So the question of the day is:  Why did I hire Donnatella Moss?

Question of the week, actually, if my good buddies at All Things Considered can be trusted.  I've actually been reduced to listening to NPR for my news.  Don't get me wrong; I'm a veritable NPR junkie.  But I used to catch CNN's Headlines, maybe some quick MSNBC before turning in for the night.  However, radio seems to be the last media refuge for those of us blessed with PTSD as a constant companion.

It's hard to convey the horror of the Rosslyn footage over the radio -- all you can hear are gunshots and screams.

Well, okay, so maybe those sounds do convey the horror.  But luckily NPR seems to have made a tacit agreement with me:  I listen exclusively to them, and they don't trigger flashbacks with the sounds of gunshots.

Everybody wins.

Plus I get to hear Noah Adams and Linda Wertheimer moderate a discussion about the hiring practices of the Bartlet administration as exemplified by Josh Lyman and Donnatella Moss.

"Moss-Lyman," I mutter at the radio.

Not surprisingly, the people in radioland don't hear my admonishment.

Leo does, however, since I didn't notice his stocky frame in the doorway.  "NPR?" he asks.

I look up, startled.  "Yeah," I answer.  "No gunshots."

Leo nods his understanding.  "Did you meet with Tribbey?"

"This morning," I confirm.  "Well, most of the day, actually."

"Did it help?"

I give Leo a strange look.  "Yeah, cause being threatened with blunt objects really does wonders for my sanity."

"Don't be stupid, Josh.  I meant are we ready for this lawsuit?"

"There might not be a lawsuit.  Motion to dismiss--"

"Will never be granted," Leo interrupts.  "Are we ready?"

I close my eyes and lean back in my chair.  "Maybe."

"Did you really ask--?"

"I don't remember, Leo," I interrupt loudly.  "It was three years ago.  I wasn't going to hire her, anyway, so I didn't honestly pay that much attention."

"Oh, be sure to point that out in court, Josh," Leo says, his arms crossed.  "I'm sure that'll really help -- you had no intention of hiring her."

"I didn't," I argue, sitting upright.  "Phyllis Tsolakis walked in, and she was everything I hated about John Hoynes' office."

Leo's brow furrows.  "What the hell are you talking about?"

"SOP," I answer.  "Standard Operating Procedure."  I shrug at him, a self-deprecating smile in place.  "As you may have noticed, I have a tendency to play fast and loose with the rules."

"And the laws," Leo mutters.

I jerk to my feet.  "I don't remember asking her that, Leo.  But I can't very well perjure myself and claim I absolutely didn't say it.  Who knows if the Republicans have been waiting to drop this on us for years?  Hell, there may be an audiotape of our interview for all I know."

"Wouldn't surprise me," Leo nods.  "Inadmissible, though."

"Not to Hard Copy."

"Fair point.  What were you talking about, SOP?"

I sigh, unable to express myself after a day of having my words twisted into unrecognizability by Lionel Tribbey.  "Phyllis Tsolakis, she would have come to work at 8 and left at 6, maybe worked late a couple of nights a week.  She wouldn't have--"  I shrug helplessly.  "She wouldn't have been able to take my temper or my ego.  She would've quit within a month, Leo, and I knew that just from our interview."

"Did you tell this to Tribbey?"

"I tried."

Leo nods, his lips pursing slightly.  "Why did you hire Donna?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Leo--"

"Answer the question, Josh."

"Why did I hire Donna?"

"Yes."

"Because..."  I lift one hand as if I can grasp the words out of the air around me.  "She's my assistant."

Leo keeps looking at me expectantly.  "And?"

"And," I shrug, "she has a truly incredible capacity for useless information that more often than not ends up helping us in some critical place.  Her researching skills are unparalleled.  She handles senators and citizens with equal grace, and, well, she doesn't kill me when I'm being a jackass."

Leo stares at me for a moment, then nods.  "What about her lack of a college degree?"

I grin.  "I swear, she picked up more in her two years and twenty-seven majors than I did all through law school."

"I don't doubt it," Leo answers.  "What about her age?"

"What about her age?"

"She's fairly young."

"So's Kathy."

"Kathy has a masters in Political Science."

"Well, good for Kathy."  I am no longer able to hold the sarcasm back.  "It's not always what's on paper, Leo.  It's the whole package."

Leo gives me one of his scary leprechaun grins.  "That's it."

I am confused.  "What?"

"That's what you need to tell the jury, Josh."

"So that was you being all devil's advocate?"

He nods.  "I prefer to call it strategic engagement."  I must give him an awfully strange look, because he glowers at me.  "Oh, forget it, Josh.  Collect your wife.  Go home.  It's late."

"Yes, sir," I grin.

*

As soon as Sam sidles into my office, I know we lost the motion to dismiss.

"Donna!" I shout, but she's already on Sam's heels.

CJ appears in our common doorway with a questioning look at Sam.  "Do I need to hear this?"

Sam nods grimly.  "I'm pretty sure you're not going to have to worry about the finer points of Mexico's trucking standards."

CJ rolls her eyes.  "I'd rather discuss Mexican trucks than refute the latest rumor that Donna's pregnant with twins."

"Twins?" Donna squeaks, her eyes very wide.  "Well, they'd have to be fraternal."

It frightens me that I know immediately what she's talking about.  "It's a name thing," I say by way of explanation.

CJ rubs her forehead and shoots me an exasperated look.

Sam raises a tentative hand.  "Guys?"

"Right," I nod.  "Who'd we draw?"

"Thankfully not Porubsky," he answers.  "We got Judge Hernandez."

Donna perks up.  "Rolando Hernandez?"

"Yes."

"Good," she smiles.  "He's fairly liberal, seems to like the president too, which is a plus."

"How do you do that?" I demand.

"Do what?"

"Anticipate exactly what person, place or thing will be discussed during the course of a day and do excessive amounts of research on each beforehand so you can spout a brief sketch when the subject is raised?"

"Josh," Donna laughs, "Hernandez was the judge on the offensive sculpture thing.  And I don't do excessive amounts of research.  I do just the right amount."

"The offensive sculpture thing?" I ask blankly.

"Do you not remember the offensive sculpture thing?  I did sixty-seven index cards."

"I remember."

Donna glares at me.  "That couch of ours is pretty uncomfortable, Josh."

"Guys!" Sam tries again.

"The sculpture was a reinterpretation of Mary Magdelene as Mary the Magdelene, a high priestess of the Goddess religion, which, by the way, is a highly plausible theory, since Hebrew had no word to describe a woman who didn't marry.  So people pretty much used 'harlot' to describe any woman--"

"I remember!" I interrupt her, before she retrieves the sixty-seven index cards.  I manage to tear my attention from my witty, gorgeous and eminently capable wife to focus on the crisis of the day.  Why is my personal life the crisis of the day every day?  It's getting very old.  "Hernandez didn't kick it," I guess.

Sam nods.  "He found Tsolakis has a prima facie case."

"On the face," I interject before Donna can ask, "her complaint appears to meet the criteria for a Title VII action."  So there.  I did too go to law school.

Donna gives me her pretending-to-be-impressed face.  "Which means?"

Okay, so I'm not prepared for the Q&A session on this.  Sam saves me.  "It means," he says, "that we move on to pre-trial discovery."

"Trial?" CJ groans.  "There's going to be a trial?  This is not good."

I ignore her.  "I want Phyllis Tsolakis deposed tomorrow," I say angrily.

"Josh--"

"She's lying.  Or exaggerating.  Either way, we need her in a room with Tribbey so he can scare that out of her and then convince Hernandez to kick this."

"I know," Sam says, "but we've got to give them reasonable notice."

"Reasonable notice being?" I ask irritably.

"Five days," Sam suggests.

"Fine, depose Phyllis Tsolakis in five days."

Sam glances at Donna.  "We can't."

"Sam--"

"Josh?" Donna interjects.  "You didn't get my note?"

I give her a suspicious look.  "What note?"

"During staff," she says, approaching my desk and rifling through the top layer, "on the 1182 file. I left you a -- Here."  She extracts the folder and hands it to me.

I glance down at the Granny Smith apple green sticky note stuck on the cover.  "'Get some'... something illegible...  Does that say Gallerani?"

"Yes," Donna answers meekly.  "While you were in staff."

I explode from my seat.  "Wait -- you were subpoenaed?"

"Yes," she nods.  "I got served."

"You're being deposed?"

"Yes."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yes."

I look back down at the note.  "And you claim that says -- what?"

Donna steps forward.  "'Got served by Gallerani,'" she reads.

"Okay," I say, "typing, Donna.  Email me with this stuff."

CJ raises an eyebrow.  "Yeah, so they can subpoena your email -- Oh, shit!"

Oh, shit is right.

Donna, CJ and I all turn panicked gazes on Sam.

"What?" he asks defensively.

"They can't do that, can they?" I demand.  I can't even imagine the horror of those emails being read on 60 Minutes.  I glance at Donna, but she appears to be frozen, her eyes wide and unblinking.

"Subpoena your email?" Sam repeats.  "I'm not sure.  Why?"

CJ drops into a chair and buries her head in her hands.  "Oh, God.  Will this never end?" she mutters.  "I thought explaining those to Leo was bad, but the White House press corps?"

