Donna's Dilemma
And here you go with another chapter. Sorry this story is so crazy and has no JD in it yet, but that's on it's way. And if you don't like htings getting even more complicated...well you might not like this chapter. But that's ok, because the point of writing has nothing to do with the readers...I think...Right? Enjoy :-)
Donna only sat there, eyes large and mouth hanging open. She had just opened the package the First Lady had given her to work on, and she absolutely could not believe the absurd content of the letter and materials inside. She read the first sentence over and over. "I want you to arrange my kidnapping." It was beyond belief.
Donna read the whole letter back to herself. The First Lady talked about a broken radio that went out of tune, about how she thought that because things were out of tune around the White House, she needed to "disappear" for a few days, pretend to be kidnapped, and then play detective and make everything better.
Which, of course, was absolutely ridiculous. Donna knew she could not go on with anything else that the parcel contained. She slipped the letter back in and sealed it shut. Abbey Bartlett was young, intelligent, and creative, but it would seem she had no political sense. If she was kidnapped there would be a national uproar, and it would only get worse if the fact that she had planned it herself got out.
"Crazywoman Sits Next to Bartlett", "Abigail Bartlett Cracks", "A Conspiring Presidential Team". Donna could just see the headlines now. And she could see herself. Unemployed.
Of course, she was well aware that she could not go through with this. But what to do about it she was unsure. All she knew was that she had to get rid of the parcel sitting on her desk. And fast. But what to do…who to call…
"Donna! Are you listening to me?"
Donna jumped to her feet, knocking most of her papers…and the parcel…to the floor.
"Sorry, Sam…what were you saying?"
"Goodness, Donna, calm down, here, let me help you with this stuff…"
"No! I-I mean, no, I can do it myself. Did you need anything, Sam?" she asked hastily, scooping the papers into her arms.
"Well I thought you might want to know. There's news on Josh."
"Oh yeah? How's he doing?" Donna quizzed Sam, dropping the parcel, hidden by some papers, on her windowsill.
"Quite well. He's just got out of plastic surgery, and if all goes well, he should be in again tomorrow."
"That's great!" Donna smiled, tossing the last few folders onto her desk.
"I know…I really do miss Josh…well, I'll see you, Donna. Hey, look out!"
He pointed at her windowsill. Donna turned just in time to see her papers and parcel flutter out the window.
"Oh no…" she muttered.
"Anything important among those papers?"
"Huh? Oh, no, nothing I don't have a copy of. Well, Sam, I'll see you."
As soon as the door shut, Donna peered out her window. Her papers had blown far away, but where was the parcel…suddenly Donna's stomach churned, as he located it. It was on the floor of a balcony a few floors down. By Donna's calculations, it would be…right in the middle of the vice president's suite!
Donna turned hurriedly and donned her coat. She took the elevator down, and then grabbed some files from a filing room down the hall.
A few minutes later, she was knocking on his door. In a moment, the vice president opened it, and looked at her quizzically.
"Do I know you, miss?"
"Donna Moss. I work for Josh Lyman." She extended her hand.
"Oh yes," he started, gripping it firmly. "Did you need something?" he shouted over a loud noise that had started coming from his room. "Room service is cleaning the place up," he explained.
"Well, I have some files here you might be interested in."
"Let me see," he said, grabbing for them. Donna pulled away. She had just picked some random files, he couldn't actually look at them.
"One moment, sir. May I come in?"
"Please," he gestured inwards. Donna walked into the room and settled on a couch with full view of the balcony. She noticed a maid sweeping dust off the balcony. And there was the parcel!
"Now what's going on?" the vice-president started.
"Well, I—oh my God…"
The parcel had just been swept off the balcony.
"I have to go," Donna whimpered, and practically bowled over her host in her haste to get to the door.
"Sorry," she muttered, and ran for the elevator.
In ten more minutes, she was casually strolling through the White House gardens. She carefully scanned the side of the tall white building for the vice-president's balcony. Yes, there it was. Donna pulled out a sketchpad and a pocket calculator and tried to calculate where the parcel should have landed. Unfortunately she had never aced physics in school, and soon she was resolved to simply searching.
After about twenty minutes she was still unsuccessful, and she had attracted the attention of a Secret Service agent. She knew what she had to do.
"Excuse me, can you help me?"
"What can I do?" he asked gruffly.
"Do you have a mobile phone? I need to speak to the President. Right away."
He looked at her funny, but she knew what she had to do.
