by Sally Quinn
* * *
Cocktails were in the library, a beautiful room done in deep gray velvets and soft reds. The bookcases were lined with leather-bound books, and the Louis Quinze desk, suede chairs, dark red paisley chintz, and a blazing fire made it seem both glittering and cozy.
Chessy was already there and had settled in. Archie, in his smoking jacket, was fixing drinks.
Lorraine was in one of her famous caftans, this one a simple burnt red. No jewelry. He black hair sleeked back, her lipstick matching her caftan. Perfect.
Chessy, again, was a little overdressed. A few drinks had taken the elastic quality out of her face, and gravity was definitely her enemy.
Now, giving her full attention to Chessy, Sadie could detect a slight Oriental cast to her eyes. Face lift. A beautiful job, no doubt, but one could always tell. Nothing wrong with that. Sadie had every intention of doing the same thing when she was a few years older. She wondered how old Chessy was. Probably about forty-five. She looked forty-five, at least. Sadie wondered who her plastic surgeon was. She could probably find out from Lorraine. She didn’t have to worry about that now, but there would come a day… Everybody said this job would take its toll. The press was always running Before and After pictures of politicians and their wives, and they always aged tremendously in those jobs. Stress. That was what they said. Sadie wondered if she could handle the stress. She really would have to learn to keep her mouth shut. Anyway, “Thirty-nine and holdin’,” as the country song said. That would be her motto soon enough. Well, she didn’t see any reason why she should worry about it, only that was easier said than done.
“Don’t you look nice,” said Sadie. She simply could not put Chessy together with Desmond Shaw.
Chessy turned to Lorraine. “Really, Lorraine, I don’t see what it is in this city that fascinates you. Especially after London. Now, there’s an exciting city. Washington is filled with dreary politicians and journalists and the women they married when they were twenty-two.”
“That’s an old cliché, Francesca dear,” said Lorraine a bit testily. “Look again. This has become quite a glamorous town. Nothing substitutes for power, not even money.”
“I haven’t noticed you divesting yourself of all your worldly goods, darling,” said Chessy.
“Money only matters in Washington if you haven’t any power,” said Lorraine. “Things have changed considerably since you spent any time here, Chessy. When Des was in the Boston Gazette bureau it was a very different world. Now they’re writing movies and books about those dreary politicians and journalists you talk about. And those dreary little wives they married when they were twenty-two are gone. The new wives are all anchorwomen and Cabinet officers. You have no idea what a strain it is to try and seat these dinners. It’s enough to break even the most dedicated hostess’ spirit. I’ve really given in to having only buffet suppers.”
“When one is called to a higher purpose, one must sacrifice,” said Chessy. “My hat’s off to you. That was quite a little group you put together last night.” She glanced sidewise at Sadie. “Quite a coup.”
There was an edge to the conversation that was making Sadie a little uncomfortable. The two women had to have known each other very well for a long time to be talking to each other like this. Although Lorraine was visibly embarrassed by Chessy’s reference to Rosey and Sadie’s appearance at her party, Sadie knew perfectly well it was a coup for Lorraine. She was only just beginning to understand how much of one.
Irma appeared to say that dinner was served. The dining room, which had been arranged for a buffet the night before, was set up now as a dining room. In the middle of the room was a polished wood table; the other one had been folded away. A large antique Italian hand-painted folding leather screen had been pulled across the room near its entrance to shut off part of it and make it cozier. A fire was blazing, and the table was set with beautiful traditional china and silver and crystal. There were embroidered white organza placemats on the table. The four silver candelabra glistened from the candlelight, and in the center of the table had been placed a crystal bowl of fruit.
Small cups of soup were already at their four places, with lids on them to keep them warm.
“Have there been any surprises about Washington yet?” Lorraine asked Sadie once they were seated.
Sadie took a moment to think. The only sounds in the room were the tinkle of silver spoons on the china and the crackling of the fireplace.
