So Disclaimers et al. in part 1
Acknowledgements: I'd like to share writing credits with Kerry, who won't allow procrastination, never fails to bring the funny and manages to provide inspiration whenever I need it.
Thank you so much!
Also, thanks to Caz for prodding and beta'ing this chapter.
When I First Met You VI
"Chloe, get me ten minutes with Leo!" I shout to any number of staff milling about in the operations bullpen, hoping that somewhere in the mass, my assistant heard me. I walk the short distance back to my office and come to a halt at my door, a sense of déjà vu hitting me as I look the scene ahead. I lean against the frame, one leg crossed over the other as I soak her in; completely oblivious to how tantalizingly beautiful she looks in profile against the window.
Before I can signal my return, she turns and pins me with a look. For a fleeting moment I think she's contemplating kissing the hell out of me, and that's when Donna's voice in my head corrects, you wish that I was contemplating kissing the hell out of you.
I choose not to read anything into the fact that I've known the woman less than seventy-two hours and already she's in my head. Instead I focus my attention back to the live version of Donna and it'sthen that I realise the look is actually one of the 'You're busted!' variety, and not the preferred, 'You're a delicious hunk of man meat and I can't wait to sink my teeth into you' type.
My office doesn't hold any secrets that would lead to the need for such a look. So the only logical conclusion I can come to is to assume that in the brief ten minutes Mandy spent with Donna, she spilled the beans on some of my more embarrassing moments.
It's a frightening concept when your ex-girlfriend takes great pleasure in preparing short stories to humiliate you at the drop of a hat. I have, however, become quite adept at neutralising any damage Mandy manages to invoke.
"Mandy strives to make me look like an idiot." It comes out of left field and I admit I should have started with a more coherent sentence, one that had more substance and could have knocked the busted look right off her face. The only problem being, I failed to find such a sentence in the three seconds before my mouth took over from my brain and decided to blurt out the first thing that was kicking about in my head.
"I can't imagine she has any problem doing that," Donna smirks.
"That's not very nice, Donna. I'm trying to impart words of wisdom and instead of showing adequate levels of appreciation, you decide to mock me."
"In my defence, you make it so easy." I shoot her an annoyed look. "I apologise," she smirks, looking not at all apologetic. "Please, continue."
I ignore her obvious amusement at my expense and work toward the higher goal: undoing the damage Satan – I mean Mandy - has done.
"It would be in your best interest to ignore everything Mandy says. The word 'truth' is not in her vocabulary." It's information that everyone should have. And lucky for us, most people working in this building do. Its part of the induction… To your left is a fire exit and to your right is Satan's office. For your own benefit we advise discretion when using this corridor. It's the visitors who fall through the cracks.
"That's good to know," Donna grins. The busted look has taken a back seat to the now prominent, 'you are an adorable dufus' look. I amaze myself with my ability to read her. I am also somewhat frightened by her ability to read me.
"Your assistant seems nice."
Huh?
"Chloe?" I ask. Befuddled would adequately describe my disposition at this present time. I also do a quick mental recap of the past two years that Chloe has worked for me for anything that would remotely interest Mandy and furthermore compel her to regale it to Donna.
I am becoming increasingly alarmed to think of just how much ammunition Mandy may have.
That does not bode well for this turn of conversation.
"You have another assistant?"
It's quite possible. "No?"
"Are you sure?"
Given Chloe's mood swings I'm almost positive several people lurk in her head.
"Is this going anywhere?"
"She seemed like a nice woman." That she is. Sometimes.
"You mentioned that already."
"She's a good assistant?" Donna asks as she settles comfortably in my chair.
"I think so." I follow her lead and take a seat opposite her.
"So if you asked her to do something, chances are she wouldn't forget?"
Never.
The woman is anal about getting things done. She manages to go into a two week funk if she thinks she's failed in some respect.
"Not usually."
"She must have blacked out when you asked her to book my hotel room then."
"Ah," I nod in understanding. "That."
Busted indeed.
"Yes, that."
"Now that you mention it, Chloe is prone to blackouts now and again. We think it's a residual side effect from her sorority days."
Chloe is of course, not prone to blackouts. Imitating Ainsley with her annoying run-on sentences that have you confused before you get past the second word? Definitely. Blackouts? Not so much.
She's as sweet as a button and without a doubt the best assistant I have ever had. Even if she does suffer from severe mood swings and a multiple personality disorder.
"I see."
"I can explain."
"There's something to explain?" she asks in a faux innocent voice.
There is the little fact that I never asked my assistant to book you a hotel room because I wanted you to spend your time here in DC with me, but beside that, not much really.
I'm thinking that's one little gem of information I should probably keep to myself.
She has her angel face on, but you can clearly see the devious glint in her eyes. She's waiting for me to say the wrong thing so that she can pounce. (Also, side note, the mental image of her pouncing? Not only quite the turn on, but feels like something I have a passing familiarity with. I probably shouldn't say that out loud either.)
"You could be a little nicer," I throw out, attempting misdirection. You'd think for a politician I'd be better at that, since it's meant to be a professionally acquired skill and all.
How I've managed to succeed thus far is a mystery to everyone.
"And why is that?" she asks, her eyebrows raised. She's not even pretending to be distracted. Amused? Yes. Distracted, not so much.
"I survived CJ."
"Congratulations," she deadpans.
"It's because I'm da man."
"Because you're the man," Donna repeats, not at all impressed. She also sounds a little sceptical.
"She fell for my charming personality and couldn't in good conscience, you know…" I gesture to articulate my unspoken words, because quite frankly, I have no idea where that sentence is going.
Donna decides to eloquently fill in the blanks. "Kick your ass."
"Kick my ass," I agree with a nod.
"And yet, I'm still none the wiser about why your assistant blacked out when you asked her to book a hotel room for me."
"I was about to explain that." It's safe to say that she knows I was about to try my best to avoid explaining that.
"That's what you say."
"You don't believe me?"
"Rarely."
"I'm wounded." I'm grinning as I say this so the effect is somewhat lost.
"Well, your credit card is about to be wounded as well."
Non sequitur, much?
My credit card?
"My credit card?" I ask, confused.
"I took the liberty of removing it from your jacket."
"And my jacket is forever thankful for the lighter load," I shoot back.
But, again, my credit card?
She sighs dramatically. "I felt morally obligated to ease the burden of that rumpled piece of sackcloth you call a jacket."
