By Lacy

We're late, but still fashionably so. We dress in record time, but Josh has to remind me that my lipstick needs to be redone. I slip into the dress, loving the way it feels against my still heated skin, and Josh zips up the back. I slide the strapp-y shoes on without having to spend too much time on the closures. The dress also has a long silk chiffon neck scarf, which wraps twice my neck, the ends flowing down my back.

The bodice, with its straight neckline, is snug enough to give my breasts support and a bit of lift. I look down, quite surprised by the cleavage I see there. Josh notices my musings as he dons his tuxedo pants, and unleashes a throaty chuckle.

In the bathroom mirror, I notice that my hair has begun to come lose from the pins. Forced to make a decision, I quickly remove the pins and allow my hair to fall naturally down my back. I didn’t bring my hairbrush so I have no way to tidy it. I stand back and study my reflection in the mirror. It's fine. It's stylishly disheveled.

I rush back to Josh's office, just in time to tie his bowtie.

"Donnatella," he whispers, holding up the jewelry case. He removes the bracelet and gently secures it around my wrist.

"Sturdy clasp," I mention. I get nervous just looking at the fifteen thousand dollars worth of diamonds around my wrist. "Good thing," I say. "I wouldn't want to lose this."

"You can say that again," Josh replies. "It's signed out under my name."

"Yes, we wouldn't want to put you in the poor house."

He implores me to step back and spin around so that he can admire me. I humor him.

"I knew that dress would be perfect for you."

"It's beautiful, Joshua. You're beautiful. I really do feel like a princess."

He offers me his arms as we leave the office and head for the northwest side of the building to the Entrance and Cross Hall — the gauntlet we will have to face before entering the East Room. I place my hand in the crook of his arm and smile at him. He smiles in return, letting me get just a glimpse of those breathtaking dimples.

As we negotiate the corridors of the west wing, I say without turning in his direction, "Of course, you set a bad precedent buying me a Vera Wang dress. Now I won't be placated with anything less than a BMW."

"How about a new house?" he asks.

I'm a little shocked by his question. We'd talked about it, but only in that something-for-the-near-distant-future way. It had been mentioned, but never really discussed in detail, so I kept putting it out my mind.

"Are you serious?" I inquire.

"I think it's time, Donna. Although, you should understand that you'll probably have to do the bulk of the house hunting alone. At least until you have a few good solid leads. Are you ready for that?"

"Will I get Fridays and Saturdays off?"

"Half a day on Saturday."

"All day Saturday," I wheedle.

"Done," he sighs. "But only until we find a house."

"Understood."

"You drive a hard bargain, Donnatella Moss."

"But you knew that already."

"Yeah, I did."

We reach the intersection to the Cross Hall just as our conversation ends. A line of elegantly dressed people mill about waiting to walk the corridor to the East Room. A blinding thought brings me to a stop and Josh halts beside me.

"Are you okay?"

"Josh, I just realized."

"What?"

"There'll be dancing."

"Uh-huh," he smiles. "Maybe be even a slow dance or two. We can do that now -- in public and everything."

"Dancing with music," I add. He studies my face, wrinkled with worry lines, and slides his hand down to grasp mine.

"I'll be fine," he assures.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," he squeezes my hand. "I'm sure."

As he passes reassurance to me through his eyes, the Press Corps behind the rope line notices our presence, and immediately the flashbulbs begin to pop.

"Hold on tight," Josh whispers as walk the gauntlet of photographers and reporters. "And don't forget to smile," he reminds me.

I smile for the cameras. I smile because Josh Lyman is holding my hand snugly in his. I smile because I'm wearing a dress that would've made Princess Di weep for joy. I smile because at this moment, everything feels like a dream.

The reporters shout questions, but Josh simply tells them that this night is for Secretary Patridge and not for us. He's being uncharacteristically modest, but it would show bad form to usurp the spotlight at a party in honor of another person. Some ask me about my dress and I answer them. Photographers request a few pictures and we oblige them because there's no harm in it.

We gain entrance to the East Room at last, join Secretary Patridge's receiving line, and shake the hands of Patridge and his wife.

"You were right, Josh," Sam sneaks up from behind as we're leaving the receiving line. "That dress is perfect for her." He leans forward to kiss me on the cheek and then pulls back to study my face. "You're positively radiant," he says.

I want to laugh, I really do. How can I tell Sam that the glow he detects actually has very little to do with the dress, and more to do with the fact that Josh and I were having sex in his office? Exactly. It can't be done.

"Thank you, Sam," I respond simply.

"You're welcome," he says, "but that doesn't mean I've forgiven you for your threats."

"Threats? What threats?" Josh inquires.

"She was using every tactic up her sleeve to find out what was going on in CJ's office," Sam supplies.

"Not every tactic, I hope," Josh smirks.

"Uh, well," stutters Sam. "Maybe not every tactic."

"What did she threaten to do?"

I open my mouth to fill him in, but Sam beats me to the punch. "That's really not important. Excuse me." He pivots and walks away, escaping into the crowd.

"I threatened to tell Ainsley that Sam has a crush on her."

"You didn't."

"Oh, yeah I did," I nod sharply.

"Wait a minute. Sam has a crush on Ainsley? The Conservative Republican Ainsley?"

"Duh, Josh."

"Are you serious?"

"Are you blind?"

"What is that supposed to mean?" Josh grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing tray and hands one to me.

"How can you even ask that?"

"Because I'm lost."