Sam glances back and forth between CJ's crumpled form and Donna and me.  "What's she talking about?"

"Long story," Donna answers quickly.

Sam narrows his eyes.  "Is this going to come up in court?"

"No," I answer, trying to sound confident.  Instead, I sound like a pre-pubescent boy who just got caught with a girlie magazine.  Not that I'm speaking from experience, you understand.

"Josh--"

"We emailed each other," Donna confesses.  "After the trial.  When Josh was, you know..."

"Visiting the lovely but frozen island of Nantucket," I supply.

"Oh," Sam says.  "You were already married, right?"

"Yes, but we used our work email accounts," Donna admits with a sheepish glance my way.

"Oh," CJ moans, "there was the vowing and the coffee and Josh's pathetic French."

"CJ?" Sam asks.

"Never mind," I say.  "It shouldn't have anything to do with this lawsuit.  Right?"

"Who knows about the emails?" Sam asks.

"Us," I say, gesturing to the room at large.  "And Leo.  That's it."

"And whoever ratted us out to Leo in the first place," Donna points out.  "Someone in technical support, presumably."

Sam shrugs.  "I don't know how Gallerani would find out, then.  But he is a snake."

CJ slumps back in her seat.  "Didn't he work with Clarence Thomas?"

"Yeah," I answer.  "At the EEOC, of all places.  I think he filed an amicus brief during the confirmation hearings."

Donna crosses her arms.  "And now he's representing another liar."

We exchange unhappy looks in the sudden silence.  Finally, CJ stands.  "What now?"

Sam takes a step toward the door.  "Donna, Lionel Tribbey's waiting for you in his office."

CJ nods.  "I'll call the Counsel's office and get someone to refer the press to for details on the legal proceedings," she says.  "Sam, come with me."  They disappear into CJ's office, pulling the door closed.

Donna glances at me, an anxious look on her face.  "You'll be okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"While I'm in with Tribbey," she explains.  "You'll be okay here?"

"I'm going with you."

"Josh--"

"I'm going with you, Donna."  I give her a crooked grin.  "I'm trying out that supportive husband thing."

Donna beams at me.  "Thanks."

***

I've never had any dealings with Lionel Tribbey before.

I'm hoping today is a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

Two hours in the presence of Lionel Tribbey and I'm thinking I've been unfair to Josh all these years.  Lionel Tribbey -- now there is a hostile, belligerent man.  Josh is a pussycat compared to him.

Especially considering that, at the moment, Josh is in the middle of his "none of this is Donna's fault" routine.

"Here's a thought," Tribbey says to Josh.  "Get out of my office."

"Okay," Josh replies.  "Come on, Donna."

I start to stand, but Tribbey motions for me to sit back down.  "You stay," he tells me.  "Your husband leaves."

"I don't think so," Josh replies in a tone that makes Republicans tremble.  Tribbey doesn't flinch.

"Ms. Moss and I--"

"Moss-Lyman," Josh interjects.  I'd remind him that it's Moss at work, but he's doing this whole protective husband thing and it's kind of cute.  In small doses.

"--have to discuss her version of events," Tribbey continues.  "Without you here to influence her testimony."

"Oh, like I've ever influenced her about anything," Josh mutters.

"Leave," Tribbey repeats.  "Now."

I touch Josh's arm.  "It's okay," I tell him.  "And you're missing senior staff."

He looks torn about leaving.  If you want my opinion, he's worried about losing the whole "who's more macho" contest he's got going with Tribbey.  They continue to stare each other down.

"Josh," I repeat, "you can go.  I'll be fine."

He looks skeptical; he gives a parting comment to me about how he'll be here right away if I need him, which I find sweet.  He then gives Tribbey a look that translates along the lines of "if you make my woman cry, I will hurt you."  I'm finding Josh's attitude less endearing suddenly.

This leaves me alone with Lionel Tribbey, who proceeds to explain why I'm about to be deposed by Phyllis Tsolakis' lawyer and what I can expect.

I hate to admit this, but I'd really like Josh to come back in here and do that protective husband thing again.

"You realize," Tribbey begins, "that if anyone had shown the good sense to consult me about this, I would have advised them against hiring you."

"Well, good," I shoot back, "because that's exactly the attitude I'm looking for in an attorney."

"Ms. Lyman--"

"Moss-Lyman," I correct him. "Or just Moss.  Ms. Lyman is my mother-in-law."

"Ms. Moss," Tribbey starts again.  Interesting choice.  "Try, if you can, to look at this objectively.  Instead of hiring a woman with a master's degree or a man with three years experience as a congressional aide, Josh Lyman hires a leggy blonde waif who wandered in off the street."

"A leggy blonde waif?"  Condescending bastard.

"A leggy blonde waif who--"  He shuffles through some papers until he finds what he's looking for -- notes from his meetings with Josh, I'm guessing.  "--dropped out of college to pay her boyfriend's way through medical school."

"That's not going to come up in the deposition, is it?  Because that was before I ever met Josh."

"Oh, you can count on it.  I'll object, but it goes to the issue of why you seem to lack the basic qualifications for your present position."

"Basic qualifications?"

"A college degree, for instance.  And as if that weren't enough, there's the charming detail about who paid your salary for most of the Bartlet campaign."

"What are you talking about?"  I am honestly confused here.

Tribbey looks at me suspiciously.  "You want me to believe you don't know this?" he asks.

"Mr. Tribbey, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Interesting.  You went on salary approximately one month after you volunteered to work on the campaign.  Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And who signed your paychecks?"

"Josh did.  But he--"

Shit.

I am the world's biggest idiot.

How could I have been in that much denial?

More to the point, how could Joshua have been that stupid?  Didn't he realize what that would look like to the outside world?  But still--

I knew there was a reason I loved the man.  It's just -- well, it's romantic in its own twisted way.

Not unlike Joshua himself.

"Ms. Moss, I would suggest you stop staring off into the distance like some sort of 12-year-old with a crush on Paul McCartney."

"The Backstreet Boys," I correct him.

"What?"

"I have a 12-year-old niece.  It's the Backstreet Boys these days."

"Forgive me for not being au courant on the preferences of the teenybopper set.  Do you think you can focus on our present problem?"

"Whatever."

"During the campaign, the man who is now both your boss and your husband was paying you out of his own pocket.  Stop smiling!  This is not a smiling matter."

"I disagree."

"Wait until Gallerani starts deposing you and see how quickly you change your mind.  Josh Lyman was paying you out of his own pocket, Ms. Moss, for services rendered.  Do you know what the legal term is for that?"

"Excuse me?"  I am livid.  And I'm sick of this.  I'm getting very tired of people taking everything that is sweet and quirky and romantic about my history with Josh and making it sound sordid and ugly.  "We weren't doing anything -- Josh was with Mandy Hampton back then."

"Which, of course, precludes his getting a little something extra on the side from his assistant."  Tribbey's inflection on the last word makes it clear that "assistant" here is a synonym for "whore."

I stand up to leave.  I mean, is there some reason Tribbey has to be my attorney?  Can't I just take Sam to the deposition with me?

"Sit back down, Ms. Moss."

"No, thank you."  I head for the door.

"Ms. Moss, if you can't take these remarks coming from me, how are you going to be prepared for them when it's Gallerani's turn to question you?"

Damn.  He has a point.  I sit back down.

"For what it's worth, Ms. Moss, I don't believe that you and Josh Lyman had any sort of sexual relationship during the Bartlet campaign."

"Thank you, Mr. Tribbey."

"As far as I can tell, you were a pair of blockheads who managed to remain entirely oblivious to your rather obvious attraction to one another."

This is going to be a very long, very humiliating meeting.

***

We're having a council of war.

Well, we're having a strategy meeting in Leo's office, but Donna insists on calling it a council of war.  Something about a mystery novel she loves: "Props to Peabody," whatever that means.  I wonder where she picks up all this slang.

At any rate, Sam, CJ, Toby, Leo, Donna and I are trying to figure out what the hell to do about The Right Direction, Phyllis Tsolakis and the lawsuit filed against me.  Tribbey refused to attend, saying someone with as many post-graduate degrees as he has shouldn't be around someone so inherently stupid.  I assume he means me, since he seems to like Donna.

"Explain it again, Sam," Leo asks tiredly.  "How is this gender discrimination?"

"It's not," I interject.

Leo glares.

Sam ignores me.  "So far as I can tell, the convoluted reasoning is that Josh -- allegedly -- asked about Phyllis Tsolakis' marital status because she's a woman."

"So am I," Donna points out (somewhat unnecessarily, if you ask me).  "He didn't ask me that."

Sam nods.  "She's claiming that he already knew your marital status and therefore didn't have to ask."

CJ mutters something about Ann Stark that I don't quite catch.  Beside me, Donna snorts in appreciation.

Sam presses on.  "But I may have--"

A thought occurs to me.  "Hey, Leo," I interrupt.  "Didn't I interview a guy too?"

Leo stares at me.  "How the hell would I know?"

I shrug.  "You sent me people."

CJ sits up.  "What?"

Leo gives me a blank look.  "I did?"

"Margaret!" CJ bellows.  The five of us stare at her, startled by her flawless imitation of Leo at his most belligerent.

