by Sally Quinn
“That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a long time.”
18
Someone had called it vuja de. Déjàvu all over again.
The Democratic convention. Sadie on the platform, tears in her eyes, waving to an adoring audience. Sadie and Des finding each other, giving each other meaningful looks. Allison in the press section looking on, the pained observer. A few of the names, a few of the details had been changed but the story remained essentially the same, only upgraded from sad to tragic.
This time people were wailing as if they were at a Southern wake. She was trying not to get caught up in it but the scene brought back a lot of painful memories. Memories of Rosey. Memories of her life before Rosey was killed, when Uncle Rog was in the White House. It was a time when she and Des were first in love, before they broke up, before they married, before Kay Kay. A time when she was happy. Or at least as she remembered it now. When you are actually living your life, it always seems so fraught with problems and stress. Yet when you look back on those same events, they are the good ole days. Were those ole days ever really good?
Now Sadie and Des were looking at each other again. She was smiling and nodding.
She looked over at Sprague, standing in the box next to her to see if he had noticed. He hadn’t. Nobody had.
Would she care if Des went back to Sadie? She didn’t know. She was beyond feeling at this point. Des had moved out. He had gone back to his house on 21st Street. It wasn’t such a big deal. He had kept his house. They had both agreed they could use it for guests since her house on Olive Street was so tiny. Somehow, though, it was like avoiding a total commitment. It was like having an escape hatch.
They hadn’t told anyone. It wouldn’t have made much difference anyway, considering his new television schedule and her long hours. It had been a mutual decision. After Willie’s accident it just seemed like the right thing to do. She hadn’t asked him about Sadie. She didn’t want to know. She had managed to successfully wrap herself in her work cocoon. That was her only reality. Des was in another life.
Rachel had told her that she had no capacity for denial. That may have been true then. Not anymore. She was into total denial now. It was great.
* * *
The convention was over. President and Mrs. Osgood had left with Sadie Grey and the platform cleared out. Within minutes the hall was as dead as it had just been alive.
Allison and the others left the press box and walked out of the hall and across the way to the adjoining building where the news media had their work spaces. Everyone was clearing out. She had a few lastminute conversations with the reporters and editors still wrapping up the day’s stories. The lead stories would be Malcolm Sohier as the vice presidential candidate and Sadie Grey’s reception at the convention hall. It had been a triumphant evening for the Democrats. Walt Fineman and a couple of the other national reporters were headed up to the Ritz Carlton bar where all the celebrity journalists hung out. She agreed to join them. She was much too keyed up to go to bed, especially alone. It had been an emotional evening. As they were heading out of the work space Sprague came toward them. She wanted to ask him to join them but she was afraid to in front of the others. He stood chatting with them for a moment. Finally Walt asked. She noticed Rod Taylor stiffen. Sprague noticed, too. He looked at Taylor, then at her. He nodded his assent to Walt. They finally managed to find cabs. Sprague maneuvered his way into hers.
The same thing happened once they were inside the Ritz bar. The place was packed, not a table to be had. Most of the journalists were standing up and talking, like at a cocktail party. Walt took it upon himself to find a table. They were all starving. She found an empty seat at the bar and ordered a glass of wine. Sprague came up to the bar, leaned over her and ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks. When he got his drink, he didn’t leave to join the crowd in the middle of the room.
She had decided she would be content to just sit and watch the animals at the watering hole. She was tired and drained and she didn’t feel much like talking. He picked up immediately on her mood. He clinked his glass against hers and smiled. Neither of them said a word. They sipped their drinks and stared at the merrymaking. Walt was clearly having no luck getting a table, the noise was beginning to get to her, and she was having second thoughts about wanting to be with people.
“Let’s get out of here,” Sprague said.
He was reading her mind.
She looked at him, a bit apprehensive. She didn’t want to be seen leaving with him.
“You go first. Go around back to the garage entrance. I’ll join you there. I’ll slip the guy something and he’ll let me get my own car so we won’t have to wait until next year to get it.”
Before she could answer he was gone, moving into the crowd as though he had planned to make a night of it. She looked around to make sure that neither Walt nor any of her colleagues were watching, then made a quick exit.
She walked around to the back of the hotel to the entrance of the garage, ducking inside so she wouldn’t be seen. A few minutes later Sprague arrived with the keys to his rental car and the two of them made their way down into the garage.
He had shaken Ralph, she was relieved to see. Ralph had been dogging him throughout the convention and Sprague was chafing at the intrusion. He was also taking an enormous amount of razzing from the other reporters and he was not amused. But after the incident in Lafayette Park he was smart enough to realize he couldn’t afford to take chances.
It was only as they were halfway down that they spotted the limo pulling up to the elevator entrance right near where they were standing.
Before she knew what was happening Sprague had grabbed her and practically knocked her over as he pulled her to one side and behind a pillar.
She started to protest loudly but he put his hand over her mouth.
“Fuck,” he said under his breath. “Wouldn’t you know. The one time I dump Ralph.”
