Donna's Diary and Josh's Journal
Wednesday, January 1st, 3:20 (PM), my apartment, (Donna's Diary)
So it's a new year here in good old Washington DC! A bright new start! A clean slate! A chance to fix all the mistakes of the past year and make room for a fresh bouquet of them! You cannot imagine how happy I am! I woke up this morning with the golden sunshine positively singing through my bedroom window.
Of course I was massively hung-over so all this did was make my head pound even worse than it already was until I staggered to the window and drew the blinds back so I could return back to lay comatose in the dark. I can't remember what time I went to sleep last night, or really much of anything after the eight round of shots. I can't remember where my purse is or why I woke up with all my clothes on except one shoe (which I later found in the bathtub). And I definitely can't remember why I still work for Josh Lyman.
Josh Lyman who had the nerve to call me this morning at nine o'clock in the bloody morning. Josh Lyman with his stupid, chipper, didn't-touch-a-drop-last-night, aren't-I-so-clever, sexy voice. Josh Lyman who made me come into work this morning even though it's New Years. Josh Lyman who I have loved almost since the moment I met him.
I mean I guess I'm okay now. I took some aspirin a few hours ago and had a couple cups of coffee but I still look and feel mostly like shit. Josh, on the other hand is bounding about the empty office like some crazed/high teenager. "Have fun on your date last night?" He asked me.
Like I remember my date last night. Oh yeah it must have been Tom, from the Democratic Leadership Office. I think he went home early (probably to moon over his stamp collection). I hate it when Josh and I talk about my love life. I always end up lying to him because the last time I had a satisfactory date was last Friday when we stayed up the whole night at his house making chili and looking through about a zillion boxes of court records to make sure the Health Care initiative we announced support for in the morning was legally sound. And I certainly don't want him to know that. Can't give information to the enemy. "I was until you called me," I said grumpily.
Notice what I did there? I implied that my date was still going on when he called this morning, thus that it had been good, thus that I got lucky last night, thus that I am not the social pariah I may or may not actually be.
"Oh? Where did Shorty take you?" I hate it when Josh calls Tom Shorty.
I mean it's not at all nice to rub in that I'm a tall girl. CJ knows what I'm talking about—it's damn hard to find guys who aren't intimidated by our height (and by the fact that we work in the Whitehouse). And in my opinion Tom is a real man for not letting my height get in the way and he shouldn't be mocked for it. Plus every time Josh says it I am reminded of just how nicely my head fits just against his collarbone when we hug. Or how when I go to fix his tie at state dinners and the like I have to reach up just a little and sometimes I just let my elbows prop on his chest so I can feel him breathing.
"Like I'd tell you." I said.
Like I can remember.
"Oh don't be a bore Donna. I'd tell you anything you wanted to know about where Rachael and I went last night."
Yeah, except I don't want to know anything about that. I don't even want to think about the R word, much less what the two of them may or may not have been doing last night! Rachael, who works with the Sierra Club and, depressingly, is not the kind of earth-nature, spiritual, find-herself-in-the-woods person you might expect, is Josh's latest…something. Girlfriend is too strong a word but I wince at what kind of person I would be if I wrote bitchy little slut. Too late now though so I might as well go full tilt. Rachael is a power hungry, grasping woman who is proved her self twice over willing to sleep with powerful men to get her way. "That sure is a tempting trade Josh." I said in my 'you are an idiot and I am unflappable' voice.
"Come on Donna." He put on the full Lyman charm that time, stepping a little bit closer so our hips are just close enough that I start feeling that electric, jello-leg effect and pitching his voice a little bit lower than it usually is. He's talking in that commanding voice too. But worst of all he's smiling, and big enough for his dimples to show. Dimples, at least Josh's, are my downfall. If not for my steel will and rigid resolve not to completely humiliate myself, I would probably ravage him every time I see them.
God, he has no idea what I'm thinking when he does that. If Josh ever knew what I was thinking when he does that he'd probably run for it and then all these years we spent together would be down the toilet.
"Don't we have work Josh? Please tell me you didn't call me into the office to quiz me on my date last night." I said, hoping to snap him back.
It works. "Of course not." He said defensively. "The President wants to push a more aggressive environmental agenda in the next year. We've got to start thinking about which Senators go in which categories."
I know of course which categories he's talking about. With some Senators you know how they're going to vote on certain issues based on who they are (or what district they're from). On issues like the environment are Obvious Yeses (O.Y.s) are from places like California. Our Obvious Nos (O.N.s) are from places like Texas. The Senators that don't fall into either of those categories we just call the Swingers, and they're Josh's turf.
"Did we have to start this right now?" I groaned, but I went to work anyway. "We can't wait until tomorrow?"