Wide-eyed, Margaret appears in the doorway, her gaze bouncing back and forth between CJ and Leo. Leo shrugs.  "Don't ask me."

"Margaret," CJ says, "do you remember when we staffed the West Wing?"

Margaret rolls her eyes.  "Yes.  We had 17,328 applications for 1104 positions, ten of which were presumably taken."

Toby blinks slowly.  "You remember the precise number of applicants?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Margaret shrugs.  "I have a thing for numbers.  Like, the President?  He's given 742 speeches since Inauguration Day.  Also, Leo has--"

"All right, Margaret!" Leo interrupts.  "Can we please focus?"

CJ nods.  "How were the applications sorted?"

"By hand," Margaret answers promptly.

"No," Donna shakes her head.  "Who decided which applicants were called for what position?"

Toby gives Donna tortured look.  "Can we refrain from mangling the English language, please?"

"She got a 770 Verbal, Toby," I grin.  "Bet she could beat your ass at Scrabble."

"Never happen."  Toby doesn't even bother to glance in our direction.  "Margaret, were you in charge of the sorting?"

She nods.  "If you're wondering about Phyllis Tsolakis' qualifications, I could pull her file."

"Yes," CJ says.  "Please do that.  How soon can you get it?"

Margaret frowns.  "It's over six months old and not an active file, so it's got to be in Central Files."

Toby clears his throat irritably.  "Meaning?"

"The precise location of Central Files is classified--"

"Margaret: brevity," Leo interrupts impatiently.  "You're not paid by the word."

Margaret raises an eyebrow archly.  "That's more than apparent, Leo."

CJ jumps in before the situation deteriorates further.  "Margaret, can you give us an estimate?"

"As I was trying to point out before I was interrupted, if I were allowed into Central Files myself to extract the folder, the process would be relatively quick.  However, since I have to rely on the Central Files people, who are, by the way, notoriously slow, to dig up the correct boxes and send them all over here so that I can--"

"Margaret!" Leo yells.

"A week," she answers, then hightails it out of the room.

Sam looks up from his hastily scrawled notes.  "I may have a thing."

We swing our dazed looks his way.

"I found Section 1604," he grins triumphantly.

I blink at him.  "Yeah?"

"Of the Code of Federal Regulations?"  Sam's grin falters as he realizes none of us know what the hell he's talking about.  "'Guidelines on Discrimination Because of Sex?'" he offers.

Donna nods.  "Okay."

"This is good," he promises.  "The law states: 'A pre-employment inquiry may ask--'"  He glances up.  "Basically, you can ask about gender and marital status -- and here's where it's interesting -- 'provided that the inquiry is made in good faith for a nondiscriminatory purpose.'"

Five people are suddenly giving me identical expectant looks.

"What?" I ask defensively.

"I don't know, Josh," Toby answers evenly, "but it sounds to me like if you asked her conversationally about her marital status, we may be able to argue our way out of the lawsuit.  So we're understandably curious about just why you felt it necessary to discuss her marital status at all.  Care to enlighten us?"

"I don't remember," I repeat, frustrated.  "Believe me, if I did--"

"We know, Josh."  CJ sighs.  "But this is not a great situation.  It's not going to look good if the Deputy Chief of Staff violated the EEOC statutes."

Leo gives Toby a significant look.

I am immediately suspicious.  "Wait a second--"

"Josh," Leo warns.  "We've got to protect the President."

Donna and I exchange grim looks.  "We're back to this again?" I ask.  "You're going to fire us?  How's that going to look, Leo, firing people because of their marital status?  Hell, Donna and I have an Title VII complaint right here!"

"Josh--"

"This is bullshit, Leo," I am yelling now.  "And what's worse, you know that it's bullshit."  I point to Donna.  "She does the job better than anyone who's ever worked with me.  End of story.  The rest of it is bullshit."

Leo glares at me.  "The rest of it is politics, Josh.  I'd expect you to know the difference."

***

Josh and Leo are exchanging these looks -- Master Politicians sending each other messages that I'm not sure I get.

Or want to.  Because it occurs to me that--

"I'll resign if it comes to that," Josh says in this tight voice that simply breaks my heart.  "Unless you think it would make a stronger statement if I were fired."

Leo begins to speak.  "That would depend on--"  I don't give him a chance to finish.

"No," I exclaim.  "Absolutely not.  It is completely unfair to punish Josh for something he didn't do wrong."

"Donna," Leo starts, "the political reality--"

"I don't give a damn about political realities," I reply.  "Josh worked hard for this job.  He got President Bartlet elected, for the love of God!"

"Single-handedly, Donna?" Josh mutters.  He looks a little too amused that I'm giving him credit for something I was teasing him about two weeks ago.

"You know what I mean."  I'm completely pissed off at the stupid, self-sacrificing bastard.  "This is unfair.  They can't expect us to resign over this-- this-- nonsense."

Leo and Josh exchange another look.  "You'll stay," Josh tells me.

Is he nuts?  Have I married a crazy person?  "I think not," I answer.

"It would look incredibly bad," Josh explains, "firing you over this.  It would look like retribution."

"And firing you wouldn't?"

"If we lose, I'll be considered guilty of violating federal law," Josh says.  "There's not much choice."

"Plus there's a possibility of disbarment," Sam chirps up helpfully.

Have I mentioned lately how much I hate lawyers?  Including the one I'm married to.

"Donna," Josh says, "it's not like there's a choice."

"There is," I argue.  "Why can't Leo and the president say that the court is mistaken, that they don't believe you did anything wrong and that they're standing by you?"

"You already know the answer to that," Josh replies.

"Right," I say.  "Re-election.  God forbid that a little thing like your future should get in the way of re-election.  I swear, it's enough to make a person vote Republican."

Leo, Toby, Sam and CJ look at me with varying degrees of horror, but Josh seems to find the idea amusing.

"Like you'd ever vote for Baker," he says.

"Yeah, well, there's always Seth Gillette," I reply.

Toby turns an interesting shade of purple at this suggestion.

"Okay, kids," CJ says.  "Here's a thought:  Let's concentrate on not losing this lawsuit, so nobody has to resign."

"Good idea," Josh says, obviously relieved to be off this subject.

"Fine," I say.  "But I want it on the record that if Josh leaves, I leave."

Leo and Josh exchange yet another look.  "Don't worry," Josh tells him.  In other words, he wants Leo to know that he can convince me to act in the best interest of the administration.

The next look I give Josh contains a message too.  Loosely translated, it is "The hell you can, you self-sacrificing idiot.  And, by the way, I hope you enjoyed yourself last night because it's going to be a very long time before you see me naked again."

*

I have taken over CJ's office, because there is certainly not enough room at my desk or in Josh's office to spread out all the financial reports I have on Pettus Creek Coal.  Bonnie's just produced a ton of mining permit applications on top of that, providing details about how much land will be destroyed and how many families displaced.  Our goal is to come up with some easy-to-understand figures about how much Baker made for every acre of mountaintop that was destroyed and how much of a profit he saw as compared to the meager compensation received by the families who were forced off their land by his company.  And if we come across any documents that have his signature on them, we will be way too happy.

"You know," CJ says, looking at some of the photographs of strip-mined land, "this would make a great campaign issue.  Let Gregory W. try to look all presidential while we're running pictures of what he's done to the land in West Virginia.  Plus I think I've got a transcript somewhere of a speech he gave where he's talking about 'preserving the beauty of our nation.'  Or words to the effect."

"And if there's audio on the speech, and we could run that over the photographs of the strip mining--"

CJ grins.  "Oh, now I'm wanting him to run against us.  This is too damn good to waste."

Just then, the connecting door between Josh and CJ's offices opens.  I don't bother to turn around.  "I still say I'm quitting if you're fired, so just accept it and move on," I say.

"Phyllis Tsolakis is on Talkback Live," Josh informs us.  "And you're not quitting, so just accept that."

"You're completely giving up on the concept of ever having sex again, aren't you?" I ask.

CJ, who has turned the TV to CNN, motions us to be quiet.  I get up from the couch and move closer to the television; I want to get a good look at the woman who is making my life a living hell and possibly depriving Molly's father of gainful employment.

"That's her?" Josh asks.  "That's not her.  I swear to God, I have never seen that woman before in my life."

I don't recognize her for a minute either.  The Phyllis Tsolakis who is talking to Bobbie Battista right now doesn't look much like the woman I showed into Josh's office three years ago.  "She's had some work done," I point out.

"No kidding," CJ replies.  "I'm surprised she can blink.  That looks like some serious plastic surgery there."

"How can you tell?" Josh asks.

CJ glances over at him.  "I used to live in Los Angeles, Joshua.  Trust me; I know plastic surgery when I see it."

On the screen, Phyllis Tsolakis is describing her "encounter" with Josh.  "What does she mean 'encounter'?" Josh mutters.  "Why does she make it sound like I jumped out at her from a back alley?"

"Mr. Lyman seemed entirely too interested in my personal life," she says.  "He asked a number of intrusive questions."

CJ and I look at the intrusive Mr. Lyman, who is sputtering something along the lines of "did not!" at the TV.

