by Sally Quinn
Rosey hadn’t even been dead 24 hours.
Now, here she was sitting in her little office on the second floor of the White House besieged with questions, requests, demands, other people’s needs, and almost worse, sympathy. The sympathy was what was so debilitating. She could function all right until she saw someone looking at her with sympathy. Then she would respond appropriately by becoming pitiful.
She hated the way Jenny was looking at her. Her eyebrows would knit together in a solemn way every time she glanced at Sadie, every time she said, “How are you?”
“Damn it, Jenny, stop looking at me that way. I’m okay until you look at me like that. You’re not helping me any. And for God’s sake stop asking me how I am. You know how I am.”
Jenny looked stricken.
“I’m sad, Jen. I’m very, very sad.” The tears began to come. She couldn’t stop them any more than she could stop breathing. They were streaking down her cheeks.
“My husband is dead. My husband, whom I loved and whom I betrayed. My husband, who was the father of my children”—she stopped in midsentence and sucked in her breath—Rosey was the father of two of her children. She buried her face in her hands. “Oh my God, my God,” she said. “What kind of pain I must have caused him. I can’t bear it, Jenny. I just can’t bear it.”
She was talking to herself now, oblivious of Jenny’s presence.
“Oh Rosey, please don’t be dead. Please don’t leave now. You have to forgive me. I wanted to make it up to you. How can I ever make you understand? I can’t live with this kind of grief. I can’t do it.”
Jenny got up and put her arms around Sadie, holding her, rocking her, the two of them swaying in unison to the sounds of their sobs.
“What am I going to do? How can I go through with this?” she asked softly. “I can’t control myself. The whole world is going to be staring at me. And I can’t stop crying. I’ve got to be controlled and I can’t. I’ll shame my husband and my country and myself…. Can’t we say I’ve had a stroke. The shock of it has been too much. They can do it without me. That would be better than having the President’s widow hysterical and flinging her body on the coffin. Nobody would want that, would they?”
Jenny said nothing. It was better just to let her talk.
“Jenny, I’m not kidding. I’m about to become one of the great national embarrassments in the history of this country. You know how I am anyway. I cry at the drop of a hat. I cry at insurance company commercials. I’ve always marveled at those women who can go to their husbands’ funerals and remain stoic throughout the whole ceremony. Stiff upper lip. Head held high. And afterward everybody says, Oh, wasn’t she wonderful, wasn’t she incredible. So brave. So courageous. So dignified.’ Well, not me. Forget it. I’m simply not capable of it. I’m already a basket case. You know what they’ll say about me? ‘Could you believe her? What an incredibly bad scene. Really, it was inexcusable. You’d think she’d be able to control herself for a few hours, in front of the whole world. She has a position to uphold. She’s not representing herself, she’s representing the country. Class tells. It’s lucky the President isn’t alive to see this humiliating display of emotion. Grotesque is the only word for it.’ ”
Jenny still said nothing. She could see that Sadie was working herself up into a frenzy and she felt helpless to do anything about it. Sadie had created such a devastating scenario that even Jenny was becoming apprehensive. She had seen Sadie when she was obsessed before, and she worried that she might not be able to calm her down.
“I can’t do it, Jenny. You better tell them now so they can plan for my not being there. We’ll have to think of some really legitimate excuse.”
“Sadie,” said Jenny gently. “You know you’re going to have to go to the funeral….”
“Jenny, don’t you understand? It’s not that I don’t want to. I want nothing more than to be there, to honor my husband before the world. But I’m not capable of it. I would only dishonor him. I can’t do that to him…. Not again.”
“Sadie, why don’t I go get Cotes? He’s out there with Manolas and Harry Saks. They’re desperate to see you. They’ve got to start going over the plans. It’s Sunday evening already. The funeral is Wednesday; tomorrow you’ve got all the memorial services in the East Room. You haven’t even decided yet whether Rosey should be buried in Arlington or Richmond. Your parents want to talk to you; Rosey’s parents want to talk to you. Your children need you. Outland and Annie Laurie are wandering around like lost souls. Annie Laurie is a basket case. The baby is the only one who’s fine. Willie thinks it’s like somebody’s birthday party.”
Sadie started to smile, then felt herself losing control again.
“Everything makes me cry now, Jenny. You see.”
“I’ll go get Cotes.”
“Jenny?”
“You’ve got to convince them that I can’t do it. I’m dead serious. There’s just no way I’m going to be able to hold it together. If I have to I’ll drug myself so I really am incapacitated. I’m just too sad, Jenny. I’m just too sad.”
She leaped up from her chair when she saw him and flung her arms around his neck as if he might disappear.
“Cotes, thank God you’re here.”
“Oh Sadie, I’m so sorry,” he said, embracing her. They stood there in the middle of the room, holding on to each other.
“Lordy, lordy, I’m not doing too well either, now am I? I’m supposed to be here to console you and look at me.” He tried to smile as he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.
She took his arm and sat him down on the sofa next to her, putting her head on his shoulder. He took her hand and stroked it. The two of them sat there for a long time in silence.
