Josh Lyman’s Apartment
Spring 2005
3pm Wednesday
He’d been home for ten minutes and would be leaving again in less than 24 hours. There was precious little time to do laundry, sort the mail, pay bills and sleep. He’d missed both breakfast and lunch that morning. Now he was waiting, rather impatiently, for the pizza to arrive.
He flipped through the cumbersome pile of mail that his neighbor, Mrs. Austen, had stacked on his kitchen counter while he’d been on the road. She was a sweet lady. She’d put a six pack of beer in the fridge for him. She had told him before he left the previous week that she was doing this because she thought that, “young Congressman Santos was the bees knees.” He remembered her old lady giggle when she’d said that. She was a bit eccentric, but nice. Okay, the woman had bluish hair. Seriously, she had blue hair. Well, okay, it was a silvery-blue color.
He toed off his shoes, continuing to sort. He made a separate pile for the bills from the rest: credit card offers, a Yale Law alumni newsletter, a copy of his Economist magazine and more take-out coupons then he’d use in the next six months. The rhythmic sorting stopped when he came across four plain 8 ½ x 11 manila envelopes.
“What the…?”
Each envelope had a different postmark but no return address: Louisville, Kentucky; Minneapolis, Minnesota; St. Louis, Missouri; and Santa Monica, California.
They all felt about the same weight. Each had the same number of boring flag stamps affixed in the upper right corner. Each envelope was addressed by hand and it appeared the same hand had addressed each envelope. Upon further inspection he noticed a small number printed above the rows of stamps. The number corresponded with the date on the postmark. The envelope with a small “1” written above the row stamps had the oldest postmark.
He opened the first one, from Santa Monica, California. A single sheet of heavy paper, smooth and uncreased, slid out as he emptied the envelope.
No letterhead or graphics, only printed text met his curious eye.
At the top of the page the following words were typed in a plain font:
…You can cry a million tears…
…You can wait a million years…
…If you think that time will change your ways…
…Don‘t wait too long…
It seems like yesterday you watched him give his first inaugural address. Now he’s already planned his presidential library. For eight years your life revolved around him. Before you go down that road again, ask yourself, have you forgotten your own life?
Take a deep breath and make sure your cell phone is charged. You’ll need to make a few calls. You are a smart man, Mr. Lyman. By the end of this journey perhaps your brain may just recognize what your heart’s known all along.
Good luck.
Your story started where all good stories begin: the road. Hitting the road is part of the American Dream. One sets out to start over, to begin anew. Your story is no different. She hit the road, and, as luck would have it, she found her way to you. You’ve been traveling a road of your own, perhaps soon, maybe around the next corner you will find your way back to her.
Now you know the Mother Road brought the nation’s poor and huddled masses to gaze at the sun setting on my shores. Yet for all the suffering and sadness endured along the long long road, many found new life and a chance for bounty.
You must find the Mother Road and follow the clues. Don’t wait too long, she’s waited a long time.
Josh turned the letter over but the reverse side was blank. He checked the envelope. Nothing remained inside.
“The Mother Road?”
“California postmark…Mother Road…poor and huddled masses…Route 66?” Josh ticked off the clues aloud until he came to what he thought was a viable conclusion.
Route 66? What’s the deal with that? He turned on his laptop and pulled up Google. What did people do before the Internet?
He typed in Mother Road and Santa Monica. He hit upon a number of historical sites about the lore and significance of U.S. Route 66. He went with the first one he found. It was a site promoting a museum to the Road and the era in American history. At the top of the page he located a phone number.
“What the hell am I doing?” he wondered aloud as the phone rang.
“Route 66 Historical Society, this is Gertrude, can I help you?”
“Yes, Gertrude is it? I, uh, received a letter from someone in Santa Monica who told me to find the woman who may know something about the Mother Road,” the words sort of tumbled out. He felt more than a little foolish.
“Ok. Right, well sir, I’m not sure what you are asking of me. Do you want me to send you historical information about Route 66?” Gertrude sounded confused.