"Again, my jacket and I cannot possibly adequately express our gratitude," I answer, with a pinch of sarcasm. "However, we are both somewhat puzzled as to what brought on this act of kindness."
"You're a busy man."
"I'm glad you noticed."
"So busy in fact, the stress is causing memory loss."
"Like I said—"
"So I decided to knock one worry of your list."
"You decided to do that, how exactly?"
"Well, I say stress, but it could be old age," she ignores me without much effort.
And on a much more important note, I am not old!
"I am not old," I flare.
Again, she ignores my very valid argument.
It's really quite disconcerting.
"Since I'm here because of you, the least you can do is pay for it." Following her line of thought is as easy as telling myself I'm a Republican. At my blank look, she clarifies, "For my hotel room."
Crap.
"You, uh… you don't need to do that," I reply with apprehension.
"I don't?"
"No, uh… I'll have my assistant do it."
"This conveniently brings us back to why she didn't already do it, and why she doesn't seem to even remember you asking her to do so."
I have no reply to this, so when in doubt, deflect.
"Wait… you took my credit card?"
"You have a problem with that?"
"No," I answer, uncertain.
I should be worried that she has taken a hold of my credit card, right?
Never actually had a woman do that before.
"Good answer," she nods. "Now, where shall I stay?" she ponders. "Hmm, I've heard good things about The Four Seasons."
She has to be kidding, right?
Right?
"You want me to pay for you to stay at the Four Seasons? One of the most expensive hotels in D.C.?"
"One of the classiest hotels in D.C."
"I can show you somewhere much classier." Wow, I think I almost leered there.
"You're going to say the Lincoln Bedroom, aren't you?"
"Uh… yeah, sure." Suffice to say, I so was not going to say that.
"The carved rosewood bed measures 8 feet long by 6 feet wide and was purchased by Mary Todd in 1861 as part of the refurbishment of the White House. Ironically, Abraham Lincoln never slept in that bed or in the bedroom which honours his name and presidency." It's almost as if she channelled one of those English antique show presenters that have orgasms over finding a hundred year old tea pot that some-blowhard monarch owned and might have drunk, funnily enough, tea from.
And is it wrong that that turned me on? You know, just a little.
"And I need to know this why?"
"I don't know, maybe the President will give you a pop quiz someday. You really should know about the place you work."
She's a trivia buff? Go figure.
"Not that this history lesson isn't fascinating, but we are losing focus on the matter at hand."
"Ah yes. Your inability to answer a simple question."
"To be fair, I don't even remember what the question was."
"Why, when you quite clearly told me that you had your assistant book me a hotel room, does she claim that she was never issued such a directive?"
"Right. That question."
"Yes," she starts with her own smile. "And as entertaining as it is for me watching you dodge the question, I'd like an answer. Today would be nice. In the next thirty seconds would be perfect."
"So here's the thing," I start, slightly sheepish, only to be blissfully interrupted by my assistant.
"Josh? You wanted time with Leo."
"Yes," I answer full of glee. Donna glares at me. I should probably tone down the glee.
"Margaret said you can have ten now."
"Great," I grin as I literally jump up from the visitors' chair. Donna continues to glare at me. "I have to go see Leo," I inform her unnecessarily.
"One sentence is all I need, Josh."
"Yes, but my explanation has so many intricate layers, one sentence isn't going to cover it." I amaze myself with the crap I come out with sometimes. It looks like I amaze Donna with it too. "Leo can't wait."
Donna moves her razor sharp orbs from me to Chloe with what can only be described as light speed and asks Chloe for confirmation.
"Will Leo be offended if Josh takes five minutes to tell me why I don't have a place to stay tonight?"
Chloe, not realising that it would be in her best interest to back me up here, shakes her head vigorously.
"Chloe says you can spare a few minutes to answer my question," Donna states, triumphantly.
"Chloe is not Leo." I point out the obvious. "And trust me when I tell you, Leo is not the kind of man who would appreciate your squandering his time in this way. Isn't that true, Chloe?" I glare at her, communicating without words that she really shouldn't disagree with me here. She looks like a frightened deer with her eyebrows scrunched together and nods her head vigorously.
"Chloe, you realise it's the US taxpayers who pay your wages, not Mr. Ego over here, right? You don't need to agree with him."
"And I help decide what the taxes should be spent on," I remind them both quickly, before Chloe even thinks of siding with Donna again.
"And here I was living under the delusion that the President and Congress made those decisions," Chloe mutters slightly louder than I think she meant to.
"I'd like to take this moment to thank whatever deity that may exist for that," Donna quips, while Chloe takes the opportunity to disappear outside, and out of harms way.
"I'm all powerful," I grin.
"You're all something," she states dryly.
"All man," I reply as she raises her eyebrows, presumably to mock me. "If you want proof, may I refer you to last night?"
"Haven't we already had this discussion? Should I call Mandy back in here?"
I shoot her a look. "You know, I'm pretty sure some words were said earlier."
"Only some?"
"Mandy Lies, with a capital L."
"I heard you the first time."
"And yet you choose to ignore the message. 'Should I call Mandy back,'" I mimic her, quite appallingly.
"If you would see fit to answer my very simple question, I'm sure I could find my way to ignoring all the stories that Mandy has so kindly told me about you," she smirks.
Not falling for it, Donnatella. Instead I'm going to happily face Leo and—okay, I probably shouldn't be all that ecstatic about facing Leo and informing him of my marital status with regard to a woman engaged to a congressman.
"I'm gonna go see Leo," I start, making my way out as I speak.
"You do that."
"Stepping over the threshold now..."
"That's okay, Josh, you have to come back to your office sometime; I'll still be here, ready to listen to those intricate layers of explanation!" Donna manages to squeeze in those last words before I close my office door behind me.
"She's pretty," Chloe says casually, joining me on my way to Leo's. She's handing me sheaths of papers with no instructions as to what to do with them, so I shuffle 'em like I'm paying attention and then hand them back.
"Yes, she is," I agree. Chloe takes a moment to smile at the dreamy quality my voice just took on. I clear my throat. The moment's over and now she's frowning.
"Josh, you need to read the information that would normally have taken over a day to gather but which I compiled in less than half an hour," she says, dumping the stack of folders unceremoniously into my hands.
"I didn't ask you to do any research." I stop short for a second to look at the folders in my hands.
"You're right." She says this like it's some revelation.
"I know." I'd remember something like that, especially when it means it's more work for me.