It's my job I suppose, dragging myself up here to spend New Years morning with Josh but perk or burden, I don't know. I know I should hate it but it's nice somehow. I like it when it's just the two of us in the West Wing. It feels like we're the only people left on the planet; like he's not my boss and I'm not in love with him and we're just floating along. It's dangerous too of course, because these are the days I fall really in love with Josh—when we don't have all this stupid tension between us and can just talk.
"Donna…" He said in his slow, lecturing voice. "You know better than that."
I do know better than that. I know better than to even entertain that hope but I've never been good at believing in my own good advice.
But I was spared from a lecture on volunteerism and the important of our jobs and aren't-I-just-glad-I'm-getting-paid-unlike-the-interns? because just then there was a resounding crash at the other end of the bullpen and both our heads snapped around.
We were both up on our feet in a second, and running for Toby's office, which is where the crash seems to have come from. We rushed around the corner and almost headlong into a woman, who was on her knees in the corridor trying to pick up about a thousand things that have come spilling out of a cardboard box. I got down on my knees almost immediately and so did Josh. And there we all are, I think we're trying to get this woman's things back in her box, but I looked up and my stomach folded in on itself like a sea anemone.
She was the most painfully beautiful woman I'd ever seen in my life— a fact which had not escaped Josh, who was gaping at her with his tongue almost touching the floor. She was dressed in a rich red skirt that is stretched across her flawless thighs and jacket set, out of which her surreal legs extend about ten thousand miles. Her hair was long and blond and perfectly coiffed (unlike mine which looks like I brushed it this morning with an egg beater), her eyes were wide and blue and set above this cute little button nose.
I hate her already.
"Thank you." She said as we all get up. "I swear I don't know what I tripped over."
That would be the remote hope that Josh and I will ever date, I think to myself just as sarcastically and indifferently as I can (I'm on the brink of tearing up). "We're just glad you didn't hurt yourself." Josh said, using his most charming voice, the one he never uses on me. He also smiled his smile that makes his dimples really pop, the one that always makes me weak at the knees and (when it's directed at other women) jealous as all hell.
I'm not glad she didn't hurt herself. I know it's wrong but I think I'd barely cry if she'd broken her long, alabaster neck and we had to rush her to the hospital only to find out she was paralyzed from her slim, sexy shoulders down.
"I'm Donna Moss." I said, with all the dignity and sweetness I can possibly hope to muster with all my hopes swirling out of me.
She shifted her box to one side. "Kate." She said, shaking my hand and smiling. "Kate Thomas. I'm the new assistant speech writer here, it's great to meet you."
Oh great, she's got a cute name.
"Hi Kate." I said. "Welcome to the West Wing." Josh is still ogling her (she's so used to it she's barely noticed him) so I step up the plate, like any good assistant would. "This dumbfounded gentleman is Josh Lyman."
"You're a speech writer?" He said.
"Yeah." She laughs. Her laugh is like music or little silver Christmas bells or the tinkling of a brook over rocks or...
"You're a poet!" He said, like the idiot he is.
Kate laughed her tinkling, petite little laugh again. "I wouldn't go that far Mr. Lyman."
"Oh please, call me Josh." He said. "And let me carry that." And then, to my infinite frustration, took her box.
Oh please, call me Josh? Let me carry that? I have carried endless amounts of those boxes, loaded with endlessly heavier things, past his office morning noon and night for the past few years and he once shoved a cup of coffee into my hand so he could fix his tie while I was doing it. And now it's here let me be the gentleman and carry it for you? He's flirting! It's so inappropriate! And yet…she was so buying it! I watched, mortified, as the two of them swept of down the hall, flirting and laughing.
I didn't bother to walk with them, just returned to my desk and went back to work on sorting Senators. In a few hours Josh came back, full of new "Kate" stories and new exuberance. "Let's take the rest of the day off." He said, fingering a slip of paper I know is "Kate's" phone number. "After all, it's New Years."
I fight the urge, and win, barely, to scream as loud as I can.
Resolutions:
(1) Clean out the fridge, even the really, really, really gross stuff in the back (also quit forgetting to throw things out when they're past their time, this is an absolutely disgusting habit)
(2) Cut back on alcohol, coffee, carbs, complaining, daydreaming, solitaire, ice cream, hours on the phone with Allison, Chinese takeout, pizza takeout, Indian takeout, Mexican takeout and cheese jokes I allow to be made at my expense
(3) Stop dreaming about Josh/start realizing how hopeless it is
Wednesday, January 1st, 3:20 (PM), my apartment, (Josh's Journal)
Okay, okay, okay.
I know one of my New Years resolutions was not to abuse my power as Donna's boss to affect (destroy) her love life. I know that I said I'd never again save up a ton of work until Friday so she has to cancel her date. I know I said I'd never again send her on one of those goofy, doomed missions she hates. I know I said that this year I would man up and stop acting like a stupid third grader with a crush on her. But when I said all that I had had a couple beers and CJ tricked me into it.
