Title: Transcendence
Author: CGB
(luberluber@yahoo.com.au)
Web:
http://appelsini.tripod.com/Christine/
Category: Donna-fic
really but with a wee bit of J/D
Rating: PG
Archive: Sure
Spoilers: The Portland
Trip
Disclaimer: Aaron's
letting me take 'em out for a spin. So
long as I don't rack up
the mileage he's cool about it.
Summary: "She
wonders why a homeless man has a more
convincing smile than
she does"
Acknowledgments: Thanks
to Lilla for the start of it all, Liz
Barr (as always) and to
Jenny McD for all that and more.
This one goes out to the
ladies at the Bordello 'cos I know
how much they love this
stuff<g>.
*
Jeffrey is an
archaeology lecturer, author of two books on
the ruins at Petra, Head
of his department at Georgetown
and still in his
thirties. So it comes as something of a
surprise when it's her
job that dominates the conversation.
He is genuinely
interested in what she does. He seems
fascinated by the most
mundane details (the process of
choosing a stamp holds
no end of interest for him). He
makes her feel
important, in spite of the fact that he's the
one people call
'Professor'.
He does an impression of
his colleague's high-pitched nasal
voice that has her
snorting loudly in a five star restaurant
when the patrons are
staring. And he doesn't care at all.
She is wearing that red
dress. The one Josh told her to buy.
It turns out the
purchase is a wise one. Her first dates never
become seconds and she's
never had to worry about a
different outfit. She
got her money's worth out of this one.
But a time comes in the
evening, sometime after desert and
sometime before coffee
and petit foires, when she weighs up
these things – the
laughter, the dress, the healthy glow
gained from being
thought of as influential – and she
wonders whether she'll
be shopping for a new outfit in the
near future.
She is telling him about
something she read in a science
magazine.
"The unconscious
mind makes most of our decisions for us
and chooses the
information that is presented by our
consciousness.
Essentially the person we present to the
outside world is decided
by our unconscious. We think that
we know what we are
going to say when we say it, but even
speech is a result of
decisions made by the unconscious
mind."
"Interesting...You
look beautiful in that dress," he grins
sheepishly. "See? I
didn't know I was going to say that. I
can't be held
responsible."
She smiles. "Thank
you...I think."
He stirs sugar into a
small white cup with a saucer. "You are
a vast wealth of
knowledge, Donna," he says.
Josh would have called
it 'trivia'.
"I read a
lot," she says.
He excuses himself to go
to the bathroom and she puts her
head in her hands and
rubs her temples. The piano player is
playing "Ain't
Misbehaving" and she's just eaten lavender
chicken, which was
exquisite. She should be having a
wonderful time. Instead
she finds herself staring out the
window wondering whether
Josh will find that note about the
conference call before
he checks in with Leo in the morning.
Outside a man in a grey,
dirty jacket and colourful knit hat
stares back at her. He
smiles at her like he has a smile for
everyone he meets. And
then he does something curious.
He throws up his hands
to the sky and flops them down to
the ground in a long
sweeping bow. She laughs and he does
it again.
Her date returns and
follows the direction of her gaze out the
window. The man waves
and moves on.
"Hey, I've seen
that guy around," Jeffrey says as he sits
down again.
"You have?"
Jeffrey nods.
"Sometimes he carries an old guitar with him.
He can play it too. I
saw him sing 'Achy Breaky Heart' for the
tourists at the Korean
War Memorial once."
"Seriously?"
"I think he's
homeless," Jeffrey says, and he looks out the
window once more.
"That's sad,"
Donna says.
*
She still gets home by
ten thirty. She feels like and idiot for
making excuses; "I have a hectic schedule tomorrow,
Jeffrey, and I'm tired
already." And every word is true. Right
for all the wrong
reasons.
Her neighbour appears at
the top of the stairs while she is
fumbling in her bag for
her key. He's been out walking his
dog. He carries a small
poodle-like dog (she suspects it's a
mongrel) under one arm
and it squirms in his grasp. Her flat
mate's cat is bigger
than that dog.
"Hi Mr
Mandalaigh," she says.
"Hi Donna, been out
on a date?"
She rolls her eyes and
thinks about buying a new dress. The
entire building knows
when she is out on a date.
"Didn't go too
well, huh?"
"It was fine. Why
do you think…?"
"You're home
earlier than your sixty-two year old neighbour.
That's got to make you
think."
She stands there for a
moment watching Mr Mandalaigh's
dog wriggle around some
more until Mr Mandalaigh gets the
message and places it on
the floor.
She shifts her weight.
What the hell does her sixty two year
old neighbour know?
"He was a nice
guy," she adds and she smiles for emphasis.
Mr Mandalaigh shrugs.
"If you say so."
She thinks about Jeffrey
chastely pecking her on the cheek
before leaving her at
the base of her apartment building. It
still feels cold where
the wind blew across the slight moisture
on her cheek.