"Leo did. But that's beside the point. You will read the information in all these folders, and you know why?"
"Because if Leo's asked you to pull this research then chances are he wants me to work on something?"
"That's a good reason," she asserts. "But not really what I was looking for."
"Because Leo made you work like a crazed animal?"
"Bingo! If I didn't already know one Margaret is enough for him I would have thought he was trying to mould us assistants in her image."
I shudder at the thought.
"The pretty lady asked me which hotel I had booked her into," Chloe starts, apparently finished with her previous… whatever.
"The pretty lady has a name, you know."
"Is she going to be around longer than a week?"
I wish.
"I honestly couldn't tell you."
"When you know for sure she's staying, be sure to tell me her name too. And if you're taking votes, mine would be to keep her. Pretty lady is also very nice."
"And yet you don't care enough to know her name."
"If she's staying longer than a week, I'll make it my mission to become her best friend and continuously freak you out with the knowledge I shall gain on a daily basis."
"You don't need to go that far."
"I don't mind, it'll be fun for me," she states innocently. "Ordinarily I make a rule to avoid the women you date. Wouldn't go near them with a ten foot barge pole. What you see in them is beyond me."
"Yes, I know. It's something you love to reiterate at every given opportunity. You sound more like my mother every day."
"I have never spoken to your mother but I'll just go ahead and take that as a compliment."
"It wasn't meant to be."
"Whatever. Anyway, I like this one, so I'll make an exception. You should keep her. That's my vote."
"Duly noted," I grin. Normally, Chloe's rants about my significant others leads me to a single state of being: exasperated. But this total support of Donna? It's too damn cute.
And damn if I can't help but agree.
"So, anyway, she asked me which hotel I had—"
"Booked her into. Yes, I heard you the first time. What did you say?"
"I told her I didn't know I was supposed to do that."
"You didn't know you were supposed to do that," I repeat.
"And do you know why I replied as I did?"
"If I were to make an educated guess, I'd say it's because I didn't ask you to book her a hotel room."
"That would be correct."
"You know what a good assistant would have done in this situation?"
"Something illegal I'm sure," she snorts. "Do I look like I work for a dating agency? Forget it; I don't want to know your answer to that."
"Chloe, the pretty lady is currently not very happy with me." There may have been a slight whine to my tone just now.
"And that's my concern because…"
"I'm your boss and I write your evaluation is the answer that springs to my mind."
"I'm your assistant, and not, you know, your love life co-ordinator, is the comeback that springs to my mind."
"And I thought we were friends."
"Some friend you are," she snorts. "You just threatened to give me a negative report."
"I should probably apologise for that."
"Would you be sincere in your apology?"
"Very much so."
"Then, apology accepted," Chloe smiles magnanimously as we arrive outside Leo's office.
"You need to take medication for the mood swings, you know that?"
"Josh, you know what I'll be doing while you're in with Leo?" she asks with a menacing smile.
No, but I have a feeling I should be worried.
"I'm about to go make pretty lady my new best friend," she grins as she backs away from me.
"The pretty lady's name is Donna and under no circumstances are you to talk to her!" I shout after her as she walks away. I'm trying to stamp down the urge to run after Chloe and reiterate that she cannot put me further in the doghouse with Donna. I force myself to turn my attention to Margaret and clear my throat as I try and maintain some semblance of manliness. "Is he free?"
Margaret's eyebrows have shot up and I can tell she's trying her best not run after Chloe while I'm still in the room. Smart move, Josh: advertise to the chair of the White House Gossips Association that you have a beautiful and off limits woman in your office. "Go straight through." Margaret points to Chloe's retreating back and adds, "I'm just going to catch up with Chloe about the… thing."
CJ. you can kill me now.
I start to close the door behind me as I enter Leo's office, but think better of it and quickly stop. "Leo, you need to tell Margaret to stay put." He shoots me an inquisitive stare. "Just… trust me."
"Margaret!"
Margaret comes scuttling back, slightly breathless. "Yes, Leo?" The man's voice can really carry.
"Stay within shouting distance."
"But—" They have a silent conversation with their eyes, after which Margaret huffs and glares at me. "Fine, but when you want information on this pretty lady, don't come to me." And with that she slams the door behind her, or at least Margaret's version of slamming the door.
"Is there something I should know?" he asks, bemused.
There are many things you should know, Leo, none of which are any good for my health.
I shrug my shoulders, the universal sign for… something. "Did I miss anything?" I ask by way of an immediate subject change.
"Surprisingly, no. You should leave town more often; I've never had such peace."
"I think you'd miss me if I left for long periods of time, Leo."
He snorts. "I think you overestimate your importance here."
"You say that now."
"You go out of town and trouble disappears. There's a connection there; that's good enough for me."
"I think trouble followed me," I mutter, and then find something deep in my chest chastising me for thinking of Donna as trouble.
"Trouble followed you?"
"Well, you know…" I shrug again, and aim for the most guileless look I can muster, not really having an answer, and not wanting Leo to delve any further.
Leo raises an intrigued eyebrow in response but thankfully, doesn't follow through on the line of questioning. "How was your thing?"
"The bachelor party?"
"You had another thing this weekend?"
You'd be surprised at the number of things that I had this weekend, Leo.
And I really didn't mean for my inner soliloquy to have so much innuendo.
"So here's the thing…" I'm stumped. How do I start this? Blurt out the fact that I managed to marry the fiancée of a congressman many in the Democratic Party are hoping to groom into one of the party's biggest players in the future?
"Josh."
"Yes?"
"You asked for ten minutes. You now have nine, so I'd get to the point pretty damn quick if I were you." My silence obviously isn't encouraging as he feels the need to rest the papers he was browsing through and pinch the bridge of his nose; Leo's way of preparing for bad news where I'm concerned. Finally he sighs and asks, "What did you do?"
Start with the basics. That's always a good plan. "There's this woman—"
"I'm not sure how many times I have to tell you this, but your love life is really of no concern to me." He sounds exasperated and amused all at once. "As long as your lovers' tiffs don't make the society pages or the tabloids," he amends quickly with a glare. Yeah, that may have happened once or twice in the past.
CJ loves those days.
"As much as it pains me to say this, in this case, Leo, you'll have more than a passing interest in how events will play out."
"Fine, I'll bite. You were saying?"
