See disclaimers in Part 1
****
House of Cards 2/4
By Lacy
Sunday morning I pick up the moving truck at the rental place and
arrive back at the townhouse to discover Sam, CJ, and Toby already
there. Under Donna's direction the furniture is efficiently hauled
out to the truck and packed neatly inside, followed by the boxes. It
takes just over an hour, much as Donna expected.
She's standing on the stoop wearing a turtleneck and an old pair of
jeans. Her hair is tied back in a half-finished ponytail with a big
loop. She smiles at me, as Sam and I climb the stairs to pick up
another load. I can't help myself - I reach out for her, and kiss her
on the move.
Moving in is fun. Well, except for the whole manual labor aspect.
When we arrive at the new address and Donna takes everyone on a
walking tour of the house, enthusiastically sharing her plans for the
place with all willing ears. CJ throws a few new ideas her way while
Sam, Toby, and I can only stare at them in confusion. What is it
about getting women together that they start to talk about things you
would never expect them to say?
After the tour, Donna whips out a list, from where I have no idea. An
honest to God list! She proceeds to inform us the order and priority
of each individual item in the truck. The fridge is the first thing
to go, she tells us. After all, we have to have a way to chill the
'after-move' beer.
"Did you bribe these people with beer?" I ask. "Is that how you got
them to agree to help us move?"
"Yes," she smiles. "You people are so easy it's pathetic, really."
"I want a beer now," Toby demands.
"Furniture first," she responds.
"I have taught her well," I proclaim.
Following Donna's painstakingly organized directions, the furniture
and boxes are delivered into the house within two hours. Sam and I
tow the box spring and mattress upstairs and quickly assemble the
pieces in the master bedroom. Donna and CJ are downstairs placing
dishes and silverware in the kitchen cabinets. Toby's taken charge of
the study by situating our separate book collections on the shelves.
I'm not sure, but I think he's alphabetizing them.
I suspect that many of the less important boxes will be left unpacked
for a while, but at least we'll be able to have a reasonable
comfortable home by the time this exhaustive day is through. Thanks
to our friends.
By late afternoon, we have dishes in cabinets, towels in the
bathrooms, clothes in the closets, and all the necessities of life.
Except there's no food in the fridge.
"Where's the phone?" Donna shouts.
"It won't be turned on until tomorrow," I remind her. "It's Sunday,
remember? Who do you want to call?"
"I want to order pizza," she tells me. "Or Chinese, or something. We
have to feed these people, Josh."
Right, food. I check my crappy watch. I'm supposed to be having
dinner with Joey Lucas in an hour and a half and, you guessed it, I
haven't gotten around to telling Donna yet. And now there's the whole
need for a shower...and, I meant to, but--
"You're not going to meet Joey Lucas tonight looking like that, are
you?" Sam asks, as he places a box on the kitchen table. I've just
decided to cut Sam Seaborn out of my will. And he can forget about
being the godfather to any of my future children.
The sound of breaking glass I hear must be Donna dropping her bottle
of beer on the kitchen tiles. I look up to see her head tilted in the
strangest fashion and the hurt in her eyes couldn't broadcast any
clearer if this were HDTV.
"Joey Lucas?"
"I just said something I shouldn't have, didn't I?" Sam asks,
sheepishly.
"It's not what you think," I tell her.
"You're meeting with Joey Lucas? Tonight?"
"I'm really sorr--"
"Shut up, Sam," I shout, turning in his direction. By the time I turn
back to Donna, she's already disappeared from the doorway and I can
hear her feet pounding on the stairs. "Damn it!"
"I can see that my work here is done," I hear Sam mutter under his
breath before beating a path for the front door, CJ and Toby in his
wake.
"Donna!" I yell, as I follow her upstairs to the master bedroom.
Well, this is another fine mess I've gotten myself into. When will I
learn that keeping things from her will only come back to haunt me? I
barge through the bedroom door to find Donna pacing back and forth in
front of the fireplace. Her skin is flushed with anger and her feet
move at a frenetic rhythm.
"Joey Lucas?" she asks, not even bothering to look me in the eye. "Is
this something you're doing for work?"
"I meant to tell you, Donna. Kenny called yesterday. Joey's in town
for one night--"
"And you'd thought maybe you could check out what you're missing?"
"Don't be stupid, Donna." She stops pacing and turns upon me with all
the fury of a woman scorned. A gleam is in her eyes that I've never
seen before, and I hope to God I'll never see again.
"Stupid? Did you just call me stupid?"
"No, I--"
"Well, then. By all means, go spend the evening with the college
educated political pundit. Have a little stimulating conversation.
Maybe she can stimulate something else."
"Donna."
"When did Kenny call?"
"Donna."
