Donna awoke to the familiar feeling of being in an unfamiliar hotel bed. The not-quite-risen sun caused the cracks of light that peeked from between closed curtains to appear soft blue (the bright white of mid-morning wouldn't come for hours, she thought). The clock read 5:11 and the quiet outside in the hall was typical of the fact that nobody that could help it was awake at this hour. She often awoke a few minutes before her routine 5:15 wake-up call, but when ten, then fifteen minutes passed without the front desk calling (not to mention the recurring alarm she set on her cell phone as backup), she got her first indication that something was amiss.
Deciding for the first time to really notice her surroundings, she became conscious of the weight of her covers. Beds at the Quality Inn didn't feel like this. Fingering the mattress beneath her, she realized that she was, in fact, not on a spring mattress but on a feather bed, and lying beneath what felt like a down comforter. She pushed herself up and, even though the light was dim, could tell that she wasn't wherever she thought she was. Real art--not stock drawings--adorned the walls. A vase of fresh flowers sat on an elegant-looking table. A crystal pitcher of water stood on a silver tray, joined by crystal glasses. A closer look at the clock revealed that it was PM--not AM. She turned on the desk lamp and allowed her eyes to adjust, reading the heading on the note pad that sat next to the phone, and the etching on the pen. "Mayflower Hotel", the elegant lettering scrawled. It all came flooding back.
She looked toward the door of the bedroom--double doors, which she now knew led not to the hall outside, but to the salon in a suite she was sharing with Josh. She saw lamplight peek through the crack on the floor and something told her that he was not only awake, but right outside, waiting for her. But was she ready? Were either of them?
Donna wracked her brain to remember everything she could about scopolamine. She'd seen some sort of documentary on it on the Discovery Channel once, and recalled its basic functionality. Its effect wasn't to make people *want* to tell the truth. The drug was incapable of eliciting confessions or causing previously withheld information to rush forward. What it *would* do was disable those who took it from lying. Thinking about how that would play out between she and Josh, she didn't know which was better--for it all to come pouring out or for them to have to go through, question by painful question, and relive every little misstep of the past 8 years that led them to where they were now.
One thing she did know is that she wanted--no, deserved-- explanations on a wealth of topics, and she could not let the opportunity to interrogate Josh pass her by. Naturally, she was apprehensive about what he would ask her. But she'd all but spelled out her feelings for him numerous times and, sadly, she doubted she'd even get a reaction if she came out and said it now. He'd made his feelings for her crystal clear--maybe it was time to just get it all out, get confirmation once and for all that nothing could ever come of them, and finally let herself move on.
Reasoning that she could not delay the inevitable, she stepped out of bed, slid on her clothes, splashed water on her face and swished some in her mouth, and took deep breaths as she approached the double-doors. Her heart pounded in her chest, the reality of the situation hitting her with more force every second. She mustered her courage, swung the doors open dramatically and found Josh just where she'd expected to--quite awake in the salon, waiting for her. And not calmly, either. No, Josh was pacing. And despite her uncharacteristically theatrical entrance, he did not even notice her presence. This might be easier than she thought.
"Nervous?"
Her voice, which was utterly confident and contained a hint of mocking, startled him out of his pacing. He'd practically been wearing a hole in the carpet for the past hour, both anxiously awaiting and dreading the moment she would emerge from her room. He turned to look at her and was disappointed to find that she looked as confident as he was scared.
"Yes." he admitted, his own voice sounding strange to him.
"What for?"
The hint of a smile played at her lips. Her tone was one of feigned innocence, as were her widened eyes and raised eyebrows. She must be loving this, he thought, having completely forgotten that just hours before, she'd been as apprehensive as he. Despite the full hour he'd had to come up with some sort of strategy, unless he was planning on being a complete asshole and just not talking, he knew there was no way out of this.
"There's stuff you're not supposed to know."
She continued to act nonchalant--unnaturally so. He wondered whether she was being so cool in the hopes of throwing him off her scent. Maybe she did have something to hide after all...then he got it. She was attempting banter. They hadn't bantered in...
"If you're afraid I'll go off blabbing about issues of national
security, Josh...don't worry. America's secrets are safe with me."
"It's not America's secrets I'm worried about."
It just came out. Some of the playfulness left her eyes. After a minute of complete silence, all of the playfulness left her eyes.
"You're really scared...", she mused finally, her voice gentle, non-
confrontational. "I have to admit, Josh...I'm surprised you even
believe in truth serum. The President could be giving us some
placebo--it's just like him to play a pr--"
"I tried it out."
Pause.
"On who?"
"I tried lying to the Secret Service agent outside, and...it didn't
work."
Not only had he tried, and failed, to lie to the secret service agent--he'd failed at hiding the one thing he was most afraid of revealing.
"What did you lie to the agent about?"
"I don't want to tell you."
"Truth serum, Josh..."
"What? That's the truth. I *don't* want to tell you."
His voice was defensive. She studied him for a long time, before dropping it.
"What's the Secret Service doing out there anyway?"
"Besides hoarding our computers and cell phones so we're insulated
from the outside world?"
Yes. Seriousness had set in, and all playfulness was gone. Finally, Donna saw that this was not a joke.
"...they're under strict orders from the President not to let either of us leave until Monday."
Her arms were crossed. She was leaned against the door.
"The truth serum couldn't possibly last three days", she reasoned.
"True..." he agreed, "...but once it wears off...we're back where we
were before."
He tried to allow his expression to remain neutral, but in truth the idea of this weekend *not* being a catalyst--of things going back to the way they were before or maybe even getting worse--was devastating.
"And you don't want that..."
She said it like it was a discovery and it made him angry.
"Of course I don't want this! Why would I want things with us to be like this?"
