by Sally Quinn
Allison felt rather detached from the scene, anyway. Des went off to work the room leaving her on her own for a while.
One of the many things she had learned since she’d been pregnant was the way pregnant women were treated. The bigger you got the more invisible you got. Men in Washington, and particularly men in power, discounted a woman the minute she started to show. It was as if they expected your brain to shrink as your stomach swelled. Here she was, a woman in an extremely powerful position, who was considered very attractive and one of the best-known women in the city, and not a single man in any official position had even attempted to strike up a conversation. They would look at her face, smile in initial recognition, their eyes would instinctively travel downward, and immediately glaze over.
More interesting than the men’s response to her pregnancy was her response to them. Normally, she herself would have been all over everybody in power as well, trying to pick up as much information as she could. She could see the secretary of state surrounded by several ambassadors, senators, and columnists. Any other time she would have been in the center of that conversation. Now she didn’t really care. Her current major concern was fending off the wives who were desperate to find somebody to talk to them. They were the American equivalent of the Indian “untouchables” in the cruel caste system that was Washington politics and power.
Lorraine Hadley was talking to the wife of one of the ambassadors. Worth and Clare Elgin were working overtime to amuse Foxy and Antonia. Several television superstars had staked out their territory in the middle of the room in competition with the secretary of state and a number of cabinet officers and senators. They were now as sought after and seen to be as powerful as the people they covered, at least by themselves. It had made things a bit disconcerting for those in the administration and Congress who were used to being the center of attention. No one quite knew what the protocol was now that journalists commanded equal billing and top seating. Before, it was the journalists who were the supplicants, always going after the officials for tidbits or even recognition. Now it seemed almost the other way around, with government officials seeking the recognition of the media. At best, it was a mutual courtship comprised of scores of separate little duchies all over town.
The jockeying for position hadn’t changed and never would. That was just human nature. Nor had the raw manipulation of and seeking of power. It was just that for her, especially now in her detached frame of mind, as she looked around the room, it all seemed so ridiculous, so absurd, so pointless. It just didn’t matter.
So somebody gets a hot story or a scoop today. So somebody loses an election tomorrow. So somebody else gets appointed to a powerful job. So what? In the end, what would it matter? She always deplored those earnest news or administration types who had covered the White House or worked for the government for years and then wrote their memoirs. It was all about “and then I met” and “the President said to me” and “I asked the king” and after a while they were all the same. One self-touting account bled into another until they were indistinguishable. No lessons learned, no values improved, no morals to the story. Everyone in Washington suddenly seemed so self-involved and aggrandized. She had once believed that people came here for noble reasons. That journalists really cared about seeking the truth and politicians really wanted to make the world a better place. That thought made her laugh now. Cynicism had replaced idealism. Had she really become so jaded? Or was she just being realistic and the rest of them jaded? This was a dangerous way for the national editor of the Daily to think. Particularly the first woman national editor of the Daily.
She noticed Sprague standing in a group of men near the secretary of state. Next to him was a rather pretty dark-haired woman who was hanging back, peripheral at best to the conversation. It had to be his wife. She walked over to where they were standing and introduced herself.
Jane was taller than Allison by several inches. She wore almost no makeup and a very simple navy silk dress with a collar and an antique pearl pin. Savannah Junior League all the way. She was probably his age, late thirties. Her hair showed signs of gray, and there were quite a few lines around her eyes and mouth, which she made no attempt to hide. She must have been quite stunning when she was young, May queen material; most popular debutante. She had the look of a woman who was brought up in a small, privileged community and took it for granted. Not smug, but satisfied. She was not dumb—Sprague had told Allison that she was a teacher—but her eyes didn’t sparkle with humor.
Allison looked for a bond between them but when Sprague looked at his wife he did not look at her the way Allison would want her husband to look at her. He was proper, polite, gentlemanly.
“Allison, I’d like you to meet my wife, Jane. Jane, this is Allison Sterling.”
“Yes, Sprague has told me about you.”
No smile. Nothing. What was that supposed to mean? My husband has told me all about what a terrible bitch you are? She certainly couldn’t be jealous of Allison. Sprague had never so much as looked sideways at her. Besides, Allison was weighing in at around one hundred fifty pounds these days.
“I’m sure it’s all been incredibly flattering, whatever he’s told you,” said Allison with a slight smile.
She turned to look at Sprague. He was inscrutable.
Dinner was announced and she went off to find Des. Everyone filed into the beautiful paneled dining room. It was lit with massive silver candelabras and set with one huge long dining-room table that held all sixty-some people. The Foreign Minister sat at the center of the table with Sadie on his right, the ambassador across the table from him with the wife of the secretary of state on his right. Allison was somewhere about halfway down, on the other side of the table from the Foreign Minister. Des was at one end. She had drawn as her dinner partner on one side, the chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee, a rotund blustery man with zero sense of humor. On the other side was a high-level Colombian diplomat who was extremely good-looking and sexy.
The senator looked at her belly and his face fell. “When’s the baby due?” he asked, his voice heavy with dread, fearing he might get the answer and more.
