by Sally Quinn
She bit at his lips, tantalizing him, biting, pulling away, biting, pulling away, until he couldn’t stand it and grabbed her hair, holding her so he could cover her mouth with his.
They moved together, loving each other, he taking the lead one moment, she the next, breathing in tandem, covered with sweat, devouring each other in the dimly lit room with their eyes, with their mouths, with their bodies.
20
There was a balcony off her room at the Hotel Praha, a 1950s hotel in a fashionable suburb of Prague. It overlooked the snow-covered grounds of formerly grand houses and down toward the city, the spires of the palace.
It was midday when she arrived from Washington, having changed planes in Frankfurt. It was a sparkling day and she didn’t feel at all jetlagged. She debated trying to get some sleep now before their cocktail reception with the mayor of Prague later that evening, but she was too excited about being in a new city to rest.
The idea of being away from Washington, from the Daily, from the news, from her life, and in a totally foreign place was exhilarating.
She had left Washington and the Daily emerging from the turmoil. Freddy had resigned shortly after his inauguration, saying he felt the scandal with Foxy had tainted his administration so badly that he was no longer the person to lead the country. No mention of AIDS. There was no question in her mind that he had tested positive at the very least, and they would still continue to try to get the story. Freddy had had no choice; it was the right thing to do. Malcolm and Abigail Sohier would be wonderful in the White House and already there was a sense of calm and healing after the chaos and conspiracy that had been going on this past year.
She had gone back to her eighteen-hour-day schedule when Freddy resigned. By mid-February, with Malcolm and Abigail ensconced, she didn’t feel so guilty leaving the office. Besides, she really had to get away. It was a question of survival.
She had been asked to go to this journalism conference sometime last June, before she and Des had split up. They had both been asked and both had accepted, welcoming the idea of getting away together somewhere after the campaigns and the inauguration. She had not really focused on it again until January and was about to drop out, just to avoid Des, when Jenny told her that he had decided not to go. She couldn’t figure out why, because there was an international AIDS conference being held in Prague at about the same time and Sadie was going to be there. She wasn’t going to worry about it though. Her only concern at that point was getting away. Far far away.
She took a shower, washed her hair, put on wool slacks and a heavy sweater, warm boots, and her fur-lined hooded parka, stuffed her guidebooks in her bag and went down to rent a taxi to take her to the central part of Prague.
Her first stop was the castle, the former royal seat of the Hapsburgs. The view from the castle atop one of the highest hills overlooking the river was magnificent. The sun shone on the spires and reflected off the sides of another castle in the distance, the old town, and the Moldau River below.
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, watching it come in clouds of vapor in the cold winter air. Looking out on this exquisite, romantic city she felt infused with energy, invigorated, exhilarated almost. Why hadn’t she done this before? Why hadn’t she gone away somewhere, somewhere totally new and different where she could forget everything and start all over? She suddenly had the sense of possibility. Why couldn’t she do it now? It wasn’t too late. She could ask for another foreign assignment. Maybe Eastern Europe. There was so much excitement and a sense of vitality, of new life and new possibilities. It would suit her mood. Her mood? Was this her new mood? One of hope and possibility? It stunned her to think that. She had been so used to her anger and her pain. It had been hard enough letting go of the anger. Could she do it with the pain, too, so that she could get on with her life? She didn’t know. But at this moment, for the first time, she thought it was not completely out of the question.
St. Vitus Cathedral was within the castle grounds and she wandered over to have a look inside. It was enormous and impressive, with an extraordinary silver altar, gargoyles at every turn, ancient worn-wood purple-curtained confessionals, and a tiny Wenceslas chapel encrusted with jasper and amethysts.
She marveled at how completely devoid of any sense of spirituality this grand place was, for her especially, compared to Holy Trinity Church in Georgetown, which was so peaceful and meditative. Yet there in the midst of all this grandeur were simple people worshipping.
She thought of Des and his Catholicism and wondered whether they would ever be able to resolve their differences with each other. It baffled her so to know that someone she was so close to felt the same way, thought the same way, had so many of the same attitudes but could then believe in something so bizarre. It was not lost on her that she was no longer angry at him for his belief. She just didn’t get it. She was, however, beginning to feel something akin to religious tolerance. He had told her Christmas Day that it drove him crazy to think that he had his religion, something to fall back on, to help him through this crisis and she had nothing. She had thought about that a lot. She realized that she was no longer scornful or contemptuous of him. She was envious. What she thought now was that she was glad for him that he had it. Glad for him and sorry for her.
She left the cathedral and wandered slowly down the winding cobblestone path, past the quaint Renaissance buildings, toward the river. There weren’t many tourists out in this cold weather, but the ones who were had obviously headed for the Charles Bridge, the main attraction. It was a gorgeous stone arc, which spanned the Moldau River, punctuated with baroque statues. A few artists were out selling etchings of famous local facades, and a pair of musicians played a banjo and sang with a group of students circling around them. There were couples in fur hats strolling across the bridge hand in hand and one pair up against a blackened ancient statue kissing. It was an extremely romantic scene. It made her lonely. Lonely for Des. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of need for him and a realization that she was simply not complete without him.