Bobbie Battista requests specifics about the nature of those questions.  Phyllis' lawyer refuses to let her answer because of the pending litigation.  "Oh, fine," Josh mutters.  "She can make all these allegations, but she doesn't have to provide any actual evidence."

"You know," I tell CJ, "her wardrobe's improved too.  That suit definitely came from Ann Taylor."

"Is that a good thing?" Josh asks.

"That is a much more expensive thing than the way she dressed three years ago," I answer.  "She looked like she frequented Dress Barn three years ago.  What do you think about her nose, CJ?"

"Hard to tell for sure," CJ replies.  "You can do amazing things with shading."

"This experience has been a nightmare for me," Phyllis is saying.

"Welcome to my world," I mutter.

"To discover that I could have had such a prestigious job," Phyllis says.  At which point, I pretty much lose it.

"Would you stop laughing, Donna?" Josh asks.  "We're trying to hear."

"And I only lost out because I wouldn't sleep with him," she says.

"Oh, come on," Josh says.  Okay, he shouts.  "She's making it sound like I propositioned her!"

"Definitely a little tuck under the chin," CJ says.  "Definitely."

"I remember her wearing some truly hideous blue eye shadow that day," I tell CJ.  "And look at her now.  That's got to be Bobbie Brown."

"Not exactly drugstore brand," CJ replies.  We exchange looks.  This is suddenly taking on major significance.

"Would you two focus on what this woman is implying about me and not on-- on--"

"Girly stuff?" I suggest.

"I'm just saying that her choice of eye shadow is not the issue here," Josh replies.

"That's where you're wrong, my friend," CJ tells him.  "It is precisely the issue."

"What are you talking about?" Josh asks.

"The woman has had some expensive elective surgery," I tell him.  "And the kind of makeover that women who read fashion magazines every month can only dream about."

CJ nods.  "She's moved from a Glamour don't to a Glamour do."

"Huh?" Josh asks.

"I'll explain that to you later," I tell him.

"But I still don't get why this is important," Josh repeats.

"Think about it," CJ says.  "Where did she get the money for the surgery, the new wardrobe, the makeover?"

"And didn't she have a really pronounced Jersey accent before?" I ask.  "What happened to that?"

"She's been coached," Josh says.  "So what?  Weren't we sort of assuming that?"

"Yes," CJ says. "And we were also assuming we couldn't prove it.  But wouldn't you think that if someone spent all this money on her, they might have left a paper trail that some enterprising reporter could follow?"

"Oh," Josh says.  "Okay, that makes sense now.  You could have just said that to begin with."

But CJ isn't listening to him any more.  She's headed to the door.  "Carol," she says, "find Katie and tell her I'd like to see her when she's got a minute."

***

It's been a long, terrible day.

All I want is to go home with my wife and fall into bed.  Instead, I have to park around the block so Donna and I can sneak in the service entrance to our condo.  Of course, there are a couple of determined and crafty tabloid photographers loitering in the alley, so we have to walk the gauntlet anyway.

My day keeps getting better and better.

The thing is, I really don't see any way around this.  No matter what happens with the lawsuit, the suggestion is already there.  My political reputation now has a gigantic question mark attached to it.  Any way I look at it, I can't see how my considerable political skills can outweigh my new political liability.

It would be pretty bad if I had to resign; I mean, I could maybe find a job working for a state senator somewhere.  But if it comes to what I think it will -- Leo firing my ass to protect President Bartlet -- I will never work in politics again.  And I just can't see myself as a professor of politics at some small, mid-Western college.

Maybe Donna and I will flee the country; I can still bring the French.  We could be glamorous expatriates sipping wine and writing scathing political manifestos.

"Josh?" Donna tugs on my arm.

I look away from the coat rack, which has been the object of my inattentive stare.  "Yeah?"

"Do you want something to eat?" she asks, helping me shrug out of my jacket and hanging it beside hers.  God, I love living with this woman.

"No," I say, my spirits lifting somewhat as I reach for her.  Whatever happens, we'll still have this.  "I don't want any food."

Donna chuckles into my neck, her arms wrapping tightly around me.  "Maybe you need to work up an appetite."

Have I mentioned that I adore my wife?

I let my hands roam.  "Sounds like a very logical plan," I mumble into her collarbone as I nibble on her skin.

Donna grabs me by the waistband of my pants and pulls me into the bedroom.  Not that I'm resisting.  She kisses me with a raw desperation I can relate to; in fact, I'm kissing her much the same way.

It's taking entirely too long to get her out of her clothes.  Our hands are tangling up together as we tug at each other's waistbands and buttons and zippers.  The only sound in the room is our harsh breathing.

And then we tumble onto the bed, our bodies taking over so we can turn our minds off entirely.  And it is incredible.

The capacity Donna has for pleasure never ceases to amaze me.  She immerses herself fully in any experience, and this is never more evident than when we're in bed.  I've never felt like this with anyone before.  Sounds incredibly cheesy, I know, but it's true.  Donna gives me her body and her soul and her love and her healing every single time she touches me like this.

It's almost too much, and it is over far too soon.

I gather my wife into my arms and curl into her as much as I can.  Donna holds me silently, her hands feathering down my back and soothing me.  When I calm down, she pulls my face up to hers and kisses me softly on the lips.

"You're incredible," I whisper.

Donna blushes slightly.  "Shut up, Josh."

"What?  I can't tell me wife that she's amazing?"

She grins at me. "You're just doing it to make me blush."

I place an open-mouthed kiss on the skin of her shoulder.  "You're beautiful when you're blushing."

"Gee, thanks, Josh," she answers, laughing.

"I'm serious," I say, pulling her closer.  "You don't even need makeup; you're just luminous."

Her eyes are suspiciously sparkly, but she manages to joke with me.  "So I don't need a black band over my eyes?"

"Huh?"

"Like in Glamour."

***

"Black bands over their eyes?" Josh asks.  "Why?"

"So they can't be recognized," I explain patiently.  "Although I'm thinking if you knew someone who was pictured as a Glamour don't, the black band wouldn't keep you from recognizing them."

"Probably not."  My husband -- the noble, self-sacrificing idiot -- sounds entirely too amused.  I doubt it's the concept of the Glamour don't he's enjoying.  I'm sure he mistakenly believes that, having gotten me home and into bed without further discussion of his offer to resign, I'm going to accept this ludicrous idea.

"And then there would be the complete humiliation of opening up Glamour magazine and seeing your picture on the do's-and-don't's page."

"This would be a big deal?"

"Women routinely turn to the do's-and-don't's as soon as they open that magazine.  It's a time-honored tradition."

"And Phyllis Tsolakis is a don't?"

"Phyllis Tsolakis was a don't.  Now suddenly she's a do.  That's suspicious."

"She couldn't have just read the magazine and improved her look?"

"The shape of her face changed, Josh."

"Fair point."

We have apparently exhausted the subject of Phyllis Tsolakis' amazing transformation.  I know this because Josh has started playing with the spaghetti straps on my nightgown.  He always does this when his attention starts to wander.

He has a rather short attention span most nights.

I usually don't mind, but I have some serious haranguing to do.  I reach up for his hand and remove it from my shoulder.

"Down, boy," I tell him.

"We're not through with the fashion tips?"

"We haven't even begun with the discussion of what happened in Leo's office."

"It's okay.  You were upset.  Leo won't hold it against you."

"Well, isn't that big of him?  And you know that's not what I wanted to discuss."

"There's nothing else to discuss."

"Josh, you're not going to resign!"

"Probably not.  With the election and all, firing me is the preferable option.  More public.  Makes a strong statement regarding the administration's commitment to--"

"Stop it!  Joshua, this is your future we are talking about."

"I'm aware of that."

"Who the hell is going to hire a political operative who's been fired by the president of the United States?"

"No one."

It's never a good sign when Josh gives short, clipped answers like that.  Josh generally wants to go on at great length about the several dozen possible reactions to any one event (which is somehow related to Unified Field Theory, but I usually zone out around then).  When he shuts down like this, he's decided that one outcome is inevitable, and it's going to be the one he doesn't like.

"So explain to me why I should accept this, much less why I should keep working there if you leave."

"Because we have to do what's best for President Bartlet."

"Not if what's best for him destroys you."

"You're overstating again."  He tries to distract me by kissing my neck.  It almost works too.  Lucky thing for me that the phone rings.

I take a quick look at the name on the caller I.D. and smile -- someone who will agree with me and who, more to the point, might even talk some sense into Josh.

After all, she made mincemeat out of Mary Marsh on Larry King Live.

I pick up the phone before Josh can beat me to it.  "Your idiot son is offering to resign for the good of the re-election campaign," I tell Josh's mother.

"What?"  She sounds as horrified as I feel.

"He told Leo that he'd resign if we lost the lawsuit.  Although now he's thinking that it might be better for the administration if President Bartlet fires him."

"Is he crazy?  That would destroy his career in politics."

"I know."

"Joshua needs politics."

"Like normal people need oxygen," I agree.

"Exactly."

"And he wants me to keep working at the White House if he leaves."

"Of course you won't.  How could you work for people who would do such a thing to Joshua?"

"That's what I said, but he won't listen to me, Mrs. Lyman."