"Right. Okay." Take a deep breath. I'm about to describe Donna to Leo. Really, how do I start this? "There's this woman— she's just… stunning. I don't mean she looks stunning, which she does, she's beautiful in an innocent kind of way. That's not to say she can't pull off the hot look either, because—"
"Josh, you're rambling."
I am. It's a testament to how nervous I really am. Not to mention, I just don't know how to have this conversation with Leo.
"Right, anyway, this woman, I married her." Or maybe I do.
"You what?"
"I got married. Tied the knot. Did the deed." That's the way to do this, beat the horse dead.
"You got married."
By all accounts and from the random snippets of memory I have, I had a good time doing it too.
"Yes."
"Married?"
"Yup. Have the paper and rings to prove it too." Not to mention the dent in my bank account.
"I didn't even know you were dating anyone," he states. The shock is completely evident in both his voice and facial expression.
"I'm not. I mean, I wasn't."
"It's not what's-her-name, is it?" he asks, apparently not having heard about my lack of relationship status. Leo's still striving to grasp the fact that I'm in his office telling him I tied the knot.
"Who, Sally?"
"Sally?" I open my mouth to explain but Leo puts his hand up in an effort to stop any and all explanation. "Never mind, I don't care. I was actually thinking of what's-her-name, the redhead, but I don't want to know how many ago she was."
I shudder at the thought of being eternally linked to either of those women, or any woman I've dated thus far. "No, to both... to all of them. You don't know her, Leo."
"Have you thought this through?"
I quell the urge to laugh like an idiot. I married a woman I've known less than a week while drunk off my face and he's asking if I've thought this through?
"I can honestly say that I have not."
"Be sure to tell your wife that, it's what every bride loves to hear," he mutters, for lack of anything better to say I'm sure. Finally he sighs and asks, "When did this happen?"
"Yesterday." And before he can ask, I answer his next question. "Nevada."
"You said you were going to a friend's bachelor party," he reminds me, incredulous.
"I was. I mean, I did." I feel like a broken record.
"You didn't say it was your bachelor party," he states fiercely. "I know I've been less than supportive of the women in your life Josh, but if you'd chosen to commit to one of them, you could have told me. I'm sure—"
"Leo!" I interrupt, before he has the chance to further express his unhappiness over the fact that I got married and didn't issue him with an invitation. "I didn't go intending to get married! I just met the woman!"
Leo does a double take. "You what?"
"Yeah, that's the other thing," I start, sheepishly. "I ah… just met her."
I'm thinking that the fact that the woman I married was-- is a complete stranger should have probably come up in the conversation already.
The fact that she's engaged is probably another fact that Leo should be aware of.
I'm taking one milestone at a time.
"When you say you just met the woman…"
"I mean exactly that. I just met her. Seventy-two hours ago. I think."
"You think?"
He looks at me for answers and floundering under his stare I blurt, "I got drunk."
"Oh, for crying out loud. Is this some kind of joke?" I guess dropping my gaze to the floor clues him in that I'm serious, as he picks up a file and then slams it down on the desk, drawing my gaze to back him again. "Please tell me you're not serious, Josh. How could you be so stupid?"
"I was drunk," I say in my defence. As CJ pointed out earlier, it's not the best defence in the world, but right now it's the only one I've got.
"You've been drunk in D.C. before, yet you haven't turned up married; why is that?"
"Turns out it's very easy to get married in Vegas. We should probably do something about that, write a law or something."
"You're making jokes?"
"No. Absolutely not."
"Is this going to hit the papers? It's not a hooker is it?"
"No! How could you… Yeah, okay, I can see why you'd say that," I amend at his look and then continue, "No, she's not a hooker, she's…" Beautiful, witty, intriguing… engaged. Yeah, not going to mention that part just yet. "She's…" I trail off again, but Leo must see something in my face.
She's stunning.
And so completely unavailable.
"Start at the beginning."
"Josh, what's taking you so long?" Mike asks.
"Stupid cab driver took the tunnel from McCarran," I mutter, "even though I told him not to."
"I can't believe you still gave that driver a tip!" screeches a female voice behind me. "He blatantly ignored your instructions, yet you tipped him."
"He had a picture of his kids on the dash," I hear another female voice say in a tone that says her words should be self-explanatory. If that wasn't so stupid, it would be cute. Just as I'm about to turn round and check out who the voices belong to, I remember I'm supposed to being paying attention to Mike.
"…let me guess, you accused him of being a Republican?" Mike laughs.
"For someone so smart, you really can be gullible," chuckles females voice number one, which elicits a chuckle from me. "The photos probably came with the frame."
"It was only five bucks, I didn't have any change," replies voice two.
Well that's a lame excuse if ever I heard one.
"That's a lame excuse!" Voice one is on the same wavelength as me.
"I didn't see you putting your hand in your pocket to pay the fare," comments voice two. I still haven't turned around, but I can tell the voices are fairly young. If I give it a minute, this could turn into a very interesting and enjoyable catfight. Might make this ridiculously long line bearable.
"Josh? Earth to Josh! Are you there, man?" Huh? Oh, Mike!
"Yeah, I'm here," I sigh into the phone while simultaneously glaring at the couple in front. "There are too many annoying guests waiting to check in and not enough desks open."
"Good luck with that," Mike laughs. "When you get your key card, make your way down to the pool, I'm sure the view here will make up for the wait." And with that I hear a dial tone.
This is ridiculous.
"This is ridiculous!" I hear voice one complain behind me. A quick glance over my shoulder reveals a sultry brunette and a striking blonde. "These people need to be made aware that we have paid for the use of the Penthouse Suite--" she bellows Penthouse, at a decibel level that would make Leo proud. "You'd think they'd give us the five star treatment."
"We?" the blonde asks. "I don't remember a 'we' when credit card numbers were taken, Mel."
"I paid in spirit, Donna."
The blonde snorts. "Must have missed that."
"Of course you did, it was somewhere between your second bottle of wine and sixth Tequila shot."
"Stop. If I laugh anymore, I'll need stitches," the blonde deadpans.
"I can see," the brunette snickers. "Stop distracting me from my point."
"I would, except it really doesn't take much effort." Finally score one for the blonde.
"It doesn't change the fact that I should be in a jacuzzi with handsome men feeding me instead of this boring check-in line."
"With the way you eat? It'd be more like fat men laughing while you choke on the strawberries."
"Way to ruin a fantasy, lady," I mutter. I turn around quickly to make sure my comment wasn't heard, only to find the brunette, who if I'm getting the name game right, is Mel, checking me out.
