I have spent the last hour looking at Josh.  He would kill me for saying this, but he is beautiful.  I see him every day, for hours and hours on end, yet this is different somehow.  Maybe because he's asleep.  I'm used to Josh being in constant motion; the man doesn't know how to relax.  The only other occasion when I've seen him this still for an extended period of time was in the hospital.  Then I was too intent of finding signs of life to think in terms of aesthetics.  Tonight, however, I'm simply enjoying the view.

Josh is not conventionally handsome in the way that, for example, Sam Seaborn is.  The appeal with Josh, I've always thought, is a form of charisma.  It's the way his intelligence and intensity shine through his eyes, and it's the way he sort of bounces when he's forced to stop moving; it's the strut and the swagger.  It is definitely in the twenty-seven variations of smirk I've recorded.

But when he sleeps, when he's actually still, you notice other things.  You notice, for example, how well sculpted his muscles are.  I've always been fond of Josh's arms.  At the moment, in fact, I'm stroking his left arm.  It's quite the masterpiece, that arm.  And his legs -- chiseled, I'd call them.  Like a work of art.  Michaelangelo's David springs to mind.

The expression on his face intrigues me.  I'm not certain what to call it.  Peaceful, maybe.  But that's such a strange word to associate with Josh.  Contented?  Maybe there's no one word that sums it up.  He looks like a man who has realized exactly where he belongs.  A man who is very pleased to find that this is where he was meant to be.

And that is the problem.  Because he can't belong here.  As much as I wish it were possible, he can't belong with me.

Oh, Josh, you idiot.  You weren't supposed to love me back.  Don't you know that this is absolutely the worst thing you could do?

I wonder if it's better to break his heart now or wait until later.

***

"I'm hungry," he says.  The first thing he says upon waking.

"'Hello, Donna.  How are you?  Did you sleep well, sweetheart?'"

The arrogant bastard laughs at me.  "'Sweetheart?'" he asks.  "Look, I will let you have your way with my body, but I draw the line at having to call you cutesy names."

"Some women like terms of endearment," I reply.

"And you're not one of them."

"No, I'm not," I admit.  "But my point is that there is a certain après sex etiquette--"

"'Après sex etiquette'?  You've been reading women's magazines again, haven't you?"

"When would I find time to read women's magazines?  The man I work for doesn't give me a moment's rest.  Oh, wipe that smirk off your face!  I wasn't referring to -- to this!"

"Donnatella Moss, you're blushing."

"I am not -- What are you doing?" I ask as he throws back the sheet that's covering me.

"Satisfying a long-standing curiosity."

"Honestly, I don't know what there is left for you to be curious about at this point."

He takes a long, appraising -- and, frankly, a pretty darn erotic -- look at my body.  "You do blush all over.  I've always wondered."

"Damn alabaster skin," I mutter.

"It's cute," he says.  He puts his arms around me and rolls me on top of him.  "In fact, it's so cute--"

"I thought you were hungry."

"Definitely," he says, nibbling at my neck.

"Josh, it is 3 p.m., and neither of us has had a thing to eat.  In fact, I believe it was your quest for sustenance that got us started doing -- whatever it is we're doing."

"You don't know what we're doing?" he asks.  "Because if you don't, I've been sadly remiss in the performance of my duties."

"You know what I mean."

"Rarely.  And what we're doing is--"  He pauses.  "Okay," he admits, "I'm not sure what we're doing either.  But whatever it is, we're very good at it."

"We really are," I agree.

"Amazingly so."

"Astounding."

"Earth-shattering even."

We spend the next half hour re-establishing just how good at it, whatever it is, we are.  When I recover the power of speech, I ask, "Chinese?"

"Jewish actually, but thanks for asking."

"Dork," I say.  I get out of bed and start dressing.  "Should we order Chinese food?  Or maybe pizza?"

"Chinese," he decides.  "Maybe the fortune cookies will tell us what to say to Leo."

I stop buttoning my shirt and twirl around to face him.  He's sitting up in bed, looking way too satisfied with himself.

"You want to tell Leo about this?" I ask.

"Well, I wasn't planning on giving him details, if that's what you're worried about."

"Josh, I think that telling Leo is a bad idea."

"Don't worry," he says.  "I'm almost sure he won't kick us out of the building.  At least not right away."

"Josh, you absolutely cannot tell Leo!"

"Yes, I can.  This isn't some sleazy office affair, Donna.  This is -- this is more serious.  It deserves better."

I should have known.  This is typical of Josh.  He makes up his mind to have something, and heaven help anyone who gets in his way.

And this time I'm the one who's getting in his way.

Damn. I thought I'd get a few weeks at least.  I didn't think I'd only get one day.

Because he's going to hate me now.  I'm going to break his heart, and he's going to hate me.

We were so good together too.  For one day, we were so good.

"Josh," I say, "I love you."  I need to say that one last time.  He's going to get furious and he's going to forget I said it, but I need to tell him anyway.  Maybe someday he'll remember and understand that I meant it.

He's gotten out of bed, and he's putting on his jeans.  "I love you too, Donnatella," he says.  He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.  "And don't worry.  I'm fairly certain we haven't broken any actual laws.  Although, now that I think about it, a few of the things we've done today are illegal in several southern states."  He starts to walk past me into the living room.

I rush after him.  We seem to be doing a bizarre version of the way we walk together at work.  "You can't tell Leo," I repeat.  "You'll get fired."

"Probably not.  Yelled at, yes, but it's a small price to pay to see you blush like that."

"Josh, be serious."

