Series So Far:

Plans and Privilege 1/6
By Lacy


Five Republican Congressmen are driving me insane. But that's
nothing new. They've had me trapped in the Roosevelt Room for over
three hours, and I was supposed to take Donna to lunch a half an hour
ago. The undersecretary of Transportation is sitting beside me, but
he's not turning out to be a whole lot of help.

The gaggle of Republicans sitting across the table seems to have
chosen the Honorable Mark Petrovich from the state of Georgia to act
as their spokesman. He's a nice guy who's only held office for five
years, but has a commanding and confident presence. I just have this
minor problem with his politics – I'm completely against them.
Mark's lilting Southern drawl and continual use of the phrase
`State's Rights' has me thinking suddenly about Robert E. Lee.

"The Criminal Railroad Trespass Act leaves penal codes up to the
state, Josh. That much is perfectly clear in Title 45, Chapter 10."

"I have a passing acquaintance with the U.S.C., Mark."

"Well, I was just wondering."

"The problem I'm having here, Mark, is that the states don't appear
to be doing their jobs. You're right, the CRT gave them the right to
set penal codes -- it was an act of good faith. But to date, twenty
states in the Union have yet to enact a single codified law in this
regard."

"Some of the states are lucky. They don't need codified laws in this
regard, which is all the more reason why the federal government
should keep its nose out of this issue."

"Arizona isn't so lucky, Mark." I hold up a file folder full of
information dug up by my invaluable and erstwhile assistant. "Three
years ago, a commuter train was intentionally and maliciously
derailed in Arizona killing fourteen people and wounding forty-two
others -- some of them critically. The responsible party served less
than eight months in the state pen. The penalty for vandalizing
private property was pretty cheap wouldn't you agree? Fourteen people
on the way to Grandma's house for the holiday lost their lives, and
Jake Roster is walking around a free man. The average punishment for
railroad saboteurs is three to five years. For minors, the terms are
significantly less."

"You're asking to federalize the railroad in the eyes of the criminal
justice system," he states. "You're also asking private carriers to
be fiscally responsible for criminal acts."

"People's lives are at stake. Can't we find a way to get together on
this? A thousand people died last year because they weren't breaking
a federal law – or even a state one for that matter. The House will
pass this legislation, Mark, whether you like it, or not. By an
overwhelming margin, I might add. And then the Senate will have a
go. We're done here," I say. "If you'll excuse me, I have another
meeting that I'm already late for," I fib.

I have a meeting. I have a meeting with a hamburger and smuggled
French fries. I snap my binder shut and push the chair away from the
table, beating a hasty retreat before someone can call me back for
another hellish round of dry statistics.

I'm starving. Also, I haven't seen Donna since she rattled off my
schedule this morning. She's been...elusive all week. If she
discovers a free moment she disappears from the bullpen. She's also
been secretive on the phone. Is this a pregnancy thing? I really
should read up on the subject, instead of trying to play it by ear,
like I've been doing.

Note to self: get some of those books on Dr. Burgess' list. Maybe
I'll go shopping tomorrow. There should be a few bookstores open on
Saturday.

I'm disappointed to find Donna's desk barren of her presence. She's
disappeared again. I may be a little clueless sometimes, but I'm
beginning to suspect that something is afoot. Something involving
Donna and her need to be away from her desk.

I drop my binder on my desk and head for the Communications bullpen.
Maybe one of the other girls has seen her. Maybe she got tired of
waiting for my interminable train ride from hell to end, and decided
to go down to the Mess with her friends. She's eating at strange
intervals these days. Did I forget to mention the food cravings that
make my stomach curdle?

Jalapeno peppers dipped in honey. That's my personal favorite. What
on earth could be going on inside of her to make her want to eat
that? Did you know that if someone kisses you after they've eaten
peppers it makes your skin burn? And I don't mean in a good way.

Ginger's desk is deserted and so is Bonnie's. All right, then. It
appears that Donna has taken lunch with the others. Maybe I'll ask
Sam if he wants to put his life at risk and get a hamburger and fries
with me. Sam's door is shut, which in White House code indicates a
request to not be disturbed. So, I peek through the window to assure
myself I'm not interrupting a high level meeting.