"I'll be sure to practice safe…jacuzzi-ing," Mel grins, as she winks in my direction.
I smile and bring out the dimples.
The blonde rolls her eyes.
"Donna, be a good girl and go find out why it's taking so long," Mel says while pushing Donna forward and grinning at me.
The blonde – Donna – shoots me a glare and then promptly answers Mel. "Check-in-desk computers went down half an hour ago."
"You knew this when we joined this god-forsaken-line, and you're telling me now? And when did you find this out anyway?"
"You were busy scribbling penthouse suite on muscle man's chest," Donna answers, nonchalant. "How was I to know you'd care?"
"He was hot, wasn't he?" Mel grins, dreamily. "I can safely predict that I will have a very enjoyable evening tonight. Now to find tomorrow's entertainment," she mock whispers, staring directly at me.
"Okay, seriously, for the next twenty minutes don't say or do a thing; you're sober and it's not nearly as easy excusing your behaviour if I can't say you're drunk."
"Donnatella," Mel sighs. "Lawyer Boy has sucked the fun right out of you."
"Lawyer Boy?" Donna smirks, raising a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
Mel ignores Donna and addresses me. "Excuse my friend over here; she has no sense of fun. I'm Melanie, Mel for short."
"Josh," I grin, taking her outstretched hand and shaking it. "Josh Lyman."
"And is that Joshua for long?" she asks placing emphasis on the long, while checking me out.
I cringe somewhat, but when in Rome, right? So I offer a grin and respond in kind. "My friends call me Josh—I'm guessing you'll be one of those before long." I can't believe I managed to say that without laughing my ass off. So glad CJ isn't around to mock me until hell freezes over.
The blonde groans. I turn in time to catch her rolling her eyes, again.
"Pleasure to meet you, Joshua Lyman." She says Joshua with a seductive lilt, and I get the impression it's more to irritate her friend than to flirt with me.
"Oh, the pleasure's all mine, trust me."
"Oh, good grief," Donna mutters. Mel shoots her a triumphant look and it's confirmed, she's flirting with me to annoy her friend.
My ego would probably have a problem with that if, you know, there wasn't a beautiful woman flirting with me.
"Like I said, ignore my friend, especially when she doesn't have the manners to introduce herself to a dashing man like you."
"Oh for the love of God, shoot me now," Donna groans, to the continuing delight of Mel.
If it's going to score me points, I'm all for annoying blondie.
"Well," I say to Mel, ignoring Donna, "I wouldn't normally ignore your friend, since blondes are supposed to have more fun, but I'm guessing that's not true in this case."
Donna shoots me a smirk. It's maddeningly seductive. Her face expresses one simple statement.
You'll never know.
I shoot her a look back.
Don't worry babe; don't care.
Donna's response? She raises an eyebrow and is the perfect picture of nonchalance.
But I can tell inside she's all disappointed.
So you know, score one for Lyman.
A cell phone rings and before either Donna or I can check, Mel purrs, "Well hello, Romeo, just wait a sec—I'm going to take this over there," she indicates to Donna by nodding over her shoulder.
It becomes awkward for a moment, what with Ice Queen doing her best to ignore me.
"So..." I start. Donna smiles politely, looking a little bored. Why I'm trying is beyond me. "Your friend is quite something."
"You might want to move forward now," Donna nods behind me. The line has been reduced down, and there's a gap between me and the couple checking in ahead. "You're kinda holding up the line."
I make a show of looking around. "The line that consists of you and only you?"
She shoots me a glare. I can't help it and chuckle in response. She actually looks quite hot when she's angry.
"Something funny?"
"Nope. Nothing at all," I start; shooting her what I'm told is one of my more insufferable grins. "So what brings you to this land of everything goes?" Just because Mel isn't around to continue annoying Donna, doesn't mean I can't help the cause.
It's not as though I'm likely to see her again.
"Why does anyone come to Vegas?" Donna shrugs, not really answering my question.
"Gambling? Sex?--" She snorts, and shoots me another look. Is this the only place you can get some? I take the high ground and ignore her. "--Drugs and Rock and Roll?"
"A bachelorette party, actually."
I smirk, staring squarely at her. "Which one of you is taking yet another unsuspecting guy into a life of eternal misery masked as marriage?"
"Is that the response of a bitter divorcee or a commitment-phobe bachelor?" she shoots back without missing a beat.
"Neither," I shrug. "Just a casual observer. As Johnny Carson once said, 'if variety is the spice of life, marriage is the big can of leftover Spam.'."
"You know, someone once told me, if you don't participate, you can't complain about the verdict--"
"I'd say someone sold you a can full of crap."
"Nicely put," she states dryly.
"760 Verbal, baby."
"Is that meant to impress?"
"Ah," I shrug, exuding arrogance. "It's nothing compared to me attending Harvard or Yale, but it's been known to make the ladies swoon," I smirk.
The 760 verbal always works.
"Would this be with women of a less than stellar IQ, or those that were simply dropped on their heads as babies?"
Or maybe not.
"Tell me which category you fit into and I'll answer."
"You realise at this point, the length of this conversation is disproportionate to my level of interest in it."
My charming personality and sparkling wit is lost on this woman.
I hear a voice ask if I'm ready to check in and turn to see the desk clerk smiling at me like an idiot. "Saved by the bell," I mutter as I move toward the desk.
"I apologise for the wait sir—"
"You know how you can make that up to me?" I point to Donna, and shoot her my most irritating smile, dimples and all. "By not give me the room next to her."
"So let me get this straight. You left here three days ago, single. Now, you're back, married to some strange woman, with no recollection of how that happened. Have I missed anything?"
Yes. The most important fact of all: she's engaged to a congressman in our party.
However, Leo doesn't look like he's in a particularly receptive mood right now so I'm thinking that little bit of information needs to stay hidden for a while longer.
"Have you warned CJ yet?"
"My first call." After some pushing from Mike.
"Fine. Good," he affirms with a nod. "So what are you going to do now?"
"I ah… I think an annulment is probably the best way to go. I'm going to go make some calls after this."
"Who else knows?"
"Besides you? CJ, Mandy, Mike, and one of Donna's friends. That's her name—Donna. Donnatella Moss."
"Why does that name sound familiar?"
Crap.
