Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

  She paused.

  “How do you respond to the charges of some black leaders that you are supporting gentrification only in their areas, that this is upgrading their buildings and their real estate taxes and forcing out poor blacks?”

  Nan was on the edge of her seat again. She was behaving like the worst kind of stage mother, but Sadie was amused.

  “Our job is to work with them, to show people this is not the case,” said Sadie. “Certainly that would be a lot more true with private real estate dealers who would be likely to buy up everything in one neighborhood and simply evict everybody. HUD now puts money into these projects so that we can rehabilitate the old houses, and we are getting housing subsidies from both federal and private funds. Part of my job is to help raise private funds for this very purpose. If the people own their own houses through the subsidies, then they will live in much more stable neighborhoods. And of course, with the Tax Reform Act of 1976, there are new tax incentives for people to rehabilitate their own houses.” Sadie couldn’t believe this was she talking. She sounded like a soundtrack. Obviously Landry thought so too. Only Nan looked pleased. “It has a wonderfully stabilizing influence in people’s lives, in their communities. And when you see some of the horrors of urban renewal like miles of empty parking lots, you can see why it’s so important. We want to help the communities preserve their roots in their pasts. It’s terribly exciting.”

  She could see that Landry was about to interrupt again. She wasn’t taking many notes. She didn’t exactly look riveted.

  “Europe,” continued Sadie, “has accepted the idea for generations of preserving the past; why can’t we? We have so much to be proud of in this country.”

  “What do you see as your biggest problem?” asked Landry hopefully.

  “New Orleans is a perfect example,” said Sadie with confidence. “There is a situation where historic preservation has come full circle, unfortunately.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “If you look at the Vieux Carré—the French Quarter—you can see that it was a great success, and there’s the problem. It has been too successful. There is unrestricted tourism, and now what was a delightful residential area has begun to go downhill. There is crime and prostitution, so that people are beginning to move out. Charleston is about to have the same problem. So you see that success can breed problems. But I wish those were the main problems we had to deal with.”

  “How did you get interested in this subject—in this project?” asked Landry.

  “As you know, I’m sure, I’m from Savannah, Georgia, originally. We have one of the most fabulous historic-preservation projects in the country. We have just acquired the old Victorian district, which is spectacular. I got involved on and off in the thing when it was first starting, some twenty years ago. Some of the most beautiful houses were going to wrack and ruin. Now it is a living, vibrant integrated downtown area.”

  “Does this project occupy most of your time, or are you involved in anything else?”

  “As you know, I’ve been involved in redecorating the Vice President’s house—with some funds raised by the public, with some of our own money. And I’ve started a collection of memorabilia from other Vice Presidents. We thought it might be interesting to have a little museum here. We’ve found some amazing things.”

  “Weren’t you involved in Planned Parenthood in Richmond before you went to the Governor’s Mansion?”

  “Oh, yes, I was active in that. It was one of my major interests besides writing.”

  “Tell me about your writing.”

  She hadn’t meant to talk about that.

  “Oh, it’s not important. You know I worked for The Gotham before I married. I would occasionally do things for the Around Town column. When I moved to Richmond I obviously couldn’t keep my job, but I did try to keep writing. It’s mostly short fiction, stories and things like that. I’ve never had anything published.”

  “What sort of things do you write about?”

  Nan was stiff again. She was shaking her head slowly in warning.

  “Now, what writer would reveal his story ideas?” she said with a smile. “Somebody might steal them.”

  “What happened to your interest in Planned Parenthood? Do you still do anything with that?”

  Nan was about to come out of her chair.

  “Mrs. Grey,” she said, a firm warning in her voice. “You didn’t tell Miss Landry yet about the Harlem project or any of the other projects you are working on.”

  She had almost let herself get lulled again. Nan had always told her the most important thing about giving interviews was never to lie, but that didn’t mean you had to tell everything. Somehow, Sadie had never managed to find the middle ground.

  “Oh, yes,” she said, trying to make it seem as if she had forgotten something. “You know one of the things I’m trying to do is draw attention to the fact that historic preservation is not the pastime of the well-to-do. I want to call that to attention, particularly by visiting various sites around the country.

  “Here in Washington, which has a different set of problems, one of my major involvements is in rehabilitating Union Station, which is one of the great bureaucratic disasters of the century. That should be an alive, active, bustling commercial spot in Washington. Instead, it has been a dangerous, crumbling eyesore and a national humiliation.”

  “Ummmm,” said Carol Landry, “that’s fascinating. Will you have time to work on your Planned Parenthood project with all these preservation projects going on?”