"When did he call?" she asks again, more forcefully.
"Yesterday evening," I answer.
"And you were going to...what? Mention this on your way out the
door?"
"I don't know."
"It's dinner, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"You've got a big guilty sign stamped on your forehead, you know
that?"
"It's just Joey Lucas." Even as I say the words I know that Donna
won't see it that way. How could she, when I don't even see it that
way?
"Just Joey Lucas? There is no 'Just Joey Lucas'. Let me see," she
crosses her arms against her chest. "There's the Joey Lucas you had a
crush on since the day you met her. There's the Joey Lucas you only
had eyes for in L.A. Oh, and let's not forget the famous 'Joey Lucas
Suit' Joey Lucas. Funny, I don't recall a 'Just Joey Lucas'."
"Donna, you're not making sense."
"You had a thing with her, Josh. A crush or a flirtation, or
whatever," she reminds me.
"I don't know what we had."
"You lied to me, Josh. You lied to me."
"I didn't lie--" Trying to keep up with her arguments is like trying
to run the hurdles while wearing skis.
"Don't you dare politic this, Josh Lyman. How dare you try and play
me? I'm not some Freshman Rep you can fudge the truth with."
"I know. We're just going to have some dinner. You know, catch up."
"Yeah, remember the good old days," she murmurs. "God, you couldn't
even think straight in her presence. You became this babbling idiot.
I've seen brooks that don't babble as much as you do when you're
around her. If you hadn't been shot you'd probably be with her right
now instead of me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Oh, everybody could see that it was only a matter of time."
"Who's everybody?"
"Everybody. You were so obvious, Josh, with your flirting and your
blatant jealousy over her relationship with Al Kiefer."
"It's ancient history, Donna," I try to placate her.
"Not so ancient to me. And you know what makes it worse? You knew,
Josh. You knew I would be hurt by this and you did it anyway. Why
else would you keep it from me?"
"C'mon, Donna!" God, why is that every thing I say is wrong? What do
I have to say to make it right?
"Fine, whatever," she throws her hands up.
"This isn't some illicit affair I'm running off for. I'm not seeing
her behind your back."
"You're going to be late," she tells me. Her voice carries none of
its earlier passion.
"Donna, please--"
"Have fun." She brushes past me and out the door.
Witness, one and all, our first lovers' quarrel and my shocking
inability to come up with any reasonable arguments in my own defense.
It's a red-letter day for this brilliant tactician. She's right, and
I know she's right. I kept my appointment with Joey Lucas a secret,
even when I knew it would upset her.
I want to tell her I love her, but I know the words will mean nothing
to her in her current temper. I should have told her that I needed to
find some closure with Joey Lucas. I should have told her that I was
just going to explain to Joey that whatever we had is over. I should
have told her the truth.
We have this unspoken promise to always tell each other the truth, to
always speak honestly about our relationship. Well, I broke the
promise. Now, of course, it occurs to me that if I'd only told her
truth from the beginning, she would have been upset, but not angry
with me. It's not the dinner with Joey Lucas that bothers her; it's
the fact that I lied to her about it. And, let's face it. I lied. A
lie of omission is still a lie - it's still less than the truth. It's
still a broken promise.
If showering and dressing were an Olympic sport, you'd be looking at a
gold medallist right now. With less than fifteen minutes before I'm
to meet with Joey, I trek downstairs, the ends of my hair still wet,
my shirt cuffs still unbuttoned. I hear Donna moving about in the
kitchen and decide to attempt a final apology to her before I leave,
but her response is only a terse, "Go."
"I won't be long," I tell her. Her response to this is a deadly
silence.
The expression on her face frightens me because it's one with which I
am unfamiliar. There are no tears of anger or sadness to play upon my
guilt, only a stone cold determination to demonstrate her rigidity.
After three years of working for me, Donna's become very good at
hiding her hurt in the face of my insensitive blunders.
There is no weeping or begging me not to go, which makes it all the
more difficult to leave without remorse. She's aware that tears and
theatrics will only raise my ire, which will weaken her position and
strengthen mine. There's a storm raging inside of her, but she's
doing her damnedest to keep it concealed from me.
She's shut herself away from her resentment and hurt, and though she
wears an expression I have never seen before, still I know its
meaning. She cannot discern the role she's supposed to perform in
this production. Playing my assistant has a certain measure of
sanctuary, but it lacks the emotional shield to ward off her pain.
Playing my fianceé and lover would only serve to intensify her
emotional distress. So, she stands there blankly - in a disconcerting
limbo.
"I won't be gone long," I promise her again. "We'll talk about this
when I get back." I turn to leave the kitchen, but a final thought
stops me. "I have to do this, Donna." I explain. "She deserves that
much, at least."
TBC