I don't think New Years Resolutions should count if CJ tricks you into them. I mean we're having a couple of beers well past midnight at her party (the last dregs of it anyway, we were the only ones left at that point) and then, suddenly, she's looking down at me from her four-inch heels and her eyes are boring into my skull and saying, "Josh, you're in love with Donna." What's a guy supposed to do? Deny it? CJ could never be fooled by a mortal man. Besides, I think it was extremely nice of me to allow her (Donna not CJ) to go on a date last night instead of inventing some crisis.
Okay…okay… so I did try to get her to come over to my house and do exactly these congressional reports with me but she just laughed and said. "Josh, no freaking way!" And hung up. I hate it when she says my name like that. I hate it when she says my name period. It sort of paralyzes me, hearing my name come out of her lips.
But I was feeling pretty good about the date anyway. Tom is short, too short for Donna, and, unlike her last boyfriend, is completely saberless. Serious, after that guy, almost anyone seems like a freaking blessing. I hate all her boyfriends but he was particularly bad—republican, ex-military, rotten son of a bitch with a sword. Honestly! A sword! Are we in a revolution? Are the goddamn British invading? If someone was attacking the President would that even really help? And then he goes off and let's her take the blame for…but I shouldn't think about that because it will only make me angry.
Ahh…Donna.
Sweet, naive Donna, who never suspects that I have any ulterior motives. Lovely, trusting Donna, who honestly believes that her crush on me is still a secret. Beautiful, sexy Donna who is one hundred percent off-limits until the term ends. Stupid, stupid Donna who can tell if I am having a bad day by what kind of coffee I order but can't tell that I'm in love with her.
God, when did I grow up? Back in high school there weren't any rules about dating except the ones you made up. But now we're all men and women and in the public eye and we're supposed to be so responsible, so fucking responsible. If I asked Donna out, or asked her to move into my apartment, or threw her up against the door of my office and made love to her people would mistake it for something ugly. People would think she was just some dumb bimbo secretary who got hired for her legs (which are great) and her rack (which is better). And as much as I'd like to not care, I can't do that to her.
Maybe if she worked for Toby or Leo or in some other part of the Whitehouse…but she doesn't, she works for me. And if that's all the contact I can get in these next few years I welcome it over nothing. And I welcome the opportunities to exploit it…like this morning. There was no real work emergency, but I wanted to see Donna. It isn't much of a consolation prize for not getting to kiss her at midnight last night but I'm coping with that (barely).
But this is pathetic. Except for "the" and "is" I've probably used Donna's name more in this diary than any other word. Onto other things: like the delectable Miss Kate Thomas, who is sexy and smart and poetic and driving Donna absolutely crazy. She almost took my head off when I came back from lunch and told her what I'd dragged her in to do could wait. It's good for her heart though, probably.
We do need to start on the environmental legislation though, I didn't completely fabricate that to get her in here this morning. Someone had the bad taste, utter stupidity or reckless insanity to give the President an enormous book (like all jokes aside, the President is a tiny man, and he looks utterly ridiculous with it) with pictures and stories from the national parks of the United States. He has since come up with no valid reason (the republican congress and my mental health I guess are not valid reasons) not to publicly call on Congress to introduce legislation to ratchet up waste and emission standards, create more national parks, and generally turn the business lobby and every blue collar worker with an industry job against us. So that leaves me with exactly three options. First, I can try to get genuine support for this in Congress. Second, I can talk the President out of this. Third, I can throw myself into the Potomac with the cursed book tied around my ankle.
Kate is fantastic though. She's smart and witty and everything I've seen of her is fresh and wonderful. Unlike most of the women I meet she ordered off the menu and didn't complain about the staff. She's well read too, and not just in government papers. We had a really interesting conversation about the differences and similarities in Nabakov books. I have never actually read Nabakov (I started Lolita but couldn't get into a story about a pedophile) but it was still a very interesting conversation. Plus there is this really relaxed energy that was a relief, like she wasn't trying to push or pull me into something. I know it doesn't sound like a big deal but I mostly date women who are as power-hungry as I am and just to sit through lunch across the table from someone who had no agenda. The last time I did that it was with Donna and that's a tension unto itself.
But back to Kate.
Kate is fantastic.
I like Kate.
Oh, who am I fooling?
Resolutions:
(1) Keep my secret from Donna better. I know she's blessedly thick about seeing my obsession but honestly there must be a limit to her blindness and I don't want to find it (except when I tell her).
(2) Stop drinking with CJ (seriously, it never ends well)
(3) Actually use some of the fancy kitchen wear I bought to furnish my apartment with
(4) Make sure that Donna never dates. Ever. (except me).
(5) Try not to make this journal entirely about Donna (too late)
AN: This is my first attempt at WW romance but I do have a deep, deep love for J/D so I hoped it turned out well. I'm not really sure where this is going but it's going to be a hell of a lot of fun to get there so in the famous words of Friedrich Nietzsche "review you lazy sod!"