See disclaimers in part 1
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Plans and Privilege 3/6
By Lacy
"Hungry?"
Donna stands at the front of my desk. I didn't hear her enter. Her
skin is flushed slightly, and she carries lunch in both hands.
"You went down to the Mess?"
"I brought you a chicken Caesar salad," she proclaims, offering one
of the boxes. She's still on this crazy health kick for me. I'm
beginning to suspect it's not just a phase. I despair of ever eating
protein again. Real protein. Not that pansy chicken and turkey
protein, but good red-blooded, preferably American, beef.
"What did you get?" I ask.
"A cheeseburger," she replies with a smirk she learned from me.
"What? I get rabbit food and you get my lunch? What's wrong with
this picture?"
"I'm pregnant," she shrugs. "We have needs." She opens the box and,
lo and behold, there are French fries as well. She tears into a
packet of ketchup and slowing begins the smothering process.
"Why are you torturing me?"
"Because you take it."
"What if I said I wasn't going to take it anymore?"
"You won't. You love it."
"I want that cheeseburger."
"Not a chance. You have high blood pressure, Joshua."
"High side of normal," I correct.
"Yeah. Now. If I let you eat this burger, all of that grease and
cholesterol would start clogging your veins, and then you will have a
massive myocardial infarction which will leave me alone with a young
child, mourning your loss forever."
"I'm flattered. Where do you learn this stuff?"
"I read."
"You know, I don't actually have proof of that."
"I'm very secretive," she tells me. Which only serves as a reminder
that she's keeping a secret right now.
"After I got out of the meeting," I say after a brief silence.
"How did that go? Did you yell at Congressman Petrovich?"
"I did not. I was calm and cool and vaguely superior."
"Only vaguely?"
"Yes. I would characterize my superiority as vague."
"Did that superiority help you gain votes in any way?"
She's got me there. "No. He was immune to my intimations of
superiority."
"Imagine that." She bites delicately into the cheeseburger that
should be mine.
I choose to ignore her wry comment. "We'll get the votes," I assure
her.
"Where?"
"I don't know, but we will. Anyway, I was coming back from the
meeting, and I couldn't find you."
"Oh?"
"So I went to ask Ginger or Bonnie where you were."
"And?" She behaves as though her lunch in inordinately more
important than I, but I can see she's wondering where this
conversation is going.
"I didn't find them," I tell her. "But I saw you in Sam's office."
"And?"
"I...just wanted to know if there was something you wanted to tell
me."
"For example?"
"I don't know," I admit. "That's why I'm asking you."
"Are you...asking me?" Donna's been hanging out with lawyers and
politicians too long.
"I'm trying to."
"I've invited Sam over for dinner tonight," she informs me.
"Okay. Any special reason?" I delve.
"How about because he's our friend, who's gone above and beyond the
call in the last few months?"
"Is that the reason I'm supposed to accept?" I covertly reach over
to hijack a French fry from her lunch, but she eerily counters my
attack with a slap of her hand on mine.
"For now it is."
"Is there something going on, Donna?" I carefully school my voice to
not sound intimidating or accusatory in any way. "It's just that I
know you're keeping a secret from me, and you know how I get when I'm
left out of the loop."
"I've asked Sam to help me with a little project."
"What sort of project?" I pick listlessly at my listless salad, and
watch enviously as she takes another bite of my burger.
"Josh," she sighs. "This isn't something I want to discuss in the
office. Tonight, all shall be revealed."
"Why do I feel like I should be calling you The Amazing Donnatella?"
"Personally, I think the question is why *haven't* you been calling
me The Amazing Donnatella," she quips.
I don't tell her that keeping a secret from me only makes me imagine
a thousand hellacious scenarios. I don't tell her that I probably
won't get any work done for the rest of the day, because I'll sit
here and stew over what she's not telling me. She doesn't understand
that keeping secrets from me only makes me imagine the worst -- and
that has nothing to with trust, or the lack of it.
