Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

  “No, sir. We can get stuff in as late as Saturday night or in an emergency as late as Sunday morning. It is certainly not too late for an interview with the President. Would nine o’clock be too early, sir?”

  Allison couldn’t help smiling at how quickly Des jumped.

  “Good. Then nine o’clock it is. I’ll be damned if I’m going to have those sons-of-bitches run my life and tell me who I can and cannot see.” He turned to Des again, this time a look of suspicion on his face. “I don’t suppose this is going to be a very favorable story?”

  “I’m not sure I’d use that word, sir. It is going to be a fair and accurate story, and more fair and accurate since we will be having your point of view in it as well as those of your staffers.”

  “I guess you’re going to make something of the feud between Addison Marbury and Harry Saks.”

  “To be honest, we can hardly not write about it. It’s pretty much open warfare between the two, as I’m sure you know only too well.”

  “I know, I know,” said Kimball, a dejected look on his face as he rang for more wine. “But God Almighty, I have called those two in a hundred times. I’ve even threatened to fire both of them. I talked to them about it yesterday. I don’t know what more I can do. Then I pick up the news summary every morning and they’re going at each other in the press tooth and nail. I expect I’ll see even more in your story. I have a good mind to get rid of both of them—and I’m serious.”

  “Amen,” said Aunt Molly from the other end of the table.

  Allison was beginning to get panicked. This was important stuff they were talking about and Des was getting it all. He was going to have an on-the-record interview with the President tomorrow. The Daily hadn’t been able to get one. Now she was in a jam. Her editors knew she was here tonight with Des. Des would get the interview. They would at least expect her to set up an interview with the President with somebody else from the paper. She could probably talk Kimball into giving The Daily an interview, but then The Daily would have it for Sunday and beat out The Weekly, and Des would be furious. He would have some right. She wondered how much the President would tell Des on the record. It didn’t matter. He could use a lot of it as background. She would have to report everything she had learned as well. Still, unless The Daily rushed into print with a new story on the staff, it didn’t really have any outlet for this information, without having it look as if it came directly from the President.

  The conversation had drifted away from the staff. Uncle Roger was clearly saving what he wanted to say until tomorrow, and Des, she could tell, was delighted.

  “Am I wrong,” Uncle Roger was saying, “or am I getting more hell from the press than my predecessor?”

  Here it comes, Allison thought. She hadn’t seen Uncle Roger once since he’d been in the White House that he hadn’t railed about the press. Not that he was different from any of his predecessors.

  “It seems to me that you guys are giving the Republicans a free ride.”

  Venison and puréed chestnuts were being served.

  “Actually,” said Des, “I think you have a point, sir. It may well be that the press tends to be harsher on Democrats. For one thing, we have a tendency to bend over backwards to be fair to the Republicans. We see Democrats as more our own. I think there is something in that old song ‘You always hurt the one you love.’ It’s just more comfortable criticizing your wife than your neighbor’s wife. You are more conscious of the flaws of people you sympathize with.”

  “That’s a helluva note,” said Kimball. “We get crucified for trying to do the right thing. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

  “There’s even more to it than that,” said Allison. “The press has a definite sense of survival. And the Republicans are very good at stirring up antimedia sentiment around the country. It’s their favorite theme. I think the press runs a little scared when Republicans are in power.”

  “By God, I think they’ve got the right answer,” said Roger. “Put the fear of God into you. Maybe we’ve been going about it in the wrong way. Maybe we just ought to complain more every time somebody prints something untrue. When you’re sitting where I’m sitting it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea. You know, nobody can run the country nowadays. It’s impossible to be an effective President anymore. I don’t think there should ever be another two-term President. And I’m not sure I’d like to run again even if I thought I could make it.”

  “Gosh, you sound discouraged. Is it really that bad?” said Allison. She was worried. She hadn’t ever seen Uncle Roger without his usual ebullience. She knew him well enough to see he was seriously depressed.