She shivered. The clouds had covered the sun and it was looking gloomy now. It was about to snow. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees in the last half hour.
She stopped and leaned over the wall of the bridge looking down. One of her guidebooks had mentioned that there was a gold cross embedded in the top of the waist-high bridge wall somewhere in the middle. If you put your hand on the cross and said a prayer your prayer would be answered. It was hard to find so you had to look closely. It would be on her left side toward the clock tower. She walked slowly along the edge of the wall running her gloved hand along it, looking carefully for the small gold cross. Not that she was religious or anything, but why not say a little prayer? What could it hurt?
As she approached the middle of the bridge she saw a man standing with his back to her next to the wall. He had his hand on the top of it. He was tall and had on a dark coat and a Russian-style fur hat. She would have to go around him. As she got a little closer he turned sideways to face the river, not moving his hand.
It was Des.
He had his hand on top of the gold cross.
She walked up behind him and took the glove off her left hand. She still had on her wedding ring. She had never removed it. They were still married. She leaned over and gently placed her hand on top of his.
He didn’t move. He only looked down at her hand. Then softly, without turning to her he spoke, a note of awe in his voice.
“It works,” he said. “Blessed Mother, it works.”
He wheeled around then and put his arms around her, picking her up and twirling her around.
“Oh God, it works!” he shouted. “It works! It works! It works!”
She put her arms around his neck to hold on as she was being swung around in a circle and he was laughing and she was laughing and they both had tears in their eyes as they went around and around until they were dizzy with motion and with happiness.
It had begun to snow and t
he tiny flakes were swirling about their faces as he put her down.
“Sonny, my precious Sonny,” he said, crushing her to him. He held her head in his hands and kissed her face, her eyes, her nose, her lips.
“I’ve got you now. I’ll never let you go. Never.”
She kissed him back playfully on his nose.
“Can we possibly continue this love scene indoors?” she said. “I’m freezing to death.”
He laughed.
“Isn’t it convenient that the Three Ostriches is tucked away right at the foot of this bridge? I was just thinking of stopping in there for a wee taste myself.”
He took her by the arm and led her to a beautiful tiny sixteenth-century building right on the river.
Inside the minuscule fifteen-room hotel was a cozy restaurant overlooking the bridge with soft lamps and candlelight. It was getting dark outside and they slipped into a booth next to the window and ordered hot mulled wine.
Des took her hand from across the table, then got up and came over to her side of the booth.
“I don’t want to be separated from you another second,” he said, encircling her with his arms. “I want to be close to you.”
The waiter brought their drinks and they touched their glasses together.
“To us,” said Des.
Allison grew quiet and Des frowned.
“What is it, Sonny?”
“It’s just that I’m afraid for us, Des. I felt so strongly that you were being taken away from me that I was losing you to some strange cult, that it would always be in the way for us. It’s all so strange to me and I felt so shut out by you. So excluded. At the time I needed you most you weren’t there for me. You had been body-snatched and had left me all alone. That’s mainly why I was so angry at you. And I don’t see what’s changed that. If it’s going to work for us you’re going to have to make me understand. And you’re going to have to stop pushing me away.”
Des nodded.
“You’re looking at a guy who’s always judged his whole life on the basis of worldly success,” he said. “Suddenly he’s confronted by the fact that most of the things he cared about are not important. He loses his child and everything else loses its importance to him. Looking for God is looking for understanding. I had to believe that it was providential, that things happen for a reason. I had to find that reason, to understand. Does that make any sense to you?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“My mother lost three children. She had asthma. If all of those children had lived she would probably have died of the strain of having to care for them. God is loving and all powerful. There must be a design. I have to believe that or I couldn’t go on.”
“I do understand that part of it, Des. I just don’t get the Church part. I don’t get that you go to Mass every morning and take communion. I mean, Catholics are supposed to believe that the bread and wine actually turn into the blood and flesh of Christ. Do you believe that?”
She was challenging him again, threatening to ruin what they had just found. He looked suddenly pained. At first he didn’t say anything. Then slowly he reached over and took both her hands in his and held them tightly. He leaned toward her and in a slow, deliberate voice he began speaking to her as though he were talking to a child.
“Sonny. I love you. I will never leave you. Never. And I won’t let you use religion to drive us apart again because you are afraid of loving someone, being close to someone. Because you are afraid of being abandoned. Do you understand me?”
She stared at him a long time, as if the message needed time to penetrate her brain, as if she were absorbing the information before she could comprehend it.
Finally, her face softened. Tears came to her eyes. Then she smiled.
