B I G T U R K E Y

Author: Liza C. Title: Big Turkey Josh's POV: Little Turkey Moving like a cat, I try and make my escape.  I'm carrying my two-year-old niece Shana, so it impedes my progress and my cat-like-ness slightly, but, trust me, Shana was necessary in order to escape the family room. I had to pretend like she needed a diaper change. Ah-ha, there's her dad.  With a smile, I hand her off and he asks no questions.  Good brother-in-law.  If that had been my sister, I would have endured half a dozen questions about why my cell phone was in my hand. Clutching the phone and moving on tiptoes, I surreptitiously make my way down the hall, trying to avoid any and all of the numerous Moss relatives who are roaming free in the house today.  I make it all the way to the staircase undetected. I’m home free!  Picking up speed, I start taking the stairs two at a time.  I make it all the way to the first landing, halfway to the destination of my teenage bedroom, when I'm caught mid-stride. "Where you sneaking off to?" I look back and see Grandma Moss standing at the foot of the stairs. Oh boy.  She's got a little flour on her right cheek and on the sleeves of her turkey sweatshirt.  It's a sweatshirt covered with brightly colored turkeys. They're cute.  Too cute. I find it unsettling to stare into their friendly faces when we're in the process of cooking one up, but I seem to be alone in that sentiment.  And from experience I know better than to voice it, or Grandma will start in about the days when the Thanksgiving turkey would still *have* a cute face when she got her hands on it. Nobody needs to hear those stories today.  Now she stands looking up at me, hands on hips in an apron that says "Queen of the Kitchen" over the turkey sweatshirt.   My mom loves that, especially since today's cooking is taking place in mom's kitchen. "I'm not sneaking," I allege, but it's a rather weak defense. I was totally sneaking. "I know sneaking when I see it.  Is it government business?"  Grandma lowers her voice into a conspiratorial, but not all that quiet, whisper. The corner of my lips quirk upwards; my family's reaction to the fact that I'm going to be working in the White House has been very enthusiastic.  But they probably caught that from me, I'm pretty over-the-moon about it myself.  "We're not even in office yet, Grandma." "Still, I know all about CIA espionage and spy stuff; they probably have you on some covert mission." This makes me giggle. Hard.  "Me? On Thanksgiving in Madison, Wisconsin?" "What other explanation is there for you to be sneaking off upstairs when you're here for only a couple of days and we haven't seen you since April?" "You're right, it's covert government business.  Will you cover for me downstairs for a few minutes?"  Humoring Grandma is sometimes the best course of action.  I'm not lying, it is covert business; if it weren't, I wouldn't be sneaking.  And it definitely has to do with the government.  Sort of.  Or a person who will be very important in the government… or at least come January, he will. She nods eagerly and then touches her index to finger to her nose.  What the heck is that? "I got your back. They'll get nothing out of me!"   Phew. With an index finger to my nose at her in return, I turn to continue hurrying up the stairs.   I’ve only made it another few steps when she hollers, "Donna!" I wish she would stop yelling my name; it's ruining the covertness of the operation. "Yes, Grandma?" "Shouldn't we have code names?" "What?" "Code names. Covert government operations always have code names. I know these things. I watch those X- Files.  Mabel Fitzgerald and I even went to see the movie this summer over at that new theater in Fitchburg.  That Mulder is one hot piece of man meat." "Grandma!"  I'm so shocked I almost forget the "covert" operation and the phone in my hand. "What?" "You can't say that!" "Why?" "Because…"  And I've got nothing. She's in her 70’s and can and does pretty much say whatever she wants.  It's charming. Usually.  I decide that distracting her with a change of subject is the best course of action. "What did you have in mind for code names?" She glances down at her apron and gains inspiration.   "I'll be Queen of the Kitchen, and you be…" She makes a show of thinking hard for a moment; while I wait, I bite my tongue and don't mention that 'Queen of the Kitchen' is a bit convoluted to be a code name. I think. But really, what do I know about covert code names? I didn't see the X-Files movie.  In fact, I haven't seen any movies since I joined the election campaign. Is it sad that Grandma Moss has more of a social life than I do?   But don't feel sorry for me, I had the time of my life during the election… even if we didn't have time for much but the election.  Surely that will change once things settle down and we're in office? Surely.   "Little Turkey!" Grandma announces dramatically. "What?" That draws my attention. "Little Turkey? What kind of a code name is that?"  