L I T T L E T U R K E Y

Author: Liza C. Title: Little Turkey You should read Donna's POV of this story first: Big Turkey The New Jersey turnpike is long.  And boring.  Maybe that's because I've been on it for nearly 100 miles, or maybe because it's silent in the car. The radio station I was listening to—classic rock by the way-- went fuzzy about 15 miles ago and at the moment I was trying to negotiate the car back onto the highway and fumbling with my Big Gulp so I didn't bother to try and tune in a new station.  I just flipped it off. You might think after the last few hectic months I would enjoy the solitude of the four and a half hour drive home.  You'd be wrong, because I'm going home for the first time since my dad's funeral and the less I think about it the better. Looking for something to distract me, I glance to the passenger seat and instantly feel myself smile. The smile is because the passenger seat contains a cooler and an itinerary. Now you might ask why I need an itinerary to drive from Washington D.C. to my boyhood home in Westport, Connecticut.  I don't. But Donna made me one and she was so excited about it that I really have no choice but to use it, even though I made an unscheduled stop for a Big Gulp 15 miles ago.  Please don't tell her. Honestly, I love how efficient and organized she is.  I have no idea how I got so fortunate that my office was the one she walked into in New Hampshire last February.  This being Thanksgiving, perhaps it's an appropriate time for me to say that I'm thankful she did. She's at home in Madison today.  Just the thought of it causes my gut to twist.  Not that I don't want her to see her family. I do, it's just that there are other things in Madison.  Things that could distract her, things that might take her away from me. Again. Maybe I should just call her.  There's no harm in calling one's assistant on Thanksgiving, is there?  Wish her a happy turkey day and at the same time make she she's not planning to run back to any free-riding doctors. Yes, that's what I'll do. For peace of mind, and to remind her of all the things she has to come back to in D.C.     Namely, me… and of course her future job in the White House.  I reach in my pants pocket and pull out my phone and hit the speed dial.  It's ringing… and ringing… and ringing. "Hello, this is Donna Moss please leave-" Feeling uneasy, I flip the phone closed.  She's not answering. Does that mean she was not able to get to it?  But why would that be, it's just Thanksgiving.  It's not like she's somewhere in the jungles of South Africa and she can't get cell service… she's in Wisconsin. And she has no reason to turn it off; in fact she's not supposed to turn it off.  She's supposed to be available, in case of… governmental crisis.   Unless she turned it off so she wouldn't be disturbed because she's sequestered with her ex-boyfriend negotiating a reunion. I feel a little sick to my stomach. I may not know many things, but I do know this line of thought is going nowhere fast.  Maybe they're just eating now, and that's why she's not answering.  It would be rude to answer the phone during dinner.  I set my phone down next to the passenger seat and decide to wait and try back in thirty minutes. The wait is interminable and I only make it ten minutes before I'm trying her again.  And she still doesn't answer on the second time.  Or the third.  When she finally answers on the fourth, she sounds breathless when she says hello.  Why is she out of breath?  What could she be doing that would cause that?  I don't like the answer that first springs to mind. "Where have you been!?" "Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Josh."  She sounds more normal now, not like she's come from doing something… that she shouldn't be doing.  That's good. "Happy Thanksgiving.  Where have you been?"  It suddenly occurs to me that I sound kind of desperate.   That might not be good. "I said ‘happy Thanksgiving’, because, surprise! It's Thanksgiving.  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." Like I could forget. "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."  Keep it to the professional.  Remind her of everything she has to come back to in DC. "Where are you?"  She thinks she's being sly and fooling me, but she's not.  I know when someone is changing the subject on me. And I let her. "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."  I glance over to the itinerary on the seat and smile again.  For some reason I just love that she took the time to make me an entirely unnecessary itinerary. "Joooosh."  The way she says my name makes me feel guilty.  I know that according to the itinerary I was supposed to be at my mom's earlier and I know why. It's not like I was purposely dragging my feet, I had to work.  At the same time it's nice that she cares.  I'm not sure why this 25 year old-- who is, quite frankly, a bombshell-- cares so much, but I'm really glad she does. I glance at my watch and lie. "I'll be there in an hour."   It'll be more like an hour and a quarter, but still it's not that bad.  I've called my mom and she knows when to expect me. "What happened?" There's genuine interest in her voice.  One of the things I love about Donna… I mean like about Donna… is that she always wants to know more. She wants to learn.  I've never thought of myself as a teacher, but with her, it comes easy. “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."  I might have teased her a bit when she gave me the itinerary, but I still want her to know that I used it.   Sort of. "I guess that's not too bad.  Did you remember the pie?"   If I'm not mistaken she sounded almost bashful there.   Between you and me, bashful is an adorable color on her.  Her cheeks flush slightly and she has trouble meeting your eye.  Also she's easy to tease when she's feeling bashful. I glance over at the cooler in the passenger seat and smile broadly.  "What pie?" "JOSH!"  Now that wasn't bashful, that was hollering.  I like it when she hollers at me.  