This is my cue. This is where I calmly, but succinctly, point out why the name sounds familiar. I could let Leo connect the dots, and lambaste me. Or I could blurt out everything in one long sentence à la Ainsley and then let Leo lambaste me.
Neither option is appealing.
But this is definitely my cue.
This is also when Margaret knocks on the door, scowl still in place, announcing Mandy is here. I'm almost positive I heard Margaret mutter something about Mandy and the pretty blonde lady while closing the door behind her.
Leo appraises Mandy for a moment before asking, "What do you think about this?"
Mandy looks confused, obviously not understanding why Leo is so calm, considering the implications of my one moment of drunken stupidity.
"About what?" Mandy asks carefully.
"Josh. Married."
"I think I feel sorry for Donna," she says automatically. She looks at me, silently asking how much Leo knows. "Donna married beneath her." I glare at her. "Way beneath her."
I shoot Mandy a look back: He doesn't know everything. Yet. "Mandy's just jealous I didn't marry her."
She shoots me a look in return, loosely translated as, 'What are you waiting for? The Fat Lady to belt out a tune from Les Mis?'
"Josh, you'd have to ply me with alcohol and a concoction of drugs designed to kill every single brain cell I have." She smirks. "Oh, wait, isn't that how you got Donna to marry you?"
"I'm not going to stoop to your level and dignify that with a response," I mutter, wary of Leo's mood.
Mandy smirks. "Just how much did you drink? You usually put up more of a fight before I win our discussions."
"Go take your pills."
"How you continually manage to disguise yourself as an adult is beyond me."
"If everyone has finished acting like a juvenile," Leo interrupts, somewhat amused, but mostly exasperated.
"Josh is never finished being a child, but you go ahead, Leo."
"Mandy."
"Hey, I'm not the one who drank more alcohol than I can recollect and then got hitched to a Congressman's fiancée, and didn't even know who it was I tied the knot with in the first place! Not to mention did other ungodly thi—
"Wait," Leo commands. "Go back."
Shit.
"To when?"
"Mandy."
"I didn't say a thing." Now she decides to shut the hell up?
"Josh!"
"I was getting to that," I sigh.
"You know, I really can't believe you were an Ivy League grad sometimes. One would think you'd have learned something at some point."
"Yeah," Mandy snorts. "Frat boy behaviour 101."
"Is there anything else you need to add?" Leo asks Mandy in the tone that means he's about three seconds away from summarily kicking her out of his office.
Mandy, the only senior staffer not able to understand when she's outstayed her welcome, despite working here for six years, doesn't understand the quite obvious message in Leo's tone. If you don't have anything else I need to know: Get. Out.
Leo throws Mandy a look we've now come to understand as 'I can't believe I hired you.' A look, that with the exception of CJ, every one of us sees at least once a week.
"Well, my work here is done. I'll just…" she says while pointing to the door behind her, finally doing the smart thing and making a break for it.
What was that CJ said?
'Take Mandy with you. Because when things get heated she'll work her magic and annoy the crap out of him. Leo will pick the lesser evil and you two can join forces to fight the good fight, or whatever. He'll forget he was mad two minutes ago and everything will be fine.'
Remind me to return the favour one day, CJ.
"What the hell were you thinking?"
"I think the point was I… wasn't."
"Are you being smart with me?"
"Not intentionally."
"You got drunk and tied the knot with a woman engaged to a congressman in the United States Government, Josh. What the hell were you thinking!"
A least he wasn't a Republican?
"Leo, I--"
"You what?"
"I'm sorry." It's woefully inadequate but it's also the best I can offer at this point.
Leo drags his hands over his eyes, almost as if he's trying to wake up from a nightmare, when in fact he's just rubbing the exhaustion from his face.
"I take it Rippon doesn't know?"
"No."
"How much of an issue is this going to become?"
"CJ doesn't think it will. I have the paperwork for the annulment ready; I just need to make some calls."
"What about Rippon?"
"Donna doesn't think he'll create a scene."
"His fiancée married another guy in a drunken stupor and she doesn't think he'll mind?"
I shrug. I made the same argument not two hours ago.
"Leo, your next meeting is here," Margaret interrupts apologetically.
"Tell them I'll be ten minutes and get me CJ. Now." Leo starts to organise the papers he was reading earlier as he addresses me. "You need to go make those calls," he dismisses. The fact that he didn't even look up when addressing me is a demonstration of just how angry he is.
When he's annoyed, he vents, he dresses you down, he'll shout and make you take meetings with lobbying groups that want aliens to have rights.
But when he's furious, absolutely livid, he shuts up. And everything you need to know is in his eyes.
"Leo…" I wait for his undivided attention. I'm also possibly committing career suicide with my utterance of his name.
"We all make mistakes, Josh, yours just tend to… As long as I don't read about this in the papers, or hear whispers in the District I won't fire your ass. Consider yourself on notice: One more stunt, Josh and so help me God…"
"Got it."
"The boys were about to give up on you, Josh—David already put in his bid to take your place tomorrow night," Mike greets me. "Did you take the tunnel to get to here from the check-in desk as well?"
"I'm busting a gut here, really."
I finally make my way down from my room, ready to begin my vacation, and note that all the guys are either taking a swim or drinking beer and checking out the women.
Except Mike, who has his shades on and is doing a half decent impression of a gigolo working on his tan.
Not that I have any idea of how a gigolo works on his tan, but I'd imagine Mike's doing a pretty good impression of one.
"Yeah, I can tell. Seriously, I called you over half an hour ago." He offers me a beer and nods to the sun lounger behind me.
"The world is against me." I'm exaggerating I know. Ask me if I care.
Mike snorts. "That's nothing new."
"The computers crashed, I don't know—somewhere in this God forsaken place."
"You've been here five minutes and you're bitching already?"
"Good idea, working on your tan; you look a little pasty around the edges," I mock, and deflect at the same time.
"Hey, it's either sit out here on the loungers, enjoy the view and soak up some sun, or sit over there and not get some all weekend." He nods behind me to the tables set in the shaded area of the pool, which seem to have been taken over by a group of no-hopers. "What's up with the mood?"
"There's no mood." Really. There's no mood. Where the hell does he get these ideas?
"When your voice goes high like that? Totally gives you away. So again, what's with the mood?"
There was no change in the pitch of my voice. None whatsoever. Except maybe a little. How the hell did he pick up on that?
"There's no mood."
"You struck out," he grins. It's a big smug smile that makes me want to smack him silly.
And I did not strike out.