"Donna, sweetie, don't you think it's time you started calling me Mom?"

"Really?" I  can feel myself getting all choked up here.

"If you'd rather not--"

"No, I'd really like that.  My own parents -- they've been kind of awful."

"Joshua told me, dear."

"So I'd really like that.  Mom."

Josh has apparently picked up enough from my side of the conversation to understand what's going on.  After initially cowering under the covers (I'm not sure what disturbed him more -- the fact that his mother and I are discussing what an idiot he is or the fact that his mother called while we were in the middle of, well, what we were in the middle of), he resurfaces and puts his arms around me.  He looks suspiciously teary-eyed.

"Mom?" I ask.

"Yes, Donna?"

"Would you tell your son he's a jackass?"

"Of course, dear."

I hand Josh the phone.  "Your mother has something to say to you."

*

I generally enjoy new experiences.  I firmly believe that you should remain open to situations outside your normal routine.  I'd hate to fall into a rut, you know?

That being said, however, I must admit that being deposed sucks.

My husband, the professional hostile witness, does this with some regularity.

It's almost enough to make me bring him coffee.

Almost.

So far, we have established such thrilling details as my name, how long I have worked as assistant to the deputy chief of staff, how much I'm paid, and how long I've been married to my boss.  Okay, I did enjoy getting my meager salary in the record, but it was difficult to leave out the automatic refrain of "I need a raise."  For the last ten minutes, Tribbey and Gallerani have been arguing about whether I can be questioned regarding my work on the Bartlet For America campaign.  Tribbey lost.

He doesn't take losing any better than Josh does.

So now it's on to the innuendo and the inevitable mention of my sordid past.

Kill me now.

"Ms. Moss," Gallerani begins, "you first met Josh Lyman during the Bartlet campaign.  Is that true?"

"Yes."

This is Lionel Tribbey's first rule of how to behave when being deposed:  Use as few words as possible.

Yes, I am finding that challenging.

"How long had you been working for the Bartlet campaign when you met Josh Lyman?"

"We met the day I volunteered to work at Bartlet For America headquarters."

"You're sure of that?" Gallerani asks.

"Yes."  Because that's not a day I'd remember, meeting the man I married.

"So essentially you were one of any number of people who volunteered to work on the Bartlet campaign that day."

"Is there a question you'd like the witness to answer?" Tribbey asks.

Gallerani glares at him and then moves in for the attack.  "When you volunteered to work for the Bartlet campaign, were you assigned any specific tasks?"

"Yes."

"And those were...?" Gallerani asks.

"I was told to answer the phones."

"To answer the phones," Gallerani repeats.  He makes it sound as though I'd been a phone sex operator.  I feel like protesting that Viridis didn't start her career until after she was a respectable married woman and that Irving's her only client.  But why confuse him?  "And how long had you been answering phones when Josh Lyman appointed you his assistant?"

Oh, shit.  "About an hour," I answer.

"One hour?" Gallerani repeats.  He's big on repeating things.

"Yes."  And it's a very sweet, romantic story with me going on about being valuable and Josh giving me his I.D. tag, but I'm thinking Gallerani wouldn't appreciate the subtle nuances.

"Initially, I assume, you worked in the New Hampshire headquarters?"

"Yes."

"And how long had you worked in New Hampshire before you began traveling across the country as Josh Lyman's assistant?"

"One day."

"One day," Gallerani repeats, and I must say that habit of his is annoying the hell out of me.  "Let me see if I understand this, Ms. Moss.  You volunteered to work on a presidential campaign.  After one hour, the Senior Political Director noticed you and appointed you as his personal assistant.  The next day he took you where?"

"South Carolina."

"Lovely state, South Carolina," Gallerani muses.  "Quite romantic."

Not when you're stuck on a campaign bus or working on a laptop computer for eighteen hours at a stretch.  However, Gallerani did not ask a question, so I can't point this out.  That's Tribbey's second rule:  Don't respond to anything that isn't a question.

"Are you asking how romantic Ms. Moss found South Carolina, or are you merely stating a personal opinion?" Tribbey asks.

Gallerani pounces.  You can tell he thinks Tribbey has made a huge tactical error.

He really hasn't.

"I think we all know how romantic Ms. Moss and Mr. Lyman must have found South Carolina."

"The purpose of a deposition is to gather evidence," Tribbey says, "not to make assumptions.  You're assuming that the witness had a sexual relationship with her employer during the campaign."

"Fine.  Let's gather some evidence, shall we?"  Gallerani is practically doing a victory dance.  "Ms. Moss, were you and your employer, Joshua Lyman, involved sexually during the Bartlet For America campaign?"

Thank you, Lionel Tribbey, for leading Gallerani into that perfectly worded question.  I told Tribbey, back in his office, just how complicated my relationship with Josh is.  I told him about the whole denial thing and how it is now painfully obvious to us that we'd been crazy about each other from the beginning.  I told him I thought we could have a real problem if anyone asked me whether Josh and I had been in love during the campaign.

So he got Gallerani to ask the question that we want answered.

"No," I reply.  "I was not involved with Josh Lyman sexually during the Bartlet For America campaign."  So there.

I swear Gallerani looks like he wants to say one of those Perry Mason sort of lines.  You know, "May I remind the witness that she's under oath?"  That sort of thing.  Instead, he settles for raising his eyebrows.

"So you did not become sexually involved with Josh Lyman until he hired you to work as his assistant in the White House?"

I look at Tribbey.  Rule number three:  If you have any doubts about a question, look to your lawyer for clarification before answering.

"Are you asking when Ms. Moss and Mr. Lyman did enter into a sexual relationship?"

"That is exactly what I'm asking."

Tribbey nods.

"June 7, 2000," I answer.

"You know the exact date?" Gallerani asks sarcastically.

"Yes."

"And you're sure of it?"

"Positive," I reply.

I can see the moment the date registers in Gallerani's brain.  The poor man turns green.

Tribbey nods again, giving me permission to say it.

"I remember because it was our wedding day," I answer.

And so, a mere 22 days after I was first called a whore on national television, I finally get to point out that I never had sex with Josh until after we were married.  I savor the moment.

Which is a good thing because the deposition pretty much goes downhill from there.

After a brief, humiliating detour through the whole "Josh paid me himself" issue (Tribbey got that one shot down pretty quickly after it was established that I didn't know any of this at the time), we come to the issue of my qualifications for my present job.

"Where did you graduate from college?" Gallerani asks.

"I didn't."

Gallerani looks at me in disbelief.  Because, sure, he didn't already have that piece of information.  "You don't have a bachelor's degree?"

"No."  Please, please, please, can we leave it at that?

"But you did attend college?"

"University of Wisconsin -- Madison.  Two years," I answer.

"And why did you leave college?"

"Objection," Tribbey says.  "If the issue is the extent of Ms. Moss' academic background, her personal reasons for leaving college are irrelevant."

Nice try, but it turns out that I have to answer the question anyway.  So I explain about dropping out of college to put my boyfriend through med school.  I want to add the fact that I was twenty; people do stupid things when they're twenty.  But no one gives me the chance to point that out.

"Despite your lack of a college degree, you were hired as assistant to the deputy chief of staff?"

Obviously, you jerk.  We wouldn't be here otherwise, would we?  "Yes."

"Even though the other two candidates had outstanding academic backgrounds?"

"I didn't know anything about the other candidates' backgrounds."

"Can you describe your interview with Josh Lyman for this position?"

"Yes, I can."  Following Tribbey's rules to the letter, I sit there waiting.  What?  Gallerani asked me if I could describe the interview; he didn't ask me to describe the interview.  It's a subtle yet important distinction.  Especially since I don't want to describe Josh's idea of an interview.

Gallerani looks fairly pissed.  "Please describe the interview."

Tribbey was horrified when I told him about the interview.  In retrospect, I can't blame him.  We worked on the improving the language to make it sound like, well, an actual job interview.

"Josh described what the job entailed, some of the duties I'd be expected to perform."  I swear Gallerani is smirking like I just told a dirty joke.  "I asked about the hours involved."

"The hours?"

"Yes.  I'd been used to working eighteen to twenty hours at a stretch during the campaign and I assumed we'd have the same sort of schedule in the White House, but I wanted to know for sure."

"How long after the interview were you offered the job?"

"Josh told me at the end of the interview that the job was mine, pending Leo McGarry's approval."  And that's going to look so bad for us.

"Ms. Moss," Gallerani asks, "did you ever meet Phyllis Tsolakis?"

"We were never introduced."

"But you did talk to her, did you not?"

"Yes."  Crap.  I was hoping she didn't remember that.

"Would you explain the circumstances surrounding your meeting?"

"She came into transition headquarters for her interview with Josh.  I was filing away some papers from the campaign, and she came up to me and asked me to show her where Josh Lyman's office was."

"Did you know that Phyllis Tsolakis was a candidate for the same position you were applying for?"

"I didn't know Phyllis Tsolakis at all.  She did not introduce herself to me.  I only recognized her recently when I saw her picture in the newspaper."

"So the answer is no?"

Tribbey looks as though he wants to kill me for forgetting rule number one.  But personally, I think this is fairly important information to get on the record.

"The answer is no," I repeat.  Let's see how Gallerani likes having that whole repeating thing thrown back at him.