If I didn't I wouldn't spend half my time provoking her. "What?"  I ask innocently.  The innocence is designed to drive her crazy.  I freely admit it, at least to you, not to her. "Where did you leave the delicious pecan pie that I spent all Tuesday night making!?" "I have the pie, Donna."  I figure I should cut her some slack; she did make me dessert after all. "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." "You just said, 'what pie'!?"  She's a little aggravated. She's also cute when she's aggravated.  I wonder if all her cuteness is going to be distracting once we're in the West Wing.  I guess the ship has sailed on that since I've already offered her the job, some how we'll just have to find a way to work around the me-finding-her- cute thing.    "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."  My tone is a tad sarcastic, which might lead the listener to believe that I’m joking or exaggerating about the pie being belted in.  But I'm not.  I really did seat-belt the cooler into the passenger seat.  I wanted to make sure her pie made the journey safely, but she doesn't need to know that I'm serious. "Good."  She sounds relieved until she orders a moment later, "Throw the pie out the window." "Huh?"  Why would she be worried about the safety of the pie one moment and want me to toss it the next?   Have I mentioned that Donna might be crazy?  This is not the first time that something like this has come up.   When we get to the White House I'm going to cure her of her this particular quirk.  Not that I don't like the quirk, but it might not be appropriate for the gravity that I'm sure is inherent to the West Wing. "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." That makes me chuckle.  We've only known each other for some odd six months, but even thought it's been only a relatively short time; it's also been intense, so I'm no longer surprised by the craziness. "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. 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."  Ha! Little does she know about my Big Gulp stop and the fact that I already got gas.   "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 feel something tighten in my chest, I don't know what it is, but I do know that I like that she's worried about what my mother thinks.  But it's also unsettling.  I'm pretty sure my assistant shouldn’t make anything… tighten.  I'll get this under control by January. I will! "I can pretty much assure you my mother is not going to think you're useless.  Even if the pie sucks."  My mom adores her.  She's said… we'll let's just say that I've had to set my mom straight about Donna and me.   "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."   "No… uh… of course not… you just said that… I don't think…" What does she want from me?  There's a reason that I'm almost 40 and still single.  Women baffle me. So I resort to whining, "Donna…"   "What?" She sounds so innocent, which I know is a put on, but I can't be annoyed at her for long.  She's not like other women I've known.  She's pretty amazing and she's been so incredible to my mom.  Most assistants would have just answered the phone and taken the message when she called in the months after… well after… but not Donna.  No Donna talks to her every time and even, occasionally, initiates the call.  I haven't been as attentive to my mother as I should have while we were knee-deep in the election, but Donna was. I owe her. An heart-felt sentiments aren't my speciality, I take a deep-breath before beginning. "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." "I like your mom." Uh oh.  She sounds a little… emotional.  I can't handle emotional and Donna.  Better lighten things up stat. "And it was very sweet of you to make me a pie," I say with a bit of smug in my tone.    "I didn't make it for you; I made it for your mother."   See.  She recovers like a pro and it makes me chuckle. "Good to know where I stand.  Then it was sweet of you to make my mother a pie." "It's for you, too."  I knew it. She made me pie.  This shouldn't make me so happy. But it does. I'm about to say something injected with ego, when I hear someone that doesn't sound like Donna. Hmm… what do you suppose a little turkey is?  Is that different than the turkey you make at Thanksgiving? Now it sounds like Donna might be involved in a scuffle.   Should I be concerned?  Instantly, I look for where the next exit might be in case she needs… something.  Yeah, I'm not sure what I can do from an exit on the Jersey Turnpike, but it's Donna. "What are you doing on the floor?  What kind of government business is done on the floor?" I hear someone through Donna's phone.  And I'm no longer concerned for her safety. The owner of the voice doesn't sound dangerous. "Grandma-" That was Donna.  The owner of the voice is identified.  I bet Donna's Grandma is really sweet, like her. "Call me Queen of the Kitchen," the voice demands. Or a tyrant.  Maybe it's not Donna's, surely sweet, Grandma. "Who is that?" I finally ask. "My Grandma," she whispers to me.  Well I guess it is Grandma.  Then I hear her say, "I'm not quite done with the operation, Grand- I mean Queen of the Kitchen. Can you-" "Is that Big Turkey?"  What? "What?" See, Donna just said that.  She and I think alike. "On the phone.  Is Little Turkey talking to Big Turkey?" What in the heck is the tyrant talking about? "What is she talking about?  Who's Big Turkey?" I ask with real curiosity. When she speaks, at first I'm not sure if she's talking to me or the tyrant. "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."  Oh… the tyrant. "Who is Big Turkey?" I ask again, and to tell you the truth I'm afraid I already know. "You?" Her answer comes out a bit like a question. "What?!"  I think I just screeched right there. But it's warranted! Why is Donna calling me Big Turkey to her family?  That is not at all flattering, or conducive, to them liking me.  What kind of stories is she telling them?  I pictured that she'd describe me to them… I don't know… in terms that are powerful, masculine and impressive.  