“Of course, I’m always surprised at how well-known people are so human. Even though I’m one of them and shouldn’t be surprised by it, in public they take on a sort of larger-than-life quality.”
“How do you mean?” asked Chessy.
“Well, you never see a First Lady with a hair out of place or a run in her stocking or perspiration stains. How do they do it? Do they never fight with their husbands, never have to go to the bathroom in the middle of a motorcade, never have too much wine and throw up all night long, never get cramps? Nobody has come to give me perfect pills or the proper inoculations. I still have days when I can’t do anything with my hair. Somehow my skirts never seem to be the right length. I perspire like a washerwoman when I get nervous, which lately has meant all the time.”
Sadie was laughing at herself. She had had more to drink than she’d intended. But she felt safe with Lorraine. Lorraine was her Apache guide through Indian territory. She knew all the footprints, the color of the beads, the meaning of the feathers, the importance of the smoke signals, and could she ever play the tom-toms! Normally she would never have talked this way around a man, but Archie had a way of fading into the background.
When Irma came around with more wine, Sadie did not put her hand over her glass as she should have. She was having a good time and she was getting some things out of her system. Why not? This was the beginning of a new life.
Ezio had made a glorious stuffed wild duck with a persimmon sauce and spectacular crisp green vegetables, some heavenly pommes soufflées.
“That’s another thing,” she said. They were all fascinated. No one had said a word after she began talking.
“Weight. I am constantly on a diet. No other Vice President’s wife has ever had a weight problem. They always look thin and svelte. First Ladies and Second Ladies always have marvelous projects that they work on from dawn until dusk, and when they’re not doing that they’re taking foreign-language courses to improve themselves. Sometimes I get the lying-down disease for days. It’s all I can do then to get out of bed and get dressed to go to a party.”
By now they saw the humor in what she was saying, and they were beginning to laugh.
“Y’all go ahead and laugh,” she said playfully, “but I haven’t even got to the worst part yet. Sometimes you get the impression these political couples are surgically joined together, the way they hang on to each other for dear life. But there’s something about the adoring-wife role that just isn’t suited to me. And Rosey is not demonstrative. He thinks it’s kind of tacky to hold hands in public.”
“Riveting,” muttered Archie as the crème brulée was passed. “Riveting.”
It was a rare experience these days for her to be the center of attention in any group when Rosey was there, and she was very wound up.
“One thing I have noticed—I mean compared to Richmond: that there are an awful lot of Jewish people. I mean I think that’s fine, but it did seem to me that that was unusual socially. I guess I’m just not used to it.”
“Don’t get me started on that,” said Archie, clearing his throat.
“Now, Archie,” said Lorraine with a harsh tone in her voice. “Please.”
Archie seemed not to hear her.
“You’re a very wise girl,” said Archie to Sadie. “Very wise indeed. Very observant. There were a lot of Jews here last night.”
Sadie flinched at the word “Jews.” Where she came from it was not polite. One said Jewish or Jewish people. Jews sounded so harsh.
“There are more and more Jews every
time we have a dinner party. Soon there will not be a single Christian left at any of our parties. It’s not chic to be a Christian anymore. Did you know that, my dear?”
Archie was now peering over his glasses at Sadie, who was sorry she had brought it up.
“They’re taking over the media, they’re taking over the government,” continued Archie. “Look at all those Washington Daily people. Jews, every single one of them. It’s the new thing now. Good Yankee Puritan stock is passé. Just add ‘stein’ or ‘feld’ on the end of your name and you’ve got it made. We’re supposed to be ashamed of our heritage, our families, our background. Lorraine apologizes for me all the time. I don’t see you apologizing for the good Yankee Puritan ethic that made the Hadley fortune—eh, my dear?”
“Archie, this conversation is getting ugly and I won’t have it. We were having a perfectly nice talk until now.”
“I’m so sorry,” whispered Sadie.