My attentions are torn from my salad when Donna groans, her eyes
closing as her face tightens with pain.
"What is it?" I ask, quickly.
"It's nothing," she replies. She arches her spine, reaching her
hands for the concave curve of her lower back. "Just a little back
pain," she fobs off.
"How long has this been going on?"
"Just since this morning," she tells me. "I think I slept funny. My
muscles are sore."
"Are you sure that's all it is?"
"Yes, Josh. It's perfectly normal. I checked."
"Maybe you should go home."
"I'm fine," she assures me. "I can't be running home every time I'm
not feeling well. I have to do my job, or there's no reason I
shouldn't be reassigned. They'll imply that we shouldn't be working
together."
"They?"
"Yeah...you know...'They'. Besides, barring an international
incident, I'm leaving at seven to go home and make dinner." She
packs up the trash from her lunch and tosses it into the garbage can
beside my desk.
"What if I don't get out of here until late?"
"It's Friday night, Josh. You'll be out of here by nine. You have a
light schedule -- a preliminary with Kyle Carson from the NRC."
"What time?"
"Six," she replies.
"I'm going to need last year's report from the Board," I tell her.
"Also, the transcripts from Senate Armed Services."
"I'm on it. Are you going to need to talk to someone from the DOE?"
"Probably. Call Spencer's office and set up something for Monday."
She nods in response and breezes out of my office back to her desk.
If I listen hard enough I can hear her on the phone working out the
logistics of a Monday meeting with Dan Spencer's assistant. Forcing
myself to snap out of this ennui I've been feeling, I dig around on
my desk until I find the specs I need from the Nuclear Regulatory
Commission.
I flip through the specifications; underlining data I will need
further information on. I jot down notes; questions I will need to
pose to Carson at our meeting this evening. It's not until an hour
later that I realize I'm missing some essential information.
"Donna!"
"That's it. I'm getting an intercom," she pouts, as she steps into
my office.
"That wouldn't be half as much fun. You'd get rid of it inside of a
week," I tell her.
"Doubtful. What do you need?"
"I asked you for the reports," I remind her.
Her eyes narrow, rolling slightly up to the left." The reports...."
she trails off.
"From the Board?"
Her face goes completely blank, as though she has no recollection of
our earlier conversation.
"Last year's report from the Defense Nuclear Facilities Safety
Board?" I prompt.
"THE Board," she cries, when the switch goes on.
"That's what I said."
"God, Josh, I'm so sorry."
"Are you okay, Donna? It's not like you to be forgetful."
"I'm fine," she says, a little crinkle rising up on her nose just
between her eyebrows. "There's just been a lot going on this week."
No more than usual -- I think. But I don't tell her that because, as
hard as she's trying, she can't hide the worried shadow in her eyes.
"Is that all?" she asks.
"The transcripts."
"What?" Here we go again.
"From Senate Armed Services. Donna, we just talked about this an
hour ago."
She ignores my frustrated observation. "I'll call the Chairman's
office and have them messengered over."
"Fine."
She straightens taller than usual, holding her head high, when she
leaves the office. Anyone who didn't know her might think she had
everything under control, but with a lover's insight, I see past all
that. The purposeful stiffening of her spine and the way she holds
her shoulders tightly in place is fraught with emotional meaning.
She's trying to keep herself in check.
She's discouraged by her uncharacteristic absentmindedness. She
prides herself on her mental lists and her ability to keep those
lists organized and running smoothly. She goes throughout the day
performing her duties with grace and efficiency, all the while
ticking off the 'to do's' as each task is completed. She gleans
confidence from the knowledge that I never have to repeat a request.
It occurs to me that there's a lot more to loving someone than the
earth-shattering moments of discovery and emotional outpouring.
There's more to it than first anniversaries, or holding hands and
making love. It's more than buying a house and creating a family.
It's about the everyday. The moments for which we don't send out
invitations. It's about a single glance, followed by the certain
knowledge that the woman I love is hurting. But mostly, loving her
is about the persistent need inside of me to fix it.
TBC
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