by Sally Quinn
“But Sid, none of that means anything to me. You must believe me.”
“I’m not sure you know that. You’ve never lived without it. Do you remember that Italian movie about the beautiful rich woman on the private yacht trip. A member of the crew falls in love with her but she never notices him. She even lets him see her in a state of partial undress because he is invisible to her. Then they are shipwrecked and end up together alone on a desert island. They fall in love. She wants to stay with him forever on the island, but he is driven to find out if their love will survive once they are back in the real world. Finally they flag a passing ship and are rescued. The final scene is of him sitting on the dock alone watching as she is borne away on a private helicopter, never looking back. This is Michael’s nightmare.”
“But this is absurd. I don’t know what more I can do to convince him.”
“To allow himself to love you he would be taking an astonishing risk. You know who you are. He can’t come to terms with the notion that you wouldn’t replace him with a flick of your finger with the slightest change of mood or circumstance. All this is a very complicated way of saying that he doesn’t really believe that you could love him, do love him. Before he can do anything about his feelings for you he has got to know that you love him in a way that won’t cost him anything. That won’t cause him the ultimate pain.”
“How do I do that?”
“You’re a woman, Sadie. You’d have a lot better shot at figuring that out than I would. All I can say is that it won’t be easy.”
* * *
Michael had agreed to come in with her for a cup of coffee after they left the Sokolows.
It was clearly a mistake. They were both drunk. Sadie was feeling a little woozy. They decided to go out to the garden for a few minutes until her head cleared. There was still a slight chill in the air even though it was June, and Michael gave her his jacket. Her teeth were chattering, less because of the chill than because she was so nervous. They walked around the yard, chatting about the Sokolows, looking up at the stars. There was a full moon. They stopped by the high stone wall at the back of the garden.
“I’m at the height of my powers tonight,” she told him.
“So what else is new?”
“No, I mean astrologically. I’m a Cancer. Cancerians are ruled by the moon.”
“So that’s what they mean when they talk about loony. They’re talking about people like you.”
“Oh you,” she said, and gave him a playful shove with her elbow. He stepped back to avoid her jab and she lost her balance. He reached out to catch her and she fell into his arms, pushing him back against the wall.
Before she knew what was happening his mouth was on hers, his hands were grasping at her body. She put her arms around his neck, as much to steady herself as from passion, and clung to him submissively. He was kissing her mouth, her neck, her shoulders. One hand was inside her silk blouse caressing her breast, the other had reached down inside the elastic waist of her jersey skirt, and had found its mark between her legs, then inside her.
She grabbed his crotch and began to unzip his zipper. There was a frenzied, desperate quality to their passion. They were almost biting at each other rather than kissing; gasping, clawing, grunting, moaning.
“Michael, I can’t, we can’t do this,” she heard herself saying. Why was she saying this? She wanted nothing more than to make love to him. But there was too much left unspoken.
“It’s too late. We’re doing it, Sadie Grey.”
He didn’t stop kissing her and she felt weak with lust. She was close to coming and her knees were about to give way. Yet she didn’t feel right about it. In her drunken state she didn’t understand at first but then, as they were sinking to the grass, she realized what the problem was. The only time they had made love before he had been sick, weak, feverish. This time he was drunk. Both times he was not of sound mind. It was as if he needed an excuse, he needed to be out of it in order to have anything to do with her sexually. She didn’t want it that way. She wanted him to be sane, rational, sober, and then decide to make love to her.
She was lying on the grass and he was lying to one side, frantically pulling down her skirt and unbuttoning her blouse.
“No, Michael. No. I’m not going to do it this way. It isn’t right. Not this way,” she was gasping now.
The moonlight was shining on one exposed breast, her nipple hardened with desire. His pants were down, too, and he was exposed as well, equally hard.
“Oh God, Sadie. You’re so beautiful. I want you so,” he whispered and began licking her nipple, using a slow caressing motion with his hands around her abdomen, then between her legs.
She was so close now, so close, she could have let him keep on, she wanted him to keep on but something in her made her stop him.
“Stop, stop, stop,” she cried out, then sat up abruptly and pushed him away, grabbing her blouse around her, pulling up her skirt. She managed to get herself up off the ground and run into the house, leaning up against the door to the family dining room when she finally got in, panting and gasping for breath.
A few minutes later he appeared in the doorway, disheveled and breathless.
They both stood staring at each other, in different doorways, breathing heavily, not speaking.
When their breathing had subsided Sadie spoke first.
“Would you like some coffee?”
“Tea.”
“Twining’s English Breakfast or decaf?”
“What is this, a commercial break?”
She burst out laughing. He had managed to relieve the tension, as usual.
She turned and went into the kitchen to put the water on to boil.
He came in and sat down at the end of the table, leaning back on his chair.
She sat next to him, tucking her feet up on the chair, pulling her knees close to her with her arms. She still needed to protect herself from him. They were both a little more sober than before but not a lot. They had obviously both decided not to mention what had just happened.
The water was boiling so she got up, fixed two mugs with tea and milk and honey, and handed one to him.
