May 2005
You have got to be fucking kidding me. You have. To be fucking. Kidding me! What just
happened here? We were neck and neck and then Santos gives one 4 minutes speech
and the next thing we know he’s standing up there accepting the party’s nomination. My
head is still reeling from the shock. And if you think I’m in shock, you should see poor
Will. I may have to call 911 for him soon. He just sank into a chair next to me. His face is
pale, his eyes are glassy, and he hasn’t been able to utter a single word since Santos
won the final round of voting on the convention floor.
To be fair, this should have been a cakewalk for a sitting Vice President to a
Presidential administration that has a job approval rating in the high 60’s. Yes, it was Will’
s first national campaign, but he had the Washington establishment behind him…I guess
that would be behind us. This is the first Presidential run I’ve lost and I can tell you I don’
t care for it. How did Toby stand losing like this all the time before President Bartlet’s
campaign?
I should go back to my hotel room and sleep for a day or two but I’m not ready to leave
yet. I still haven’t seen the one face I’m desperate to see on the television. He should be
there…I see Leo and Mallory, the whole Santos family, President Bartlet…where the hell
is Josh?
I don’t even finish the sentence in my head when I sense him. After all this time and the
rocky path we’ve been on of late, my Josh radar is still fully functional. Damn he looks
good; tired but good. He’s got three beers in his hands. He pops them open on the desk
between Will and I, then hands one to each of us before dropping into the chair between
us. There is a little conversation, a very little, before Will leaves us. What now?
"I think I'm going to head back to the hotel." I choke out
"I'll go with you." Excuse me? I couldn’t have heard that right. "I mean, I'm staying
at the same one, and I'm ready to call it a night. We can share a
cab."
"Josh," I remind him. "The Congressman needs you."
"No, he doesn't." He shakes his head and I have to chuckle. Does he think I STILL don’t
understand how these things work? Or is he simply too exhausted to think straight.
"You're his campaign manager. You have to talk to, like, 50 networks
now, not to mention the President."
"They'll be fine, Donna." He looks sincere. That clinches it; he’s exhausted and out of
his mind.
"We'll talk, Josh." I promise and start to walk past him.
"Donna." He calls my name softly and I can no longer stop the impulse to grab and hug
him.
“I am proud of you." I whisper. “We’ll talk.” I promise before I quickly escape the scene.
Nothing good can come from this now when we’re both exhausted and highly emotional.
This is not to say we don’t have to have ‘the conversation’; we do, just not now, not here.
When I get back to my hotel room, I flop onto the bed. And turn on the TV, the volume
on low. The media is all over this Cinderella story. I laugh as the same pundits who were
nay saying the Santos campaign only a few short months ago are now discussing the
amazing run he’s had culminating in the nomination. They’re all over Josh too. One
commentator called him the politico with the “Midas Touch”. He’s got to be loving that. I
hope he calls every single party hack who said he was on crack to run Santos is the first
place and rubs their face in it. Wait a second! Would that be me too? I might have
suggested that he didn’t have much of a chance, but I didn’t suggest he was crazy to do
this…did I?
My cell phone ringing startles me out of my deep thoughts. I check the caller ID. Mom?
“Mom? What are you doing up so late?” I ask in alarm.
“Checking on my baby girl.” She answers and I roll my eyes and drop back on the bed.
“I’m fine Mom. I’m just exhausted.” I tell her.
“I’ve seen Josh all over the TV tonight.” She mentions too casually. It make me smile.
“He brought me a beer; brought it right to our war room while Santos and Leo were on
the stage being introduced.”
“That must have been a surprise.”
“Josh is surprising me a lot lately.” I admit. “I need to get some sleep, Mom. I’d like to
come home in the next couple days. Is that okay?”
“Of course it is. Go to bed and call me when you have your flight info. Love you.”
“Thanks Mom. I love you too.” I hang up the phone and let it fall on the bed next to me.
I’m too tired to think anymore. I flip channels until I see Josh’s face on one of the
screens. He’s answering questions and his dimples are showing. I’ve tried to ignore it, I’
ve tried to escape it, but the bottom line is I am still in love with Josh Lyman. The
question is: What do I do about it now?