New spoilers: "Shibboleth" and "Galileo"
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I can do this. This cannot be difficult. After all, I've been with
just me and the senior staff and no other assistants before. Of
course, at that time I had an acknowledged function, even if it
irritated them at times - I was there to take care of Josh. Now I'm
just - here.

"Donna!" Well, CJ looks happy to see me. That's something. "Come
in, come in now, please, I didn't know there were this many college
football teams in the country."

I laugh as she guides me inside. "I may never forgive you for going
away yesterday," she continues. "Family or no family, me and three
guys - anyone and three guys - alone on Thanksgiving with a
television involved is horrifying."

I laugh again because it's what I'm expected to do. I know she's
trying to put me at ease.

I didn't actually go all that far away yesterday, and I wasn't with
my family, but I didn't want Josh to feel bad (that is assuming of
course that he would have felt bad anyway). I actually drove to
Richmond to have Thanksgiving dinner with a friend from college and
her husband and some guy she invited for me to meet. Yeah. You can
say that again. My life is sad.

But now CJ is dragging me into her apartment, and while Toby barely
gives me a cursory glance and a wave between plays, Sam yells, "Hey
Donna, Happy Thanksgiving" (he really is cute in that little boy kind
of way), and Josh - well, Josh just kind of lights up and holds out
an arm for me. I'm not quite sure where he expects me to go, since
he's sitting on the very edge of the couch, but I'm not complaining.
I go and lean on the arm long enough to hug him, and then I stay there
with my arm stretched across the back of the couch behind him because
I can't think of anywhere else to go. If I lean one inch too far
I'll fall in his lap.

Yes, I know. You really don't have to say it.

Thankfully I'm distracted by CJ, who's asking me something about men
and sport-watching behavior, and I'm terribly gratified by the way
she drops an arm across my shoulders as she walks past me. Sam asks
for the remote to check on another game and I pass it to him, and he
asks me whether my brother played football, and we get into an
argument over whether Eastern or Midwestern teams are better, and
it's a good ten minutes before I realize that I'm arguing with the
Deputy Communications Director in the Press Secretary's apartment,
and I don't feel at all out of place anymore. And then Sam gets up to
get more chips and Josh slides over into the middle of the couch so I
can sit next to him, and as I tuck my feet up under myself he turns to
look at me and we share a smile that makes my stomach drop. Sam
comes back and shrugs at the lack of space on the couch. CJ's
sitting on a loveseat with her long legs stretched across it; Sam
goes over and calmly lifts her legs so that he can sit, replacing her
feet in his lap. Then somebody scores and we women are reduced to
background, but not entirely - Sam tries to jump up and cheer but
realizes he's trapped, so he settles for patting CJ's ankles
apologetically and waving his other arm in the air like a maniac.
Josh punches Toby in the arm, but his other hand reaches over to pat
my knee gently. It's a don't-worry-I-haven't-forgotten-you're-there
gesture, and I smile. I've been doing that a lot tonight.

When the football games are finally over we click on a terrible
eighties movie and sit around laughing at the hair, the clothes, the
music, and the cheesy dialogue. When Sam and Toby start arguing over
the finer points of the Michael Jackson look, Josh leans over and
whispers to me, "Aren't you glad you work with the smartest people in
the country?" I laugh, but whisper back seriously, "Then what does
that make me?" The conversation around us fades into the background
as we look at each other, and then he grins and says, "Smart." I let
out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Okay. As long as
I'm not the ditzy blonde college dropout who answers his phone.
Because you know, I worry sometimes.

No one trickles out of this party; at eleven Toby decides to leave
and we all follow. I notice that both Sam and Toby take CJ's hands
on their way out. Josh hugs and kisses her (after the others have
stepped out into the hall), and before I can turn away and duck out
CJ reaches over and pulls me into an embrace. I'm surprised, but I
hug her back. Josh has hung back to walk me out, and I'm surprised
again. But not nearly as surprised as I am when he walks me to my car
and kisses my cheek before watching me get in and drive away. And I
really wish he wasn't watching because I'm actually shaking and I can
barely get out of the space. I'm a terrible parallel parker in any
case, and this isn't helping.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And then we have the State Dinner.