Of course, she suddenly realized, it was the Colombians. How obvious. They would simply pull up in a limo and grab him and drive away.
She was sure the Colombians hadn’t seen them. But they must have been following him to have come down into the garage. Maybe they would think they had gone into one of the elevators.
They were both standing there, plastered against the pillar, hardly breathing, when the elevator opened and out came a woman in a platinum blond wig and dark glasses, flanked by two beefy guys with earphones.
She looked extremely familiar but Allison couldn’t place her at first. As she approached the limo, the back door swung open and a man leaned out to help the woman in, while her two companions climbed into the front seat. For a moment, Allison didn’t believe what she saw. Then it all made sense.
The man in the limo was Desmond Shaw. The woman in disguise was Sadie Grey.
* * *
They drove in silence down the highway.
“Where are we going?” she asked after a while.
“A little place in Smyrna I used to take my dates in the days when I was courting. It’s called Aunt Fanny’s Cabin. It’s out of the way. You’re not likely to run into anybody you know. It’s a good place to talk.”
They still hadn’t said anything. She wasn’t at all sure she wanted to talk. She was in a daze. She hadn’t quite absorbed what had just happened.
He pulled off the highway onto a small dirt road. At the end of it was a pretty, old, white-columned Southern plantation house in a grove of trees surrounded by meadow. He pulled around to the back of the house into the grove.
It was a perfect summer night, hot but no humidity. There was a slight breeze and the smell of frying chicken wafted through the air. The restaurant was almost empty. There were a few people sitting at the bar and several finishing up their dinner. They chose a table in the room with the bar, a room with old plank floors, a brick fireplace, and red-checkered curtains. The windows were open and the candles on the table flickered in the breeze. They begged the manager to feed them even th
ough the kitchen was closed and soon their table was piled with skillet-fried chicken, country ham, okra, Brunswick stew, biscuits, and gravy.
Sprague took off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and attacked the food. She took hers off and put a napkin up in front of her short-sleeved silk blouse so she wouldn’t get grease on it. Neither of them stopped to remove the chains around their necks with their convention press credentials.
Sprague ordered a bottle of the driest white wine they had for her. He stuck with bourbon. He had the bartender bring him the bottle, which he put on the table next to his elbow.
“I feel as if I’m in a foreign country,” said Allison. “I don’t speak the language or understand the customs or know the food. Or you for that matter. I don’t know you. You amaze me. You’re like a completely different person here.”
“Take a good look because this is the real me.”
“I think I like the real you better.”
“That’s encouraging. I wasn’t a’tall sure you liked the other me.”
“I can’t understand what gave you that impression.”
“It must have been a misunderstanding. I could have sworn you once called me a prick under your breath.”
“I say that to all the boys.”
“Spoken like a true Southern belle. I declare, I do believe you have got po-tential, darlin’.”
“To be what?”
“To be a good ole girl.”
“What do you have to do to be a good ole girl?”
“You have to git drunk and git nekkid, that’s what.”
She burst out laughing.
“This can’t be Sprague Tyson I’m talking to. What happened to the stoic, hard-ass citizen/soldier I used to know and love?”
“We left him back in that… garage.”
Before the words were out of his mouth he realized he had made a mistake, but it was too late.
Her face went white and she sagged visibly, the air knocked out of her.
“You saw them, didn’t you?”
She nodded.
“Well, shit. I’d like to kill that son of a bitch.”
He hit the table with his fist.
“There’s no point in being angry with him. I’m just as responsible as he is. We separated three weeks ago, Sprague. We deliberately decided to stay in different hotels. Besides, I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
He looked stunned.
“So you are. Though you probably shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t have brought you here. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. You can’t, Ally. For God’s sake, woman, you just lost your baby. What kind of a man am I anyway to take advantage…”
He started to get up from the table.
“Sit down and shut up, Sprague. This is terribly insulting to me, the implication that I don’t know what I’m doing and that you’re taking advantage of me. I know exactly what I’m doing. My baby has nothing to do with it.”
Once again she had relied on her old friend anger to save her from an embarrassing emotional scene. Her sorrow had overwhelmed her and she had come very close to losing it there for a moment. This time she had turned the anger away from Des onto Sprague. But it wasn’t sticking. It had done an about-face and was coming back at her. Exactly what she had wanted to avoid.
He sat down and looked at her.
“Okay,” he said.
She calmed down slightly.
“Of course I wasn’t thrilled to see Des and Sadie together. But I have no right to object. I haven’t… we haven’t been close for a long time.”
Her voice dropped to a near whisper.
“Oh, Ally.” He said it with such sadness. “What can he expect?”
“He can expect love. Support. Friendship. Understanding. He’s gotten none of that from me. I won’t even tolerate his religion. He’s turned to the Catholic church for solace and I belittle him. I’ve been terrible. I don’t blame him for what he’s doing.”
“You’re really doing a number on yourself, aren’t you, kiddo?”