  “Oh, don’t pay any attention to me. I’m just in a philosophical mood tonight. What’s that old saying? Even paranoids have enemies? I’ll be all right tomorrow. And I’d be a lot better off if I had a staff I could trust.”

  “What’s stopping you, Uncle Roger?”

  “He’s too nice for his own good,” said Aunt Molly. “He’s too loyal. Everybody is innocent until proved guilty, and guilty and guilty. If somebody’s been with him for a long time he doesn’t have the heart to get rid of them. Addison and Harry Saks will be here three years from now. Even if they destroy the Administration.”

  Allison and Des both looked at the President. He didn’t lift his head or refute his wife.

  “The only person worth a damn in the whole inner circle is the Vice President,” continued Molly. “He hasn’t made a single slipup. And he’s loyal to Roger. Hasn’t done any backsliding or made any stupid power moves. He’s managed to get along well with both Harry and Addison. And with our esteemed Secretary of State, John T. Hooker, which takes talent, let me tell you.”

  “That’s another story,” sighed the President.

  “Seriously,” said Molly. “I don’t know what you’d do without Rosey Grey. I think he saves us from a lot more embarrassment and bad publicity than we know.”

  Kimball brightened. “Yes, and that wife of his is a real peach. What a honey she is!” He whistled at that one.

  “I have to admit,” said Molly, “that even though Roger is gaga over Sadie Grey, I’m just as mad about her. She’s a wonderful girl. Don’t you think so?” She looked at Allison, then Des.

  “I can’t argue with either one of you,” said Des, almost in a whisper, as he looked down at his plate.

  “That husband of hers better realize what a lucky guy he is, that’s all,” said Kimball.

  Allison had been enjoying herself in spite of everything, but now she felt scared. She hated the sensation, and she hated the fact that it had become familiar. There were very few times when Allison Sterling lost her cool. Sadie Grey made her do it every time. And she couldn’t go anywhere without hearing about Sadie. Every man in town, including the two she most cared out, had gone completely nuts over her. And though she didn’t want to think about it, she was afraid Des was more than a little attracted to her. She wanted to say something, but she was afraid her true feelings would show. She had to muster her sense of humor.

  “And what a mind,” she said finally.

  “My, I do believe we’ve struck a nerve,” said Uncle Roger.

  “Don’t be silly,” Allison said, more sharply than she had intended. “It’s just that I find it interesting that all of you intelligent men can go into the tank for a woman just because she tells you you’re strong and handsome. What if she were a man?”

  “But she’s not a man,” said Des. “That’s the point.”

  “There’s no mistaking that,” said Roger, and he laughed knowingly at Des. Des was clearly uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, took a sip of wine.

  “You put such stock in intelligence and competence and achievement in men, but when it comes to women the standards are never the same.”

  “Well, your Aunt Molly has never had a career and she’s smarter than most men I know,” he said.

  He was throwing her a bone, but Allison suddenly felt embarrassed and ashamed that she might have insu
lted Molly.

  “I didn’t mean you had to work for a living to be taken seriously. I only meant that—”

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” said Molly, reaching over and putting her hand on Allison’s. “You don’t have to explain. I know what you meant.”

  She loved Aunt Molly at that moment. Molly was the only one there who had sensed her pain. Molly could identify with that helpless feeling. She had obviously been there. You couldn’t be a politician’s wife and not have felt that. Clearly Sadie Grey was no threat to Aunt Molly. For one reason, Sadie wasn’t interested in Roger Kimball. So it didn’t matter if he lusted after her a little bit. But Molly could tell by Des’s tone of voice that he really did think Sadie was something special. And for some reason she sensed that Allison was afraid.

  “Allison’s right,” said Molly, a little more forcefully. “Sadie’s a sweet girl, but there’s not a whole lot going on there. I never did trust those Southern women anyway. They’ll kill you with kindness and stab you in the back any day. You two are lucky you have more forthright, strong women to deal with. Isn’t that so, Allison? Now, why don’t we all go back into the living room and have our coffee there?”