“Because if you do believe it,” she said with a mischievous twinkle, “that would be cannibalism!”
He laughed with relief. She had understood. This was her way of dealing with his message.
“The genius of the Catholic church is that it has a lot of complex arguments to rationalize what people feel,” he said.
“I don’t need complex arguments to rationalize what I feel,” she teased.
“And what is it you feel, my precious angel.”
“I feel you are an asshole. But you’re my asshole.”
“Why, Sonny. That’s the most romantic thing I have ever heard you say. When you talk like that I hear violins. I see moonlight and roses.”
“Do you see double beds with fluffy down comforters in adorable little Czech hotels where you have to bribe the concierge to get a room?”
“What makes you ask that?”
“I’m suddenly starting to believe in communion.”
21
Michael made a brilliant closing presentation at the conference and then took off for the rest of his East European tour. They had not discussed when they would see each other again. It was up to him now.
She had already made plans to go to La Samanna when she returned from Prague. She had promised Willie and she needed the chance to unwind. The older children were working and wouldn’t be joining them this time.
She couldn’t decide whether it was a good idea or not to go to La Samanna. Would it make Michael seem closer or farther away?
Willie was old enough to eat in the terrace dining room so the first night she took him and Monica for an early dinner, then retired to her room to read. She had deliberately chosen a juicy novel to distract her, but every time she picked up the book he was all she could see, all she could think about.
She decided to take a walk down the beach. It was probably a mistake, but she was too restless to stay in her room. She was adept now at evading her agents and she slipped out without any trouble.
It was a lovely warm night with hardly a breeze. The waves were barely lapping at the shore. She was barefoot and hiked her ankle-length cotton skirt above her knees so she could walk in the surf.
The walk down to the end of the beach was long and she was a little nervous. A new moon was obscured by banks of passing clouds so it was quite dark. The hotel security people had said there had been several robberies and assaults that winter, and people along the water were buying watchdogs. She put it out of her mind. She needed to get out, to think.
They hadn’t talked much that night in Prague. They had already talked too much. They just loved each other.
She hadn’t told him how she had felt that afternoon at the cemetery. He didn’t seem to need her too. He had sensed it.
As she approached the end of the beach where she always sat to meditate, she noticed a movement from the rocks to her right. The moon was behind a cloud and it was too dark to see who or what it was. She froze.
She looked back toward the hotel. It was nearly a mile and there were no lights anywhere in between. Even if she screamed there was no one to hear. She looked at the water. It was very rocky in front of where she stood and the waves were ferocious. She would have killed herself just trying to get to the water and she wasn’t a very good swimmer anyway.
Her heart began to pound. How could she have been so stupid? Here she was with two Secret Service agents to protect her and she had deliberately shaken them just to go for a walk. She thought of Willie and panicked. It was irresponsible of her to take such a risk, with a small child. A child who had already lost his father.
She decided to try to stay calm, casually turn around, and start walking back the other way. If the person attacked her she would try to talk him out of it. She had no money and he would surely recognize her and think better of whatever he had in mind.
As she started to turn, she heard a voice.
“Don’t go,” he said.
The cloud over the moon passed on, revealing his face.
It was Michael.
22
“Good Night” was filming the next two weeks of shows in various Eastern European countries and Des had to leave for Hungary the next day after his segment on one of the panels.
She had to
stay for her own presentation at the end of the conference, then get back to Washington.
She didn’t mind going back now. Sadness had turned to hope. They had not resolved anything. They had only made love to each other all night. It was almost an otherworldly experience, being there in that setting with this man who was her husband, the person she loved most in the world. She almost believed it had not happened. When she tried to re-create it in her mind on the plane going home she couldn’t summon up the images.
Des had said he would call her when he got back. Meanwhile she would go about her life trying to act normal until he returned and they could see what they had together.
She sleepwalked through the next two weeks, going to the office, going home, talking to people as though she were actually there instead of miles away.
She thought of nothing but Des. The only problem was she didn’t know what to think. What worried her was that even if Des returned and asked her to come back to him, she didn’t know what she would say. Somehow she felt she needed a sign that it was right. Standing between them, in their way every waking moment, was Kay Kay. It wasn’t that she wanted to eradicate Kay Kay’s memory. She would always be there in her heart.
What she needed was something that would take her beyond her beloved daughter so that when she and Des looked at each other they didn’t see the specter of their dead child.
* * *
Des called her from the airport. It was early evening and he had just come in from London.
Somehow she knew it was he when the phone rang. She had been waiting. She ran to pick it up, then hesitated before she could answer. It rang a few more times.
“Hello,” she said finally.
“Sonny?”
“Des?”
She put her hand over her heart.
“How are you?”
Her mouth went dry. She wasn’t sure she could say the words. She hadn’t expected to cry, she didn’t want to cry, but now the tears were coming. She hesitated again, not wanting to break down on the phone.