And not just any State Dinner. We're apparently still placating the
Icelandic ambassador, and the Icelandic ambassador is apparently a
fabulous dancer. So, this will be a State Dinner with dancing.
Right. Excellent.

We've been working all day, so a half hour before the dinner starts
Margaret and I are still in the bathroom trying to apply makeup.
We've both managed in a remarkably small amount of time to pin our
hair up and make ourselves presentable - at least, presentable enough
for our role on the sidelines. Basically our job at these things is
to watch our bosses and make sure they don't need anything. I'm not
talking scotch on the rocks here, we do have some dignity. But we
carry their pagers, deliver messages, and basically watch them
mingle. This is usually a painful affair and I'm not really looking
forward to it.

But on the other hand, I look great. We look great. With Margaret's
red hair and her long satin green gown, and my fair hair and dark
blue gown, we look like sisters from a fairy tale. We giggle like
high schoolers going to the prom as we brush on just enough makeup to
keep ourselves from looking overworked and under-rested - which is
difficult because we're, well, overworked and under-rested.

"Margaret? You in there?" Josh's voice echoes through the heavy
bathroom door. Margaret gives me a confused look and yells back,
"Yeah, Josh?"

"Leo needs you. Something about a printer cable?"

Her eyebrows lift and she laughs. "Oops." To Josh she calls, "Right
there!"

"Donna with you?" he calls back.

"Yes!" I reply.

"Everybody decent?" he asks, as he opens the door and comes in.

"What would you do if we weren't?" Margaret demands.

"Take Polaroids," he teases. "Leo's imploding."

"Right." She gives me one last guilty grin and exits hastily.

I feel him looking at me. What is he doing in the women's bathroom,
anyway? Admiring the scenery?

"You're gapping there in the back," he says finally. That's all he
can say?

"I know," I grumble. "I forgot to get Margaret to pin the straps for
me. I guess I can just leave it."

"No, you can't," he says, demonstrating a frightening understanding
of women's clothing. "Because if the dress shifts about a tenth of
an inch it'll be just a little too low in the front and I don't think
we need to placate the Icelandic ambassador that badly." Before I
can object he's grabbing the safety pins off the sink. "Turn around."

I give him my best hands-on-hips, what-do-you-think-you're-doing
look. "I don't think so."

"I won't stab you," he promises. "Come on, guys know how to pin
stuff. I do it all the time when I'm missing shirt buttons."

"Well, that explains a lot," I crack, but I really don't see a choice
- I can't flash the ambassador - so I turn around. He pulls me
toward him with the strap of my gown - just like a guy - but then I
can't exactly complain because he slips his hand down between the
dress and my back to keep from poking me and all I can concentrate on
is his hand on my skin. He's done both sides before I notice and he
pulls at them cautiously. "How's that?"

"Fine, I think," I manage to say.

He turns me around and eyes my chest critically. I'm about to
protest when he nods and says, "Yeah, that's fine. You won't be
indecent." And while I'm recovering from that one he stands back and
adds, "You look great. Ready?"

Okay.

So, have you ever seen a whole lot of people at a party, all of whom
know half of the room and none of the other half, mingle effectively?
Now throw dancing into that mess. Cause see, the problem is,
generally you prefer to dance with someone you know, but the whole
point of these things is to suck up to the people you don't know,
most of whom don't actually speak English.

The senior staff is no exception. They're basically rotating through
the Icelandic delegation, while taking turns escaping to dance with
Mrs. Bartlet and CJ. I think the President threatened them with
death by trivia if they attempted to sit any dances out. This is
painful to watch.

Except I catch sight of Josh and CJ, who have managed to steal one
dance together. They look relaxed for the first time since we walked
into the room. She's wearing heels with her formal attire, so she
has a good couple inches on him, but she's leaning her head close to
his and they're laughing. His arms are around her casually,
comfortably, and they're moving like people who have been dancing
together for years. The President and Mrs. Bartlet are the same, but
the vibe is completely different - you would never suspect Josh and
CJ of being in love, but it's unmistakable with the Bartlets. I sigh
out loud, and Margaret gives me a funny look. I grin and nod toward
the President and First Lady, and she smiles sentimentally and nods
back. See, women understand these things.