When I'm working in the White House, I wonder if I really will get a code name. That would be cool.  But if I do, I hope it's a little sexier and more dangerous than 'Little Turkey.' "It's a fine code name. Nobody would ever guess." I just stare down at her. She's seen this look from me before, like when I was 15 and she wanted me to have an Irish whiskey with her and Mabel. She ended up calling me a goody-two shoes.  I kinda was back then. Okay… I still am.   "Fine…" she relents.”Pick your own code name, but ya gotta have one."   Just then my phone starts vibrating in my hand.  Again.   I look at the readout—yup, the same number, a number that has become as familiar as my own recently.   It's the fourth call from that number in the last 30 minutes.    "Little Turkey it is," I agree quickly, needing to make an escape. "Who's on the phone? Is that a government phone?" She asks eagerly, obviously hoping for some juicy insider scoop. I was already grilled for half an hour about Dr. Bartlet.  I think Grandma feels a kinship with the future First Lady. "I'll tell you, but then you have to go to the kitchen and keep a look out." She agrees quickly. "It's… uh… Big Turkey." I touch my finger to my nose again in a conspiratorial manner. "Important turkey business." This seems to satisfy her and after returning the nose touch, she turns back to the kitchen. Goodness knows what questions I'm going to have to answer when I come back downstairs. This was why I was sneaking around in the first place, so I wouldn’t rouse suspicious with a brief absence.  Oh, well. Finally, I race into my old bedroom and close the door.   Instantly, I flip open the phone.  My heart seems to beat a little faster as I bring the phone to my ear to say hello, which is, I acknowledge, absolutely ridiculous.   Why should my pulse speed up if it's just my overbearing boss? "Where have you been!?"  This is how he greets me.   It's sort of endearing the way he feels no need to identify himself, although if he's planning on doing it this way for the next eight years it might get a little old.  I'll have to find a way to train him up a little bit. "Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Josh." "Happy Thanksgiving.  Where have you been?"  He repeats just as quickly. "I said ‘happy Thanksgiving’, because, surprise! It's Thanksgiving, Josh.  You said I could have a couple days off. Remember? I'm home in Madison with my family.  In fact, you drove me to the airport at lunch yesterday." "Yes, but I need you available.  That's why I got you the phone. If you're going to be my assistant in the White House I need to be able to reach you at all times." I ignore this; I've gotten really good in the last six months about figuring out what I can ignore and what I can't with him.  Besides, he's exaggerating, I'm sure.   There's no way he can expect to be able to reach me 24/7, even once we're working in the West Wing… right? "Where are you?"  Just like with Grandma, he's easily distracted by a change of subject. "The Jersey Turnpike." "What do you mean you're on the Jersey Turnpike? You're supposed to be at your mom's by now. I wrote you an itinerary."   "I know." "Joooosh."  There's a bit of admonishment in my tone.   It's just that this is the first Thanksgiving since his dad died and I promised his mom that he would be there.   "I'll be there in an hour."  I glance at my watch and see that it will put him there at three o'clock.  That's not bad; I know Judith wasn't planning on dinner until four.   "What happened?" “The meeting with Leo this morning over Cabinet appointments went a little long. He's worried that there's no way around going with Hutchinson for Defense, and that's not-" "But you weren't supposed to meet at all this morning.   The Governor… I mean, the President-" "The President-elect. Officially, he's not the President until January." "Right.  I thought President-elect Bartlet wasn't going to work on Thanksgiving." "He's not working, but Leo is. And he decided we needed to meet quickly, since I won't be back until Friday evening, but 'quickly' turned into three hours. However, I was only two hours late leaving D.C."  He says this as if he's quite proud of himself. "I guess that's not too bad," I concede not wanting to burst his bubble. A second later I ask, admittedly a bit more shyly, "Did you remember the pie?"   "What pie?" "JOSH!"  That wasn't shy.  Actually, it was a little loud; I need to be quieter so that no one downstairs hears me. "What?" he teases.  Josh likes to tease me; I learned that very early on. "Where did you leave the delicious pecan pie that I spent all Tuesday night making?" "I have the pie, Donna." "You do?" "Yes." "You're sure?" "Am I sure? As if I don't know whether there's a pie in the car or not," he asks, sounding affronted.  You know, he has a lot of nerve feigning offense when he pretended to forget the pie.   "You just said, 'what pie'!?"   "It's right next to me, wrapped in foil and sitting in a cooler. I'm taking good care of the pie; in fact I have the cooler seat-belted into the passenger seat to make sure it completes the journey to Connecticut safely." "Good."  I'd like to believe him about the seat-belting, but I'm not sure that I do.  But he should take care of it; I worked hard on that pie. It's Grandma's recipe and I’d never attempted to make it before.  All of a sudden panic hits me. How do I know it's delicious?  What if the pie is no good? What if I'm a total failure when it comes to pecans!? What if the pecan-to-filling ratio is completely out of whack!? What would Josh and his mother think of me then!?   "Throw the pie out the window." "Huh?"  He asks, sounding bewildered. "The pie, it's probably no good. I think I used too many pecans, so I think you should just chuck it out the window." "I'm not throwing the pie out the window; I like a lot of pecans in my pie.  Besides I'm pretty sure throwing a whole pie out the window of a moving car is illegal in most states."  There's humor in his voice. "What's wrong with you?" "Pie insecurity.  Soon after you merge onto I-95, at the exit there's a gas station where you'll need to get gas. I think you should throw the pie in the trash."  I know the route he's taking; I made his itinerary, remember?  Not that he needed it to get home. But I like to be thorough.  And I figured with an itinerary, there'd be a better chance of him actually making it home. "I will not. I've been taking care of this pie for a day and a half.  That's too much investment to throw away just because you're suffering from some pie-insecurity." "But what if it's awful?  Your mother will think I'm useless." "I can pretty much assure you my mother is not going to think you're useless.  Even if the pie sucks." "You think the pie is going to suck? What, did you already have a piece?  You're not supposed to eat it without your mom."  He's right, his mom likes me. She's not going to stop because I made a bad pie.  I'm over the pie insecurity and now it's just fun to mess with him a little. "No… uh… of course not… you just said that… I don't think… Donna…"  He sounds a bit exasperated as he says my name there at the end. "What?" There's dead air for a few long moments, before he says, "Thank you for talking to my mom when she calls. I haven't had much time and she's been a little lonely since, you know… and I might not say it, but I want you to know I do appreciate it." That's not at all what I expected, and I feel heat rise behind my eyes.  "I like your mom." "And it was very sweet of you to make me a pie."  Now he's recovered and smirking; I can tell just by the voice.  Josh smirks a lot, that's another thing I am going to cure him of.  Bank on it. "I didn't make it for you; I made it for your mother." That makes him laugh out loud into the phone.  "Good to know where I stand.  Then it was sweet of you to make my mother a pie." "It's for you, too," I concede with a quiet voice. "How's it going, Little Turkey?"  Obviously, it wasn't Josh that said that.  And obviously, I'm no longer alone, which startles me into whipping around from where I'm lounging. The sudden movement, in turn, causes me to fall off the bed and I land on the floor with a thud. Thank goodness there's still 70's shag carpet in here to break my fall.  My mom has vowed to re-carpet next year. "What are you doing on the floor?  What kind of government business is done on the floor?"  Grandma Moss walks fully into my room and comes to stand right over me.  Maybe letting her think I was on covert government business wasn't a good idea after all. "Grandma-" I start to protest before she interrupts me. "Call me Queen of the Kitchen." "Who is that?"  Josh asks in my ear. "My Grandma," I whisper, before turning my attention to Grandma as I push myself into a sitting position and rub my rump where I fell.  "I'm not quite done with the operation, Grand- I mean Queen of the Kitchen. Can you-" "Is that Big Turkey?" "What?" "On the phone.  Is Little Turkey talking to Big Turkey?" "What is she talking about?  Who's Big Turkey?"  That's Josh in my ear. I try and stifle the laugh that's tickling my throat. It's hard, because he really is a big turkey; at the time I didn't realize how fitting that moniker was. "Yes, I'm talking to Big Turkey.  And I need another minute, so if you could go downstairs and cover me for a little longer it would be helpful to the… uh… mission." She touches her index finger to her nose, again, and thankfully closes the door behind her as she leaves. "Who is Big Turkey?" "You?"   "What?!"  He sort of screeches it, and the panicked sound makes me smile.  But lots of things he does make me smile.  But it's not going to be a problem; it's not like I have a crush on him or anything. I just find him amusing.  "Why?" he whines.  