"Do you see surprise on this face?"

"I'd like to buy a clue for a hundred, Alex," he mutters beneath his breath.

"God, Josh, you can be so dense sometimes."

"I take offense to that." He takes one look at my you've-got-to-be-kidding face and crumbles. "Okay, I can be a little slow on the uptake."

"Three years isn't slow, Josh, it's foolish. It's ludicrous. It's absolutely ridiculous."

"So…we're not talking about Sam and Ainsley anymore, are we?"

"Pay attention, Joshua."

"I am," he vows. "I was. I thought I was."

"It's really no wonder you can't see things that are right in front of your face." My eyes scan the crowded room until I find Ainsley, dressed in a black evening gown. Just a few feet away from her, predictably, is Sam Seaborn.

"Hey, I always noticed you."

"Josh," I sigh. "I'm not talking about us anymore. I'm talking about Sam and Ainsley." I point in the direction of the two people about whom we've -- I've -- been talking. "Don't you see it?"

We observe as Sam approaches Ainsley, and strikes up a conversation. She genuinely smiles when she sees him and willingly accepts his attentions. They talk animatedly, but the smiles never leave their faces. Josh is watching them, too.

"Do you see it?"

"C'mon," Josh denies. "She drives him crazy. I've heard him say so himself."

"Exactly," I say.

"Exactly what?"

"I didn't drive you crazy?"

"You still drive me crazy," he answers. "Oh," he says, finally making the connection.

"Yeah. 'Oh'."

"Well, how does Ainsley feel about him?"

"She says he drives her crazy. That's a direct quote."

"Does that mean the same thing for women as it does for men?"

"Yes, Josh," I sigh. Well at least he's attempting to reach an understanding of the fundamental differences and similarities between the two sexes. I really can't fault him for that. Most men wouldn't even bother.

In the foreground of my vision, I see Toby Zeigler bearing down upon us, not a trace of party cheer marring his predictably dour features. He’s wearing a tux, as is everyone, but unlike most people who can be improved by a tuxedo, Toby can make formal attire look dumpy. I expect to see him with his ever present and overstuffed accordion file tucked beneath one arm. He just doesn’t look quite right without it.

"Josh," he sighs in greeting, and then turns to me. "You look lovely, Donna."

High praise from Toby -- I think I’m blushing. "Thank you, Toby."

Josh nods at Toby’s greeting, but his eyes are still glued to Sam and Ainsley on the other side of the room.

"Josh, we need you to meet with Senator Thompson at the OEOB tomorrow."

"Uh-huh." Josh is only listening with half an ear.

"New Mexico or Wyoming?" I ask because there are two Senator Thompsons in the Senate.

"New Mexico," Toby answers.

"From Foreign Relations?" I ask.

"Yup." Finally Toby gives up trying to gain Josh’s attention and turns to me. "I need Josh to take a meeting about the International Cultural Property Treaty."

"Okay."

"Please tell Josh, when he’s back from wherever he’s disappeared to, that we need to make some serious inroads in getting these additions ratified. The additions were received in the Senate while he was busy working on the confirmation. I want Josh to find out what kind of battle, if any, we can expect on this. We need to get as many members of the Leadership on board with this as we possibly can. Also, tell Josh this isn’t a partisan issue, it’s a human rights issue." Throughout his instructions, Toby studies the East Room’s oak parquetry floor, only periodically glancing up to see if I’m still paying attention. "And more thing, Donna. I don’t anticipate Thompson having a problem with the ratification. Please tell Josh not to create one."

"Hey, Toby," Josh interrupts the conversation as though only now noticing Toby’s presence. "Have you ever noticed the way Sam looks at Ainsley."

"Oh, for the love of God," Toby says, rolling his eyes.

"No, I’m serious. Look."

"No, I don’t think I will. Listen, Josh, I set up a meeting for you with Senator Thompson tomorrow."

"Okay." Josh answers, though I doubt he heard a word. He’s still too busy watching the couple across the room.

"Thanks, Donna," Toby says as he walks away.

"Wait a minute," Josh tears his eyes away from his best friend. "What did Toby want?"

"You’re meeting with Thompson tomorrow in the OEOB."

"Governmental Affairs?"

"Foreign Relations."

"Foreign Relations? I don’t take meetings on foreign relations."

"Sure, you do."

"Only if someone needs to be alienated."

"You’re only meeting with one American Senator, and Toby wanted me to be sure to remind you not to alienate him."

"What’s the meeting about?"

"International Cultural Property Protection during Armed Conflict."

"Seriously? Toby wants me to handle the changes to the ICP Treaty?"

"That’s what he said."

"Cool."

"I thought you might like that."

The orchestra at the front of the room strikes up on old-fashioned Viennese Waltz. Party guests, previously mingling with others, move aside as President Bartlet and the First Lady take the floor. The usual protocol would require Secretary Patridge and his wife to join the First Couple; however, Patridge’s recent health problems permit him the luxury of abstaining from the exertion of dancing.

Josh takes my free hand in his and pulls me back as we watch the President and his wife begin to circle the floor.

"Did you know when the Waltz first made its way to England from Vienna, couples had to have permission from Queen Victoria to participate?" I ask. "You see, the dance required the male the actually hold his partner in his arms, which was considered highly risqué in its time."

"Donnatella?" Josh takes the champagne glass from me and sets, both mine and his, on a passing tray.

"Yes, Joshua?"

"Shut up and dance."

TBC

****