by Sally Quinn
Most of the people in the room suspected that Allison had been seeing Des. He had traveled with the Republican incumbent too often, as had she. O’Grady was one of Des Shaw’s closest friends. They had grown up together in Boston in the same neighborhood, had gone to the same parochial school, the same college. O’Grady was Catholic the way Shaw was: lapsed. And they were both male chauvinist pigs.
Most of the people in the room also knew that Des was a ladies’ man and that Allison was hardly the first. Nobody ever mentioned one to the other. When O’Grady had invited them to dinner separately he hadn’t known that Chessy was going to be in town because Shaw hadn’t known. O’Grady was surprised that Shaw was even considering bringing his wife. But then, Shaw was full of surprises.
The way he figured it, that was their business, Allison’s and Des’s. He just hoped it wasn’t too awkward or that it didn’t cause Allison pain. Des Shaw had broken a lot of hearts. Allison might seem pretty cool and pretty tough on the outside. Everybody in Washington thought she was. She was putting on a good front, but O’Grady could see that she was nervous and that she kept glancing at the door.
Dinner was a big lamb stew with heavy homemade bread and salad. It was delicious, and Allison felt a twinge of jealousy toward Pat O’Grady, who had seemed to put it on the table so effortlessly. Everyone toasted her effusively; too effusively. Sometimes journalists could be terribly patronizing. Pat beamed and blushed, uncomfortable with praise, then heard one of the children crying and was relieved to escape. It touched Allison to see how different she was from the rest of them who lived with their egos exposed, who demanded recognition and praise, the fix of the byline, the rush of the most beautiful phrase in the English language: “Great piece!”
As she had known it would, the conversation came around to how Allison was going to handle it. It was Hemmings, from The Democratic Review, who brought it up. He had wanted the White House job when she got it and had left The Daily shortly afterward. Hemmings had a reputation as a killer. So did Allison. He was as judgmental about his colleagues as she was. Live by the sword, die by the sword. But God, sometimes it hurt. His date, a reporter at The Weekly, winced. She did not want to see Hemmings get into a match with Allison.
“So,” he had begun. He had had too much to drink. It was going to get ugly. “So tell us. We’re all waiting to see how you will handle this situation. No doubt it has been discussed in the halls of The Daily.”
She decided to let him set himself up.
“Naturally, you will quit the beat. Will you stay in Washington?”
Hemmings’ date tried to joke. “Down, boy,” she said nervously.
“Actually, I thought I’d ask everyone here,” said Allison. “What would you all do if you were in my position?”
He hadn’t expected her to return it to him that way. He was quiet for a moment or two.
“Well,” he said, stalling, “I would certainly take myself off the White House beat.”
He was saved by Pat O’Grady.
“Dessert, anyone?” she said, bringing in two apple pies and a bowl of ice cream.
“How timely!” joked O’Grady. “Anything to sweeten up this discussion.”
After dinner there were mugs of coffee. Hemmings was brooding in his armchair. Allison was seated on the sofa across the room.
“Now, where were we?” he said. “What would I do if I were Allison Sterling? Well, I would demand a foreign post.” (Only the more affected reporters talked about foreign “posts”; everybody else said foreign “assignments.” And nobody on newspapers demanded anything; reporters requested to be sent abroad.)
“Why would you do that rather than stay in Washington?”
“Well, obviously having your godfather as the President poses conflicts of interest. There is nothing the President does that doesn’t touch on every part of this city. How could you report on any aspect of government and expect to be objective?”
“Fairness and objectivity being the goal?” she asked.
“Exactly.”
“And being favorable toward an administration would preclude me from being objective or fair about any facet of Washington?”
“Without question.”
“Then,” said Allison, “can you and I expect to be colleagues in some foreign capital together?”
“What do you mean?”
“I assume that in the interest of ethical behavior, you too have demanded a foreign post.” She emphasized “demanded” and “post.”
“Just what are you getting at?”
“Well, Hemmings, really. There you were being very pro the Republican Administration and writing favorable pieces some even thought apologetic. Then you quit The Democratic Review to go to work for the Republican Administration on the National Security Council. Now that a Democratic administration is in you are back writing very unfavorable pieces against them. Surely by your own definition you should have disappeared in your safari jacket. Isn’t the conflict of interest tearing you apart? Aren’t you having a moral crisis?”
“Let the poor S.O.B go home and sleep it off. Have you no mercy, woman?”
The sound of his voice. She had forgotten.
Allison didn’t dare look up. She couldn’t bear to find out whether Chessy had come with him.
“Hi, Chess,” O’Grady said. “Glad you could make it.” He lied. Allison could feel the coolness in his voice.
She composed herself, then caught Jerry looking at her, a strong, confident, supportive smile on his face.
“You creamed him,” he whispered across the room, covering his mouth and pointing to the departing Hemmings. “Now do it again, killer.” This time he pointed to Des.
Everybody in the room had brightened when Shaw came in, and they were all curious to meet his wife.
They were deliberately avoiding looking at Allison. They didn’t want to seem to be curious. But Allison had put on her public face, and she was smiling as she turned to greet Des.