“No. I don’t know. I’m here in Washington and I just got a letter telling me to find the woman who is on the path of the Mother Road,” he stumbled over his words again. “So, I, uh, did a search on Google and this is where it led me.” This sucked. He felt really stupid.
“Well, um, can you hold on a second? I’ll get my manager. Maybe she can help you.” Gertrude sighed and soon Josh heard the strains of “Get Your Kicks on Route 66” in fabulous Muzak style.
“Hi!” the line picked up again. “I’m Monica Bedford. Gertrude tells me you are looking for the woman who knows the Mother Road?”
“I, uh, yeah, I guess.” Josh was amazed he had a job in politics, the way he was communicating would make every high school speech teacher tear her hair out in frustration.
“Can I get your name?”
“My name?”
“Yes,” Monica sounded like she might be one of those high school teachers. She just had that voice.
“Uh, Josh, Josh Lyman.”
“The Josh Lyman?” She sounded impressed.
“Maybe, I guess it depends. Can you help me Monica?”
“Actually, yes I can.” He could hear attempt to stifle a laugh.
“You can?” The amazement dripped from his voice.
“Listen carefully Mr. Lyman, I’ve been instructed to say this only once. Are you listening?”
“Really!? Ok. Yeah, I mean yes.” He took a deep breath as the confusion and nervous energy bounced around in his chest.
“For years Route 66 was the hope of the future.” Her voice took on a warm and mellow quality. “Millions of Americans left their old lives behind to find a new start in California. To some it seems as though you’ve been waiting for the signs to point you in the direction of your own Mother Road. If you pay attention, you will see that every sign you’d need you’ve already seen.”
“Excuse me? I don’t understand,” Josh’s voice grew impatient.
“When you close your eyes and dream about your future, who do you see next to you?”
“What?”
“The Mother Road is long, Mr. Lyman, but bounty and new life awaits you at the end. She awaits you. Do you understand?”
“Um, maybe. I don’t know.”
“Think about it,” Monica’s voice was calming. His nerves were jumpy and his brain felt like it was operating at half capacity. “You’ve got no reason to stay in the Dust Bowl of drought that has been your personal life. You’ll find her waiting for you, if you just head west.
“Josh?”
“Yes?”
“All you have to do is head west.”
“What?”
“And open the next letter.”
Josh heard a click as Monica disconnected the call.
This was turning out to be a very weird day.
Obviously someone was trying to tell him something. It wasn’t politics. He would have recognized a political maneuver easily. This was something altogether different. This was personal.
He pulled out a legal pad and jotted down what Monica told him: Mother Road, new bountiful life, Dust Bowl personal life, she’s waiting, go out west. Who is she?
“I’m supposed to find ‘her’ out west? Who’s out west? What’s out west?” He tried talking himself through the hints out loud.
What the hell was going on?
He picked up the second envelope and tapped it against his jean-clad thigh. It was postmarked from St. Louis.
He held it up to the light. He couldn’t see through it. He shook it. It was silent.
The rip of the paper broke the silence of his apartment.
This letter started as the first had, with a four line poem at the top:
…When your morning turns to night…
…Who’ll be loving you by candlelight?…
…If you think time will change your ways…
…Don’t wait too long…
The Road stretches out ahead of you. You know who waits at the end. You’ve seen the light but you have not acted. Perhaps you just need a little more light. For in the darkness of ages past, lovers found their way to each other by a golden glow.
The Arch rises high into the sky, arcing away from the earth. Yet, it returns to its home, very close to where it started.
The two of you are apart now, but in time, like the arch, you will return to your home. You’ve never been very far from where you started Josh. To be honest, the two of you have never been far from where you started.
Find the soft light that glows under the Arch. It’s your gateway to the west, where she awaits.
Josh stared at the second letter, his brain working hard to solve the riddle. He scanned the letter again looking for keywords. Arch. Glowing lights. Gateway. West.
