I can do this.  My sudden nervousness is entirely attributable to the lunar cycle.  Possibly my astrological sign.  It has nothing whatever to do with Donna.

We can watch a movie together.  We're friends.  It'll be fine.  I am nervous for no reason at all.  I will simply walk out there, explain the situation, and ask her if she'd like to watch the damn movie.

Simple.

I approach her desk and hesitate.  After a moment, she looks up expectantly.

I take a deep breath and say, "Come home with me."

Okay, that didn't come out correctly at all.

Donna stops typing.  "Excuse me?"

"Uh," I say intelligently.  "What I meant was--"

"Did you just ask me to go home with you?" she asks, incredulous.

"No," I say, shaking my head wildly.

She raises an eyebrow.  "You didn't just say 'come home with me'?"

This conversation is spinning wildly out of control. I shift my weight nervously.  "Technically, yes," I admit.  "I phrased that poorly."

"You think?"

"Donna--"

She removes her hands from the keyboard, which means I'm in for a lecture.  "Seriously, Josh, unless you're bucking for a sexual harassment suit--"

"Donna, all I was trying to do--"

"I'm just saying you need to watch what comes out of your mouth sometimes."

And now I am completely sidetracked.  "What's that supposed to mean?" I demand.  "I know exactly what comes out of my mouth, and believe me it doesn't need watching."

Donna stares at me for a moment, then bursts out laughing.  "Sure, Josh."

"I'm serious," I say, still a bit miffed.  "I'm incredibly articulate."

"You also spout out whatever's ricocheting around your brain without stopping to think about the consequences," Donna points out.

"I do not!" I protest.

"Do I need to bring up the Mary Marsh incident?"

I cross my arms and glare at Donna.  "And to think I came over here to do something nice for you."

She gives me her skeptical face.  "Demanding that I go home with you is your idea of doing something nice for me?"

"Donna!"

"What?"

"I told you I didn't mean that."

She nods briskly and turns back to her computer.  "You really do know how to sweet talk the ladies," she comments.  "I don't know why I thought you needed help with Joey Lucas."

I retreat to my office to regroup.  This is entirely too complicated.  I am going to kill Joey Lucas the next time I see her, she of the ridiculous, unfounded accusations about my assistant.  I used to be able to talk to Donna without fumbling for words.

It's just a movie.  We've done this before.  Granted, the other times we watched movies at my place were all during my unending convalescence after she took my physics books away.  But still.  We've done this before.

There is nothing sexual or romantic about it. Donna mentioned her fondness for screwball comedies last week, and suggested that I watch His Girl Friday.  It seems only logical to me that when I finally do watch the movie, she should be there.  Since she, you know, likes that genre.  Also, we're friends.

How that perfectly innocent plan turned into "come home with me," I'm sure I'll never know.  Sometimes my mouth gets away from me.

Anyway, after banging out a quick email to Leo detailing the planned Million Mary Jane March on D.C. (and why is it that pro-legalization PACs have such poor naming abilities?  I mean, Phree Pharmaceuticals?), I decide to extend the invitation to Donna in a far more oblique way.  Suave, even.

I waltz over to her desk and toss the DVD of His Girl Friday onto her keyboard.

"Josh, you made me -- What's this?"

I lean against the partition.  "What does it look like?"

Donna narrows her eyes at me.  "You bought me a DVD?"

"I saw it in the store and thought you'd like it.  That's the movie you were blathering on about, right?"

She fingers the edge of the case.  "You saw it in the DVD store?"

"Yes."

"And you were in the DVD store why?"

I stare at her blankly.  "Because."

She grins.  "Good answer, Josh."

"You should be nice to me; I bought you a DVD."

"You realize, of course, that I don't have a DVD player, right?"

"I do," I answer.

"So you have effectively bought yourself a gift," Donna says.

"What?"

"Well, you've bought me something I can only watch in your presence.  Every time I want to watch it, you have to watch it too.  Ergo, it's pretty much your present."

"We can share it," I suggest.

Donna grins at me.  "Joint custody of a DVD?"

"Why not?"

"You're insane."

"Hey, you'd better be nicer to me if you want to watch that in the near future."

"Of course," she muses, "I do still have a key to your place."

"You do?"  Funny how that thought is kind of... comforting.

"Yes.  I could always watch it without you being there."

"When are you going to manage that?" I scoff.

"I'll go to your place while you're at work."

"When I'm here, you're here."

"Not if I'm sick," she grins.

"You are not going to call in sick to watch Cary Grant."

"Jealous, Josh?" Donna teases.

"Of that fop?  Absolutely not."

Donna glares at me.  "Do not cast aspersions on Cary Grant, Joshua."

Oh, it's so tempting to allow myself to be sidetracked by Cary Grant's relative manhood just to hear Donna talk, but I am determined to finish what I started.  "Donna, do you want to watch this tonight?"

Donna stares at me for a long moment.  She looks almost uncertain.  "Josh," she says finally, "it's almost eleven."

"So?"

"So we have to work in the morning," she points out.  Always rational, my Donna.

"Tomorrow's Sunday," I argue.  "We can be in around ten."

Donna blinks at me.  "You know, I vaguely remember five day workweeks."

"Do you want to watch the movie or not?" I demand, exasperated.  You'd think I was asking her on a date or something with how complicated the conversation has become.

"Sure," Donna nods.

"Great," I say, smiling. I feel oddly relieved.  Also happy.  I am currently ignoring these feelings in the hopes they'll go away.  "Let me just finish up a couple of things."

"Okay," Donna agrees, unusually quiet.  "I'll be ready in a minute."

I nod and retreat to my office, quashing the urge to do some strange sports-influenced victory dance.  Because, really, there's no reason to feel like this.  I mean, it's just a movie.

THE END

02.23.01