Big Turkey is not powerful, impressive or even particularly masculine.  "Why?" "Because I'm Little Turkey." Hmm… she's Little Turkey and I’m Big Turkey… interesting, I suddenly don't mind the name as much, not that I’m going to tell her that. "Why does that make me Big Turkey?" "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."  I think Donna's Grandma might be crazy.  After all Donna had to get it from somewhere. "Is this a Midwest thing?" I like to get the dig in wherever I can, it's just who I am. "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."  Oops.  I wonder if I've admitted too much. "You watch?"  Yup, she sounds shocked.  But why should she be shocked that I've watched, frankly, a very popular television show?  On the other hand I fear I've just outed myself as a sci-fi geek.  That might be showing too much of my hand to Donna… I mean my assistant.    "Big Turkey is not my new code name."  Misdirecting is the key in these situations.  I'm quite good at it. "If the US government says your name is Big Turkey, then that's the way it's going to be." Oh hell no.  I'm going to be very powerful in that US government when January rolls around.  Surely, I'll be able to pick my own code name… wouldn’t you think?   "No way, if the US government gives me a code name it should be Viper or Falcon, something fierce and predatory.  Like me." "I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you." She says with a snort. Can you believe she just snorted at me?  Her boss? "Why do you need code names to answer your phone?"   But as you can see, I don't call her on the snorting.  She really has no problem telling me what she thinks. I have a feeling I'm not going to get away with much with her.   It confuses me a bit that I never wondered about how much I could get away with when it came to my last assistant Janet.  And I also never thought that any of the things that Janet did were cute.  But Janet wasn't cute. And Donna is.  That's what makes it normal and okay… I think. "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." I'd never admit it, but I'm a little bit jealous of Donna's large family.  It seems… nice. "Yeah, so it was sort of hard for me to get away and answer the phone.  People kept grabbing me and starting conversations."  I guess that makes sense. It tickles me to think of Donna as the family celebrity.     "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?"  I'm smirking, because she is a bit of a little turkey.  It's actually an excellent nickname for her. "Only if you want me to call you Big Turkey."  And she's got me there. "Okay, that's a no." "I didn't think so." She laughs, 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."  She really has earned it.  I could never have imagined how much help she would be or how much I would need her.   "They why did I have to talk you into it?"  I feel the same anxiety I felt when she first began asking about going back to Madison for the holiday, start to rise in my chest. "You're coming back, right?"  It's out of my mouth before I can stop it. "What are you talking about?"  She sounds genuinely confused. I swallow hard and feel my throat go dry. "Are there any guests for your Madison Thanksgiving… besides family?"   Why did I ask that?  It's none of my business.  But some part of me just has to know. "Uh…" she starts off stuttering and I feel my stomach knot.  "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?" Relief floods over me.  I don't examine very closely why I should care this much.  Other than I didn't like it when she left before.  It's true I'd only known her six weeks, but it effected me… maybe more than it should have. "I'm coming back, Josh.  I fly home Saturday," she insists urgently.  Which leads me to believe that my questions might have been a bit much; maybe I should dial back a little. "Oh… good, because we have a lot of work to do. We still have a lot of vetting and… other important stuff."  Do you think she bought that? "Oh. Is that what was so urgent?"   Urgent?  "What are you talking about?" "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."   Oh, put like that it does sound like I needed her urgently. Did I go overboard?  I can't really tell her that I thought she was going to run off with her ex-boyfriend and leave me again. So instead I fumble, "Oh… well… I just wanted to say… Happy Thanksgiving."  It's not a lie.  I did want to talk to her and wish her a happy holiday. Oh." "I guess I should let you go back to your family." To my own ears, my voice sounds wistful. I guess I wish she was coming to Thanksgiving with me and my mom.  I shake off the thought as quickly as it crosses my mind. That's not appropriate.  I hope appropriateness doesn't become an issue when we're working together.   Campaigns are a bit looser than the White House and we may have to amend our behavior once we're there.   "You know, later on tonight if Big Turkey wanted to call Little Turkey again that would be… okay." "Yeah?"  That pleases me more than it should.  This particular Thanksgiving and going home is… let's just say not easy.  Talking to Donna makes it better. Apparently, for both me and my mom. "Yeah, you know so Big Turkey can report on how the pie was." "Okay."  I smile over at the cooler once again. I still can't believe she made me a pie.  I don't think anyone's ever made me a pie before.  Besides my mom, of course.  "Maybe I'll do that." "Good, then I'll talk to you later. Happy Thanksgiving, Big Turkey."  That makes me laugh.  I'm swearing right here and right now that she's the only person on earth who could get away with calling me that.  Well, maybe her crazy, tyrant of a Grandma could as well.  Since she already kind of did. "Happy Thanksgiving, Little… Turkey."  I flip close my phone a moment later and grip it in my hand as I steer the car with my wrist.  I'm pretty sure I'm grinning like an idiot.  How did I get this lucky?  She's a great assistant.  And an even better friend. The End.

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