“I’m going to the loo,” said Archie. He winked at Sadie as he got up from the table. “You’re a very smart girl,” he said approvingly.
Sadie could see that Lorraine was having a hard time keeping back the tears.
“Come on, Lolo,” said Chessy, her voice soothing and sympathetic. “Don’t let Archie get you down. You know he does it just to get your goat. Now, let’s not let a silly thing like this ruin our lovely evening. Why don’t you ring for the coffee? I think we could all use some of Ezio’s fabulous espresso. Let’s move into the living room and have our coffee there. The fire is already lit.”
Lorraine rang for the coffee, then steadied herself as she got up from the table. Sadie excused herself to go to the bathroom.
Lorraine and Chessy were speaking softly when Sadie came back.
“Let’s settle back and have a little girl-talk,” said Chessy. “Sadie, what are your observations about the women at the party last night?”
“I felt that the women had not decided yet what role they wanted to play. They were confused. One minute they were trying to act more professional, tough, smart. Then the next they were trying to be sexy and feminine…. Part of the problem was that the men seemed confused too. Does that make any sense?” asked Sadie. “The reason I felt confused is that one minute people were responding to me on a female level, another minute they were ignoring me. Half the time they were eating out of my hand and the other half their eyes would glaze over. So by the end of the evening I felt as confused as the other women in the room were behaving.”
“Was there any woman in particular whose behavior you were referring to?” asked Chessy.
Sadie couldn’t help herself. She quickly looked at Lorraine for her reaction. Lorraine wouldn’t play. She stared impassively ahead as though she hadn’t heard the question.
“There was one.” Sadie hesitated.
“And who might that have been?” inquired Chessy, now glaring at Lorraine.
“The blond one—the one with long blond hair. I can’t remember…” She did actually seem to have a mental block against the name.
“You couldn’t possibly be referring to Allison Sterling, could you? The national reporter from The Daily?”
There was such an edge to her voice that it was obvious to Sadie that Chessy knew; or if she didn’t know for sure, then she surely suspected.
“Yes. Yes, that’s the one. Allison Sterling.” Sadie said her name, made herself say it. There was a bad taste in her mouth after she did.
“What a coincidence,” said Chessy. “That’s exactly who I was going to say. Allison Sterling,” she repeated slowly and deliberately.
His voice was sudden and sharp and startling.
“What about Allison Sterling?” he said.
They all whipped around to see him standing in the doorway to the living room. Irma had obviously let him in the front door and they hadn’t seen him.
“Desmond, darling,” said Lorraine, jumping up to forestall any potential fireworks. “We were just having a little girl-talk. Won’t you come and join us?”
Sadie was surprised. She hadn’t known he was coming by. She automatically put her hand up to her hair to make sure it looked all right, licked her lips. She was blushing. It embarrassed her that he had caught them talking about Allison. She wondered how much he had heard. She said nothing.
“I’d love to, Lorraine, but Chess and I have got to go stop by a Boston Gazette party. I promised them I would have one drink with them. One of my oldest friends. I can’t let him down. Ready, Chess?” There was no warmth, no fondness, no love in either his voice or his gaze.
In a very uncharacteristic move, Chessy jumped up and went to get her coat without a protest, although Sadie could see that she really wasn’t eager to go. When she came back she kissed Lorraine and Sadie on both cheeks, thanking them for a most enjoyable and absolutely fascinating evening. “And tell Ezio he outdid himself once again,” she said. Then she took her husband’s arm almost shyly and they left.
As he was leaving, he turned at the door and looked back at Lorraine and Sadie, a sassy grin on his face.
“G’night, Lolo,” he said, then nodded to Sadie. “G’night, Miz Grey.”
He shut the door behind them.
“Poor Chessy,” said Sadie underneath her breath. She felt a shiver run all along her body, and it was not just from the cold November night air let in by the door.
“Poor Chessy is right,” said Lorraine.
