Seriously, I'm planning to enjoy this.  We're in my favorite city rubbing elbows with some of New York's most interesting characters:  Pro-Bartlet columnists from the Times, eccentric millionaires and their trophy husbands, and some East Coast media types.  In other words, people I can actually talk to.

"Do I really have to be here?"

I glance over at Donna, exasperated.  This is not an uncommon occurrence in her presence.  "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because," I shrug.  "We're a team."

Donna stops walking and puts her hands on her hips.  Hips that are quite stunningly shown off in her navy blue sheath, I should add.  Purely an aesthetic observation.

"We are not a team, Joshua," Donna argues.  "In fact, you are my boss and you ordered me to be here!  It's Saturday night, Josh.  Do you know what I could be doing right now?"

I smirk, "Dating the latest in a series of veritable losers?"  Donna's face transforms from mildly irritated to hurt in a split second, and I feel like a complete asshole.  "Donna--"

"Forget it, Josh," she says, shaking it off.  A mask of indifference settles in, and she turns away from me, starting again for the door to the fundraiser.

I follow meekly behind her, trying to come up with a way to apologize.  I suck at apologies.  And then she stops and gives me this incredulous look.  "Do you hear that?" she whispers.

It takes a second, but I eventually catch the conversation she's talking about.

A male voice that sounds somewhat familiar asks, "Do I really have to be here?"

Another man answers with an emphatic, "Yes."

"Why?"

"Because we're a team."

Okay, that is just freaky.  With a glance, Donna and I wordlessly agree to seek our male dopplegangers.  Their conversation continues:

"We're coworkers."

"Casey, we're a team."

"Coworkers."

"Hey, you played the team card to get me to go to that--"

"Yes, Danny," the first voice answers tiredly.  "You've reminded me many many times.  But my point is that you're the political activist--"

"I would hardly call taking more than a passing interest in the governing body of our great land political activism."

And then, just on the other side of a clump of wealthy fashionistas in their trademark head-to-toe black, I spot them.  Dan Rydell and Casey McCall, anchors of Sports Night, a nightly news show.

Beside me, Donna sucks in a deep breath.  "Wow."

Oh, here we go with her girlish crushes on anyone who could be remotely labeled a celebrity.  "Donna," I start, but she shushes me.  She actually shushes me!

"Still," Casey continues the debate, "this fundraiser was your idea, and I don't see why I have to get suckered into going just cause you couldn't find a date in time."

"I could too find a date, Casey.  I happen to prefer your company."

"To a woman's?"

"Are we talking just any old woman, or did you have a specific woman in mind?"

"Danny."

"I'm just trying to get an accurate picture."

"You're trying to get out of answering the question."

"To be fair, I don't even remember what the question was."

"I expressed doubt about your ability to procure yourself a date, you claimed to prefer my company, and I asked you if you preferred it to a woman's."

"Preferred what?"

"My company."

"What the hell are you talking about, Casey?"

"You would rather be here with a woman, Danny, but you couldn't find a date and so you brought me."

"That's not true."

"You're lying."

"Another way of saying something isn't true--"

"Danny."

"I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"Okay, I'm lying, but--"  Here Dan breaks off as he notices Donna's gaze.  I would describe the look on her face as dazed, but this Dan character seems to think she's interested in their pedantic conversation.  "Hello," he says to her.

Donna nearly jumps out of her skin, but she recovers quickly.  "Hello," she answers, abandoning me and joining their little TV star clique.  "I'm Donnatella Moss."

"Dan Rydell."

"Casey McCall."

Okay, these two idiots are far too interested in my assistant.  I saunter over and make my presence known.  "Joshua Lyman."

Donna glances back at me with an annoyed look.  "Deputy Chief of Staff," she intones.

Dan grins at her.  "You're the Deputy Chief of Staff?"

"No," she answers coyly.  Coyly!  "This is my boss, Josh Lyman, who also happens to be the Deputy Chief of Staff."

"Ah," Casey says.  "That probably makes you the Deputy Deputy Chief of Staff."

I am horrified when Donna laughs at this.  Dan and Casey seem to find her very interesting.  I do believe I'm going to need a drink.

"Donna," I interrupt, indicating the bar with a tilt of my head.  "Did you want a drink?"  I hope she takes the hint and goes for drinks so that I can give these two clowns a piece of my mind.

Donna flashes me a dazzling smile.  "Sure, Josh.  I'll take a whiskey sour.  Guys?"

Casey and Dan display their half-full beers and decline her offer.  I am left with nothing to do but play the bartender and wonder what the hell just happened.