  With that, she got up. As Allison was getting up, Molly came over to her, put her arm around her shoulder, and walked her into the living room, muttering on about what silly asses men were and how they never would change. The men followed behind, only a little chastened.

  The butler brought brandy. Allison declined, but the President and Des and Aunt Molly all accepted. She was getting a little nervous at the amount of drinking. She was afraid Uncle Roger would talk too much, afraid that Des would get belligerent and Aunt Molly, bless her soul, would start drifting.

  Molly was talking to Allison about something while Allison was trying to keep tabs on what Des and Uncle Roger were saying. They were talking about foreign policy and Capitol Hill, but she could hear only snatches. Finally, frustrated, she put her hand on Aunt Molly’s arm and whispered that she wanted to hear what Uncle Rog was saying.

  It was only then that she noticed that Molly’s eyes were filled with tears.

  “What is it?—what’s the matter, Aunt Molly?”

  “Oh, Sonny, I’m so worried,” she whispered, and Sonny had to lean toward her to hear. Molly looked quickly at Uncle Roger to be sure he was not looking. “I don’t know how much more he can take. You mustn’t tell anyone, but he had another small stroke last week. It wasn’t serious, but his left side was a little numb and he really couldn’t move his arm for a few hours. He’s been in a terrible depression and I just can’t get him out of it. He’s on all kinds of medication and I don’t know how much longer we can keep it quiet.”

  “My God, Aunt Molly! I can’t believe it. What can I do? Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Allison was having trouble fighting back her own tears. Much of the time she wouldn’t let herself think about how much she loved and depended on these two people.

  A quick glance at Uncle Roger in light of this new information confirmed what Aunt Molly had said. She hadn’t really noticed how he was favoring his right side. She suddenly felt heavy with grief. This man might die.

  “You’ve done so much just being here for me,” Molly was saying. “But I need you to do more. I need you to get them to downplay all of these problems here. They’ll listen to you, Sonny. You’ve got to tell your editors everything is fine. And your colleagues. Even Des. The bad publicity is just the added burden that is going to break him.” She started to cry, partly from despair, partly from drink. “I can’t bear it, I just can’t bear it. I hate this place so, Sonny. I want to go home. I want to take Roger home.”

  Sonny could feel her own tears coming. She had to get Molly out of here.

  “Why don’t you go to the bathroom?” she said. “I’ll cover for you.”

  Molly quickly got up and disappeared into her bedroom without the two men noticing. Allison took a few minutes to compose herself, then joined their conversation.

  “Christ, I can’t seem to get anything out of those bastards,” Uncle Rog was complaining. “That Senate Foreign Relations Committee is full of the biggest jerks in Congress. I’ll tell you, Desmond, there’s only so much a President can do if he doesn’t have the Congress on his team. You boys in the press just don’t realize how hard it is trying to be a Democratic President and deal with a Republican Senate and a House that though nominally Democratic is filled with a bunch of sissies. With a few notable exceptions, of course. And as if that weren’t bad enough, I’ve got Hooker. I thought it was a coup to get the Chairman of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee over to be the Secretary.

  “I thought he would know how things worked, would be able to deal with those guys, would really know how to manipulate his colleagues. Well, I’m not saying he can’t; he just won’t. The ornery son-of-a-bitch has done everything in his power, it seems to me, to alienate them. He refuses them top-priority information, he thumbs his nose at them, he is arrogant and vain and self-centered. He has managed to annoy every single goddamned one of them, even those who were on our side. I think naming John T. to State may have been my biggest mistake. And the irony, the real tragedy of the whole situation is that he is brilliant at it. He is a true statesman. And so far he has managed to keep relatively smooth relations with my National Security Adviser. I really want to avoid going through what every other President has gone through with the political infighting. Christ, I’ve got enough of it on my domestic staff.”