Turning back to his laptop he Googled all his keywords. He got a hit immediately: Gateway Arch Candle Company. He scrolled down the page until he found a contact number.
He took a few deep breaths while he waited for someone to pick up the line.
“Gateway Candles, this is Nadine.”
“Hello, this is Josh Lyman. I got a message to contact someone, I think, at your store,” his words were met with silence on the other end of the line.
“Hello?” He ventured hesitantly.
“Wow,” Nadine’s voice sounded a little surprised. “Is this the Josh Lyman who used to be Deputy Chief of Staff?”
Nadine sounded impressed. Josh didn’t know what to think.
“Um, well. Yes.”
“I’ve heard a lot about you. Now, what can I do to help?” Her voice was sweet and perky. She sounded like a candle shop owner, or a florist. Someone who sells things; someone who make people happy.
“Well, see, this is going to sound odd, but I received a letter in the mail.” He hoped he’d get more from this call than the call to California.
“And you went online and found your way here.” She was smiling, he could tell.
“That’s what happened. Now, Nadine, I’m hoping you can explain something to me.” He tried turning on the charm.
“Actually, Mr. Lyman, I don’t have much time, but I do need to tell you something. Are you listening?”
Candle-making hectic? How did this woman not have much time?
He readied his pen again. “Yes,” he said.
“She came to you from the Road and now you’re making your way to her.” Her voice relaxed and deepened.
“Who?!” Josh interrupted.
He heard Nadine snicker.
“Now, I’m not supposed to say this, Mr. Lyman,” her voice getting serious, “But you know darn well who ‘she’ is. If you don’t, it’s just a sign you’ve been denying yourself too long the pleasure of having a life with the woman you spent nearly all your time with for eight years.”
“Donna? Would she do this? Did she do this?” Josh’s voice echoed off the kitchen tile.
“Josh, hey, stop now, I have to tell you what I’m supposed to tell you and then be done. I’ve already gone too far with the chitchat. Listen up.
“The Mother Road will lead you to her but then what? You need to carve out a space for yourselves. No politics. No mind games. No wistful glances at closed doors.”
Josh had no time to press Nadine for answers before he heard the click of the line disconnecting.
Standing in his kitchen Josh now felt slightly less confused. However, he also felt significantly more agitated. He hit redial on his phone.
“Gateway Candles, this is Nadine.”
“Nadine! Don’t hang up! I,” his voice pressed her for patience.
“Don’t wreck the fun of the game Josh! Go! Take action! Stop waiting for the lights to be green. Get your ass in gear and get to the next letter! Sheesh!”
With a throaty laugh she hung up on him.
He snapped his cell phone and started pacing the room.
“This is about Donna? Did Donna do this? She has time to do this?! If not Donna, who would go to all this trouble?”
His reverie was broken by a knock at the door.
Mrs. Austen smiled at him as he opened the door.
“Hi Mrs. Austen. Thanks for picking up my mail and for the beer.”
“Oh that’s nice sweetie. I brought you the kind you said you liked. I bought myself some too, but you know, I didn’t like it. Not enough oomph. I brought the other four bottles for you,” she wandered into his apartment, passing the remaining four bottles of beer to him.
“I thought you said you didn’t like the beer. It was a six-pack right?”
“Oh, that. I had to make sure I didn’t like it. I drank two.”
Josh smiled.
“You just had to make sure?” Josh watched her fidget with the buttons on her sweater.
“Something like that. You know, you live alone too much. You should bring a nice girl here, liven up the place a bit.”
“You think so?” Josh was amused by how Mrs. Austen sort of shuffled about his place, touching picture frames delicately.
“Heavens, yes! You had that one woman here a long time ago but she listened to the radio too loud and she was, well, how can I say this…”
“Odd?”
“No. She was fishy. Like a fish, she was kinda slippery looking. Was she slippery?”
Josh didn’t know how to answer.
“You need a non-fishy woman in your life, Mr. Josh. You should do something. You’re not getting any younger you know.”