He turns around and faces me.  "Okay, seriously, yes, there's a chance -- a small chance -- that I could lose my job over this.  But I don't think it will come to that."

"And you base this conclusion on what?"

He shrugs.  "A hunch?"  He puts his arms around my shoulders.  "Don't worry.  It's out of our hands at this point.  This thing between us was going to happen sooner or later."  He grins.  "I mean, really, would you have wanted to put that off until we were out of office?"

"Josh, you're the deputy chief of staff.  I'm your assistant."

"Thanks for clearing that up.  I've been wondering why you've followed me around for the last three years."

"This is a big deal, Josh.  This is politics, and this is a very big deal."

He looks way too amused.  "You're lecturing me about politics?"

"Since you seem to have forgotten the basics, yes.  It's the White House.  It's the sort of thing that could destroy your career."

"Possibly," he admits.

"Well, then," I say.

"Look, if we go to Leo right away, there's more of a chance to do damage control.  We're not hiding anything.  We're being honest about how we feel.  There's a good chance--"

"Not a good enough chance," I answer.

We've walked as far as the kitchen now.  Josh points to the college applications that are still sitting on the kitchen table.  "You can throw those in the trash."

"I'm putting them in the mail tomorrow."

He looks stunned.  "You're what?"

"I'm mailing them. Berkeley's my first choice, but--"

"You're not leaving."

"Yes, Josh, I am."

"Is this about my wanting to tell Leo?  You think by leaving me you can save my career?  I mean, it's sweet, Donna, in a totally misguided way, but it's really unnecessary."

Of course that's what it's about.  I've been around politicians for three years.  I know what this will look like.  What it will be made to look like.  Some slimy political hack who cared more about power than about his duties, who thought he could get away with some tawdry affair with his assistant.  Josh has worked so hard to get where he is, he's so amazing at what he does and he loves it so much -- I refuse to let him throw that away.

It's my job to take care of him, to protect him.  I learned a long time ago that sometimes I have to protect him from himself.  I have to protect him from doing something as stupid as throwing his career away because he's suddenly decided he cares about me.

"It's not -- I want to go back to college, Josh.  It's important to me."

"There are colleges in the DC area.  Good ones."

"I can't work sixteen hours a day and go to college."

"So you'll go to college.  We'll arrange it with Leo; you can take a leave of absence or something.  The office will probably fall apart without you, but--"

"No, Josh, I have to leave."

"You don't."

I have to hurt him.  I have to make him hate me.  I have to destroy this thing between us once and for all.

It's for the best.  It really is.

"Josh, I -- I've spent my whole life trying to please other people.  First it was my parents, then it was Alan.  Now you're doing the very same thing to me."

"You're going to stand there and compare me to Dr. Free Ride?"

"There are similarities.  He was a selfish, arrogant bastard too."

I am going to rot in hell for that, I know it.  For that, and for the horrified look on Josh's face.

"I would never use you like he did."

"Oh, really?  Who has spent the last three years demanding all my time and energy?  Who has made it impossible for me to have any kind of private life that didn't include him?  Who has mocked me and insulted me every time I've tried to do something with my life?"

"I never -- I teased you once or twice; that's all."

"You said I had no sense of self-worth."

"I was jealous.  I admit it.  Are you happy?"

"You meant it."

"I didn't."

"It sounded like you meant it."

"I'm sorry.  I never should have said that.  And I didn't mean it."

"Too late.  The damage was done a long time ago."

We stand there staring at each other for several minutes.  Finally, Josh says, "If I'm such a bastard, why the hell did you do this?"

"I have no taste in men, remember?"

I have never seen him in this much pain.  Not even at Christmas.  But I have to do this.  I know how Josh is once he gets an idea.  If I don't destroy this now, he'll risk throwing everything away for me.  I can't be responsible for that.  I can't.

"So that's it then?" Josh asks.  "You're really leaving me?"

"Yes," I say.  "I really am."

He stares at me as though he'll never see me again, and then he nods.  "If that's what you want."

"We shouldn't tell anyone what happened today," I say.

"Right.  'Cause I can't wait to share that story -- 'One night with me and she couldn't get to the other side of the country fast enough.'"

"I didn't mean--"

"What?  You think I'm such a selfish, arrogant bastard that I couldn't wait to tell Sam and Toby that I nailed my assistant?"

"No.  I just -- I don't see any reason this should become a, you know, a thing."

"Fine.  We'll forget it happened."

I won't.  Not one second of it.

"I think that's best, Josh."

"It's March," he says.

"What?"

"Even if you start during summer school, that's three months.  You're not planning on leaving right away, are you?"

"I haven't even mailed the applications yet."

"Because it will take time to find somebody to -- to replace you.  To run the office, I mean.  I'd rather you trained whoever--"

"I can stay through May, I'm sure."

"We should -- we should get right on that.  Looking for someone."

"I'll call Human Resources in the morning."

"You can handle all that.  It doesn't matter to me.  You can pick somebody."

"Okay."

He heads for the door, and I don't think he's going to say anything else to me.  But then he turns around and looks at me one last time.  "Donnatella," he says.  And the way he says it, I know what he really means.  He means that he loves me.  He means that he wants me to take back all the awful things I said.

He's begging me to stay.

And I can't do that.  Because I love him, I can't do that.

When I don't say anything else, he leaves.  I watch him from my window -- he walks down the street with his head bowed.  He doesn't strut.  He doesn't swagger.  I think he may be crying.

Oh, Josh.  Why did you have to go and love me back?  Didn't you know that was the worst thing you could have done?

THE END

03.05.01