Dogstar?  I ask you, could he not come up with a better metaphor than that?  I mean, okay, the actual metaphor itself is fabulous -- the whole two stars that orbit each other thing; I like that a lot.  It suits us.  And the sparkly space dust?  If I weren't already in love with the man, that line would have done it.

But again, I must ask:  Dogstar?

In fact, I do ask, just as soon as we stop the kissing.

Well, take a break from the kissing.  For the moment.

"I told you," he says.  "It's a metaphor."

"I know that, Josh, but -- Dogstar?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Think.  What woman wants the man she loves comparing her to a dog?"

"Dogstar.  There's a difference.  I'm not comparing you to Lassie."

"Good thing too. Or else I'd take all my sparkly space dust and leave."

This entire conversation strikes me as too silly, and I start giggling.  It takes me a moment to recover, and I look up to see Josh's face.  I swear to God, he's holding his breath.

Because I said the word "leave."

When someone looks at you like that, there's only one thing you can do.  We really are remarkably good at it.

And to think we'd never even done that together twenty-four hours ago.

Imagine how much better we'll get with practice.

Josh is exactly where he belongs, on his side of the bed, when he brings up the question again.  "So," he asks, "what are you going to do about those college applications?"

"Oh, I'm definitely going to college," I tell him.

"Well, good.  You should.  I'm glad.  Really."

"Yeah, I can tell by that devastated look on your face."

"You can't expect me to be happy that you're going to move to Berkeley.  I mean--"

"I didn't say Berkeley."

"Fine, then.  Stanford.  Texas.  NYU."

"Georgetown."

"Wherever.  We could do the whole long distance relationship thing--"

It's kind of cute, seeing the light dawn like that.  Big clueless dork.

"Georgetown?" he repeats.

"Yes.  Georgetown."

"So you won't have to move?"

"No."

"Although--"

"What?"

"It's less of a commute to Georgetown from my place than from here."

"You just want to have lots of sex with a college coed."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Joshua?"

"Yes."

"You're entirely too pleased with yourself."

"Why shouldn't I be pleased?  You're staying.  I don't even have to look for a new assistant."

"Oh, yes, you do.  Although I assume you'll make me do the actual looking."

"Okay, I'm getting mixed signals here."

"Josh, be reasonable.  I cannot work sixteen hours a day and go to college full time."

"We could cut back on your hours.  You could work part time."

"I'm quitting.  Get over it."

"The office will fall apart without you.  I'll fall apart without you."

"You really won't.  And, you know, if I quit, we avoid the whole 'the deputy chief of staff is sleeping with his assistant' rumor."

"In case you haven't noticed, the deputy chief of staff is sleeping with his assistant.  And he's very happy about that."

"Although he is five minutes away from a temper tantrum."

"I am not going to have a temper tantrum.  I do not have temper tantrums."

"You just keep telling yourself that."

"I am not going to have a temper tantrum because you're quitting.  I can be understanding and supportive and everything that you need me to be."

"I need you to be celibate."

"Like hell I will!"

"And there it is."

"Celibate?  We just--"

"Yes, we did."

"We're enjoying--"

"I know I am."

"Why would we--"

"Because I'm giving you two months' notice."

"And that effects our sex life how?"

"Our sex life.  That's sweet; it really is."

"Donna, why are we discussing celibacy, and how does it relate to your giving me two months' notice?"

"CJ says that this sort of thing always becomes public knowledge."

"CJ can't find Italy on a map."

"CJ is right.  And if we continue to do this while I'm still your assistant, there's a very good chance someone else will find out.  So we're not doing this again until after I've quit.  Hence your newfound state of celibacy."

"I had just overcome my previous state of celibacy.  This is completely unfair."

"You're pouting.  You had a temper tantrum, and now you're pouting."

"I don't pout."

"You do.  It's kind of sexy with the dimples and all."

"Fat lot of good it will do you with the celibacy and all."

"The celibacy doesn't go into effect until tomorrow."

"Oh, so you get to make up the rules to suit yourself?  This doesn't strike you as hypocritical?"

"Josh?"

"What?"

"Do you want me to take all my sparkly space dust and leave?"

"Quitting isn't leaving?"

"Quitting is me parking my sparkly space dust in your bedroom for the next two years."

"You're never going to let me forget that sparkly space dust thing, are you?  And two months?  We're not going to be doing this again for two months?"

"No, we aren't.  So enjoy yourself tonight."

He honestly is adorable.  He's obviously torn.  Part of him wants to pout because I'm quitting and because I have made an extremely sensible proposal that will help us avoid political scandal.  The other part wants to be supportive.  Mostly, I think, he just wants to enjoy what's left of tonight.

Which is a good thing because, honestly, I'm not looking forward to two months of celibacy any more than he is.

We really are extremely good at this, you know.

THE END

03.07.01