“I’m facing the truth.”
“There are many truths. You should know that from being a journalist. And I got news for ya. This ain’t one of ‘em.”
She didn’t answer him.
He poured her another glass of wine and poured himself another bourbon.
“I think, Miss Ally,” he said, “that you and I, we gon’ git drunk together and…”
She started to gasp in mock horror.
“Tell some stories.”
“You start,” she said.
Maybe it was the wine or the foreign atmosphere. Maybe it was Sprague, this person she had never met before, this private person whose own defenses were down. Maybe she was having a successful go at denial. She could feel her fears being calmed, her hurt soothed, her sadness subsiding.
“Where do you want me to start?” he asked.
“Tell me why you’re so afraid of fear.”
There was a shock of recognition in his eyes.
“Boy, you don’t mess around, do you?”
“You’re even afraid of discussing it.”
“Very interesting, Miss Ally.”
He tightened his jaw as if he were about to go into mortal combat.
“All right. I’ll show you I’m not afraid to talk about it. Fear runs counter to the macho code, the Citadel code. I resent fear in myself. I resent being touched by it. I resent the idea that I could lose my nerve. Fear represents a certain kind of failure. I can’t even stand the notion that I would be afraid to fail. I have been brought up and trained to believe that even when it’s hard you shoulder through. Anything can be overcome by determination. History is replete with stories of people who wouldn’t give up, people who were alone and right against a clamoring mob. Homer’s Odyssey is about overcoming fear, about a distaste for fear, not giving in to fear.”
“I saw fear on your face when you thought that limo was full of murderous Colombians.”
“When you love people it changes things. I can’t just be afraid for myself anymore. If they’re here, then they are close to my family and that scares me. And I was afraid for you.”
The fact that he alluded to loving her was not lost on her.
“And not for yourself?”
“I can’t separate that out.”
“Where did you get this aversion to fear?”
“From my daddy, I guess. He was a Citadel man, too, and a World War Two hero. I never saw him afraid. His family owned the Savannah paper. He was publisher. They had a big squabble and my father’s side of the family lost. They threw him out. He never showed he was afraid but it killed him. He had a heart attack and died. That’s why I quit. After I won the Pulitzer. I wanted to win it and then give them the finger.”
“And you want to win it again in the big time and give them an even bigger finger?”
“Something like that.”
The waiter came over to tell them that they were closing the restaurant. Sprague prevailed upon him to let them stay around a little longer. He relented and Sprague poured them both another drink. He had drunk over half a bottle but he still seemed relatively sober. At least to her inebriated eyes.
“What happened with you and Des?”
He was so abrupt it took her by surprise.
“I couldn’t let him touch me after Kay Kay. I couldn’t stand the idea of getting pregnant, of losing another baby.”
She said it so simply. It was so matter-of-fact, so obvious. She hadn’t been able to articulate it until that moment, that moment of drunken clarity.
“Does that go for all men or just Des?”
She hadn’t thought about it that way.
“I don’t know. No, I do know. It’s just Des.”
“There is such a thing as birth control.”
She hadn’t thought of that either. She had to come up with another reason. A real reason.
“Sex and grief don’t go together,” she said finally. “Even if I could deal with my own, I can’t handle
his.”
The bartender came over and gently insisted that they leave. The restaurant had long since been empty.
They walked slowly out to the car together. The bartender was the last to leave. He locked up the restaurant, waved goodnight, and drove off leaving them alone in the grove of trees, in the shadow of the plantation house by the meadow.
The night was completely still except for the crickets chirping in the moonlight.
He opened the car door for her.
“A real Southern gentleman. I can’t remember the last time someone opened my door.”
She slid in the passenger’s side.
He walked around to the driver’s side and got in. He had rented a Cadillac, the kind with one wide front seat instead of two bucket seats.
He didn’t put the key in the ignition.
They looked at each other.
“I want to kiss you,” he said.
She hesitated, then leaned over to him, holding up her lips. He brushed them gently with his mouth. She sat back up. They looked at each other again.
“I want to kiss you again.”
“What about Jane?”
She hadn’t intended to mention her.
“I’ve never cheated on her.”
There was a silence.
“That’s not true,” he said. “Once. On the road. A bunch of us picked up some girls in a bar. I’ve regretted it ever since. Jane is a wonderful person. She’s tough. She’s got grit. She’s a dedicated teacher. I admire her a lot.”
“What about Jane?”
She had changed her inflection.
“We seem to have drifted apart.”
They sat looking at each other again.
She leaned toward him. He kissed her again. This time with more fervor.
“Ally. Come here.”
She moved closer to him. He put his arm around her neck and she slid up close to him. He kissed her again, this time with passion.
They necked for a long time, just kissing each other, his hand brushing softly against her breasts over her silk blouse. It seemed to suit them both.
Then simultaneously they both wanted more. He unbuttoned her blouse and undid her bra. He hadn’t forgotten how. He was very deft.