“You’re so domestic,” he said.
She decided to just come right out and say it.
“Is there nothing I can do, Michael? I love you. You’ve said you love me. How can I make you trust me?”
She had turned serious so quickly it took him aback. He hadn’t expected this.
He looked away from her.
“Do you understand how disturbing this is to me?” he asked finally. “It’s making me nuts. I’m in a state of complete chaos. You’re everything I’ve always wanted. You’re like heroin to me. The forbidden fruit, you’re warm and luscious…”
He got up from the table and walked around the room, running his hand through his hair.
“You’re too different. I just don’t think it could work.”
“But what about love? If you’re in love, nothing else matters.”
“I could never be so much in love that being Jewish wouldn’t matter.”
* * *
It was late evening in early July, the day before her birthday, the second anniversary of Rosey’s death. Michael had written her, inviting her to have lunch with him that day. He had also apologized in his note for his behavior the evening they had had dinner with the Sokolows. She had called him to accept his invitation, though reluctantly. The conversation was short and awkward. She really didn’t want to see him. In fact, she dreaded the lunch. She didn’t know what to say to him. She hated the way their last conversation had ended and she didn’t see any way he would be able to make it better. She felt they had reached some sort of impasse but she didn’t quite know how to deal with it. She still loved him. He still loved her. It, whatever it was, wasn’t over, but then it had never really started in the first place. She found herself getting tired just thinking about it. What she really wanted was a break from Michael, from it. She couldn’t wait until
she left for Long Island that weekend. It couldn’t come a moment too soon.
She was upstairs in her dressing room packing some of her things. She had just had an early supper with Willie and Monica in the family dining room and Monica had taken Willie outside in the garden to catch fireflies. The window was open to the patio and she could hear him laughing with delight as he barreled about grabbing at the little lightning bugs. She walked to the window and stood looking out in the twilight at her son and she felt overwhelmed with love and sadness. He really had been her major solace since Rosey died. Without Willie she didn’t think she would have made it. If only Rosey could be here to see him grow, even knowing he wasn’t his son. If only Des could be here to enjoy these moments. Poor Des. What tragedy he had known. Unable to acknowledge his only son, his newborn daughter dead on Christmas Day, Willie’s birthday. His wife grieving so. And poor Willie, with no father. If only there were some way to allow Des more time with Willie without arousing suspicion, without having Allison know. Allison must never know. She had been through too much pain as it was. But maybe seeing more of Willie would help Des. And Willie certainly needed a man around. She was determined, after their summer vacation, to work it out.
She turned to go back to her packing. All of a sudden she heard a bloodcurdling cry, then a shriek, and finally Monica shouting at the top of her lungs.
“Willie! Oh, no. Willie! Oh my God. Sadie, come quick! Oh, no. Oh, please God. Willie!”
Sadie felt her heart drop to her feet. She ran to the window but the light had grown too dim and the shouts were coming from the other side of the house.
She ran down the stairs as fast as she could, nearly tumbling down them. She raced out the door to the patio and around to the side until she reached the stone stairwell to the basement. There at the bottom of the stairwell was Willie.
His arms and legs were twitching in uncontrollable spasms. His eyes had rolled back in his head. Monica was kneeling beside him, screaming his name, but there was no response. Sadie practically leaped down the stairs to her child, afraid to touch him for fear of breaking something. There was no blood, but after a few seconds the twitching stopped and he was deadly still. His body had gone totally limp. His face and lips had turned blue. He appeared to have stopped breathing.
“Willie! Willie!” screamed Sadie, grabbing his face in her hands. He was unarousable.
“Oh my God, I think he’s dead. Willie! Oh, please. Monica, go get Toby, get an ambulance!”
The Secret Service agents had heard the noise and had run down behind Sadie, before Monica could move.
“We can get him to Georgetown faster than it would take an ambulance to come,” said one of the agents.
He bent down to pick up Willie and she could see that Willie was breathing, but just barely. He was blue and unconscious.
The agent carefully cradled Willie in his arms and rushed him up the stairs and around the corner to the driveway. Sadie ran alongside him, holding Willie’s limp hand in hers with Monica right behind her. When they reached the car Sadie and one of the agents got in back holding Willie. As Monica was about to get in with them Sadie looked up at her.
“Monica,” she said. “Go call Desmond Shaw. Tell him what’s happened. Ask him to meet us at the hospital.”
Monica started to protest.
“Monica,” Sadie said firmly. “Call him. Please.”
* * *
The car must have gone a hundred miles an hour but it seemed to take centuries to get to the emergency room. Sadie was screaming Willie’s name at him, and screaming at the agent to hurry up. He had alerted the police and an escort had shown up almost immediately. Sirens were going, the agent was sitting on the horn, they were going through red lights and stop signs, people were scurrying for the sidewalk as they sped by.
Willie, his head on his mother’s lap, was like a lifeless doll. Even in the dark, with only the street lamps to illuminate them, she could see the deathly pallor of his face. His mouth was open, slack jawed, and a little drool came out of one corner. She couldn’t tell whether he was breathing or not. There was the slightest motion in his chest but not enough to reassure her. He could be dead.