"So," Gallerani says.  He's obviously savoring the moment.  "You show Phyllis Tsolakis, who is interviewing for the same position you have applied for, into the office of the man who is doing the hiring.  Did you see Mrs. Tsolakis leave at the end of the interview?"

"Yes, I did."

"And did you and Mr. Lyman then discuss his interview with Mrs. Tsolakis?"

"No, we did not."

"Approximately how much time elapsed between Mrs. Tsolakis leaving Mr. Lyman's office and your next conversation with him?"

"Approximately fifteen minutes."

"And what did you and Mr. Lyman discuss in the ensuing conversation?"

Oh, shit.  We are so screwed.  "He interviewed me for the position."

Gallerani smiles like he just won the lottery.  Which he probably did.  "Josh Lyman interviews Phyllis Tsolakis; he takes approximately fifteen minutes and then has a peremptory interview--"

"Objection," Tribbey says. "Peremptory?"

Gallerani backs down, but he can afford to at this point.  Because he's right; the interview was peremptory.  Hell, it wasn't even a real interview.  "And then has an interview in which he offers you the job?"

"Pending Leo McGarry's approval," I point out again.

"Well," Gallerani says, "whatever his faults, Mr. Lyman can't be accused of indecisiveness, can he?"

Tribbey automatically objects, but there it is.  The damage is pretty much done.

And I've just destroyed Josh's career.

***

I am pacing.

Donna is inside the Blue Room with Tribbey and Gallerani for her deposition, and I am pacing the hallways like a caged cheetah.  I even make the occasional pathetic mewling noise.

"Josh?"

I whirl around -- so my nerves are a little fried today -- to find Margaret looking at me expectantly.  "Yes?"

"Leo wants you."

"I'm kind of--"

"Now," she interrupts, heading back toward Leo's office at a good clip.

This can't be good.  I give the door to the Blue Room one more agonized look, then follow Margaret.

"Leo, Margaret said--"

He waves a hand around to shut me up, and I notice he's on the phone.  "I know," he says into the receiver, "but--"  With a heartfelt sigh, he listens to whoever is on the other end.

I edge toward the door.  "I could come back."

Leo glares at me, covers the mouthpiece, and barks, "Get your ass in here."  Rolling his eyes, he removes his hand.  "Yes, I'm listening to you."  A pause.  "No, I'm not just saying that."

I narrow my eyes, trying to figure out who the hell he could be talking to; Leo McGarry is the second most powerful man in the world.  Not a whole lot of people have the courage to yell at him.  Maybe it's his ex-wife.  Or Mallory.

Leo groans.  "Adira, I'm--"

Oh.  My.  God.

My mother is yelling at my boss.  My boss who happens to be the White House Chief of Staff.

Somebody please kill me now.

I can't decide between grabbing the phone from Leo and hanging it up, groveling at his feet, or running out of the room.

"I promise, Adira," Leo tells my mother while glaring daggers at me.  "I'm going to do everything--"  His gaze skips away from mine.  "I know Noah would be proud of him."

I swallow hard past the suspicious lump in my throat.

"Yes," Leo continues.  "I am too.  And I will do everything in my power--"  He gives me an incredulous look.  "What can I do?  Adira, I'm the Chief of Staff--"  With a strangled groan, he says, "Yes.  I'll send them as soon as possible."

Leo hangs up and glowers at me.  "That was your mother."

"I gathered," I say, my voice tentative.

"She's a very persuasive woman."

"She was married to a lawyer," I point out.

"She threatened to head up Connecticut's Gillette for President office."

I choke.  "What?"

"That's what I said."  Leo nods.  "You and Donna are to spend a long weekend up in Connecticut when this is all over with."

I sigh.  "It'll give me time to polish my résumé."

"Josh--"

"Come on, Leo.  We both know what's going to happen," I interrupt, resigned.  "This thing can't end well."

Leo regards me silently for a long moment.  "Maybe not, but I promised your mother I'd do what I could."

I give a listless shrug.  "There's nothing you can do at this point, Leo.  The cards have already been dealt."

"That's a horrible metaphor," he remarks, standing from his desk.  "Margaret!"

Margaret appears in the doorway.  "Leo?"

"I want Tribbey in here as soon as he steps out of the Blue Room."

Margaret blinks.  "Well, that's not going to be possible."

"Margaret, don't talk to me about hallways and spatial dimensions; just get him in here when he's done."

"Okay," she nods.  "Lionel Tribbey is here to see you."

"He is?"

"Yes."

"They're done?" I ask.

"Yes."

Leo rolls his eyes.  "Well, where is he?"

Margaret glances at the small waiting area.  "Standing in the doorway glowering at people in the hallways."

"Lionel," Leo yells.

Lionel Tribbey appears in the doorway.  "Dominic Gallerani should be taken out into a field and pecked to death by small, sharp-beaked birds."

"So I'm guessing the deposition didn't go well," Leo answers dryly.

I've got to find Donna.

***

I hate myself.

I was sitting there, giving that deposition, and I knew that I had the chance to save Josh's career.  I blew it.

As a supportive wife, I am a complete failure.

Lionel Tribbey is of the opinion that the deposition went "as well as could be expected."  Hardly a ringing endorsement.  When he tried to cheer me up by announcing that the problems in my testimony arose from the fact that "you married a jackass," I told him to put a sock in it.  I am the only person who's allowed to call Josh a jackass.

Besides Mom.

Also CJ.

Anyway, Josh isn't being a jackass at the moment.  He's being sweet and amazingly upbeat considering how damaging most of what I said in the deposition was.  It's that supportive husband thing.  I'm quite fond of his supportive husband skills.  If we were home, I'd show him exactly how fond of those skills I am.  Unfortunately, we're in his office, where privacy is a fleeting concept.

"I should have lied," I say.

"Right," Josh replies.  "Because a perjury charge is exactly what we need now."

"No, really, Josh, just a little lie.  I could have said I didn't remember showing Phyllis Tsolakis to your office or how long it was between the time she left and the time you talked to me.  I could have, you know, embellished the whole job interview thing so it sounded more, I don't know--"

"Normal?" Josh suggests.  "No one who knows us would ever have believed we went through the job interview in a normal manner."

"Well, Gallerani doesn't know us, does he?  So I could have embellished."

I'm in the visitor's chair, and Josh is sitting on the floor next to me.  "We need to get a couch in here," he says.  And he accuses me of changing the subject abruptly.

"You know, Josh, if we did get a couch in here, every time we closed the door, people would think we were doing it."

"If we got a couch in here," Josh says, "every time we closed the door, we would be doing it."

"In your dreams."

"Then too."

Oh, look.  It's Comedy Relief Boy.  This is a nice switch from our usual routine.  I smile in spite of myself.  "I still say I should have lied," I tell him.

He tugs on my hand, and I slide off the chair and into his lap.  I rest my head against his shoulder, and he puts his arms around my waist.  "You did just fine," he assures me.  "And anyway, there's tomorrow.  We don't know what Phyllis Tsolakis is going to say."

"Nothing as incriminating as what I said."

"I wouldn't call it incriminating."

"Yes, but then you're not a real lawyer."

"Am too."

"No, you're not.  I hate lawyers."

"Well, in that case, I'm not a real lawyer."

We sit this way for a couple of minutes, then Josh tells me, "Leo called me into his office while you were gone."

"Oh, God.  What now?"

"It seems my mother has struck again."

"What?"

"Lecturing me last night wasn't enough.  She called Leo today and read him the riot act.  According to Leo, if I'm fired, my mother is going to head up the Connecticut branch of Seth Gillette's campaign."

"Way to go, Mom!  I'll help."

"You will not."

"I could be useful."

"Also valuable."

"I have experience with presidential campaigns, you know."

"I seem to remember."

"I'm just saying it's an option."

"Donna, it's really not."

"If I wanted to work for Seth Gillette, Joshua Lyman, you couldn't stop me."

"Sadly, I know you're right."

"Admit it; you'd hate having some meek little wife who agreed with you about everything."

"I've never denied it."

"Fine.  As long as we're clear on that."  And I kiss him.

Privacy, as I said, is a fleeting concept in Josh's office.  The connecting door opens, and CJ comes in, nearly tripping over us in the process.

"Jeez, you two, get a room!"

"Excuse me, Claudia Jean," Josh says, "but have you ever heard of knocking?"

CJ lifts one eyebrow rather eloquently.  I notice that when you're sitting on the floor, CJ is incredibly tall.  I stand up to avoid getting a crick in my neck.  "What do you need?" I ask.

"You.  Ginger just got some information on The Right Direction.  We think we can link them directly to Baker.  Time to get to work."

I look down at Josh, still sitting on the floor.  "Isn't this incredible?"

"No," Josh mutters.  "Actually, this is pretty much how my life has been going lately."

***

Lionel Tribbey is currently deposing Phyllis Tsolakis.  Sounds so tame when it's worded like that, but there is nothing tame about Lionel Tribbey.  He's skillfully waving the threads of her testimony together to form a rather interesting tapestry.

Of course, this would probably be far more interesting if he'd let me be in the room when he did it, but he says he doesn't trust me to not be hostile.  And so Donna and I are in a room down the hall from the deposition, watching on the monitor.