“Miss Sadiebelle. What can I do? How can I help?”
“Get me out of this, Cotes. I can’t go through it. I know I won’t be able to control myself. It will be too humiliating.”
“Just let me tell you one thing, darlin’. You can do it and you will. You’re a strong woman, Sadie. Hell, you’re a lot stronger than I am and I went through it with Mary Louise. Granted, I didn’t have to do it in front of millions of people, but honestly, Sadie, it doesn’t make it any easier to grieve in private. The pain is still there… and the guilt.”
She winced when he said that. She turned to him and looked him in the face for the first time.
“He told you?”
“Jesus, Sadie. He had to talk to somebody. Just because he was President of the United States didn’t mean he wasn’t suffering. And he was scared. Scared somebody might find out. He had to worry about damage control. We got awful close in those last months before Mary Louise died. I told him everything. I really bared my soul. He did, too.”
“How can you not hate me then?”
“I did. I did for a long time. I still get angry. I couldn’t bloody well believe it. Not only the personal pain you caused him but the political jeopardy. But goddammit, Sadie. Who am I to criticize anybody? I did the same thing. Then I had to contend with the guilt. If I had it, you’ve got it in spades. But if he forgave you, I can, too.”
Cotes stood and looked down at her. His face was flushed with conviction.
Sadie smiled in spite of herself. He looked like the Southern Episcopal High School graduate he was.
“Oh Cotes, thank you for that. I couldn’t stand it if you hated me now. I need you. If I’m going to go through with this I’m going to need you.”
“You’re going to go through with this, Sadie. You have no choice and you know it.”
Her lack of response was an acknowledgment.
“There are a lot of people who are going to need you now, Sadiebelle. Your chillen. Especially Annie Laurie. She’s been queen of the hill at Sweetbriar and in Richmond. She was her daddy’s little darlin’. She had a real special relationship with Rosey. I know you and Annie Laurie have always had your problems. But she is devastated by this; she’s going to need her mama. Outland’s being very brave. He feels he’s t
he man of the family now and he’s going to have to take care of you. That puts a lot of pressure on him. He told me this afternoon he was thinking of not going back to Stanford and staying here so you wouldn’t be lonely. There’s going to be a lot of attention focused on those two kids. And they are still kids. We forget that once they’re grown and out of the house, off to school. But no two teenagers will ever have the responsibility to carry themselves with dignity the way your two will in the next few days. You are going to have to set an example for them. Nobody else can do it.”
He paused. She was taking it all in. Still saying nothing.
“I don’t mean to be harsh on you, Sadie. I’m just trying to be realistic. You are the President’s wife.”
She looked up at him quickly.
“Widow.”
She glanced down at her hands. She had begun twisting the ring Rosey had meant for her on her birthday. She kept staring at it, twisting it back and forth until the skin underneath was raw.
“Sadie, say something. I’m just shooting off my mouth and you’re just sitting there. What are you thinking?”
“You’re not going to approve. Jenny’s not going to approve,” she said quietly.
“Well, what is it for Christ’s sake? I told you I’ll do anything to help you. And you’re going to have to do whatever it takes to get you through this. What do you want?”
She hesitated for a moment, still pulling at her ring. Then she looked up at Cotes, standing in front of the sofa. Her eyes were clear and direct and when she spoke, her voice determined.
“I want to see Des.”
* * *
She hadn’t slept all night. The doctor had given her a tranquilizer but instead of putting her to sleep it had hyped her up. She always had had a weird reaction to drugs. They seemed to have the opposite effect. Valium made her nervous, jumpy. When she did begin to doze, dreams invaded her sleep. For some odd reason she dreamt of Allison Sterling. She hadn’t thought of her for a long time. There was no reason to. She knew Allison had gone to London. She saw her byline often enough in the Daily. Jenny had told her Allison and Des were finished.
She had managed to put the whole thing with Des out of her head for the past few years. She had tried to be a good wife to Rosey. She had succeeded. She loved Rosey. She had never stopped loving him, which was one reason the whole thing had been so complicated. Even now she wasn’t sure if she had ever really been in love with Des. She had been tremendously attracted to him. He had been an obsession. It was as if it had been beyond her control. But she never really trusted him. Or trusted his love. The specter of Allison had always been there, even though he had denied it.
There had never been any doubt with Rosey. He adored her. She was his life. After she had stopped seeing Des, Rosey’s love for her had been so comforting that her own feelings for him had deepened more than she had ever expected.
She had learned a powerful lesson about marriage: You could never have everything in one person. She had known she would never be totally sexually satisfied by Rosey. But she had gotten so much more of value from him that it was an acceptable trade-off. In the end, she had to admit that even though sex was important to her it was not as important as security. Something her relationship with Des was lacking in spades. If she could get along better with Annie Laurie, if they could be friends, she would try to tell her about marriage. Nobody ever tells young brides what to expect. Nobody ever tells you how much pain and compromise and anger and disappointment there is in even the happiest marriage. When she became attracted to Des she didn’t know what it meant. She didn’t know how you were expected to know whether your own marriage was finished or not. What were the signs that a marriage was over, that it was time to pack it in? How could you tell whether you were just going through a rough patch, as all marriages do?
