I swagger, I smirk. I flirt shamelessly with the female half of the White House staff. I know Donna would disagree, but I'm refreshingly unconceited.

Okay, so in some areas of my life, I'm a bit on the self-assured side. But, hey, I was a Fulbright Scholar with a 1410 on my SATs. I think I can safely say I'm an intelligent man.

And 'politically-savvy' might not be an inaccurate term. I can bring it. Politically speaking.

I'm also more than competent at several sports: basketball, baseball, tennis. Used to be decent at football until an unfortunately-executed tackle permanently damaged my left knee. Still, it wouldn't be out of line to call myself an athletic man.

All of these are things at which I excel.

And then there's my track record with women.

It is, in a word, pathetic.

Mary Eleanor O'Shaughnessy was the first, way back in middle school. I got drunk at a party on a few gulps of beer, kissed her, and gave her my letter jacket. (Yes, it is possible to letter in band--Who knew?) Mary Eleanor wore my jacket non-stop for a week, and we held hands in the hallways.

Then Ethan Bolling transferred from Greenwich East and Mary Eleanor pitched my jacket (and a significant portion of my self-esteem) into the Pemigewassett River.

Since then, the pattern has pretty much held. Except for those few women who didn't even bother with leaving me for someone else; those women who just couldn't stand me anymore. Women like Mandy Hampton.

But that is a long, complicated, and depressing story.

My point is, there are certain areas of my life in which I am less than over-confident. That is to say that although I am predisposed to falling quickly for the wrong women, I also must be struck repeatedly about the head with a blunt object before I'll actually believe any woman wants me.

Unbelievable, I know, given my rugged good lucks and boyish charm.

But I digress.

What Donna has come to label The Joey Lucas Fiasco is directly traceable to my one deviation from the norm: I believed right off the bat that she wanted me. (Joey, that is.) I can't quite figure out why I was so eager to jump into a flirtation with a woman I barely knew, but I have the sneaking suspicion it has something to do with suntan lotion. And cheesecake.

After a humiliating confrontation with Joey Lucas's lover in L.A., I was determined to chalk that entire situation up to bad timing, over-confidence, and some really awful advice from Donna. (I mean, really: "Gather ye rosebuds?")

So why, I ask myself, was the thing in L.A. so upsetting? Upsetting enough that my good friends assumed that Joey Lucas had broken my heart?

I've given it a lot of thought, and I am now passing my experience on to you, so that you might benefit from my sage advice:

Do not fall for someone you can't have.

And if you do fall for someone you can't have, do not immediately pursue someone who appears to like you, but who is currently sleeping with someone else. This is what's known as a double-whammy, and it is really really depressing.

Trust me.

And so I pushed aside all the memories of L.A. (including a persistent mental snapshot of Donna Moss in a tiny bikini) and went back to work.

As an added bonus, I have now passed into the realm of political legend by telling an important Senator to shove his legislative agenda up his ass. Ahh, it was a glorious moment for politics, for President Bartlet, and mostly, for me.

I'm still riding the wave of adulation when Donna (why is it always Donna?) brings me some interesting news: Joey Lucas is coming to town.

***

"Donna," I yelled when I heard the telltale jingle of her PC starting up. "I need you."

"Good morning, sir," chirped an unfamiliar voice.

I glanced up to find a very tall woman with very short red hair standing in my doorway.

"You're not Donna," I stated unnecessarily.

"I'm Tasha Warner," she said. "I'm in for you assistant today."

"Because my assistant is...?"

"Oh, I'm not sure, sir," Tasha smiled. "They just tell me where to report, not why."

That sounded reasonable.

"Okay," I said. "And who tells you this?"

"Human resources," Tasha explained. "I'm a floater; I fill in where I'm needed."

"Oh."

Tasha misunderstood my disappointment.

"Don't worry, sir, I've got the same security clearance as your assistant."

"Donna," I said. "And, please, call me Josh."

"Thank you, sir."

"Josh."

"Right. Josh," she nodded. "Would you like some coffee?"

I stared at her for a moment. "No," I said finally. "Thanks."

***

She answered on the 7th ring.

"Donnatella," I said.

"Josh, I'm sick--"

"You weren't sick yesterday."

"The bacteria were gestating."

"Excuse me?"

"It takes fourteen days for the germs that cause the common cold to gestate, Josh."

"And this has what to do with you not being at work?"

"Two weeks ago you had a runny nose and an annoying cough."

"An annoying cough? I don't recall an annoying cough."

"I sit three feet from your door, Josh; it was an annoying cough."

"Donna--"

"I'm getting to it. It's been two weeks and I don't have the time to get sick right now, so I'm taking a pre-emptive sick day."

"A pre-emptive sick day?"

"Yes, you know, like a pre-emptive strike?"

"I know what pre-emptive means, Donna."

"I'm attacking the cold before it attacks me."

Silence.

"Donna."

"Yes?"

"I don't think the government gives paid pre-emptive sick days. I think you have to actually, you know, be sick."

"So we'll call it a personal day."

"Donna!"

"What? I'm looking after my person."

"You're supposed to be here looking after my person."

"Didn't Becky send you a floater? I told her yesterday--"

"Wait. You told Human Resources yesterday, but you didn't tell me?"

"I did tell you."

"When did you tell me?"

"Well, 'tell' might be the wrong word, implying, as it does, direct contact between the teller and the tellee--"

"Donna."

"I left you a note."

"A note?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"On your coffee mug."

I glanced at my untouched coffee mug. There was a note that looked like it said, Talking o protective suck dog.

"You certainly did."

"Josh--"

"You realize that even had I found this, I would have been unable to decipher it?"

"Josh."

"You couldn't really have just called my cellphone?"

"When?"

"Yesterday. You know, when you were informing the rest of the White House."

"You were in a meeting."

"Last night?"

"Yes."

"No I wasn't."

"With Joey Lucas."

"I was in her office fifty yards away from your desk, arguing with her for many, many hours. Trust me when I say your call would have been a welcome diversion."

"So noted. I've got to go."

"What, do you have an appointment?"

"No, it's time for my Echinacea."

***

"Mr. Lyman?"

I glanced up from the depressingly long position paper in front of me. "Josh."

"Right," Tasha Warner smiled. "I brought you some coffee." She placed a large cup on my desk. "Anything else?"

"What do you think of VAWA2?" I asked.

Tasha looked suddenly terrified. "Vavatu?"

"The reauthorization of the Violence Against Women Act," I explained. "It's in the House."

"I..." she shrugged. "I don't know, sir."

I stared at her. "Oh," I said. "Okay."

***

10.20.04