***

Since when do I serve drinks?  I ask myself as I reach the bar.  With that stellar reasoning, I beckon to the bartender and order myself a rum and coke.  It's quite tasty.  In fact, I have found myself an incredibly comfortable barstool and am almost done my drink before I am interrupted.

"Josh, where's my drink?"

I jerk my head around to find Donnatella Moss standing there, gorgeous as always, and flanked by the two anchors of Sports Night.  Men of whom CJ has said with a disturbingly dreamy look in her eye, "I wouldn't kick either of them out of my bed.  Hell, I wouldn't kick both of them out of my bed."

I take a big swig of my rum and coke, then slam the empty glass onto the bar.  "What'd you want?"  Did that sound slurred?  Am I slurring already?

Donna doesn't look very amused.  She grabs my glass, sniffs delicately, makes a face, and hands it to the bartender.  "Could I get a whiskey sour, please?"

Casey and Dan are grinning.  Apparently they find this amusing.  Maybe they'll do that annoying, self-satisfied bantering thing like they do on their show.  All this back and forth about absolutely nothing.  And now they're here hitting on my assistant.

I could take 'em.

Casey settles onto the barstool next to me.  "Donnatella tells us--"

"She prefers Donna," I say stubbornly.

Donna rolls her eyes.  "Josh, be nice."

"I am," I protest.  "I am absolutely going to be nice to Casey McCall, alongside Dan Rydell."

Casey looks mildly embarrassed as he exchanges a look with Dan.  "You've seen the show."

"Astute deduction."  My witty repartee is dimmed somewhat by all the slurring.  Should've picked something with less sibilants.

Maybe I would have more energy focused on speaking if Dan and Donna weren't sharing these troubling little glances.  I eye Dan critically in his pretty boy tuxedo.  Yeah. I could so take him.

Casey is still trying to talk to me.  "What did you think of Pedro Martinez last night?  That guy can throw a baseball."

"Probably why the pay him the big bucks," I mutter.  "Bartender!  Could I get another rum and coke?"

"Joshua," CJ says, appearing out of nowhere.  "Do you really need another?"

I glare at her.  Which is hard, because there are several of her looking down at me.  "Why not?"

"Because," she answers sharply, "you're working, and you have a very delicate system."

Oh, and she really had to say that in front of the sports studs?  Speaking of them, CJ is grinning like a complete idiot and introducing herself.

Casey shifts his attention from me to CJ.  "I've had the opportunity to watch you work many times, and I've got to say, professional to professional, you're wonderful on camera."

Give me a break!  What a horrible line!  I can't believe this -- CJ is blushing!  She's actually blushing!  I can't seem to do anything but sit here and stare in abject horror while these two punks hit on our women!

"Thank you, Mr. McCall," CJ grins.

"Casey," he insists, shaking her proffered hand.

"CJ," Donna interrupts, looping her arm through Dan's.  Someone just kill me now.  Donna doesn't appear to notice my distress.  "Dan's a big fan of yours.  He really liked the ten guys named Flippy joke."

Dan looks sheepish.  "The Ryder Cup thing.  It was a while ago--"

"I remember," CJ interrupts, smiling like the damn Chesire cat.  "Thanks so much.  You two are great, by the way.  Best sports news show on the air."

Where is a rip in the time-space continuum when you need one?

"Hey!" Sam greets us all jovially as he approaches.  "Well, I know these two lovely ladies, and this drunken slob seems familiar, so you two must be Dan Rydell and Casey McCall.  Love the show."

The TV star guys get all faux modest as they shake hands with Sam, and it's all I can do not to, you know, hop the bar and down a few bottles of rum.  I'm honestly that disgusted with the situation.

"How about another round?" Sam asks in his obliviously benevolent fashion.  Does he not realize I'm freaking out here?  "On me."

And the crowd goes wild.  Kill me now.

***

"Josh?"

I jerk awake, blinking rapidly as I glance around.  Somehow, I'm slumped in a really comfortable armchair in the corner of the large room, surrounded by Donna, Dan, CJ, and Casey.

"Yeah?"

Donna grins at me.  "It's time to go."

"What?"

"It's time to go.  The party's over.  You need to get to bed."

"My bed's in D.C."  Apparently I'm still pretty drunk.

CJ rolls her eyes, "You know, I'm pretty sure they've got beds right here in this hotel."

"Yes," Dan adds.  "Our fine New York hotels are absolutely equipped with beds.  In fact--"

"Danny," Casey interrupts with a small shake of his head.  "We should go."