  Des was sitting quietly and Allison watched him taking mental notes, trying to sear these quotes on his brain. She knew he would be up all night revising his cover story, and she would be up all night trying to decide how she should deal with this information—not get scooped by The Weekly, not betray Uncle Roger, not try to beat Des on his story. It wasn’t going to be easy.

  She was edgy. Uncle Roger was way out of school. She was sure he was allowing himself to be so free because he felt it was all in the family. He should know better. A journalist is a journalist, and a journalist is always working. He should have learned that. And there was a certain reckless quality about the way he was talking. She wondered if it had to do with his health. Des did not have the same strictures or the same sense of loyalty as she had. The President would be fair game. Not that he would directly quote him, but he would query him hard tomorrow, try to get him on the record, refer to much of what he got out of him as “high government sources (or “officials”) said” and go with it much more strongly than she would be able to. If she wrote it, Des would be angry at her for scooping him, and Uncle Roger would never forgive her because it would be clear to all where the information had come from. She was truly screwed on this one. Uncle Roger would probably be annoyed with her for not making the ground rules clear to Des, but he wouldn’t really be furious with Des.

  She had to get them out of there. They had had enough.

  “I hear John T. is having an affair with that astrologer, Millicent.” Aunt Molly had quietly slipped back into the room. Except for a false cheeriness which only Allison seemed to notice, she looked fine. “In fact, I hear he may even leave poor May and run off with Millicent. Even shut up in this place I hear things now and then.”

  Allison had heard the rumor, but she was surprised to hear it from Molly. Des hadn’t heard it at all.

  “Is that true?” he said.

  “Molly, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Kimball. “You shouldn’t be spreading rumors.”

  Molly smiled at him. “Even the President deserves to hear some good gossip now and then,” she said. “It’s very distracting.”

  “It’s true, Uncle Roger,” said Allison. “Or at least, it’s true that that’s going around.”

  “Christ, Molly, why didn’t you tell me this before?” He obviously did not see the humor in it. “My goddamn Secretary of State having an affair with a goddamn astrologer. He probably tells her everything, and she tells everybody else in town. How
did this happen? How could he be so crazy? That woman is a known kook. This is preposterous. Jesus, I knew I had made a mistake, but this is really terrible. You don’t think he believes in all that nonsense, do you?”

  “Millicent is Allison’s astrologer too,” Des said. “We should be careful what we say about her. Allison is very protective.”

  “Oh, be quiet,” said Allison. “Lorraine Hadley gave me a reading as a birthday present, and I went once just for fun. Actually, she gave the same present to Sadie Grey, who does believe in all that. I think it’s quite a delicious piece of gossip, and now that it comes from a very high White House source, I feel inclined to pass it along to our very own gossip columnist, who I’m sure will roll over and die when she hears it.”

  “You will like hell,” said the President. “That’s all I need. He’d be the laughingstock of Washington, and we’d be the laughingstock of the world.”

  “In that case, Uncle Roger, I strongly suggest that if I’ve heard it and Aunt Molly has heard it, it won’t be long before it’s all over town and in print somewhere. And we might as well have it first. I’ll tell you what: You talk to John T., and if he denies it, I won’t give it to the gossip column. If he doesn’t, then I will. You’ll be on the honor system to tell me whether it’s true or not.”

  “My, my, you certainly drive a tough bargain, little lady,” said the President, relaxing a little.

  “I have no choice, Mr. President. You wouldn’t want me to subvert my own paper by suppressing the news, would you?”

  “You really want to know?” There was an edge to his voice.

  “Well, I must say this has certainly been some bombshell, Mrs. Kimball,” said Des. “Great piece of gossip. World-class. You win the prize.”

  “Call me Molly,” she said, beaming.

  “I think we’d better go, Des,” said Allison suddenly, standing up. “This has been more excitement than I can take in one evening. And I think we’ve kept Aunt Molly and Uncle Roger up. What time are you leaving for Aspen?”

  Des and the President got up too.