“Christ,” he yelled to O’Grady, “could I use a drink!”
“What’ll it be, me boy?”
“Ah, just a wee taste o’ Jameson neat will do me fine.” Des and O’Grady nearly always talked in brogue when they weren’t insulting each other or talking politics or sports.
Allison got up from the sofa and walked around it to where he was standing.
“How are you, Des?” she said, surprised at the sound of her voice. It was deeper, sexier, almost suggestive. It still amazed her, what happened to her when they were in the same room together.
She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek the same way she would have kissed Jerry. Very friendly, buddy-buddy. Then she patted him on the arm. “So. Cover story, huh? Gimme a headline.”
“You know Chessy.”
“Of course.” She turned to her. “How are you?”
“Marvelous,” she said, beaming. “I’m having a simply marvelous time. You all must just adore living here.”
“Chess is used to New York,” Shaw said. “The gossip and intrigue there is nothing compared to Washington.”
O’Grady beckoned to everyone to sit. Chessy went for the nearest chair.
“Well, I just came from Lorraine Hadley’s. Sadie Grey was there. Her husband had a working dinner and she joined us. She’s just as new to Washington as I am and just as intrigued, particularly by Lorraine’s stories. I can’t wait to move here. Although”—she laughed—“my idea of comfort and Des’s are different.”
Allison had become silent. Jerry nudged her with his foot. She was depressed by the mention of Sadie Grey.
Hemmings’ departure and Shaw’s arrival had greatly improved the company. Shaw had launched into a story. There was considerable laughter and joking and yelling. Chessy had gotten into a deep conversation with Pat O’Grady.
She pretended to listen to Des’s story. Finally, she excused herself and went quietly up the stairs to the bathroom. She shut the door, pulled the lid down on the toilet seat, and sat there wondering w
hat to do.
The bathroom looked like what you would expect the bathroom of a couple with small children to look like. It gave Allison the shivers. It represented everything that marriages stood for. It made her throat close to look at the room. It wasn’t the first time Allison had thought this. She always had that same claustrophobic feeling, that same sense of entrapment. To Allison marriage was a frightening thing. The idea of children was beyond even thinking about.
She got up from the toilet seat and stared at herself in the mirror. She felt as though she were looking at a stranger. She smiled. She could see squint lines around her eyes. They seemed dead and lifeless. She had left her purse downstairs. She grabbed a little of Pat’s old eyeliner, licked it with her tongue, and smudged it around her eyes to give them more expression. They just looked smudged. She took some of Pat’s lipstick. It was bright red. She tried it anyway. It made a garish slash across her face.
She took a little of the red lipstick now with her fingers and rubbed it on her cheeks to make rouge spots. She had made herself up to look like a clown. She could not look at herself now without embarrassment.
There was a knock on the door. “Sonny? Are you all right? Sonny!” There was a worried tone to Des’s voice. “Sonny. Can I come in?”
Without thinking, she said yes in a soft whisper.
He pushed the door open slightly, then opened it quickly and stepped in, closing it behind him.
She didn’t turn to look at him. She was still staring at herself in the mirror, almost in shock. He walked over to the sink and stood behind her, putting his hands on her shoulders. Only then did he see what she had done.
“Sonny, what the fuck have you done to your face?”
She didn’t answer. She seemed surprised. She couldn’t figure it out. She wasn’t drunk; in fact, she had hardly had anything to drink at all. She had just lost herself for a moment. She shrugged. She still couldn’t say anything. There wasn’t anybody else in Washington who was as confident as Allison Sterling. She had made it. She was untouchable. Why would she want to change herself?
“I don’t get it,” he was saying. “I thought maybe you were sick or something. I got worried about you. You’ve been up here for nearly half an hour. What’s going on?”
He was genuinely disturbed, and of course, there was no explanation, since she didn’t understand herself what she was doing. But she had snapped out of it sufficiently to get hold of herself.
She started to smile, then burst into a grin. They were both staring at her face in the mirror, he behind her. She stuck out her tongue. Then she put her fingers in her ears and waved her fingers at him. She started to giggle, then to laugh. She couldn’t stop laughing. Des started to smile tentatively. He still wasn’t sure she was okay. She was hysterical now, laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe. She was leaning over and clutching her sides. Des was caught up in the hilarity but still not convinced. She was falling against him, grabbing him for support.
“Help me, help me,” she gasped, going off into another fit of laughter.
By now, Des had decided that she really was laughing, though tears were beginning to stream down her face. He was laughing too, a quizzical laughter, begging her to tell him what was going on. She couldn’t possibly explain until her laughter had subsided, and she had fallen up against the back of the door, holding her sides and gasping for breath. Des went over and grabbed a handful of toilet paper and came over to her. He stood in front of her for a moment, waiting for her gasping to subside. He dabbed at the tears on her cheeks. Then he began to wipe the lipstick off her cheeks with the damp toilet paper. Next, he took the paper and blotted the scarlet lipstick from her lips.
He moved the tissue away and leaned closer to her, breathing a little faster. He put his lips on hers, touching them lightly, brushing them with his.