“Well, I’m pretty busy getting your Congressman Santos elected,” Josh chided her.
“You say that, and I know what you are saying. But I also know that’s a crock of phooey,” she wagged her finger at him. “Congressman Santos, as busy as he is, has time for a wife and two nice looking children. Now, I’m not saying any old woman will do for you, oh heavens no, but don’t you think it’s time?”
“You’re probably right, Mrs. Austen.”
She looked at him like he might be trying to pull a politician’s prank. She apparently thought better of the whole thing and made her way to the door and out into the hallway.
“Damn straight I’m right,” she mumbled as she made her way down the hall toward her door.
“Thank you for dropping off my mail and you know, for the beer.” Josh smiled at her as she waved back at him.
“You can thank me by getting Congressman Santos elected and getting yourself a nice girl.” She didn’t stop to say anymore, she turned and kept her slow pace back toward her own door.
Josh closed the door and looked around his empty apartment. The furniture needed dusting. The place felt kind of like a ghost town. Was Donna going to be the one to give this place life again?
The third letter burned a hole in his imagination. Shaking his head, he did his best to loosen the disoriented feeling he’d had since he’d opened the first letter. He had work, real work, to do. Congressman Santos was not going to get elected if his campaign manager spent all his time playing the gumshoe detective.
Thoughts of campaigning drifted away the closer he got to the envelope on the kitchen counter. He sort of sauntered back to it and lifted it up. He shook it. He listened to it. It felt just like the first two. Sighing, he tapped the corner against his forehead.
“Oh to be Karnac right now,” he mumbled and opened the envelope from Minneapolis.
Once again, the top of the letter had more of the same typed neatly across the top:
…Baby you and I got a lot to learn…
…Don’t want to waste another day…
…Maybe you got to lose it all…
…Before you find your way…
In the land of ten thousand lakes there’s only one place wayward goddesses can go to find a place to rest, to learn about the truth inside. Find her and she will ease your mind. Terese awaits your call.
The letter ended more abruptly than the first two. Four lines of the poem and two lines of the clue. That was it?
“Ten thousand lakes?” Josh wondered aloud.
The letter was postmarked from Minnesota, the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes.
He went back to Google and typed in wayward goddesses and Minneapolis and hoped for the best.
He got a hit.
“St. Terese’s Home for Wayward Goddesses?” he mumbled as he read the link to the webpage Google returned. “What the hell is it?”
He clicked the link and found he’d entered a webpage for a salon/spa retreat in Minneapolis. Scrolling past the generalities he searched out the only thing he wanted: a phone number. He found it at the bottom and started dialing his cell phone.
“St. Terese’s Home for Wayward Goddesses, this is Robin, how can I help you?”
“I, uh, is Terese there?”
“Yes, she’s finishing with a client now, can I ask who is calling?”
“Uh, yeah, this is Josh Lyman.”
“Is she expecting your call?”
“Well, not exactly. I just got a message I was supposed to call her.”
“Sure, hold on.”
Josh listened to some sort of Zen-master-like new age music as he waited. Who listened to this stuff?
“Mr. Lyman?” a calm voice stopped the weird music.
“Yes, is this Terese?”
“Yes, I’m glad you called. I’ve been waiting for you.”
“You have?”
“As I understand it, I’m third, am I not, Mr. Lyman?”
“Uh, yeah. You guys know this is weird right?”
He could hear Terese’s good-natured laugh.
“I suppose. Yet, in our defense, all of us are smitten with you and just can’t imagine you without her. So, here we are.” Terese sighed like she was in the midst of a great romance novel.
“So, can I ask…” Josh started.
“No. You can’t. You can, however, listen.” Her voice smiled but brokered no opposition.
“The Road is set. You’ve got a light to guide you,” she spoke methodically. “Now, you need a place to rest your head. All these years we watched the two of you. We’ve known you were star-crossed, destined to be together. So let destiny guide you to the Sky.”
“The Sky?”
