By Lacy

Sam and I leave the restaurant together, choosing to walk in silence for a few moments.

I find that talking to Sam about what I saw has eased this mysterious sense of loss I've been feeling. I've spent the last few days recalling the memory of that little girl, trying frantically to crystallize every detail. She's been fading on me, like an old tape that's been played one too many times. A well-loved tape.

I've never even met her, and I miss her. How can that even be possible?

It truly was a religious experience I had that night. I was wiped out from days of working into the wee hours of the morning and getting little or no sleep afterwards. When I left the office to return home I had every intention of falling into bed and getting a good, solid eight hours of sleep. The best laid plans, right?

When I saw Donna and held her in my arms, it was like coming alive again. It had been so long since I’d held her that the feeling of having her in my arms made me feel new again. That's one of the things I love about Donna -- I didn't even realize it until just this moment -- she rejuvenates me.

She takes my body and soul when they're running on empty, and she refills me.

Anyway, I felt so...rejuvenated, that we started to talk, which turned into discussions of the future, which turned towards children. Do you see where this is leading? She really sideswiped with me the whole children issue. When she brought it up I thought 'Hey, we've only been dating a month', but then I had to remind myself that 'we have history'.

I should clarify that I have never had anything against children. I just never pictured having them. It wasn't part of The Plan, if you know what I mean. Donna said all this stuff about not wanting to be married to a man that didn't want to father her children. It was strange really, because she knows better than that. A phrase like that and I start to feel like I'm being 'handled'.

I hate being handled. So, my immediate instinct is to take opposition. Which I did. I took opposition without even bothering to sort out my true feelings on the issue.

But then Donna started to tell me what she felt. She spoke from her heart, and her words wriggled their way inside of my brain and shuffled all the cards. I had some re-sorting to do.

Lying in bed that night, I re-sorted. I replayed her words over and over, and they were striking chords like Eric Clapton during a solo riff. Left and right. I was dazed and less confused. I watched her sleep, recalling her words with vivid clarity. Have you ever noticed that words spoken from the heart always have the 'vivid clarity' quality to them? You just can't get them out your head.

That's when it happened. She came to me. I didn't even know her name, but I knew that she was mine ...or is...or will be. Whatever. It was like...soft light. Clear in the center but hazy around the edges. She jumped into my arms and looked into my face and said, 'Hello', with the sweetest voice I'd ever heard.

But she's fading on me now, as the hazy edges usurp the whole picture. I don't want her to go, so I call her again and again, which only makes her vanish all the faster. Maybe that's the way it's supposed to work so that when she gets here it will all feel new.

"So, when you saw her...?" Sam breaks into my reverie. From the look in his eyes I can tell that he's worried, with good reason, that I've disappeared somewhere.

"Yeah?"

"Did you happen to catch her name? Because if it was Samantha--"

"Sam," I cut him off.

"I'm just saying."

"Okay."

"Samantha's a really good name--"

"Sam."

"Fine," he chirps.

When we reach 1600, I follow Sam back to his office. It's a moment before he digs up the nerve to speak again.

"Thanks for talking to me," he says. "About Donna, and you know...the thing. If you ever want to talk about anything...your latest vision or prophecy -- I'm here."

"Sam, you're mocking again."

"I'll stop."

"See ya, Oh, and Sam....?" I say before leaving his office

"Yeah?"

"I hope you get that life you pictured."

"Thanks. You, too."

****

On the way back to the bullpen to check in with Donna, CJ kidnaps me in the hallway. She motions to her office and we wind our way around to the other side of the bullpen.

"Josh, the press has been asking if Donna's coming with you to the party?" I stop walking. "I mean, now that you're official, you can do that."

"Party?" I'm stymied. "What party?"

"The Gala for Secretary Patridge. You remember; he's the guy that officially retires next week. We've been planning it for three weeks. In the East Room on Monday night? Stop me if I start ringing bells here."

"I've been so busy with the confirmation--"

"That you forgot all about it?"

"Yeah." We reach her office and she closes the door behind us.

"Well, I bet Donna hasn't forgotten about it."

"I wonder why she hasn't mentioned anything."

"She's probably waiting for you to mention it," CJ looks at me like I just fell off the turnip truck.

"Why would I mention it?"

