drinking scotch all night. The more he drinks, the bigger words he uses.
Mr. Smyth shakes his head at us. "Why do you fear your women so?"
I choke on my soda. "Did you see what mine sent me for my birthday? Imagine what it would have been if I'd been home."
"I saw the plans, it was like a military operation. You wouldn't have made it to lunch." Charlie informs me.
"What? You weren't going to tell me?" I gape at him. I thought we were friends.
"Do I look stupid enough to betray the Sisterhood?"
***
Mrs. Smyth and Dr. Bartlet are filling us in on the plans for tomorrow night. Out of the corner of my eye I see the men looking at us. I can smell the fear.
Josh, Leo, Toby, Sam, Charlie, the President and the British Prime Minister, along with Lord John Marbury — the same look of terror graces each of their faces.
When I point it out, the rest of my cohorts laugh that much harder.
I want to be as subtly vindictive as Abigail Bartlet one day. I'm honored she would take the time and trouble to do this on my behalf.
"You look a little less miserable tonight, Donna." Dr. B observes with a smile.
"Did you know these suites have coffee tables?" I mention casually.