Donna looks crestfallen.  And suddenly not at all interested in whether or not I make it to bed.  Instead, she offers her hand to Casey.  "It was great to meet you, Casey."

"Yes," CJ seconds the sentiment, practically wresting the anchor's hand from Donna.  "I had a wonderful time tonight."

"I did too," Casey answers with a smile.

Pretty boy.

Donna happily turns her attention to Dan.  "You're quite charming," she says.

I think I may vomit.  This liquor must be making me nauseous.

Dan leans in and gives Donna a hug.  "You," he says, "are an absolute delight.  I am relieved to know that we've got amazing women like the two of you working for us."

Donna's blushing again.

I lurch to my feet, then nearly topple CJ when I start to list dangerously.

"Whoa, there," Casey says, reaching out a steadying hand.

I shake him off and reach for Donna.  "Let's go to bed."

Donna takes a big step backwards.  "Excuse me?"

I glance around, taking in the stupified looks from Dan, Casey, and especially CJ, and realize I may have misspoken.  "I need to go to bed," I say again.  "Donna."

She is giving me her stormy face, but nods.  "Fine.  Dan, Casey," she turns back to our intrigued audience, "please give us a call the next time you're in D.C."

Dan gives my assistant a big, dopey grin, then shoots an uncertain look my way.  "Only if you'll do the same," he says, fishing out a business card, which Donna pockets.

Luckily for Dan, CJ steps in and, with her usual grace, makes our excuses.  Then she clamps down on my free arm, gives Casey a longing look, and hauls my ass out of there.  I, of course, am dragging Donna along with us; I'll be damned if I leave her in there with the swinging singles crowd.

"Josh," Donna whispers as we reach the elevators, "you are impossible sometimes.  Did you see the handsome, interested man talking to me?  Did you catch that in your drunken stupor?"

"Yes," I mumble.  "Don't like them hitting on our women."

I nearly land on my face when said women simultaneously let go of me.  I manage to remain upright, but it's a close call.  By the time I turn back to face them, I realize I have voiced something aloud that should never, ever be said.

CJ and Donna are like bookends, scowling at me with their arms crossed.

"What did you say?" CJ demands.

"Something stupid," I answer.  "I'm drunk."

"You had three drinks," she says, icicles dangling off of her words.

"Yes," I nod.  "I'm drunk."

Donna is still glaring at me.  "He does have a delicate system."

"I need to go to bed," I repeat.  The room is seriously reeling around me, the bright, sparkling chandeliers doing nothing for my altered sense of reality.  And the nausea is definitely back.  "Donna, please."

"Fine," she snaps, "but we're going to have a talk tomorrow, Joshua.  CJ and I are not 'your women.'"

CJ gives me a curt nod, then turns to Donna.  "Good night, Donna.  Nice work tonight."

"Thank you," Donna beams.

CJ heads for someone on the other end of the lobby, who may or may not be Toby.  Or possibly Sam.  My vision isn't working properly.

"Furthermore," Donna continues, dragging me towards the elevators, "I resent your incessant intrusions into my private life.  It's not like this is the first time you've been a schmuck, Josh, but this was a nice guy."  She doesn't even pause for breath as she manhandles me into the elevator.  "He's a sportscaster.  You like him, for the love of God.  Why would you try to sabotage--?"

I'm not sure precisely what happened just then -- perhaps the elevator jerked a bit on its cable -- but I am kissing Donnatella Moss.

I am drunk, and I am kissing my assistant.  Who was in the middle of berating me for being a jackass.

This is certainly a unique situation.  An intensely pleasurable, mind-bendingly beautiful situation.

After a long moment of shock, Donna relaxes and starts to participate.  And then she pulls away.

I think I may actually have just whimpered.

Judging by her expression Donna is absolutely floored.  "Josh," she says.  I stare at her for a long moment, but she doesn't continue, merely shrugging.

We need to discuss this.  I need to explain that, yes, I'm drunk, but that kissing her is not necessarily something I want to forget about when I wake up in the morning.  I have to tell her that she's an amazing woman, and Dan Rydell doesn't deserve her.  Hell, I don't deserve her, but if that kiss was any indication, we definitely have chemistry.  I can work on the worthiness issue at a later date.

I need to say something.

The elevator dings, the doors swish open, and Donna yanks me out into the hallway.  I think I may have missed the moment.

I stumble along behind her until we reach my room.  She makes quick work of the door and pushes me inside.

God, I feel sick.

I turn back, holding the door open.  "Donna, wait."

She has her arms crossed.  "For what?"

Oh, no.  Please, can I just make it two more minutes before vomiting?