"Oh, I don't know, you might mention it in 'Hey, Donna, want to go to the party with me?' kind of way."

"I have to ask her?"

There's the turnip truck face again. "Women like to be asked, Josh. It shows consideration for their feelings. You can't just assume that because you're a couple, her main purpose in life is to be at your beck and call. Okay, that might be a bad example." She stops for a moment to take a breath and roll her eyes. "Look, Josh, the press is all over this. They're clamoring for photos of you and Donna at your first official function together. Some of them have even taken to calling it Cinderella's Ball."

"Really?"

"I tried to put a stop to it, but--"

"It's that damn First Amendment that trips us up every time."

"What on earth were the Framers thinking?"

"Donna and I always go to official functions together," I shrug.

"She goes as your assistant, Josh. She shadows you. That doesn't count. This time you'll be her escort, and it's formal, does she know that?"

"She has formal wear," I remind her.

"Nothing she hasn't worn ten times before. Formal dresses aren't like tuxes, Josh. They go out of style, and people notice when you wear them too many times. People with cameras, and notebooks, and Worst Dressed Lists."

"I'll tell her that she needs to get a new dress. I'll even let her off to go shopping. Satisfied?"

"Do you even know how much a formal gown costs, Josh?"

"Expensive?"

"Several hundred dollars," she says. "At least. And that's only if the gown is off the rack."

Note to self: Learn more about women and their stuff.

"How much if it's on the rack?" Apparently my phrasing was completely wrong, because CJ's looking at me again with the turnip truck face.

"God, you're hopeless."

"I'm learning," I defend. "At least I'm showing interest."

"It's like you've just come off training wheels and I'm running behind, trying to prevent a catastrophe."

"Do you think Donna thinks I'm a catastrophe?"

"No. Thanks to me."

I'm struck by a sudden and nearly debilitating thought. "She can't afford that." And another horrifying thought follows on the heels of the previous one. I'm being blitzed with disturbing realizations. "I've got to buy Donna a dress." The expression on CJ's face tells me that I'm finally catching up. "CJ, you've got to help me."

"What's the plan?"

"That's what I need you for!"

CJ considers for a moment, while I pray that the vacant look in her eyes is a sign that she's forming a strategy of some kind.

"All right," she says, at last, "It's too late to have something made."

"Could we be a little more positive, CJ?"

CJ ignores me. "Donna's tall and thin...one might even say willowy."

"Willowy. I like that."

"I can give Vera Wang a call and see if they could send us a few things to choose from. Donna's blond with blue eyes...."

"And alabaster skin, don't forget."

"Right, skin tone is very important. It's going to cost you, Josh."

"I put some money away for a rainy day."

"You're a good man, Charlie Brown."

"Hey, don't mention this to Donna," I tell her.

"And you're a closet romantic. Who knew? You're still going to ask her, right?

"Yeah, I'll ask her, just don't tell her about the dress."

"One romantic surprise coming up," she says.

"Thanks, CJ."

She nods a 'you're welcome' as I open the door to leave. I find that I'm excited about the possibilities of the dress. My first romantic surprise. The excitement doesn't last very long, though. You see, I'm Josh Lyman and things go wrong. Especially when I try to keep a secret from Donna.

She catches me as I stride the long hallway through the bullpen back to my office.

"Josh! Where have you been?"

"I was in CJ's office."

"You have to be in Leo's office in thirty seconds."

"Walk with me." She hands me the folder for the meeting, and I listen to her explain everything that I need to know. "Thanks, Donnatella." I grab her arm and stop walking.

"You're going to be late," she warns me.

"One minute," I say. "Leo can wait for one minute. There's something I've got to ask you." I've just realized that my palms have become clammy. It's like asking her to the Senior Prom, a memory of which I have vague recollections. "The Gala for Paul Patridge," I begin.

"On Monday night?"

"Yeah. It would my pleasure if I could escort Cinderella to her ball," I say. God, how corny have I become? I am definitely losing my edge. She smiles as my cheesy, but effective, words sink in. I guess love means you never have to worry about being cheesy.

"Really?"

"Really. So, is it a date?"

"It's a formal affair," she says, a worry line creasing the spot between her eyebrows. "Black tie."

"You're going to look beautiful," I say. "And everyone will be watching." I grab her hand and give it a quick squeeze before leaving her there in the hallway.

TBC

****