"Why are you suing Joshua Lyman?" Tribbey asks.  He's not on-screen, because the video is framed pretty tightly around Phyllis Tsolakis' face.

Phyllis Tsolakis, who at this point only vaguely resembles the woman who walked into my office three years ago, looks startled.  "Because he discriminated against me."

"Allegedly," Tribbey says, "this happened three years ago.  Why are you suing him now?"

She shifts a bit in her seat.  "Because I didn't have solid proof that he discriminated against me until now."

I can tell Tribbey is smirking.  "Solid proof?"

"He's sleeping with his secretary," Phyllis Tsolakis sneers.

"Assistant," Donna mutters.

"Really?" Tribbey asks, feigning shock.  "Mr. Lyman and his wife are having sex?  Surely you don't have proof of that."

Smirking appreciatively, I glance at Donna.  "You mean she has copies of the videotape?"

Donna rolls her eyes at me.  "Quit it, Josh.  We so don't need to be subpoena for a White House Sex Escapades videotape!"

I waggle my eyebrows at her.  "A White House Sex Escapades videotape?"

"In your dreams, Josh."

On screen, Phyllis Tsolakis blushes.  "No."

"So the proof to which you referred?" Tribbey asks.

"He's married to her," Phyllis Tsolakis says, and from her tone of voice, you'd think me marrying the woman I love was a federal crime.  "I think I can safely assume that he's sleeping with her."

Beside me, Donna snickers.  "In daylight sometimes," she says in a conspiratorial whisper.

I grin at her.  "With the lights on, even."

Tribbey sounds pleased.  "Assumptions, Mrs. Tsolakis, are not the business of the justice system.  In fact, whether or not Mr. Lyman and Ms. Moss engage in legally sanctioned connubial bliss is quite outside the scope of this deposition.  What I'm trying to determine is why you waited three years to file suit."

I am grinning right at the screen.  Damn, but Lionel Tribbey is good.

"I told you," she repeats angrily, her eyes flashing, "when I didn't get the job, I realized that my marital status and my gender had something to do with it."

"Actually, you didn't tell the court that, but that's hardly the point.  At the time of your job interview, you didn't think you'd been discriminated against, correct?"

"No."

"No, you didn't think you'd been discriminated against, or no, you did think you'd been discriminated against?"

"Objection," says a voice I recognize as Gallerani.  "You're confusing the witness."

"The witness is confusing the court," Tribbey retorts.  "I'm trying to untangle her answers for comprehension."

On screen, Phyllis Tsolakis looks slightly rattled.  After a moment, she says, "I did think I had been discriminated against, but I didn't think I had enough to bring a lawsuit."

Tribbey clarifies.  "You claim that Joshua Lyman inquired about your marital status during your job interview, but you didn't think you had grounds for a lawsuit?"

"No."

Tribbey's grinning again.  "No, you didn't think--"

"I didn't think I had grounds," she repeats angrily.

"Because you don't," Donna mutters.

"Are you aware that inquiring about a job candidate's marital status is a violation of 42 USCA 2000(e)(2)?"

"Is that the law that says he can't ask me if I'm married?" she asks suspiciously.

Tribbey uses his best incredulous tone.  "You're unfamiliar with the federal statutes under which you're filing suit?"

Phyllis glances to the side, probably looking to Gallerani for some help.  After a moment, she shakes her head a little.  "I'm filing under Title VII."

"Yes," Tribbey says, "this is a Title VII action.  More specifically, you're claiming that Joshua Lyman violated 42 USCA 2000(e)(2), which amended the Civil Rights Act of 1964 -- more commonly referred to as Title VII."

"Okay," Phyllis answers uncertainly.

"So if Joshua Lyman had inquired about your marital status--"

"I didn't," I insist to the television.

Donna smacks my arm.  "Shut up."

"--Just by virtue of asking the question, he would have been in violation of 42 USCA 2000(e)(2)."

Gallerani interrupts.  "Is there a question buried in here somewhere?"

"Glad you asked," Tribbey answers sharply.  "I'd like to ask Mrs. Tsolakis to recount the conversation she had with Joshua Lyman in which, she claims, he inquired about her marital status."

Phyllis Tsolakis, eyes wide, takes a moment to collect herself.  "I'm not sure what you're asking."

"I'm asking you to recount the specifics of your job interview with Joshua Lyman.  What he said, what you said.  Do you think you could possibly do that?"

Donna leans into me.  "That sarcasm of his is much less annoying when it's directed at other people."

On screen, Phyllis Tsolakis nods.  "It was a normal job interview, for the most part. Mr. Lyman seemed nice enough."

Donna snickers.  "She's lying already.  Can't Tribbey charge her with perjury?"

"Hey!" I protest.

"Joshua Lyman?" Tribbey asks, sounding somewhat amused.  "He seemed nice?"

"Yes," Phyllis Tsolakis shrugs.  "Aside from the question about me being married."

"And what exactly was the question, Mrs. Tsolakis?"

I can feel the glare that Donna's shooting my way, but I choose to ignore it.

"I'm sorry?" Phyllis Tsolakis asks, looking more and more uncomfortable.

"What did Mr. Lyman ask?"

Phyllis Tsolakis glances quickly to the side.  "I don't recall the specifics--"

"You don't recall the specifics?" Tribbey scoffs.  "Three years later you remember that he asked you something about your marital status, but you don't remember what he asked?"

She is avoiding Tribbey's gaze now, staring determinedly down at her hands.  "I'm not sure I remember exactly what he said."

"Could you give it a shot?" Tribbey asks sarcastically.  "Since the credibility of your entire case rests squarely on whether or not Mr. Lyman actually asked you--"

"He did ask me," Phyllis Tsolakis interrupts, jerking her head up to meet Tribbey's gaze.

"You seem awfully sure about that."

"I am."

"But you're unsure about what he asked specifically?"

Phyllis Tsolakis gnaws her lip for a moment.

Donna is squeezing my hands so tightly it's starting to hurt, but I have entirely too much energy focused on the monitor to tell her that.

Finally, Phyllis Tsolakis says, "He mispronounced my name."

"Okay," Tribbey says, waiting for the rest of it.

"When I came in," she says in a rush, "he mispronounced my name and I corrected him."

"And then?"

She glances over at Gallerani.  "I said it was okay, that a lot of people mispronounce it.  It's a Greek name."

"Right," Tribbey prompts.

"He-- he said he understood, because his grandparents had to change their name from Leimenski to Lyman when they came to America, 'cause people couldn't figure out how to pronounce it."

"Leimonelski," I correct.  I can't tear my gaze away from the monitor, but I think I'm the one gripping too hard right now.  The tension in my body is unbelievable.

"And what did you say then?" Tribbey asks quietly.

Phyllis Tsolakis looks diminished somehow.  "I said my husband's family decided not to change it, even though people stumble over it all the time."

"Josh," Donna whispers beside me.  I nod my head, but I don't speak for fear of missing her next words.

"And what did Joshua Lyman say?"

"He asked if I was married."

"Conversationally?" Tribbey pushes.

Phyllis Tsolakis straightens her spine.  "It was a job interview, not a conversation."

"But while commiserating over the inability of many Americans to pronounce difficult 'foreign' names, you mentioned that you were married, and Joshua Lyman asked a polite, conversational follow-up question about your marital status?"

"It was a job interview," she repeats stonily.

"Is that the only time Joshua Lyman inquired about your marital status?"

There's a long pause before she finally answers, "Yes."

"Josh!" Donna yells jumping up in excitement.

I am still in shock.  I wasn't a total yutz for once in my life.

Donna yanks me to my feet and throws her arms around me.  "Josh, you idiot, you should never have said that," she murmurs in between kisses.

I hug her tightly and maneuver us to the door, which I press her firmly and thoroughly against.  And then I kiss her.

*

Donna runs into my office, slams the door behind her and presses her entire body up against the connecting door to CJ's office.

I look up from an incredibly dry explanation of why Mexican trucking standards -- only about one percent of their trucks are actually inspected to insure they meet the minimum safety requirements -- mean we shouldn't let them across the border and stare at my wife.  "Um, Donna?"

She waves a hand at me and says, "Sssh!"

"What the hell are you doing?"

Annoyed, she glances over at me.  "Will you be quiet?"

"This is my office!" I point out.

"Josh, shut up!"

"Donna--"

"Oh, for the love of God, Josh!"  She pushes away from the door, takes two quick steps and leans over my desk.  I am momentarily mesmerized by the thought of her leaning over my desk in an entirely different context for an entirely different reason.  So mesmerized, in fact, that her whispered explanation fails to register for a long moment.

"Wait."  I leap to my feet. "Ann Stark is in there?"

"Welcome to the conversation," Donna nods, already back at the door.  "Now will you shut up?"

"No!" I say.  "I'm going in there!"

"Josh," Donna warns.  "Don't start.  She came in to talk to CJ."

I ponder this for a moment.  "Why?"

"Why not?"

"Well, first of all, CJ's the press secretary.  She has nothing to do with the lawsuit.  Second, Toby is Ann Stark's contact here--"

"Not since she publicly screwed him over," Donna points out.