He kept doing this in a slow, rhythmic motion. Back and forth he moved his lips, brushing her so softly that he was almost not touching.
Allison had just gotten her breath, and now she lost it again. She saw him close his eyes and she closed hers, slumping now against the back of the door. She whimpered—half a whimper, half an attempt to breathe. He was pressing up against her harder now, as if he knew he had to support her, and indeed she felt as if she would slide to the floor if it were not for his strength pinning her against the door.
Finally she flicked out her tongue at him and grabbed his lower lip with her teeth. He let out his breath as though he had been struck. She could feel him harden, and she felt as though she were perched on a ledge when he reached his hands around behind her and hoisted her up just a few inches so that the lower halves of their bodies met. He was kissing her now; they were both nearly frantic.
“Hey, Shaw, is everything all right? Hey, Shaw! Are you up there? Is everything okay?”
O’Grady was whispering from the top of the stairs.
“Are you guys all right?” There was a pleading note in his voice.
“Oh, Jesus. Oh, Jesus,” moaned Des. “What are we going to do? Jesus Mary and Joseph. Holy Mary Mother of God. I can’t leave you now. What will I do?”
He glanced downward. “Oh, Jesus,” he said again. “Look at me. Jesus. I’ve got to calm Junior down. Oh, my God.”
He was making little sense as he pulled away and more or less staggered around the bathroom muttering to himself. “Oh, Christ. Oh, my God. How are we going to get out of here?”
Allison was leaning against the door. Her body was trembling, and she felt as if she knew what it must be like to have a hot flash. Unconsciously she moved her hand down her body and put it between her legs, leaning over as though she had the bends. Des was staggering and muttering. “Shit, I haven’t had this happen to me since I was in high school and Maureen O’Dougherty’s mother caught us necking in the living room.”
“Answer him,” Allison said. “Answer him or we’ll really be in trouble.”
“Everything’s okay,” he called to O’Grady. “Sonny’s just a little nauseated. She’s been throwing up, but she’s okay. I’ve put some cold towels on her forehead. We’ll be right down.”
“You shit,” she whispered. “Now they’ll all think I had too much to drink or that I got upset over the argument with Hemmings or that I’m upset that you brought Chessy. They’ll all think I’m the asshole instead of you.”
“How else do you figure on explaining all that red stuff all over your face? Have you got a better idea?”
He wasn’t really irritated; his voice was teasing.
She looked at his crotch and started to giggle again.
“Listen, Miss Smart Ass,” he said, “you better hope things quiet down. If I were you I’d splash a little cold water on my face and hope I looked presentable enough. Look at your hair; you better pin that up.”
Now Pat O’Grady was walking up the stairs. “Allison, is there anything I can do to help?”
“No, thank you, Pat, I’ll be okay,” moaned Allison in her most pitiful voice. “I’ll just splash some cold water on my face and be right down. Des’s been terrific.”
Allison did her best to look pale and washed-out as she got herself down the staircase slowly, only to find that the crowd was waiting at the bottom of the stairs to see the little drama. Jerry was wearing a suspicious look, but he rushed over to her oozing sympathy just in case.
“Sonny, what in the world…?”
“I made the fatal mistake of eating lunch in the Daily cafeteria,” she said weakly. “It must have been the mayonnaise in the egg salad. It looked a little yellow, but that wasn’t anything new.”
Pat O’Grady looked relieved and everybody was sympathetic. Allison glanced at Chessy, who seemed to sympathize once she saw how pale and bedraggled she looked. “Where’s Des?” she asked.
He came hurtling down the stairs, grabbed his coat, and shepherded Chessy to the door. As he was leaving he turned to Allison, who was still standing there leaning on the staircase.
“Hey, Sonny,” he said, his eyebro
ws mischievously arched. “What’s it feel like to be the goddaughter of the President of the United States?”
“Bastard,” said Allison.
* * *
In bed later, with the lights out, she masturbated. It made her feel lonely and sad. It embarrassed her. She had no choice. She had never felt such sexual desire in her life. No man had ever made her feel the way Des did. She hated him for it. She was also in love with him. What would she do if he didn’t leave Chessy? She was beginning to think that she might not have the courage to stay away from him even if he didn’t leave his wife. It was hours before she drifted off to sleep.
Only the sound of the telephone woke Allison, and only after several rings. She was still half-asleep; she didn’t know what time of day or night it was. She felt drugged as she fumbled for the phone. But before she could speak, she heard Jerry’s voice answer Des’s call.
“Jerry,” said the familiar voice.
She realized she had been dreaming about him. It was her usual dream. People were racing after her trying to kill her. She kept trying desperately, frantically to find Des, but everywhere she looked he had just left. She could see him far ahead but she couldn’t get his attention and the people with the knives were getting closer and closer.
“Listen,” Des said. Allison continued to eavesdrop. “Is Sonny around? I’ve got to talk to you.”
“She’s still asleep,” said Jerry. “You saw the story?”
“Saw it? Jesus, are you kidding? I didn’t pay all that much attention until I saw her name at the bottom. That’s what worries me.” There was a note of exasperation in his voice.