Now that it was too late, she realized that she had misread the signs. She had mistaken her infatuation with Des for real love when in fact it was just that, infatuation. Granted she had been under a lot of stress. Roger Kimball, the President, had suffered a stroke and had to step down. Rosey was thrust into the presidency after only three years in Washington.
Becoming a prisoner in a fishbowl had been too much for her. She had lost herself. Des had helped her find herself and her identity. He had encouraged her to write again, get her own office, be her own person. He had saved her. It was almost like having an affair with your shrink. But when it had come to a choice of leaving Rosey, she had backed down. The idea of leaving Rosey was too terrifying. When she was honest with herself she knew why. Des wanted her to stand on her own. She had never been on her own in her life. She had always had a man to take care of her. She always would. She couldn’t survive without one. Rosey had taken care of her, protected her, provided for her. It was primitive, perhaps, but there it was. Her affair with Des had been instructive in one sense. It had shown her her needs. Des didn’t, wouldn’t, couldn’t fulfill them. Rosey had.
Now here she was without him. The realization as she tossed and turned in her empty bed in the White House suddenly overwhelmed her.
Goddamn Rosey for dying. For getting killed. It was his fault. The Secret Service never wanted him to go outside at Lorraine’s house in the first place. She knew because she had overheard a conversation at the hospital. They had warned Lorraine and told him not to go out in the garden. He did it anyway. He obviously didn’t care about her or Willie or the other children either. To deliberately risk his life that way. It was so irresponsible. Every President knows you have to be careful. You’re just a sitting duck. Why did he do it? Just to look at some stupid garden. Probably just to show off to Lorraine that he knew a lot about flowers. Suddenly she was consumed with rage at her husband. Her fingernails were digging into her palms and her jaw was so tight she felt as if her teeth would break. Goddamn him. She hated him at this moment more than she had ever hated anyone in her life. Because of him she would have to be put through this horrible public spectacle. Alone. But maybe not. The hell with Rosey.
There was one person who could give her the emotional strength to get through it all. And not just the funeral either. The next few days, weeks, months, maybe even years. Willie’s father: Des. He didn’t know he was Willie’s father. She would have to tell him. He would be more reliable now. He would have to be because of Willie. He wouldn’t expect her to be so independent now. She was the President’s widow. Just because Rosey was dead didn’t mean she was a different person. She was still the same woman with the same needs. She needed a man and Des was the only candidate. She wasn’t even thinking about sex now. She was thinking about her emotional and psychological state. When she asked to see Des she hadn’t thought of resuming a relationship with him. She had needed to cleanse herself of her guilt. To make her confession. He was Catholic. He would understand. He was the only person who could rid her of that horrible pain. He could not only help her with her guilt, he could get her through this.
Toward dawn Sadie fell asleep, exhausted. She was also relieved. Just the idea of having Des to call on, if nothing else, gave her a sense of security. As it was, she felt as though she were drowning. Des might be a life raft with a hole in it, but it was better than nothing.
* * *
The first service in the East Room for family and close friends was at 11:00 A.M. The rest of the day was given over to other ceremonies for members of Congress and diplomats, then the press corps. She wished Des were coming, but she didn’t dare ask him. Nobody would understand, and Cotes wouldn’t have let her anyway. She would have to rely on Cotes for the ceremony.
She looked at her face in the mirror and was horrified at what she saw. She was pale and drawn, her face drained of all color. She thought she looked at least fifty years old. Tiny lines were beginning to show around her eyes. The only good thing was that she hadn’t eaten anything in the last two days so she looked a bit thinner. Rosey liked them tall and slim. She always accused him of liking those overbred, horsey, Foxcroft, Virginia, hunt-cou
ntry women with long legs and no sense of humor. He was delighted when he thought she might, after all, be a little jealous.
But Rosey was dead. Why was she thinking about what Rosey liked? He had died and left her alone. It didn’t matter what Rosey had liked. Damn him. She was by herself. Now she could do as she pleased.
She wondered whether she should add a little color to her cheeks, then decided not to. Let them see her pain.
There was a knock on the door and Cotes came in, looking quite upset and flustered.
“Christ, Sadie,” he said. “We forgot to invite the President to any of the memorial services in the East Room today.”
The President. He said the word and she flinched. Rosey was dead. He wasn’t the President anymore. She wasn’t the First Lady anymore either. The White House wasn’t her home. She had no home.
“Don’t you think we ought to invite the Osgoods to the family service. Roger Kimball is coming. I think it would be a nice gesture.”
“I’m not having those people at the family service,” she said. There was a finality to her voice that left Cotes speechless.
“They’re not friends of ours. Rosey only picked him to balance the ticket because he was a liberal Democrat. I can’t stand her. I can’t stand the way she talks, that ridiculous platinum beehive, the ankle bracelet, all those country-western songs she sings every time anybody blinks at her, the low-cut tight dresses. She looks like a hooker for God’s sake… and he’s vulgar and uncouth.”