That's sort of cute, too. I wonder if after we’re in the West Wing I'll get tired of his cute whine. "Because I'm Little Turkey." I chew my lower lip uncertainly as I wait for his response, because it just occurs to me that the choice of our code names, make us sound… very connected. "Why does that make me Big Turkey?" See, I told you. "Grandma says that's just the way it works in the covert- government-operations game… or something. I think you're going to have to get used to it once we’re in the White House."  He doesn't know that Grandma is crazy. "Is this a Midwest thing?" "No, I think it's an X-Files thing. Whatever it is, we have new code names." "Mulder and Scully don't have code names on the X- Files." "You watch?"  I ask incredulously.  How would he possibly have time for that? I don't have time for that.   He should have less time than I do.  He's the big powerful guy, I'm the assistant. "Big Turkey is not my new code name."  He ignores my question and speaks emphatically.  His voice sort of raises an octave by the end of the sentence, though. "If the US government says your name is Big Turkey, then that's the way it's going to be." "No way, if the US government gives me a code name it should be Viper or Falcon, something fierce and predatory.  Like me." I snort in response. Is it a bad idea to snort at your new boss when he displays a bit of ego?  "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you." He ignores the dig.  "Why do you need code names to answer your phone?" "It so happens that the fact that we won the election and I’m going to be working in the White House makes me something of the family celebrity this year. I was hoping it was going to be my sister Nikki, since she's pregnant, but it's her second so it's not as novel as me knowing the President… elect." "I see." "Yeah, so it was sort of hard for me to get away and answer the phone.  People kept grabbing me and starting conversations." "But you did get away." "After enlisting Grandma's help with a covert operation." "Ahhh…. it all comes together.  Can I call you Little Turkey around the office?"  Even though I can't see him, I can see his dimples. I just know that they're showing by the tone of his voice.  While I do NOT have a crush on my boss, I might have a crush on his dimples. "Only if you want me to call you Big Turkey." "Okay, that's a no." "I didn't think so." I laugh, before turning serious. "Thanks for giving me yesterday afternoon off so I could come home."   "You've earned it.  It's been a long… year." "They why did I have to talk you into it?" I had to badger him every day since election in order to get the okay. If he thinks I'm doing that every time I need to take a day off, he's got another thing coming. "You're coming back, right?"  That was out of the blue. Why on earth would he think I wouldn't come back? And Josh sounds quite anxious when he says it.  The same way he sounded right before election when he was asking for polling numbers from the swing states. "What are you talking about?" "Are there any guests for your Madison Thanksgiving… besides family?" Huh? "Uh… well the Schlanskys from next door, and my brother-in-law Kevin's parents are here and my cousin Carrie's boyfriend." "That's it?" "Yeah, why?" He's silent and then it hits me. Dr. Freeride.  He thinks Dr. Freeride might have come to Thanksgiving.  I feel my chest tighten and a wave of embarrassment hits me as I think of the mistake I made going back to him.  We don't talk about it, but I know Josh isn't entirely over the fact that I left before.   "I'm coming back, Josh.  I fly home Saturday." "Oh… good, because we have a lot of work to do. We still have a lot of vetting and… other important stuff." "Oh."  Sure, work. "Is that what was so urgent?" "What are you talking about?" Is he joking?  "You called me four times in half an hour and then demanded to know where I'd been when I finally answered. I think that denotes urgency." He's quite for a few seconds before answering.  "Oh… well… I just wanted to say… Happy Thanksgiving." I'm smiling like an idiot.  He had no reason to call me.   My boss, I remind myself and the smile fades a little. "Oh." "I guess I should let you go back to your family." "You know, later on tonight if Big Turkey wanted to call Little Turkey again that would be… okay." "Yeah?"  His voice is suddenly brighter.  I know he wants to see his mom, but I also know it's hard for him to face the holiday in the house without his Dad. "Yeah, you know so Big Turkey can report on how the pie was." "Okay.  Maybe I'll do that." "Good, then I'll talk to you later. Happy Thanksgiving, Big Turkey." He chuckles into my ear, before laughing, "Happy Thanksgiving, Little… Turkey."  I hang up the phone and hold it to my chest a moment before sighing and pushing myself off the floor. Time to go back and face all the questions about my new job and boss, a job, and boss, I think I'm really going to like. The End. 

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