That's when I see them. He's sitting at his desk and she's leaning
down reading something over his shoulder. I can tell that she's
speaking to him in low, almost intimate tones. He agrees with
whatever she's said, and smiles up at her.

Now, I know what you must think I'm thinking, but you couldn't be
further from the truth. There's nothing going on between Sam and
Donna. To make that assumption would be ridiculous, not to mention
suicidal on my part. I've already been bitten by that lesson, thank
you very much. I discovered that Donna just isn't built that way,
and Sam…well...Sam is the modern day embodiment of the word
chivalry. Sam lives his life by a strict code, which does not
include putting the moves on his best friend's girl.

Besides, I'm pretty sure he has the hots for Ainsley Hayes – a
concept I still have trouble grasping.

So, they're working on something – I tell myself. They're working on
something important enough to merit a closed door and hushed voices.
But Donna is *my* assistant, whispers a little voice in my head.
What could she possibly have to work on with Sam? Is this where
she's been every time she's away from the Operations bullpen?
Closeted in Sam's office? Talking with him in secret?

She's keeping a secret from me. My mind is at war with itself as one
voice reminds me that I have to trust her. Donna would never betray
me – in any way. Sam would never betray me – he just couldn't.
Okay, so this must be business. That's all. Sam's been assigned
something and he needs Donna's help.

Okay, now I'm just foolishly rationalizing. I'm familiar with all of
Sam's assignments. Plus, he's got Cathy for whatever assistance he
may need. Ginger and Bonnie, too, if he needs an extra pair of
hands. Donna's said nothing to me about having to meet with Sam.

I'm sorely tempted to barge into his office and demand to know what
the hell is going on. Right, Lyman, then you can drag Donna out by
her hair and back to your cave. I'm a little taken aback by these
intense feelings of possessiveness that are coursing through me at
the moment.

I mean, sure, I can occasionally be arrogant. The word `misogynist'
has, from time to time, been applied to me – and I'm still offended,
by the way. I'll have you know that I have the utmost respect for
the weaker sex, and their equality. There's also the word `pig', but
usually only people who don't know me drag that one out.

Regardless, I've never been the possessive-boyfriend type. Frankly,
I see that as borderline abusive. Except for sabotaging most of
Donna's dates, I don't think I've ever done anything that might
indicate an overly domineering trait in regards to her personal
freedoms. And even then, I was doing her a favor. I was saving her
from every dunce, jerk, skunk, and swine that D.C. has to offer. I
was saving her from her own hapless instincts for love. I was saving
her for me, damn it!

Fine, I'll admit it. I might have the tiniest tendency to get just a
wee bit jealous. But can you blame me? I mean, look at her. The
woman is a goddess. The way her skin glows after she's had a good
night's rest. The way her hair turns to silver when the moonlight
catches it. The way her eyes look when she's trying to put together
all the important pieces of a political puzzle. I don't deserve her,
and believe me -- no one knows this better than I do.

So, I shouldn't push it. I should just accept that there's something
going on here that I am not a part of. I mean, I don't have to be a
part of everything, do I? As Donna would probably say, `It's not all
about you, Josh'. So, it's probably not about me. Sam isn't just
*my* friend. He's her friend, too. As he's pointed out before, he's
known her almost as long as I have. Even if he doesn't know her as
well.

I'll just go back to my office. That's what I'll do. Because
standing here worrying about it is driving me crazy. So, I'll go
back to my office and worry about it. That way, I can be crazy in my
office.

She'll tell me about it when she's ready. I just keep repeating that
chant as I slink back to my office. She'll tell me about it when
she's ready. I can wait. I've been practicing my patience skills.
Who do I think I'm kidding?

It's just that I've never been good at not knowing. My mother always
called me inquisitive. There's nothing wrong with being inquisitive
is there? Donna just says I'm a big snoop. She even used the term
`meddlesome' once.

I'm not meddlesome, am I? Just because I want to know what's going
on with Sam and Donna? I think it would be worse if I just didn't
care. I think it would be worse if I didn't notice something unusual
was going on right beneath my nose. That would show a decided lack
of interest on my part, and women like men to be interested --
because if men aren't interested, the women go elsewhere.

She'll tell me when she's ready.

TBC

****