"To strike out, I'd have to have been batting. Believe me, I was only fielding."
"And here I thought I was about to hit a home run," purrs a familiar female voice. I watch Mike remove his shades; he makes an appreciative appraisal of the woman standing directly behind me and deems her worthy of sitting up and paying attention.
He's also kinda drooling.
Okay, so he's not. But it would have been a funny picture if he was.
Before I turn around, I send a quick prayer to God, hoping that she didn't bring killjoy with her.
"Well, hello there, stranger," I reply in the same flirty tone. No Ice Queen in sight.
"You left without saying goodbye. Now how is a girl supposed to respond to that?" she teases.
I grin. "Romeo didn't pan out I take it."
She shrugs in response while Mike coughs behind me, presumably to grab my attention.
"Melanie, Mel for short, meet Michael," I introduce. Mike shoots me a look; he hates it when people introduce him as Michael to women. He says it kills his mojo, or something to that effect; my mind drifts whenever he endeavours to explain.
He does a funny little wave. "It's Mike, for short."
"You're not all long, well that's a disappointment."
I kid you not; I just snorted my beer out of my nose.
"Well…" I recover. Except, I'm still choking on my beer. "You look nice." And she does, she's in a bikini, its red, and she looks hot, and that's pretty much all I need to know.
"Thank you," Mel winks.
"I gotta agree with Josh," Mike grins. "So am I going to get to find out how you two know each other?"
"We were both stuck in check-in hell," Mel answers. "And Josh decided to help me annoy my friend."
Good times.
"Speaking of which, where is the Ice Queen?"
Mel shoots me a quick glare. "She doesn't have glowing things to say about you either."
"I'm heartbroken."
"So I take it that's who you struck out with?" Mike decides to contribute.
"Like I said, to strike out I'd have to be trying," I repeat. Sometimes it's like talking to Rose when she's intent on asking the single question why, and unless you answer with 'see that ice cream over there? Go stuff yourself,' everything goes in one ear and out the other.
She's Mandy's child, you have to expect manipulation like that.
"And you still struck out, that's… so like you," Mike laughs.
"All I was trying to do was ignore her." Actually, all I was trying to do was annoy her.
Ignore… Annoy… Same difference, really.
"Funny, she said the same thing about you, yet there was obviously some conversation between you… to prompt those comments."
She has a point and I have no way of answering without, you know, admitting that.
"When do I get to meet her?" Mike asks.
"She's on her way," replies Mel. "You should probably prepare for that, Josh. Don't want you to lose the power of speech or something when she arrives."
I am considerably less than amused.
I get the message. I should have prayed to ten different deities instead of the one.
"You guys want to join us?" Mike nods to the empty chairs next to him.
"I'll have to take a rain check." Mel smirks in a way that means she hasn't quite reached the punchline yet. "I can't have Josh trying out his luck again; world war three is likely to erupt."
"She wasn't the one I was trying out my luck with," I smirk.
"And yet, she's the one we're talking about," Mel volleys.
Point.
"Only because you keep bringing her into the conversati…"
Oh wow.
Just wow.
A light blue sarong floats around long, shapely, pale legs as they make their way across the pool.
She looks…
Legs like that… should… I don't know… Something.
A stitch of deep blue is peaking out just at the sensuous curve where the sarong is tied.
If you look hard enough, which apparently I have no problem doing, you see a slight hollow where her hip meets her thigh.
I bypass her mid-section entirely and quickly work my way up to her face. I've lost my motor functions temporarily. And it's a bitch. No need to lose my ability to breathe.
She smiles this amazingly airy smile as she glides closer, her eyes sparkling a shade of blue I've never seen before.
Something close to sapphire maybe?
I attribute my newfound need to identify the eye colour of attractive women entirely to shock.
"Care to finish that thought?"
zzzzzz
"Josh."
Ten minutes. She's been talking to that guy for ten minutes.
"Josh?"
She's smiling? She's smiling at him?
She never smiled like that for me is all I'm saying.
"Josh!"
"What?"
"Where did you disappear to?"
What the hell is he talking about?
"Do you need glasses?" Before Mike can answer, I press on, "Did you want something?"
"Glaring at the guy isn't going to make him magically disappear, you know," he smirks.
"Mike, it shouldn't surprise you that I have no idea what you're talking about."
Eleven minutes.
"Blonde, blue eyed babe, who not even half an hour ago ignored your pathetic ass. The one lounging across the pool from us, ring any bells?"
"What about her?"
"She seems to be enjoying his company," Mike comments. "Josh, if you're going to spend the rest of this weekend stalking her, give a guy a heads up, would you?"
I shoot daggers at Mike.
"I've glanced in her direction maybe – maybe, twice." Lie. "I care about the guy she's flirting with less than I care about your sex life." Big lie. "The chances of my ever stalking her are as likely as your beating me at basketball."
"Josh, I kick your ass every time we play."
"This memory loss thing you have? It's very convenient. Selective, too." He snorts. "And why would I stalk her, anyway?"
"I don't know," he starts, sarcastically, "because you like her? Because for the past fifteen minutes, all you've done is glare at her? And you know, the men that approach her."
"You're an FBI Agent? Aren't you supposed to be good a reading people?"
"What's your name for this guy?"
Pretty ass muscle bound beach boy.
Crap.
"She ignored me! I was nice, polite, tried to make small talk--"
"Tried to annoy the crap out of her."
Needless to say, glares, daggers, all aimed at Mike.
"—And she ignored me. How rude is that?"
Mike snorts. "You're not attracted to her."
"No. Most assuredly not."
"So you've spent the past twenty minutes completely focused on her because she wounded your ego?"
"Yes. No! I mean, no. I have not been staring at her."
"Sure. By the way, here's your chance, Romeo, she's at the bar." Mike points to a bar behind us where Donna is waiting to be served.
Alone.
"Sooo… Anyone want another beer?"
zzzzzz
"Manhattan, please."
"I think you'll find this is Vegas," I quip.
"Pity the girl who tries to get anything by you, Josh," she deadpans.
"I try." I shrug and shoot her a smirk.
Why am I here? Seriously, I have no idea what I'm trying to achieve here.
"It wasn't a compliment," she sighs in that way she has that means she wishes this conversation was over half an hour ago.
"Are even you capable of giving them?"
"Generally, to receive a compliment, one must do something to deserve it."
Point.
I have no response to that. So I move on to the more important question.