He'd said it too harshly. Blue eyes, that, just moments before had begun softening to him, hardened once again.
"Because this is the game you play, Josh. You like being angry and holding grudges and cutting people out of your life."
Cutting people out of his life?
"Donna, I'm not trying to cut you out of my life. I'm just...angry with you, and trying to run a national campaign, and obviously doing a piss poor job at trying to manage both."
And then he saw it--saw her try to bite her tongue--to swallow whatever she was about to say, but it all came pouring out. What she said was so striking that he didn't have time to speculate on what she *would've* said.
"What about Toby? You got into a fist fight with him and cut him
off...and CJ? You two aren't exactly buddies anymore..."
"Once the campaign is over--"
"And how about Sam? When was the last time you talked to him?", she
interrogated "...he was supposedly your best friend and he moves,
what, to *California* and you can't forgive him for it so you never
speak of him again?"
He was speechless.
"Maybe it's because he lost the election...maybe since he wasn't part of your political agenda anymore, it was time to move on."
He couldn't believe she thought...
"Don't think I haven't noticed the pattern, Josh--it's always been there. Mandy? She just disappeared. And Amy...well, I guess you keep trying to make her disappear, but she just keeps coming back for more, and you keep taking her back!"
Now there was venom in her voice--venom so powerful that he had no idea how to respond. He realized with a great deal of sadness that this must be the truth for her, because, after all, they were high on truth serum. Still, he was paralyzingly afraid that if he spoke his truth--so opposite to her own--she wouldn't believe him.
Her eyes, which moments before, had shot daggers, finally looked away from him, to something on the wall. The sting of betrayal emanated from her, and he thought he might cry. His worst fears had involved being forced to admit things he wasn't ready to admit to her. Foolishly, he hadn't considered that her opinions of him were ten times worse than what he thought. He fought the lump in his throat.
"Donna, you know me." he said finally, his voice soft and full of pain, "...you of all people should know that's not how it is."
She looked back at him, unshed tears in her eyes.
"Wrong, Josh..." she said in a dead serious voice "...I thought I knew you."
Her words made him almost want to die.
Donna tried to collect herself, attempting deep breaths and willing herself not to cry as she spoke the bitter words she'd lamented for months. Minutes passed without either of them speaking. She knew that was the meanest thing she'd ever said to him, and it hadn't felt good to say it, as perhaps she'd thought it would. It definitely didn't feel good to see how deeply this was hurting him, but she couldn't take it back for the simple fact that it was true.
"Donna...we took *truth serum*", he said finally, his voice carrying heavily on the last two words, "...so it is with complete and utter honesty that I tell you I never want to cut you out of my life."
He was using the present tense, she noted. He also brought up a good point--since she'd emerged from her bedroom, she'd tested the drug herself--willed herself to tell a lie, and found that she couldn't. But if he was telling the truth...
"If you don't want me out of your life, why are you treating me this way?"
The expression on his face, just moments before a pleading stare, contorted into a different kind of pain.
"...and I'm not asking you why you wouldn't give me a job. I'm
asking why one day you were my friend--my best friend, even--and as
soon as I took another job, you treated me like a leper. Explain
that to me, Josh."
"Donna, there are so many reasons..."
"Tell me one."
He sighed, let his head fall, and ran his fingers through his hair.
"You left me. And I know you had damned good reasons, but...it hurt."
Silence.
"It hurt me, too, Josh..."
"I know."
He looked back up at her. Neither spoke for a long time.
"Tell me another reason," she commanded softly.
He took a deeep breath.
"After you left...I didn't want anybody to know how much I needed you."
His voice was small and he seemed at times to be struggling for breath. She almost felt sorry for him--almost. But he had never admitted this one truth out loud--that once upon a time he'd needed her desperately. She hated herself for needing that validation, but when she got it, she could not stop the tears that sprang to her eyes and came dangerously close to falling. His voice fell to a whisper.
"I went through this whole thing of reminding myself that I really am alone in this world...and that I should act like it. That if I did, maybe I would never have to get as close to anyone as I got to you, I would never have to hurt this way again."
Halfway through his statement, the tears spilled over, and she found that she no longer cared whether Josh witnessed her like this.
"...and then, once I realized...that I really didn't want to be alone, and...how bad that whole line of thinking was fouling up any chance I ever had of having you back in my life, we were already so distant that..."
By then his head was in his hands again.
"I tried, Donna." he said finally, "If you knew how many times I
dialed your number and hung up before it rang...or how many e-mails
I wrote but never sent...and"
"...and what?"
Her sniffle made him look up. When he saw her, he shook his head. His face was stricken.
"I'm making you cry...I don't want to do that."
She remembered back to a night, some six years before. It was the week after she found out about the MS--Josh was at a meeting on the Hill and it felt like the world was closing in on her. She'd retreated to his office for some privacy, but he'd come back early and found her in tears. Wordlessly, he'd scooped her into his arms and soothed her until she felt well enough to go on with her day. When she'd thanked him, he'd told her that he couldn't stand to see someone so beautiful cry. She'd never forgotten the look on his face that night.
She tried to collect herself.
"Can I make a suggestion?" he asked tentatively, after most of her tears subsided.
She nodded. He chose his words carefully.
"Donna, the things you just said...really surprised me. And now it's clear, probably for the first time, that in the absence of actually spending time together, we've been taking a lot of guesses at what the other one is thinking."
He took a deep breath.
"No offense, but some of what you just said...you guessed wrong-- like, by a mile wrong--and I'll bet I'm wrong about some things, too. So I was hoping we could maybe sit down--together--on the sofa, and talk some more?"
She was scared, but she wanted this, and for the first time she was beginning to believe that maybe he did too.
She nodded her agreement and took the first step toward him.