"Goodnight Mr
Mandalaigh," she says and she turns the key
in the lock.
"Goodnight
Donna."
Inside she pours herself
orange juice and wonders what
she'll say when Jeffrey
calls again.
And she wonders why a
homeless man has a more
convincing smile than
she does.
*
"So how was
it?" Josh leans against her desk
and picks at
the brightly coloured
pens she keeps in a jar there. She has
a thing about pens. She
can't resist one with a good weight
or a unique grip. They
end up sitting in the jar on her desk
until Josh steals one.
It's funny, but if she
wants to talk about her date with Ginger
or Cathy she'll need to
remind them of it first. With polling
numbers to search for
and endless phone calls they seem to
forget the things that
are not related to work.
Josh, however, has
barely said 'Good morning'.
"Fine," she
says.
She picks up her filing
pile and heads for Josh's cabinet. He
follows her.
"Uh huh," he
says.
"What's that
supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," he
says feigning innocence.
"He was nice Josh. He was funny and
witty, and smart and
charming."
"Was he
married?"
"What? No!"
"Gay?"
"No."
"So he was funny,
witty, charming, and you still got home by
midnight?"
She spins around.
"How did you know that?"
"I called. Your
roommate said you were asleep. She also
said you came home
alone," he holds up his hands before
she can protest.
"She volunteered the information. I didn't
ask."
"God, is there
anyone who doesn't know what's going on in
my life?"
"I'm pretty sure
the President hasn't got a clue."
"Well," she
nods. "It's reassuring to know that the President
has more important
things to concern him than my personal
life."
She takes a stake of
papers and rights their edges on Josh's
desk.
"Why did you
call?" she says suddenly.
"Uh… I couldn't
find those figures on youth unemployment."
"Here they
are," she says and she hands him the research
sitting in his in-tray
since last night. "You know, I put a lot of
things in this tray,
Josh, if you're not going to look in there
we could have a serious
communications problem."
He takes the figures
from her and stares at them for a few
minutes before placing
them back in the in-tray.
"You know Donna,
there is this pattern here where you go
out on a date, you get
home before ten…"
"I got home at
10.30."
"You got home
before I did – then the next day you get in
this mood that makes
Toby Zielgler look like Mr Congeniality
of the White House. So I
figure either you are the most
boring company in
Washington or you've dated every loser
this city has to offer.
I've got to ask Donna, what criteria do
these guys meet?
Seriously – no wedding ring, no boyfriend
called Phil, must be a
potential mate?"
She turns around slowly.
She presses her lips together and
swallows.
"Do you… do you
think I'm desperate Josh?" her voice is
quiet and it quivers
slightly.
Josh's face falls.
"Oh no… Donna..."
"Is it that hard to
understand that I might want something
more in life than to be
the person who files your papers? Is it
that hard to imagine
that I need things that seem to be a god
given right to every
other woman my age in this country?
The right to date, the
right to flirt, the right to have dinner
with every goddamn fuck
up in this city if there's the chance
that one of them might
be the one that holds me when I'm
sad and makes me laugh
when I don't want to?" The level
of her voice rises and
heads outside the office turn their way.
She takes note of the
attention and lowers her volume. "Is it
so hard to think Josh,
that I might look at couples on the bus
or in the street and see
companionship rather than
commitment?"
"Donna…"
"Am I that much of
a freak to you Josh?"
"No, God, Donna,
no..."
"Then perhaps, in
the future, you could keep your low
opinion of my social
life to your self."
Josh runs a hand through
his hair. Donna disappears out of
the office leaving him
staring at the space she has vacated.
*
In his office Josh plays
with a long green pen that has a
rubber grip and the name
"Donna" printed on it in bright
yellow. Donna said her
niece gave it to her for her birthday
and he thinks he really
should give it back.
He rocks it between his
thumb and middle finger, slowly at
first, and then faster
until it becomes a green blur.
Josh remembers Donna drove her car to
outpatients when
he was released from
hospital. She helped him walk the few
steps from the hospital
door to the passenger side of her car.
He leant against her and
she laughed nervously at the way
he groaned with each
step. She was trying to convey a
confidence she didn't
feel. It moved him.
"Come on you big
baby, you can do it," she admonished him.
Weeks later she whined
over the phone about his
dependence on her for
news from the West Wing.
"Bring me that file
with Keifer's gun control figures Donna,
and can you pick me up a
chicken and corn soup from Sing's
on the way?" The
other end of the line would sigh loudly and
she'd insist she wasn't
his housemaid. She'd bring him soup
anyway.
Donna ate yoghurt out of
a tub while he yelled at CJ over the
phone.
"Don't say
'optimistic'!" he was screaming into the receiver.
"For God's sakes
don't say optimistic, it sounds like he's
crossing his fingers.
Say 'confident', say 'positive'…"
"Say
'please'," Donna would reprimand him.
"Please CJ,"
he'd say.