The song ends and the orchestra gears up for another one. Sam leaves
the Icelandic woman he's been dancing with (awkwardly, I might add)
and joins Josh and CJ and the three of them head in our direction.
They're about eight feet from us when a Congressman from somewhere
grabs Josh's arm and asks, "Josh? Do you have a minute? I'd really
like to get your thoughts on 916."

Josh blanches, and then he looks up and meets my eye. He turns back
to the Congressman and says, "Bob, it's a party. We can talk about
916 any time this week you want, but right now I'm going to dance
with my assistant." He comes toward me with his hand outstretched.
Okay. Interesting development.

Margaret gives me a little shove and I glare at her before stepping
forward to take his hand. He closes his fingers over mine, brushing
his thumb across my knuckles, and leads me toward the floor. The
President heads in our direction, and a panicked Sam and CJ step
instantly into each other's arms. Josh and I both laugh, and the
President gives them a half amused look and turns away.

We stop in a good place and take up a very proper dance position, my
right hand on top of his left, my left hand resting on his shoulder,
his right hand high on my waist. Behind me I hear Sam say, "I always
loved you in this dress, CJ. I bet all those people at the Kennedy
Center loved it, too. Ow!" Even without looking I can tell she
smacked him. My eyes meet Josh's and we laugh, and that makes
everything a little less awkward. We start dancing a little too
formally, but that changes as we both relax a little. It occurs to
me that his nervousness is probably a compliment. He could be
comfortable dancing with CJ because there was no tension between
them, nothing at stake. I don't know if there's anything at stake
for him here, but it certainly feels like it.

I lift my hand from his shoulder to rub at my eye, careful not to
smudge my makeup. "Tired?" he asks. I nod slightly and he pulls me
nearer, coaxing my head down onto his shoulder, and then I realize
that asking if I was tired was just a convenient excuse - and I
really don't care. He carefully places our linked hands on his
shoulder, leaving mine there so that he can wrap both arms around me.
I feel his hands on my back and can't help stepping a little closer.
I have the distinct feeling that we're veering dangerously close to
the edge of propriety here, but I can barely summon up the strength
to care. He holds me close until the orchestra finishes the piece,
and, wonder of wonders, when we step back from each other there's no
awkwardness, no uncertainty. He takes my hand and leads me over to
where Sam and CJ are still fighting over whether her announcing that
she's good in bed is worse than hugging a call girl in public.
Looking over my shoulder, I'm stunned to see Leo leading, of all
people, Margaret from the dance floor. She looks a little flushed,
and they're walking with an unusual amount of distance between them.
That's something I'll have to ask her about tomorrow.

For now I'm going to let myself smile, and laugh, and enjoy the fact
that Josh's arm is still around my waist.

Have I mentioned that nothing ever goes the way I expect? Just when
I think the interesting part of the evening is over, the 916
Congressman, Bob something, comes back. He gives me a look that I
quite frankly don't like the feel of, and asks Josh, "So this is your
- secretary, did you say? Where did you ever find her?"

I resent the implication, clear in his tone, that Josh hired me for
less than professional reasons. I can tell from the look on her face
that CJ resents it on behalf of women everywhere, but she chooses to
let Josh answer. I only hope he gives the right answer, because in
our heels she and I are both bigger than he is.

"No, Bob," he replied, stressing the use of the name rather than the
title. "You must have heard wrong. This is my assistant, Donnatella
Moss. She's been with us since the campaign, and I kept her on
because I needed someone to do my research for me." Take that, Bob.
And I love when he uses my whole name.

Bob hasn't quite gotten the point yet. "It's a pleasure to meet you,
Miss Moss. So you and Josh have been together long, I gather?"

I draw myself up to every inch of my height. "I started for
President Bartlet in New Hampshire," I say, both stressing the fact
that I work for the President and de-stressing my relationship with
Josh.

It works. He falters a little and says, "Well, I guess we'll get
together later, Josh."

I don't notice until then that after that conversation Josh still has
his arm around me, but I notice it now because it tightens
convulsively as he mutters, "Sure. You can arrange an appointment
through Leo McGarry's office."

Not through me. He's trying to keep this guy away from me.

Josh is protective. Of me.

For those of you who are keeping count, I'd say we can call this
Lesson 4.