“Yes, Mr. Lyman, you’ve dreamed about her forever. Why not let your dreams meet reality? Don’t let fear bar you from acting.”
“You make no sense, you know that, right?”
“Oh, Mr. Lyman, do you know what I do?”
“You run some sort of establishment for…Well, no. I don’t know.”
“Let me make it easy for you. I run a place that gives women a respite from the hectic schedules of their lives. For a few hours, sometimes a few days, a person can come here and take a rest, start over, get a new perspective.”
Josh sighed into the phone. This got more complicated and frustrating by the minute.
“Good luck Mr. Lyman,” Terese whispered and hung up.
Josh tapped his foot impatiently on the cold tile. He had to focus his energies to try and put the clues from the first three letters together: road to California, lights to guide the way, and taking rest in the sky. He opened a beer.
Questions bounded through his mind. If Donna wasn’t behind this, who was? Why now? His eyes hit the fourth, and final, envelope. He knew he wasn’t done. All hesitation evaporated when he lifted the last manila envelope from the counter. Perhaps all the answers were inside.
…Take a chance, play your part…
…Make romance, it might break your heart…
…But if you think time will change your ways…
…Don’t wait too long…
Rumor has it you have a bit of an affinity for baseball. Now everyone knows you are a political slugger. Percentages, chances, strategy, political players, statistics, all these things click in your mind like a Swiss watch. Except her. You can’t figure out how to play the game with her now that she’s switched teams.
You took a hard curveball the day she left and you’ve been pacing outside the batter’s box ever since.
Are you afraid you’ll strike out? Afraid she’ll break your heart?
You’ll never know if you never pick up the bat and Take A Swing.
Springtime means baseball Josh. It’s time to batter up.”
You’ve been set on the Road, been given light, and a soft place to fall. All that remains is getting back in the game. You took for granted the thousands of days you shared, don’t wait to share them again.
Josh returned to Google one last time. He typed in a few keywords from the letter and found his way to a sports collectibles shop, Take A Swing, located in Louisville. He found and dialed the number.
“Take A Swing, this is Eric, can I help you?” A young man’s voice hollered over loud music in the background.
“Uh, yeah,” Josh started.
“What? I can’t hear you!” the boy’s voice hollered again.
Before Josh could start over, he heard a tussle on the other end of the line. The music disappeared and he heard a woman’s voice scold the young employee.
“Thanks for calling Take A Swing, this is Arlene, can I help you?”
“Yes, uh, this is Josh Lyman.”
“Mets fan right?”
“Yeah…Hey! Do you say things like that to everyone who calls you?” Josh’s voice betrayed the building frustration he felt.
“No, but I knew to expect your call Mr. Lyman. I assume since you’ve found your way here you were able to follow the clues well enough.”
He could hear her typing in the background.
“I suppose,” he hedged.
“You suppose?” The typing stopped. “Do you or don’t you?!” Her tone startled him. She could be in the House of Representatives, maybe even the Senate.
“I followed the clues and here I am,” Josh replied.
“I’d ask if you’d figured it all out yet, but I’m afraid I’d get some wishy washy politician’s answer. You know, the kind of answer that says absolutely nothing real and guarantees absolutely nothing useful will get done,” she sighed resignedly. She took a moment before she began again. “Now, listen up Mr. Lyman, I am only to tell you this once.”
“Okay,” Josh was afraid to say much of anything to this woman.
“You’ve been dodging your heart too long. It’s time to shine together in the sun. East will meet West and together you will share the first of many wonderful days.”
Arlene stopped talking. Silence filled the space between them.
“That’s it?” Josh’s wonderment could not be contained.
“Oh good grief. You are a dense one,” Arlene sighed and hung up the phone.
Josh felt as if his head spun more now that when he picked up that first envelope. Who did things like this? Who sits around and thinks up such complicated games? For what purpose? Was this whole thing a big ruse to get him to own up to his feelings about Donna?
His pacing, no longer confined to his kitchen, kept time as he tried talking himself through the whole last hour of confusion.