When he thinks about his
lonely recovery, it's Donna who
comes to mind. Donna
being overly concerned about his
temperature, Donna
refusing to bring him work two days
after he got out of
hospital, Donna hiding the phone so he
wouldn't call the White
House when she wasn't around to
stop him. She only relented when he pointed out that
he
would need to call the
hospital if his wound abscessed.
Their relationship
leaves him scratching his head when she
leaves the room because
she drives him mad with her
useless information and
steadfast refusal to take his word for
anything on face value,
but on occasion he finds himself
thinking up excuses to
get her into his office.
And he looks at her too
long when she's wearing that dress.
*
Donna comes into his
office again two hours later to place a
Danish in a paper bag on
his desk.
"What's that?"
he says.
"Danish," she
says. She immediately turns to leave.
"Donna it's
lunchtime! Where were you two hours
ago?"
She shrugs.
"Busy."
He can't remember a time
when Donna gave one-word
responses. "Donna,
wait."
She stops in the
doorway. She has a long frame that
reminds him of a cubist
nude, all angles and points. Donna
descending a staircase.
Josh thinks that he
likes his women to look a little less
severe, but it doesn't stop
him thinking that he likes looking
at her.
"Donna, when you go
out with these losers, when you date
someone who isn't worthy
of you, it's an insult to me and to
those who care about
you, who think Donnatella Moss
deserves more than she
gives herself."
She thinks for a moment
and leans against the doorframe.
"He wasn't a loser
Josh," she says.
He throws his hands up
in the air.
"Then why, Donna?
Why," he gestures at the paper bag on
his desk. "Why are
we arguing over Danish?"
Donna looks at the
floor.
"I've got this
friend," she tells him, "whenever she goes to the
grocery stores or the
deli on the corner she puts on a full
face of make up and she
says 'you never know, Donna, I
might meet the man I'm
going to marry'. And at first I thought
it was really stupid,
and I still think it's really stupid, but
really, isn't she just
acknowledging that finding that person is
virtually impossible and
you can't afford to waste chances."
"You wear make up
to the grocery store?"
"No Josh! But…but for some reason it's important.
Everyone
says it is. We buy
ourselves a new dress, we put on a full
face of make up, my
neighbour doesn't ask me how my job
is going but he always
asks me how my hunt for Mr Right is
going. It's got to be a
big deal right?"
"Marriage?"
Josh asks, frowning.
"Not just marriage
Josh, romance, love, 'pairing off' as you
so delicately put it.
It's got to mean something right?
Because everyone says it
does and if it's so important then I
want something more than
a good meal and conversation. I
want
transcendence."
Josh rubs his forehead
and attempts, unsuccessfully to
repress a smile.
She folds her arms and
turns to go.
"Forget it,"
she says.
Josh swallows.
"For God's sakes,
Donna, get back in here."
She turns and marches
back into his office. The corners of
her mouth remain down
turned.
There's a part of Josh's
mind where he stores potentially
useful information such
as how to make pancakes that don't
stick to the bottom of
the pan and how to deal with an
emotional outbursts. He
accesses it now.
"Want to go for
lunch?" he says.
"Where?" she
says, her expression still dour.
"I thought we'd go
to the park. It's nice…" he looks outside at
the grey sky, "it's
nice enough outside."
She thinks for a moment
then nods.
"OK."
*
In the park he sits down
next to her and they stare across
the reflecting pool. She
drops pieces of lettuce from her
sandwich in her lap and
she flicks them off for the birds
below her feet to feed
on.
"It's freezing out
here," she says eventually.
"Yeah," Josh
agrees.
"Last year one of
those homeless war veterans died from
exposure in this
weather."
"Yeah, I
remember."
"Makes you wonder
what they've got to smile about."
"Excuse me?"
"It was just…it
was…" she fumbles with the words and stops.
Sometimes she thinks
she's coming close to something,
some kind of
explanation, but it's always just out of reach.
"It's
nothing," she says.
He nods and stands up.
"Let's go back in before we freeze
our asses off," he
grins at her and holds out his hand. She
takes it and rises to
her feet.
They walk back to the
White House like that. They're at the
gate before she notices
they've been connected all this time.
She looks behind her at
the distance they covered hand in
hand. To the casual
observer they must have looked quite
comfortable. The kind of
couple she would envy had she
been that observer.
She thinks about that
later. She sees two people kissing
outside a hotel on her
way home and she imagines they are
having a tumultuous
affair. The couple collecting their mail
downstairs at her
apartment block have their arms loosely
slung around each
others' waists but she knows that at times
they fight until one of
them has to move out for a couple of
days.
Happiness is so often an
illusion she's not sure what's real
anymore. Josh holds her
hand, Jeffrey compliments her
knowledge, and her
neighbour gets home later than she
does. And then there's a
homeless guy who's the point on
the exclamation mark.
She takes the
drycleaner's plastic off her dress and hangs it
once again in her
wardrobe.
Fin