"Donna, I--"  I give her a helpless look and run for the bathroom.

***

Somebody is gleefully piercing my eyeballs with jagged shards of glass.  That's the only possible explanation for this exquisite pain.

Additional complaints come to my attention as I reach full consciousness: my brain is dancing some kind of exuberant jig within the confines my skull, I would happily dive into the Hudson River merely to drink the poisoned, nasty water, my stomach is debating the relative merits of vomiting again, and my limbs threaten mutiny when I attempt to lever myself upright.

I squint around at the harshly lit room -- who left the blinds open, anyway? -- and deduce that I am in a hotel.

And then the events of the night before come back to me in startling detail.  The one time in my life when a drunken blackout would actually be preferable, I am sitting here remembering with absolute clarity the feeling of Donna's arms around my neck and her tongue in my mouth.

Dear.  God.

That woman is amazing in every capacity of which I'm aware.  Kissing is no exception.

I, on the other hand, was raging drunk and about two minutes away from puking during our encounter, so I'm sure my efforts were something less than stellar.  In other words, not only did I get drunk and make a pass at my assistant, I quite possibly turned her off completely with my lack of finesse, talent, or discernible intelligence.

Why couldn't I get alcohol poisoning and end up in the hospital and then plead ignorance while playing the pity card?  Had I managed hospitalization, I think Donna might not quit, file charges, Tae Kwan Do my ass, or all of the above.

I somehow manage to drag my sorry ass into the shower and greedily drink water while waiting for that weak-and-dizzy-all-over thing to stop happening.  If I offer Toby my Audi, I wonder if he'll jab a pen into my ear to render me incapable of facing Donna today.  It would also render me dead, but at this point I'm not sure that's really in the negative column.

Eventually, I emerge from the shower, halfheartedly swipe a towel across all the areas I can reach without bending over or otherwise compromising my fragile equilibrium, knot the damp thing around my waist and head for the bedroom.

And stop dead when I find Donnatella Moss, arms crossed and sitting on the edge of my bed.

"Donna," I croak.  I think I need some more water.  My throat is still uncomfortably dry.

"Joshua," she answers evenly.  "We are going to have a conversation right now."

I give her my best "have pity on your pathetic idiot of a boss" face.  "Right now?"

"Yes," she answers, blithely ignoring the fact that I am all but naked in front of her.  So much for the chemistry I thought I sensed between us.  If it were Donna in a towel, I'm quite sure I'd be unable to form a coherent sentence.

"This," she says, waving a hand in the air between us, "is a bad idea."

Nothing like Donna's brutal honesty to kill any flicker of hope you have left.  "You're right," I rasp, swallowing futilely.

Donna rolls her eyes as she stands.  She circles around me, leaving a good distance between us as she heads into the bathroom.  A few moments later, she emerges and hands me a beautiful, sparkling glass of the tastiest tap water in town.

"Here," she says, her tone hardly charitable.

After gulping down the majority of the glass's contents, I place it on the bureau.  "Thanks, Donna."  Hey, I sound halfway normal at this point.

"So?"

I give her a blank look.  "So what?"

"You kissed me, Josh," she answers angrily.  I can't help but notice the corresponding flush on her alabaster skin.

"I was drunk."  True, if completely unrelated to her statement.

Donna narrows her eyes at me and takes a cautious step closer.  "That's all it was?" she asks, her tone dubious.

"What do you think?" I retort, attempting misdirection.  Please, let her be distracted.

"Well," she says, winding up for one of her lectures.  I wince in anticipation.  She glares at me and raises her voice slightly.  "Considering your obvious jealousy of Dan and Casey, your ridiculous and offensive assertion that CJ and I are somehow 'your' women, and the fact that you kissed me, I'm thinking that 'I was drunk' doesn't quite explain your actions, Joshua."

Ouch.  I can't seem to respond to that.

Donna moves ever closer.  "I'm expecting an answer."

"What do you want me to say, Donna?" I explode, ignoring the residual pounding in my head.  "I was an ass last night."

"Yes," she nods, "you were.  But I'll deal with your punishment later.  Right now, I'm more interested in your motivations."

In my indignation, my hands land on my hips.  Which is a damn good thing, since my towel has been inching lower during our conversation.  I anchor it in place and glare back at Donna.  "I'm not an actor, Donna.  I'm not going to discuss my motivations for--"

And now she is kissing me.  I have no idea what's happening right now, but Donna grabbed my neck and yanked me to her, and until she pushes me away again, I'm not going to complain.  In fact, I abandon my creeping towel and wrap my arms around her, pulling her closer and kissing her with all the passion, finesse, and skill I was (possibly) lacking last night.

