DISCLAIMER: These two belong to Aaron Sorkin. <sigh>

SUMMARY: "It's just a movie." Sequel to Jo March's
"Introduction to Cinema."

THANKS: To Jo for writing such a fabulous piece *and*
for all the other stuff. ;)


It's Just a Movie
Ryo Sen



This is absurd. It's just a movie.

I can do this. My sudden nervousness is entirely
attributable to the lunar cycle. Possibly my
astrological sign. It has nothing whatever to do with
Donna.

We can watch a movie together. We're friends. It'll
be fine. I am nervous for no reason at all. I will
simply walk out there, explain the situation, and ask
her if she'd like to watch the damn movie.

Simple.

I approach her desk and hesitate. After a moment, she
looks up expectantly.

I take a deep breath and say, "Come home with me."

Okay, that didn't come out correctly at all.

Donna stops typing. "Excuse me?"

"Uh," I say intelligently. "What I meant was--"

"Did you just ask me to go home with you?" she asks,
incredulous.

"No," I say, shaking my head wildly.

She raises an eyebrow. "You didn't just say 'come
home with me'?"

This conversation is spinning wildly out of control.
I shift my weight nervously. "Technically, yes," I
admit. "I phrased that poorly."

"You think?"

"Donna--"

She removes her hands from the keyboard, which means
I'm in for a lecture. "Seriously, Josh, unless you're
bucking for a sexual harassment suit--"

"Donna, all I was trying to do--"

"I'm just saying you need to watch what comes out of
your mouth sometimes."

And now I am completely sidetracked. "What's that
supposed to mean?" I demand. "I know exactly what
comes out of my mouth, and believe me it doesn't need
watching."

Donna stares at me for a moment, then bursts out
laughing. "Sure, Josh."

"I'm serious," I say, still a bit miffed. "I'm
incredibly articulate."

"You also spout out whatever's ricocheting around your
brain without stopping to think about the
consequences," Donna points out.

"I do not!" I protest.

"Do I need to bring up the Mary Marsh incident?"

I cross my arms and glare at Donna. "And to think I
came over here to do something nice for you."

She gives me her skeptical face. "Demanding that I go
home with you is your idea of doing something nice for
me?"

"Donna!"

"What?"

"I told you I didn't mean that."

She nods briskly and turns back to her computer. "You
really do know how to sweet talk the ladies," she
comments. "I don't know why I thought you needed help
with Joey Lucas."

I retreat to my office to regroup. This is entirely
too complicated. I am going to kill Joey Lucas the
next time I see her, she of the ridiculous, unfounded
accusations about my assistant. I used to be able to
talk to Donna without fumbling for words.

It's just a movie. We've done this before. Granted,
the other times we watched movies at my place were all
during my unending convalescence after she took my
physics books away. But still. We've done this
before.

There is nothing sexual or romantic about it. Donna
mentioned her fondness for screwball comedies last
week, and suggested that I watch His Girl Friday. It
seems only logical to me that when I finally do watch
the movie, she should be there. Since she, you know,
likes that genre. Also, we're friends.

How that perfectly innocent plan turned into "come
home with me," I'm sure I'll never know. Sometimes my
mouth gets away from me.

Anyway, after banging out a quick email to Leo
detailing the planned Million Mary Jane March on D.C.
(and why is it that pro-legalization PACs have such
poor naming abilities? I mean, Phree
Pharmaceuticals?), I decide to extend the invitation
to Donna in a far more oblique way. Suave, even.

I waltz over to her desk and toss the DVD of His Girl
Friday onto her keyboard.

"Josh, you made me--What's this?"

I lean against the partition. "What does it look
like?"

Donna narrows her eyes at me. "You bought me a DVD?"

"I saw it in the store and thought you'd like it.
That's the movie you were blathering on about, right?"

She fingers the edge of the case. "You saw it in the
DVD store?"

"Yes."

"And you were in the DVD store why?"

I stare at her blankly. "Because."

She grins. "Good answer, Josh."

"You should be nice to me; I bought you a DVD."

"You realize, of course, that I don't have a DVD
player, right?"

"I do," I answer.

"So you have effectively bought yourself a gift,"
Donna says.

"What?"

"Well, you've bought me something I can only watch in
your presence. Every time I want to watch it, you
have to watch it too. Ergo, it's pretty much your
present."

"We can share it," I suggest.

Donna grins at me. "Joint custody of a DVD?"

"Why not?"

"You're insane."

"Hey, you'd better be nicer to me if you want to watch
that in the near future."

"Of course," she muses, "I do still have a key to your
place."

"You do?" Funny how that thought is kind of...
comforting.

"Yes. I could always watch it without you being
there."

"When are you going to manage that?" I scoff.

"I'll go to your place while you're at work."

"When I'm here, you're here."

"Not if I'm sick," she grins.

"You are not going to call in sick to watch Cary
Grant."

"Jealous, Josh?" Donna teases.

"Of that fop? Absolutely not."

Donna glares at me. "Do not cast aspersions on Cary
Grant, Joshua."

Oh, it's so tempting to allow myself to be sidetracked
by Cary Grant's relative manhood just to hear Donna
talk, but I am determined to finish what I started.
"Donna, do you want to watch this tonight?"

Donna stares at me for a long moment. She looks
almost uncertain. "Josh," she says finally, "it's
almost eleven."

"So?"

"So we have to work in the morning," she points out.
Always rational, my Donna.

"Tomorrow's Sunday," I argue. "We can be in around
ten."

Donna blinks at me. "You know, I vaguely remember
five day workweeks."

"Do you want to watch the movie or not?" I demand,
exasperated. You'd think I was asking her on a date
or something with how complicated the conversation has
become.

"Sure," Donna nods.

"Great," I say, smiling. I feel oddly relieved. Also
happy. I am currently ignoring these feelings in the
hopes they'll go away. "Let me just finish up a
couple of things."

"Okay," Donna agrees, unusually quiet. "I'll be ready
in a minute."

I nod and retreat to my office, quashing the urge to
do some strange sports-influenced victory dance.
Because, really, there's no reason to feel like this.
I mean, it's just a movie.

THE END