"Still," I shrug.  "She and CJ butted heads over that too.  In fact," I add, the wheels in my head spinning futilely in the mud, "CJ was pissed at Toby for days because he undermined her in front of Ann Stark.  So why would Stark come to CJ?"

Donna shrugs.  "Maybe she knows CJ's in charge of Operation Seneca Falls."

"Donna, please tell me no one outside the West Wing knows you named your girl power research project."

Donna gives me a scathing look.  "You mean you missed our manifesto in The Lavender Menace?"

I ignore her barb, because I'm finally gaining some traction.  "Donna, Ann Stark sees CJ as something of a weak link.  Someone to be manipulated.  Why's she going to her now?"

"Maybe she thinks CJ will be eager to regain equal footing?" she suggests.

"Right," I nod.  "And she's hoping that CJ will want that bad enough to--"   And it finally makes sense.  "She's here to play Let's Make a Deal."

Donna stares at me.  "Really?"

"Gotta be," I nod.  "What are they scared of?"

Donna is grinning like a madwoman.  "Operation Seneca Falls, you dolt!  We kicked their asses!"

"Donna--"

"I'm serious, Josh," she says.  "We've already got Katie digging around for more on the connection between Baker and The Right Direction, but the stuff we've got on Pettus Creek Coal is pretty damaging in and of itself."

"Especially since he's on the environmental committee," I admit.  "At any rate, we should really get in there."

"Why?" Donna asks.

"Because," I answer, "she's going to offer to--"

The door swings open, and Donna jumps back.  "CJ!"

CJ rolls her eyes.  "Do you two have a minute?"

Donna and I exchange glances.  "Sure."

We follow her into her office, where Ann Stark is sitting quite comfortably on the couch.  She grins up at us.  "Hello."

"Hi," I answer shortly.  Donna nods.

"I don't believe we've met," Ann Stark says as she stands and offers her hand.

I steel myself and grasp it quickly.  "Josh Lyman."

"Donna Moss-Lyman," Donna says, and I have to struggle not to grin.

Ann Stark looks back at me, a half-smile on her face.  "I'm glad you made it through surgery.  There were a lot of people pulling for you."

I can feel Donna tense beside me, and I jump in before she can break out her Tae Kwan Do.  "Thanks," I say, uncomfortable with the subject.  "Am I correct in assuming you're here to offer us a deal?"

CJ leans against her desk, arms folded, and watches us.

Ann Stark doesn't appear to be all that surprised that I've guessed correctly.  She settles nonchalantly back into the couch.  "I wouldn't say that."

"What would you say?" Donna demands, her voice tight.

I really want to take her hand, but I refuse to give Stark anything to use against us.

Stark gives us that smile again.  "I think I can make the lawsuit against you go away."

"Not much of an accomplishment," Donna notes, "considering you're funding it."

Ann Stark raises one eyebrow.  "I am?"

"Your boss is," I say.  "He channeled one hundred thousand dollars into The Right Direction.  Care to guess how much that same organization shelled out for Phyllis Tsolakis' cosmetic surgery?  Not to mention her legal fees."

"The Right Direction is an independent think tank; you're not suggesting that Senator Baker somehow directs them to do his bidding?"

"Actually," CJ interjects, "that's exactly what we're suggesting."

"That's a ridiculous and unfounded accusation."

"How ironic," I say sarcastically, "because Phyllis Tsolakis made a ridiculous and unfounded accusation against me, and I ended up in court.  Think Baker will enjoy a Congressional inquiry into his connections with a frivolous lawsuit against the sitting president?  Think that'll play well in the press?"

"All I know about your lawsuit is what I read in the papers," Ann Stark counters dryly, "and even I know the lawsuit does not in any way implicate President Bartlet."  She grins brightly at me.  "Just you."

Donna shifts her weight impatiently.  "If you have a point, please feel free to make it."

Stark gives her an appraising look.  "As I said, I could probably make the lawsuit go away."

"In exchange for?" I prompt.

"Senator Baker would prefer that his private company isn't brought into the public eye.  He doesn't want the discussion right now."

CJ stands up.  "We stop digging into Pettus Creek Coal, and you'll convince Phyllis Tsolakis to drop her lawsuit?" she asks skeptically.  "That's your offer?"

"Pretty much," Ann Stark nods, that annoying smile still in place.  "So what do you say?"

***

"So," CJ begins, "Ann Stark paid me a visit today."

Leo, Sam and Toby are suddenly very interested in what CJ has to say.

"She wants to make a deal," CJ announces.  She briefly outlines what Stark told us and waits for the response.

"No," Toby all but shouts.  "Absolutely not.  We are not making any deals with that woman."

"She's afraid of something," Leo notes.  "Something that we haven't found yet.  If all there was to worry about was Phyllis Tsolakis' deposition, that wouldn't be a problem.  You think Baker got involved in this without making sure he could get out if it backfired?  Something hasn't come out yet, and they're afraid we'll get hold of it."

"Pettus Creek Coal," I suggest.

"Operation Seneca Falls," CJ agrees.

"Somewhere in all that paperwork is a damaging document with Baker's signature on it; I just know there is," I add.

"Here's my thing," Sam says.  "I'm wondering if we shouldn't take the offer."

"Make a deal with Ann Stark?" Toby bellows.  "Hell, no, we will not make a deal with Ann Stark."

CJ gives him a look.  "You know, if you'd listened to me in the first place, Toby--"

"CJ," Toby says, "I swear that if--"

"Kids," I say, in my best CJ-lectures-Josh-and-Donna voice, "can we focus on the crisis at hand here?"

I look over at Josh, expecting to get at least a smile.  Instead, I find he's staring off into space the way he does when he's brooding.  Or contemplating The Theory of Everything.  Given the circumstances, I don't think he's concerned with theoretical physics at the moment.

Leo holds up a hand.  "Everyone gets three minutes, starting with Sam."

Sam looks startled.  "Why do I always have to go first?"

"And Sam is down to two minutes, fifty seconds," Leo notes.

"Okay then," Sam says.  "Phyllis Tsolakis' deposition went very well, from our point of view.  She's admitted that Josh's question about her marital status, while technically bad--"

"Technically bad?" Toby asks.  "I still don't understand why we pay you to write."

"That shouldn't count off my time," Sam protests.  "Toby interrupted me."

Leo nods.

"Phyllis Tsolakis admitted that Josh's question was innocent conversation, a reply to something she brought up in the first place.  That works in our favor.  However, technically Josh did ask about her marital status.  And then there's Donna's deposition, which works mostly against us."

"Mostly against us?" Toby repeats.

"And I'm taking a minute away from Toby and giving it to Sam," Leo announces.

Sam nods.  "Donna's recollection of events suggests that Josh never had any serious intention of giving the job to Tsolakis."  He looks at Josh and me apologetically.  "It sounds as though Josh had made up his mind to hire Donna, and the other interviews were merely formalities to make it look like he was considering other candidates.  When you put that together with the fact that Josh later married the person he hired for the job--"  Sam shrugs.  "Even if the suit is dismissed, even if we win, it's going to be a PR problem.  If we take Ann Stark's offer, we don't have to worry about that becoming public knowledge."

Leo nods.  "Toby, you have two minutes."

Toby shrugs.  "Ann Stark cannot be trusted.  She's proved that already.  She wants Baker elected, and she'll do anything to win.  She'll make this offer now, but how do we know she won't leak stuff from Josh and Donna's depositions later?  How do we know she'll get Tsolakis off 60 Minutes--"

"She's going on 60 Minutes?" Sam asks.

"Oh, fine," Toby says.  "You take my minute, and then you interrupt me?"

"I just asked if--"

"Yes," CJ answers.  "She has an interview with Lesley Stahl next week."

"My point," Toby says, "if the rest of you will shut up long enough to let me make it, is that Ann Stark can't be trusted.  She wants to stop our investigation, which is an excellent reason to continue investigating."

CJ goes next.  "I have a--"

"Oh, please," Toby says.  "Tell me it's not a wondering."

CJ ignores him.  "Is there any reason we can't keep investigating?  We accept the deal, but we keep whatever we gather ready to use against Baker if we need it?"

"And the PR fallout?" Leo asks.

"We're dealing with that already.  We've been dealing with that for weeks.  If we can get Stark to guarantee that she'll make the Tsolakis issue go away, we're back where we were.  Josh and Donna did nothing against White House policy by getting married; we stand by them.  With no new scandal, the media go on to something else and life around here gets back to normal."

"Yes," I say, "but, I mean, what about those people in West Virginia?"

"What people in West Virginia?" Leo asks.

"The ones whose homes have been destroyed, the ones whose lives are in danger from Baker and Pettus Creek Coal and mountaintop removal?  God knows I want things to go back to normal.  I don't want--"  I look over at Josh, who is still brooding.  "I don't want to have to worry about this lawsuit anymore," I say.  "But as long as we're making a deal, isn't there something we can do for those people?  You haven't seen the pictures, Leo.  What's being done to those people is awful.  I don't think it's right that we have this information and we don't do anything with it."

"Josh?" Leo asks.

Josh stops staring off into space and looks at Leo.  In this very soft, intense voice, he says, "I'm not taking any deal."

THE END

02.20.01