Please, God. You promised. We had a deal. If I believed in you you wouldn’t take Willie away. You can’t take Willie away. I won’t let you.
She pressed her face against his and began rocking back and forth, a primitive sound of pain coming out of her mouth, one she didn’t recognize as ever having made. It was halfway between a grunt and a whimper and she repeated it over and over again as she rocked Willie’s body, almost like a mantra.
As they pulled up to the emergency room there were several doctors at the door waiting for them with a stretcher and they rushed Willie inside. Sadie was right beside him as they pulled him into a cubicle and began to examine him.
“Tell me he’s not dead. Please tell me he isn’t dead.” She heard herself say it and then she had the same eerie out-of-body experience she’d had with Rosey, as she had stood over his body asking the same question. She could see in their eyes that they had suddenly focused on the fact that exactly two years ago the President had been assassinated, and now his widow was standing here begging them to tell her her child was not dead.
“Oxygen,” someone was saying as they fitted a mask over Willie’s curly head.
“Ringer’s lactate,” someone else said and they were sticking an I.V. into Willie’s arm.
It had all happened so fast that they really hadn’t had time to respond, but she said it again, almost yelling this time.
“Is he alive? Somebody tell me, please, is my child alive?”
There were kind voices and reassuring words. Yes, he was alive. But they needed to hear what had happened.
She explained that he had fallen down a steep stone staircase and had hit his head at the bottom. He became unconscious and limp. She heard someone mention a neurosurgeon and she just stood there helplessly at the end of Willie’s bed while they worked on him, unable to hold him or kiss him. She should have made him go to bed after supper instead of chasing fireflies. She was in a rage at Monica for allowing him to fall down those stairs. She wanted him to be laughing on her lap and giving her a big wet kiss on the lips as he was wont to do. And she wanted Des. She needed Des. She couldn’t go through this alone.
At least one prayer was answered. Des walked in the door at that moment.
“Sadie,” he started toward her. “I came as… what the…”
“Oh Des,” she cried out, running to him and grabbing him. “Thank God you’re here. Willie fell down the stairs and hurt his head and I thought he was dead but now he’s breathing and…”
Des held her by the arm but kept walking until he was right at the bed.
“How is he?” he asked, his face etched with fear.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said one of the doctors, who, in the confusion, hadn’t seen Sadie greet Des, “but we can only allow parents here with the child.”
Sadie and Des both froze.
It was Sadie who recovered first.
“This is my son’s godfather,” she said firmly. “As I’m sure you’re aware, his father is dead.”
The poor doctor turned bright red and stammered an apology to Des.
“Has he seen a pediatric neurosurgeon?” asked Des.
“I’m sorry,” said another doctor who had introduced himself to Sadie as being in charge of the emergency room that night. “We don’t have a full-time pediatric neurosurgeon on the staff. I suggest he be transferred to Children’s Hospital.”
“How fast can we get him there?”
“You’ve got the police here. They can call for a helicopter. They can have it on the field in minutes. We’ll call Children’s and alert them.”
“Let’s go then.”
As soon as Des began to take charge she almost collapsed.
They both managed to fit in the helicopter and within minutes they were setting down on the roof of the Children’s Hospital helipa
d. She had been so intent on watching Willie, making sure he was still breathing, that she didn’t even notice the landing. They were met by a team with a stretcher, taken immediately down on the elevator to the trauma room where the head of the trauma unit and a neurosurgeon were waiting. All of them acknowledged Des with surprise. They had all gotten to know him and Allison when Kay Kay had been there. Nobody asked any questions but Des felt he had to say something.
“I’m the child’s godfather,” he mumbled. Everyone nodded. Nobody wanted to intrude.
A physical examination, laboratory tests, and an emergency CAT scan were done on Willie, after which the emergency physician, the radiologist, and the neurosurgeon huddled for a few minutes. Sadie and Des stood by Willie, who was once again fitted with an oxygen mask and an I.V. This time they were both stricken with fear.
Finally the doctors stopped talking and came over to them.
“We’ve taken a very close look at these films and so far it looks pretty good. The CAT scan shows nothing at all to worry about. It looks perfectly normal. However, we’d like to put him in the intensive care unit for the next twelve hours and observe him.”
Sadie didn’t even hear the rest. All she heard was “normal.” Willie was alive. He was breathing.
They accompanied Willie on his stretcher up to the I.C.U. When the wide double doors swung open she suddenly heard a gasp and a sob and turned to look at Des. His face was shattered with pain and he had covered his eyes with his fists.
“I don’t think I can do this again, Sadie. It’s too soon. God, I’m sorry. Give me a minute to get myself together.”
She looked at Des and stopped. How could she have forgotten? She had been so selfish, thinking only of Willie and not about what Des had been through. It was only six months since his child had died in this hospital, on this floor. And now here he was back again with another child, one he couldn’t even claim, who might be dying.