“What’s wrong with my relationship with Donna? We are serious people in serious careers! It’s not like there was anyone else I wanted going to go out with! She knew how I felt! She knew and everything was going to work itself out. What I was her boss, I mean I’m not now, but I was! I was her boss and I, well, it’s not like I could just wander up to her at her desk and ravish her right there!”
Josh’s own words stopped his tirade, and his pacing, as the images of ravishing Donna at her desk took over all logical portions of his brain.
Some moments later he snapped himself out of his reverie and continued pacing.
“She knows! Donna knows how I feel! I know it! She knows it! That’s why all these other people in our lives didn’t last! Not Mandy, not Joey, not Amy, both times. Now, Donna dated her share of gomers, some of them more dangerous than others, but same thing! None of them stayed long. Why? It’s obvious why! What’s the rush, we both know that someday it’ll work itself out.
“Won’t it?” Josh stopped pacing as the silence in the apartment surrounded him again.
Thin fingers of fear crept into Josh’s mind. What if Donna didn’t wait? What if she was tired of waiting? Josh picked up his cell and called the one person who knew the ins and outs of having a relationship with a Lyman. He called his mother.
The pacing started again as he waited for her to pick up.
“Hello?” His mother’s bright voice filled his ears.
“Hi mom, it’s me. I’ve got a question for you,” Josh’s words spilled out.
“Well, hello to you too. I’m good. Spent the morning with my friends from the club. We golfed and had lunch. So glad you asked,” his mother’s humored voice rambled on, reminding him to use his manners and perhaps inquire about how she’d been since he called last.
“No time for manners, Mom. I’ve got a serious thing here.”
He heard her sigh on the other line.
“Mom, it’s about love. I think it’s about love.” He knew that would get her attention.
“Spill it, Joshua, tell me right now.”
He couldn’t tell if she was suspicious or pleased.
“I came home and found four mysterious envelopes. I opened the first one and it told me to call California. I did. Then this woman told me that some mystery woman was waiting for me at the end of the Mother Road and that I’d known her all along.”
“What?”
“It’s crazy! So then I opened the second letter and it went on and on about arches and finding this mysterious woman back where I started. The third had me talking to some woman in Minneapolis who owns some kind of home for wayward goddesses. I just hung up with an angry woman who used way too many baseball metaphors.”
“Let me get this straight.” She sounded serious. “You received four letters in the mail and they are all connected? They sound like riddles. Are they riddles.”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“So you solve one and then it leads you to the next one?”
“Yes,” he let out a big sigh. He was glad she understood him.
“Now that’s just odd,” she laughed.
“Mom! I need help! What does all this mean?”
“Sorry dear, you have to admit, it’s pretty odd. Okay, does anything else stand out in the letters?”
“There’s some sort of poetry or something at the top of each letter. Doesn’t really fit in with the riddle thing though.”
He read her the top lines from all four letters.
“Oh Joshua, that’s a song.”
“A what? Whose song?”
“She’s an American who busked in the streets of Paris, singing for money. Her name is Madeleine something. That’s her song. It’s called ‘Don’t Wait Too Long.’”
“Ohh…” Josh’s voiced trailed off as the pieces started to lock into place.
“So someone is telling you to get off your backside and do something about Donna?
“What!?” Josh choked on a sip of a beer he’d opened.
“Joshua, how can you be surprised? You think I’m the only one who wants to see you settled down with a nice wife and maybe a few kids…” He could hear his mother smiling as she drawled.
This exact topic, what Josh liked to call the World’s Longest One-Sided Conversation About Getting A Wife and Children, was one of his mother’s favorites.
“Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to do it though. It sounds a bit like that charming French movie…oh what was it called? Oh yes! ‘Amelie,’ it was called ‘Amelie’.”
“My letters remind you of a Frenchy chick flick?” Josh queried.
“A little bit. In the film, Amelie, that’s the main character, plays all these games to help the people in her life, but she does it without their knowing it was her. It’s really a charming film. I’ll send it to you.”