“Tonight, actually,” said Allison. “In fact, I’ve just started having labor pains.”
The poor man blanched.
Just as she said it, though, she felt an odd twinge in her stomach. Could that be a labor pain? How would she know? It didn’t hurt. Probably just gas.
She started a conversation with the Colombian, smiling to herself at how out of the question that choice would have been a year ago. Then she would have honed in on the senator and grilled him all through dinner. She had already sized up the Colombian as not terribly plugged in and probably completely unaware of what Mendez was up to. Also she had noticed Sprague introduce himself to him earlier, chat for a few minutes, and then start looking around. Sprague had spent a lot of time with the Foreign Minister or at least in the group that surrounded him. If this guy had been a source Sprague would not have approached him. So she figured he was probably just an innocent bystander.
Then the pain really came and jolted her like an electric shock. It must be the start of labor. She had just been to the doctor the day before and she wasn’t even dilated. So she didn’t need to worry. They didn’t even want to hear from you until the pains were at least five minutes apart.
She needed a distraction.
“What is it like,” she asked the Colombian, “to be a member of a government that is always under siege, where your life is threatened and your colleagues are being murdered? Are you always afraid?”
When in doubt interview them. Ask them the tough questions.
He looked at her for a moment as his smile faded, then glanced at her stomach, as they all did.
“You really want to know?” he said. His accent was thick and heavy, his voice grim. “I will tell you. It is terrible. I live in constant fear, not only for myself but for my wife and children. I shouldn’t say this to you because you are
going to have a baby. Very soon you will understand what real fear and real pain is like.”
Why did she feel a chill throughout her whole body as though someone had just cast an evil spell over her? She glanced around to see if a window had been opened. She turned away from the Colombian, more out of superstition than anything else.
“Have you picked out names for the baby?” the senator asked.
She knew he was trying, but she also knew he didn’t give a damn and was really being patronizing.
“We haven’t decided yet, Senator. I’d much rather talk about how you feel about the fight going on between the attorney general and the head of the DEA over the Colombian drug-trafficking situation. Are you going to get involved in it?”
Another pain. This time she grabbed her stomach and leaned forward.
The senator mopped his brow and she noticed his hand was trembling. He was really nervous about her being in labor. Or was it her question? She suppressed a giggle when the pressure subsided. Should she get Des? She decided not to. It would be a long while before they needed to go to the hospital. She might as well stay here and be distracted. She felt surprisingly calm and serene, not at all afraid or even terribly excited.
“Well, Allison,” he said. “Of course, as the chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, I insist on being involved in what is going on over at the White House. And as I told the President the other day…”
It was everything she could do not to burst out laughing. Couldn’t they hear themselves?
There was a tinkling of glass and Allison looked up to see the ambassador stand to begin the toasts and to introduce his Foreign Minister.
“Mr. Secretary, Mr. Minister. Ambassadors, Senators, Congressmen, Mr. Justice, and all of our other distinguished guests…” he began.
Somehow the phrase “distinguished guests” tickled Allison as she looked around the room and saw so many smug faces nod appreciatively. She started to smile and lowered her head so she wouldn’t be noticed.
“… the strong friendship and important cooperation of our two countries…” the ambassador continued.
It was so patently untrue that Allison had to stifle a giggle. She continued to keep her head down.
“… to welcome the man who will be the savior of our country, who by his honesty, his integrity, and his loyalty will lead us out of the quagmire of crime and drug dealing.…”
Normally, Allison would have been disgusted by the cynicism and hypocrisy inherent in these diplomatic toasts. But tonight she found it more comical than anything else. She accidentally caught Sprague’s glance. He rolled his eyes and bit his lip over the last sentence. That did her in. She gasped with laughter, then desperate to control herself she bit down on her finger until she practically drew blood.
“… And his lovely wife, the beauteous Señora Mendez…”
All eyes focused on the heavy-set, dark-haired woman with the mustache. Allison lost it completely, sputtering with laughter, her shoulders shaking as she buried her head even closer to the table. Without looking up she could feel the senator on her right and the young Colombian on her left start to laugh, too. She thought about holding her breath, biting through her finger, getting up and leaving the dining room, anything that would stop her from humiliating herself, but nothing worked. The ambassador droned on.
She felt another electrifying pain and she gasped, grabbing her stomach as if the baby was about to burst out of it. Even the pain didn’t help her regain control. Once the pain subsided, the absurdity of the idea that she was in labor at this insane embassy party had her convulsed with laughter even more, and now she wasn’t even trying to hide it. Tears of mirth were rolling down her cheeks and the Colombian was on the verge of losing it as well.
Mercifully the toasts ended with only the speakers oblivious to her outbreak of hysteria. She didn’t know how she was ever going to recoup from this appalling performance. But at the moment, she didn’t really care.
Des had got up and rushed over, a frantic expression on his face.
“Sonny, are you all right?”
She nodded, unable to speak from exhaustion. She was still trying to catch her breath.
“Thank God. I thought you had gone into labor.”
