By Lacy

He propels me out on to the floor and we’re the first couple with the initiative to join the President and his wife. Other couples are quick to join after that, and soon the floor is filled with whirling dancers.

The Waltz is not one of my best dances, probably because it’s been a long time since I learned it. My mother forced me to take ballroom dancing when I was thirteen. She thought it would help me get through my ‘awkward’ stage. I hated the dance class, which probably had something to do with the fact that I was partnered with Donnie Weidermier, who was a good three inches shorter than I was at the time. It only made me feel more awkward.

I may be dancing in the East Room of the White House, but I can recall the feelings of that gangly thirteen-year-old girl I once was. My awkwardness has never been more acute.

"Donna?" Josh asks as we dance.

"Be quiet, Josh. I’m trying to count. The last thing I need right now is to trip and fall on my face in front of all these people. I’d never live it down."

"I won’t let you fall," he promises. "Relax. And look at me."

I had been staring into the depths of his bow tie, my mind meticulously ticking off the ‘one-two-three-four’ of the waltz. My gaze shifts to his eyes and he smiles reassuringly at me. His fingers press into my upper back, meeting a wall of tension.

"Relax," her implores. "For once, I’m leading you. Trust me."

I exhale a long breath to release some of the tension in my body. Staring into Josh’s eyes, the rest of the room and the others in it, disappears. I truly have eyes for only him. The room spins in my peripheral vision, and I’m able to allow him to lead me through the Waltz, becoming more and more confident with each step and turn.

Just as I begin to find enjoyment in the dance, the music comes to an end and we are forced to stop. I’m a little out of breath and Josh takes my hand as we depart the floor. As luck, or Fate, or Josh’s design would have it, we end up standing next to the President and First Lady.

"A Viennese Waltz, Mr. President?" Josh inquires, as President Bartlet notices our presence.

"Yes, Josh. The Viennese Waltz has always been a favorite of mine. Did you know when the Waltz made its first appearance in the Victorian Era, English couples had to have permission from the highest authorities to dance it?"

"Not again, Jed," the First Lady mutters under her breath.

"Yes, sir," Josh replies, smiling at me, "I actually knew that. But isn’t the Viennese Waltz a little…?"

"Old?" interjects the President.

"I was going to say unfashionable."

"Fashion is dictated by those in power, Josh. I am one of those in power. Therefore, tonight the Viennese Waltz is a very popular dance. If I wanted to, I could make the Hokey-Pokey all the rage."

"On behalf of the general public: Please don’t, sir."

"On the other hand," the First Lady interjects, "nobody in this room was watching us dance."

"What do you mean, Ma’am?" I ask. "Of course, they were."

"No, they weren’t. Everybody in this room only had eyes for you two, and they were busy watching you only have eyes for each other."

"Is that so?" Josh smirks in my direction.

"Yes," the President replies. "I’m plotting the perfect revenge as we speak." President Bartlet scans the room until he locates Charlie Young. With a tilt of his head he calls the young man over.

"Yes, sir." Charlie is unperturbed by the President’s summons, and stands ready to fulfill the older man’s needs. Despite Charlie’s casual posture, his respect and affection for the President is clear. President Bartlet leans in and whispers something into Charlie’s ear. Charlie nods and replies, "Yes, sir," before stepping away.

President Bartlet watches as Charlie leans in to relay the message to the music conductor, and then turns to us with a Cheshire cat grin glued to his face, his eyes sparkling.

"What is it, sir?" Josh asks.

"I’ve just thought of the perfect revenge. I’m going to take this beautiful lady away from you."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Donna," the President smiles. "May I have this dance?"

Well, honestly. What else can I say to that except, ‘It would be my pleasure, Mr. President?’ So that’s exactly what I do. He proffers his arm as the music begins, and I place my arm above his, our hands clasping — just as they did in the old days. He notices this return to convention and nods with a smile.

On the dance floor, I’m transported back to Madame Beulieu’s Ballroom Dance classes, and I’m partnered with Donnie Weidermier again -- except now, Donnie Weidermier is the Leader of the Free World. Over Donnie’s…I mean, the President’s shoulder I can see that Josh has respectfully requested a dance with the First Lady, who has graciously accepted.

The President begins to talk and tell jokes which makes me laugh and smile, and not just because he’s the President. Anyway, pretty soon we’re moving around the floor having a great time and for a moment, I forget that he’s the President of the United States and remember that he also happens to be a pretty nice guy, too. Then he says something that almost makes me trip and fall on my face.

"So, are you two planning a Rose Garden wedding?"

"Sir?" I ask, after I’ve recovered myself.

"The Rose Garden is really only beautiful for a few months out of the year. How about June?"

"I’m not…I mean…to discuss something like that would be outrageously presumptuous, Mr. President." I manage to express my thoughts without stuttering too much.

"Haven’t you discussed it at all?"

"The Rose Garden?"

"The wedding," he answers. "Getting married," he clarifies.

"Well, yes, but only in the abstract, sir. We thought perhaps after reelection–"

"Well, I might not win reelection and then where would you be? You wouldn’t be able to avail yourselves of my lovely Garden then."

"You have a point, sir, although I would prefer it if you wouldn’t talk about losing the reelection."

"Stranger things have happened. So, how does June sound?"

"This June?" I gulp.

"Well, of course this June. Before the campaign machine kicks into high gear."

"That’s less than six months away, sir," I hedge.

"What is it, Donna?"

"Marriage is such a big step, sir, and with the lives we lead…and Josh hasn’t even asked. Not really, I mean. I’m just not sure if we’re ready."

"I’ve never seen two people more ready. Besides, you already act married, you might as well make it official. And the rest of us are sick of waiting around. We’re taking matters into our hands." The music ends and he escorts me from the floor. "Think about it, Donna."

"Yes, sir," I reply. Well, I guess I have my answer if I ever wondered about how the President would feel about a marriage. I’m a bit shell shocked by the conversation, though. It’s not every day that the President of the Unites States takes a personal interest in the love lives of other people.

President Bartlet hands me off to Josh, who wraps an arm around my waist, and ushers me to the nearest hors d’oeuvre tray.

"Crab puff?" he offers.

"No, thanks," I reply.

I spend the rest of the evening alternately thanking people for the compliment on my dress, and considering the President’s words. A June Wedding in the White House Rose Garden, I contemplate. It would be like a fairytale. The problem is that Josh hasn’t asked me. Although, he’s been more than open about his desire to marry, we only ever discussed it as something that would happen after reelection, which is still over a year away.

The evening ends for us just after one in the morning. I return the Harry Winston bracelet (which was a big hit) to the private guard. I think Josh was afraid I wouldn’t want to give it up, but the truth is I was glad to be rid of it. As stunning as it is, I just didn’t care for having that kid of responsibility attached to my wrist.

Now if I owned it, that might be another story.

At home that night, Josh and I discuss the house hunting I plan to do. He suggests the real estate agent that helped him find this place. We talk about all the things our new home should have. A bigger kitchen, a study, and a separate living room for entertaining guest. We decide that tomorrow I’ll put in a call to the real estate agent and make an appointment to meet.

Josh holds me close as he drifts off. Long after he’s fallen asleep, I’m still awake, replaying the conversation I had with the President on the dance floor. June wouldn’t be so bad, I think.

The only problem is that Josh hasn’t asked.

The End