* * *
She had just gotten into her nightgown when Rosey came upstairs and into the guest room. She was brushing her hair and feeling a bit woozy. The coffee had sobered her up a bit, but she had had a lot to drink and eat, and she really didn’t feel at all well. She was embarrassed and annoyed at herself. And she was fighting the most horrible feeling that she might throw up.
Sadie stood at the bathroom door and looked at her husband. He was handsome, she had to admit. He was very distinguished-looking. He also looked in control. When she drank too much, which was rare, she felt weak. She was wearing a long white satin nightgown with wide sleeves and a lacy neck.
For a moment Rosey stopped at the door and stared at her. He had that look in his eye. She couldn’t bear it. What was she going to do? The longer she stood up the dizzier she got. She started toward him and found herself not exactly on a straight course. She threw herself into his arms and hugged him, curling up against his chest for balance.
“You look awful pretty, darlin’,” he said to her as he held her in his arms. His voice was husky, and she could tell that he had had a couple of drinks. He began to rub his hands up and down her back in a soft stroking movement, up and down gently, his soft hands sliding down over her behind, then back up again to the small of her back, then her upper back and around to her breasts. That was always the way he began. There was never any deviation in his lovemaking. She was not aroused tonight, but she wanted to be held and loved. Their lovemaking for her was mostly like that. She enjoyed being caressed and held and whispered to. It made her feel good to know that Rosey loved her so much.
Now he was kissing her. He held her head in both his hands and kissed her firmly on the lips, his own lips only slightly parted.
She wrapped both her arms around his waist to steady herself.
He kissed her several times as they stood there toe to toe. She could tell he was feeling more passionate than usual. Perhaps it was his newly acquired power. Being driven around in limousines, being in this house, having people defer to him, being followed by Secret Service agents; it was all a bit heady, like living in a movie. It was that way to her; it must be that way to Rosey too.
“Do you want to make love?” he asked in a husky whisper. Even in passion he was shy and polite.
“Yes,” she answered back softly. In truth she would have been just as happy to lie down and go to sleep. But her mother had told her long ago never to deny a man, and in fact she never really felt like denying Rosey. She always felt more secure and more loved after they had had sex even if it wasn’t the most exci
ting thing in the world.
Rosey pulled away from her, took her gently by the waist with both his hands, led her to one of the beds and helped her down. Then softly he walked over to the closet and began to undress. He took off his coat and hung it in the closet.
Then he took off his vest and his tie and hung them up. Next came his shoes, which he placed neatly on the shoe trees; then his shirt and socks, which he rolled up and placed in a dirty-clothes bag. Finally he was in his shorts. He turned out the light on the table next to the chair, walked over to the bed smiling at Sadie, turned off the light on the bedside table.
She could hear him slip off his shorts as he slowly lowered himself on top of her. She was still so dizzy, even worse lying down, that she slowly moved one leg off the bed and put her foot on the floor to steady the room. Rosey had pushed her nightgown above her breasts and had buried his face in them, kissing them, first one and then the other, fondling them both in his hands as he rotated his kisses.
Suddenly, Sadie felt ridiculous. There she was, tight as a tick, with one foot on the floor and her nightgown bunched up around her neck and her husband hunched over her in the dark fondling her, and it was all she could do not to giggle. It wasn’t that she thought Rosey ridiculous; it was just that everything seemed funny.
The only thing she could think of was a story Rosey’s father had told her.
An elderly British friend of the Greys had told them that when she married, her mother had told her to make sure her winter nightgowns had fur around the hems.
“Why?” asked the perplexed young lady.
“Because,” answered Mummy, “you’ll want to keep your neck warm.”
Sadie bit her lip. Rosey was still kissing her breasts and her neck and shoulders. He would never understand if she burst out laughing. He would think she was laughing at him.
“Oh, Sadiebelle, I love you so,” he moaned softly as he raised his body on top of hers.