After an immeasurable moment of bliss, Donna pulls away and backs up several steps.  I manage to catch my towel before it deserts me, but higher function is still impossible while Donna's looking at me like that.  I am gratified (and also smug) to note that she is flushed and breathing just a bit unsteadily.

She takes a moment to smooth her hair and visibly compose herself, then says, "Motivations?"

Unbelievable!

"You're asking me about my motivations, Ms. I Just Kissed You?" I sputter.

Donna looks like she's fighting laughter.  This is not great for my ego.

"Josh," she snickers, "'Ms. I Just Kissed You?'  What, are you an adolescent?"

"Enthusiastically kissed," I insist, still glaring at her.  "If we're going to discuss our motivational issues, Donnatella, I want it on the record that you just kissed me, and that your motivations are just as relevant to the discussion as my alleged motivations."

"Your alleged motivations?" Donna repeats, still grinning at me.  "You're finally starting to sound like a lawyer."

"I am a lawyer."

"Sure, Josh," she says indulgently.

Damn, I wish I weren't literally clutching my dignity about me with one hand so that I could assume my favorite argumentative stance -- hands on hips, accompanied by indignant facial expression and belligerent tone of voice.  Instead, I settle for an undignified yelp, "I am too!"

She ignores that and repeats, "Why did you kiss me last night?"

"Why did you kiss me -- enthusiastically -- just now?"

"I asked you first," she answers, a hint of smile about her lips.

"Now who's an adolescent?"

"Joshua, I'm trying to determine if your actions last night were prompted by, you know, typically masculine feelings of inadequacy when in the presence of such handsome alpha males--" she talks over my offended protests.  "Or if you actually feel some sort of attraction for me.  Of course, at this point it doesn't matter, since the issue is already, you know, out there.  But I'd like to keep things as clear as possible so that an already terrible situation is not made worse through miscommunication."

Instead of answering her admittedly relevant question, I fixate on one word.  "Terrible?  You think this is a terrible situation?"

Donna's gaze slides down my body like an actual caress.  When her eyes meet mine again, she says, "You're all but naked, Josh, in a hotel room with your assistant, whom you hit on last night in an elevator that more than likely is monitored by video.  Can you think of anything that would make this worse?"

You not loving me.

Luckily, I don't actually say that aloud.  But the fact that I am even thinking about my assistant in terms of love is just...  Okay, fine, this is a terrible situation.

"Leo knocking on the door right now," I offer weakly.

Donna does not look amused.  "Leo's in D.C."

I shrug.  "CJ knocking--"

"Joshua."

"This is bad," I admit reluctantly.  "Not this," I add, mimicking her earlier gesture at the air between us, "but what this would look like to, you know, them."  I point at the hotel room door.

"Exactly."  Donna nods.  "So we have to figure out what we're going to do about this."

What the hell is she talking about?

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about," she answers fiercely.

"I don't."

But I do know, and she knows I'm lying.

Donna stares at me for a long moment, then nods.  "Forget it, Josh."  With that, she turns and heads for the door.

"Donna, wait."

She stops, but doesn't face me.  "What?"

"This is a phenomenally bad idea," I say, my tone apologetic.  Why can't I stop myself from wanting her?

"I know," she says.

"I'm your boss."

"Yes."

"I'm ten years older than you."

"I'm aware of that."

"Leo would kill us."

"True."

"So would CJ."

Finally, she turns back.  "Probably Toby, too.  Maybe Sam."

"No," I say, with a tentative smile.  "Sam's far too idealistic to grasp the potentialities."

Donna tilts her head to the side, considering.  "True."

"This is a phenomenally bad idea," I repeat, even as I take a tentative step towards her.

"Yes," she nods.  "So what are we going to do?"

I stop just inside her personal space and use my free hand to tuck her hair behind her ear.  "What do you want to do?"

She looks up at me, her eyes smoldering.  "What do you think I want to do?"

"Probably the same thing I want to do," I admit with a rueful grin.

"Your logic is astounding," Donna says sarcastically.

"You're going to pick on me right now?" I demand, still grinning stupidly.

"What's wrong with now?"

"Not one thing," I say, closing the scant distance between us.

This third kiss is every bit as astounding as its predecessors, and I am no longer feeling any ill effects from last night's fit of drinking.  In fact, it is impossible to feel anything but ecstatic with Donna's hand squeezing my bicep.

"Joshua," she says, pulling back to smile up into my face.  "Lose the towel."

THE END

02.01.01