"Managed to tear yourself away from 'Mr Muscle' over there, huh?" Dumb, pretty ass beach boy.
"You were watching?" she asks, looking a little freaked.
I wasn't watching. Except I was. Not that I was watching her…
"I wasn't watching so much as..."
"As?"
"Listening to Mike provide a running commentary on the steroid-bound pretty boy trying to hit on you." Where that came from I have no idea, but hey, it'll be Mike in the doghouse, so what do I care.
She looks sceptical.
I don't blame her.
Mike made a good impression on her. How, I have no idea. He was all sweet and 'hi, how are ya… nice to meet you… you have very pretty hair, what conditioner do you use?'
Seriously, where the hell is the personality in that? And yeah, he didn't make nice with her hair. But still.
Traitor.
"His name isn't 'Mr Muscle'," Donna gripes, searching out the bar-tender.
"Yeah, here's the thing-- I don't care." Jackass pretty boy, what the hell do I care what his name is?
"So why bring him up?"
Because you smiled at the pretty beach boy, who was obviously trying to get into your panties, and ignored me when I was just trying to be nice.
"It seemed like fun?"
She glares at me. Then gives me a frustrated smile.
"My drink's here, so I'm going back to my seat to enjoy my time in the sun." She says every word slowly so that I don't miss the point. The message being conveyed? Stay the hell away from me, you giant annoying putz.
And my response to her unasked request?
"So here's the thing; beach boy seemed kinda gay, don't you think?" I pick up my beer and jog to catch up with her.
Donna stops. "Josh?"
"Yeah?"
"What are you doing?" she asks with her eyebrows scrunched slightly. It's kinda cute, in that 'I just succeeded in annoying her' kind of way.
"I'm… talking to you?" I ask, uncertain of what she's eluding to.
"I know that."
"Okay."
"You're following me."
Ah yes. I shrug.
"Your friends are sitting in the opposite direction." She points across the pool toward Mike without taking her eyes off me.
"Yes," I say with a tone that asks, 'we know this already, so we're covering this because…?'
"And yet, you're following me."
I'd answer, except I still have no idea why I'm compelled to do this, so…
"So is beach boy a Republican?" I deflect.
Donna rolls her eyes and resumes her course back to her lawn chair.
"Is this you asking or was this part of Mike's running commentary?"
I shrug. It's becoming a consistent theme in this conversation.
"There's nothing wrong with being a Republican," she states, moving on.
I stop short. "You're not, are you?" Because that would explain everything.
She takes a moment to take in the look on my face.
"Yes. Yes I am," she says with a blank expression.
Now I take a moment to take in her expression. She looks completely serious.
"You're lying," I state. I don't know how, but she is. She continues to give me a blank expression, but I catch a twitch of her lips and I grin.
"There's nothing wrong with being a Republican."
"You know what's wrong with that statement?"
"If I said I really don't care would you drop the subject and walk away?" she asks with a sigh. I can see the gleam in her eyes; daring me to walk away. Slowly, the grin she's trying to repress comes to light, and I smile in response, ready to start the next phase of what ever the hell it is we're doing.
"I could, but where's the fun in that?"
"I could, but where's the fun in that?"
I'm lost in my thoughts as I make my way back to my office and walk inside.
"Josh… Shut up and kiss me."
It takes a moment to register the fact that there should be female of the blonde variety in my office. And there isn't.
I walk back out and find Chloe typing away on her computer.
"Where's Donna?"
Chloe takes a big, inelegant gulp of her girly drink. "Pretty Lady?"
"Yes," I sigh, "Pretty Lady. Where is she?"
Chloe's eyes light up. "It occurs to me I quite possibly should have asked this question sooner--"
"You can feel free to not ask it now."
"--Who is she?"
"She's an old friend."
"An old friend? Or an old friend?" Chloe winks. She actually winks. Who does that anymore?
Beside Sam.
"Just a friend," I stress.
"Josh… Shut up and kiss me."
"I only ask because you seem quite cosy together." Chloe smiles airily, with her 'I know something you don't know' smile. "Or is she an old friend who you'd like to be your new friend? That would explain why you didn't ask me to book her a hotel room." Chloe pauses in her monologue to frown. "Pretty Lady is nice. I think I should book her a room, she's not safe with you."
"Ok, take a deep breath. You know how you were afraid Leo was trying to turn you into a Margaret clone? I think you're halfway there already."
"I wouldn't do that if I were you."
"Do what, exactly?"
"Insult Margaret when she's right behind you." I turn around quickly, doing an embarrassing impression of a dog chasing its tail, to find… nothing. "What are you doing?" Chloe asks, shooting confused looks my way as I make a show of checking her head.
"I was just wondering how you comb your hair so that the horns don't show."
"This is me, laughing my ass off," she states, glaring in my direction.
I shrug unapologetically. "Payback is written in your future."
"I try to brighten your day and this is the thanks I get?"
Where does she come up with these things?
"Where do you come up with these things?"
"It's what good assistants do," Chloe states, surprised that I wouldn't know this already.
"What the hell do you mean she's not safe with me?"
"Your track record with the ladies is not exactly stellar, Josh."
"Chloe, I believe we've discussed boundaries and your inability to stick to them."
"Did it look like I was paying attention then? Because I assure you that was not the impression I wanted to give."
"Chloe."
"This discussion of boundaries you speak of-- was this before or after you asked for my advice on how to break up with girlfriend number god knows what? Don't get me wrong, Josh, I'm not judging you. You're a man in his prime with power and a small amount of charm to match. Women like you; there's absolutely nothing wrong with that."
"Exactly."
"Except that your taste in women sucks."
"Thank you," I shoot back, sarcastically.
"It wasn't a compliment." The sarcasm washes right off of her. "I'm bored now. Can we discuss something other than your love life?"
I glare at her. "I didn't start this conversation."
She shrugs. I count her silence as a blessing and move on.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Which question was that?"
"Where is Donna?"
"Oh, right. She's with CJ."
"Chloe!"
"You told me I wasn't allowed to talk to her! You didn't say anything about CJ!"
"You know the rule! CJ and Mandy are not allowed within ten feet of the women I date unless I'm there!"
"Ah ha! So you admit it."
"I am not dating her! She's--"
"Potential?"
"You're fired!" I shout as I run across to CJ's office. I skid to a stop as the door opens and I come face to face with an irate CJ.
With Donna nowhere in sight.
What the hell happened?
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