“I have.”
“Holy Mary, Mother of God, let’s get out of here.”
“Relax, Des. I’m fine. The pains are almost twenty minutes apart. The doctor said I shouldn’t even call until the contractions come between five and seven minutes apart. I’m nowhere near going to the hospital.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to get out of here. I’ll explain later what the problem was at dinner.”
As the valet was getting their car, Sprague and his wife were standing on the curb, having just discovered that their car wouldn’t start. Allison overheard the exchange and walked over to offer them a ride.
“Even though I could shoot you for making that face at the dinner table,” she said. “I was okay until you started mugging.”
“Okay? Are you kidding? You took a dive five seconds after the guy was on his feet. I know because I was watching you the whole time.”
He hadn’t meant to say that. Jane shot him a look. Allison smiled slightly and raised her eyebrow.
“Were you now?” she said.
He stuttered. It was the first time he had lost his cool in front of her.
“I thought, I, uh, thought you might be in labor.”
“Actually, I am.”
Another pain caught her and she grimaced and leaned over.
“I’ve offered them a ride. Their car won’t start,” Allison said after she had recovered.
“Don’t be crazy, Allison,” said Sprague. “We live in Bethesda.”
Des nearly exploded. “Are you out of your mind? You’re in labor, remember? Your hospital is George Washington, which is five minutes from here and five minutes from our house.”
“Des, calm down. I’m perfectly fine. The pains are too far apart and I wasn’t even dilated yesterday. I’d like us to take them home. I’d rather do that than go home and stare at the wall.”
“She’s right,” said Jane. “It’s really too early to go to the hospital. This will take her mind off of it.”
The two men looked at each other uncertainly.
“Please, I promise I’ll be fine,” insisted Allison.
Finally they both shrugged helplessly and helped Allison into the car.
Sprague immediately brought up Allison’s hysteria at the dinner table. She explained what happened and they all began to laugh, except Jane, who didn’t say a word as they drove up Massachusetts Avenue. Allison started to pump Sprague about what he had picked up at the party. They were just coming around Ward Circle near American University when she suddenly had a sick feeling. A wave of chills rushed over her, she began shaking uncontrollably, and a gush of fluid poured out between her legs. It was as if somebody had stuck a huge vacuum cleaner inside her and was sucking her gut out.
“Des,” she whispered as she clutched the car door. “Des,” she said, this time almost shrieking. “She’s coming, Des, Kay Kay’s coming. I can feel her, oh God, oh God.”
“Holy Mary, Sonny. Oh Jesus.”
“Des,” she looked at him and her eyes were filled with terror. “Hurry. Please, please hurry. I’m scared.”
There was a horrible pressure in her groin and she cried out despite herself.
“Lean back and put your feet up,” Jane said.
Sprague reached over from the backseat and put his hands on her shoulder.
“Take it easy, Sonny,” he said. “Just relax. Try to relax. It will be okay. Just keep breathing.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” Allison was saying. “She’s coming, oh my God, Des, please, somebody.”
“Get her to Sibley,” Jane said. “Quickly, Des.”
Des was so frantic he drove around the circle one more time, unable to focus. He was about to circle
once more when Allison cried out again.
“Sibley, get her to Sibley, Des. It’s off to the right. Hurry!” yelled Sprague. He seemed as upset as Des was.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it!”
She could feel the baby’s head between her legs. It felt like it was on a greased chute, just propelling out of her body. Her clothes were completely soaked and she spread her legs and slumped down in the seat to get in a better position. Des stepped on the gas and headed down Nebraska past the university toward Sibley Hospital, going about ninety miles an hour.
“Hold on, Sonny, hold on. We’re almost there. We’re almost there, baby.”
Sprague was gripping her shoulder as if that would help keep the baby in.
“Ah, ah, ah,” Allison was panting and crying at the same time as the most horrendous searing pain she had ever felt shot through her abdomen and down to her thighs.
“She’s coming out. Oh no, oh please, oh Jesus, oh God,” Allison was pleading as she felt the baby trying to slither out of her body.
She was trying to grapple with the folds of her long gray skirt, now soaked in blood, when Des pulled up to the emergency room entrance, screeching the car to a halt and rushing in to get help while Sprague jumped out of the car and opened Allison’s door.
Des came running out with two men and a stretcher and they ran around to Allison’s side of the car and reached inside for her.
“The cord!” one of them yelled. “It may be around the neck.”
Allison could feel herself start to faint.
“Oh no,” she whispered, as she was about to go under. “Oh Kay Kay, no. I love you. I love you. I love you.”
* * *
When she came to several minutes later she was in the emergency room. It was total chaos. There must have been ten doctors and nurses staring down at her. The lower part of her body was numb and there was a sheet over her legs. They were shouting words that floated through her brain, which was almost as numb as her body “… breech, partial abruption of the placenta… bleeding… emergency C section… asphyxia… big baby… dystocia… hung up its neck… cesarean… heart rate going down… put her on a monitor… it’s less than one hundred… blue… limp.”