“Today’s been a very weird day, Mom.” Josh sighed as he took another draw from his beer.
“Oh, Joshua, with you I’d expect no less.”
The conversation turned to the campaign and soon Josh found himself standing in his kitchen again, staring at the letters.
“Darling,” his mother’s voice warmed, “Go figure out whatever it is you need to figure out. If the time is right, which it will never be 100% right you know, do something.”
They said their good-byes and Josh found himself sitting on the couch with all four letters set out, in order, before him on the coffee table.
Was Donna sending him love riddles in the mail?
If it wasn’t her, but on her behalf, would that constitute mail fraud?
If his mother didn’t know, there’s was only one person left to call. He dialed Donna’s cell.
“Donna Moss,” her voice mumbled into the phone.
Was she asleep? Why was she sleeping? It was the middle of the afternoon.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“Josh? Is that you?” He could hear her yawn.
“Yeah. I’ve got a question for you.”
“Hmmm?”
“You see any good movies lately?”
“What?”
“I’m wondering if you have watched any good films as of late. You know, one of those girly foreign chick flicks or something.”
“What time is it?”
“It’s like 3 in the afternoon. Why are you sleeping?” he answered.
“We were up late working through some speeches and polling data. I’m just trying to grab a nap before the thing tonight.” She didn’t sound excited.
“You aren’t buried under any couch cushions or pillows are you?” He laughed.
“Does it amuse you that your candidate sat on me Josh?” She sounded tired.
“Kinda. Hey, you never answered my question.”
“Josh, I notice that you’ve got no hesitation in calling me lately. In fact, it works for me, just not when I’m trying to sleep.”
“Donna I appreciate the pep talk, but you didn’t answer my question.”
“What question again?” she mumbled.
“The foreign chick flick question,” he stated resolutely.
“No. Josh. No time to paint my toenails much less while away the hours in a movie theater.”
“Oh.”
“Why?” She sounded a little annoyed.
“Uh, my mother. She, uh, thought you’d like the movie she just saw.”
“Your mom thought of me when she was watching a movie? That’s pretty sweet of her. What movie?”
“Uh, it’s French. I think she said it was called ‘Amelie’.”
“Oh, yeah, that is a cute film,” her voice warmed as she woke to the world again.
“So you’ve seen it?!”
“Sure, a long time ago. My sister sent it to me on dvd.”
“Really,” he sounded like maybe all the pieces were falling into place.
“Yep. She was on this French kick and thought I could use some culture. I’ve watched it a time or two. Have you seen it?”
“Ah. No. Donna, do you know anyone in Santa Monica?”
“Like politics people or normal people?”
“Uh I’m not sure.”
“I don’t live in an igloo Josh, I know people all over the country now,” she paused as if she didn’t know what to say. “Josh, you are acting kinda strange. You call me in the middle of the day to ask me about a foreign film? Maybe you need a nap. Now, I’m just gong to pretend that this was all a dream. See, I’m sleeping, was sleeping. I mean I want to continue sleeping. Talk to you later?”
“Oh, yeah, sure. No problem Donna.”
He heard her yawn and stifle a laugh.
“Bye Josh.”
“Have a nice nap, Donna,” his voice betrayed the smile plastered on his face.
He scrubbed his hands through his hair after he hung up the phone. He was still smiling. She didn’t answer the Santa Monica question. Could it mean that she was the one behind the letters? He always knew Donna could manage time like no one else, but he never imagined she’d have the time to set up something as amazing as this.
Josh pondered what everything in the last hour meant, what all of it could mean in the near future. How would they work? Not work as in political work, but how would they work, as a, a couple? He’d spent years waiting, hiding his real feelings, hoping that she’d be able to see through the bravado and bluster to the man behind all of it. Now that there was a chance, a real chance, how would they…
The doorbell buzzed him from his mind puzzle. The pizza had arrived.
**********
Chapter 2