  Not too subtle that time. Landry probably sensed that her time was running out, and she was right. Nan was looking at her watch.

  Sadie was a little annoyed at the idea that she was too stupid to conduct her own interview, though she knew Nan was there only to protect her.

  “I’ll certainly do some work with them,” she said. “If only to support them. I think they are a very worthwhile organization and they do a lot of good.”

  Nan was standing up now.

  “You are prochoice, I understand,” said the reporter.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Have you had any problems with the right-to-lifers?”

  “No, none. But I’m not exactly on the soapbox, either. Choice is the law of the land. And I don’t make the laws.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, Carol,” said Nan, a slightly frantic tone to her voice. “I’m afraid our time is up. Mrs. Grey has got so much to do for Christmas. I’ll walk with you to the door.”

  Landry was standing up too, but she wasn’t moving, and she was writing fast. Sadie had stood up too, but she wouldn’t look at Nan, who was desperately trying to signal her to shut up.

  “How do you feel about amniocentesis—the test to determine Down’s syndrome and other birth defects? It’s become a focus of the conflict lately.”

  “I feel it is their choice.”

  “If you were pregnant, would you have amniocentesis?”

  “Yes, I would.”

  “Would you have an abortion if the test showed the fetus to be defective?”

  “What’s the point of amniocentesis? I think women are fortunate that there are those tests now that they—”

  “Thank you, Carol,” said Nan, interrupting as she took Carol’s arm and firmly led her toward the door. “Mrs. Grey, I’ll be back in a just a moment.”

  Sadie sank back in her chair, put her hand over her head, and sighed. Her hangover was really killing. It wasn’t helped by the dreary day outside and by the pressure of giving an interview. She had already taken two Tylenol, which had done no good at all. She had eaten spaghetti, which usually helped, had drunk a Coca-Cola, a glass of milk, and some tea. There was only one more thing she could think of. More booze. She got up and rang the bell for Jackson and asked him for an ice-cold beer.

  “That bad, huh?” said Jackson. “I mean, yes, ma’am.”

  “Jackson, could you please stop talking and hurry up with the beer? This is a crisis.”

  She
was sipping on her beer when Nan walked back into the sitting room. Nan’s jaw was set. She stood in front of the fireplace and placed her hands on her hips.

  Sadie slunk down in her chair and took another sip of her beer. Nan didn’t say a word.

  “Okay, okay, I know. I shouldn’t have said it. You are right. You did everything you could to protect me and I went through all the red lights and I’m sorry.”

  “I’m afraid,” said Nan, “you don’t realize how sorry you’re going to be. Do you realize the right-to-lifers are going to be out here picketing on Massachusetts Avenue the minute that story comes out? Do you realize how much grief this is going to cause your poor husband? I just can’t believe this has happened.”

  “Oh, come on, Nan. It’s not the end of the world. She seemed pretty naive. Maybe she won’t use it.”

  “Are you kidding? That’s the lead. That’s the headline. ‘VICE PRESIDENT’S WIFE WOULD HAVE AN ABORTION.’ Jesus. And all this from an interview about historic preservation. We’ll be lucky if we get one word in about historic preservation.”

  Sadie was beginning to feel sick, and it wasn’t her hangover. In fact, the hangover was subsiding with the beer. She knew Nan was probably right, but she didn’t want to admit it. “You got me into it. I told you I didn’t want to do this interview. So it’s the headline. It is the truth. I believe it. So why shouldn’t I say it? Why should I be afraid of something I believe in so strongly? Frankly, Nan, I am sick to death of these right-to-lifers trying to push everybody around. And don’t forget the polls. Eighty-five percent of the population believes the choice should be up to the woman and her doctor. The antiabortionists may be vociferous, but they are very much in the minority. Let them yell. It kind of amuses me, if you want the truth. I’m tired of being Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”

  “I wonder if it will amuse your husband as much as it does you.” Nan was practically in tears.

  “Nan, you’re really upset, aren’t you? Just calm down. It’s not your fault. You did the best you could. It’s my big mouth that’s going to get us in trouble.”

  “But it is my fault. I did get you into it. You told me you didn’t want to do it. I thought we could contain it to preservation. You were right. I should have listened to you. It’s my fault.”

  “Well, just let me worry about it, okay?”

  Nan had just left and Sadie had gone upstairs, climbed into her wrapper, and gotten into bed with a decorating magazine when the phone rang. It was Rosey.

  “Hey, sugar,” he said. “I just called to tell you I’m going to be a little tied up here until about eight. How’d your day go? Did you have that interview?”

  “Yeah.” She held her breath.

  “And?”

  “It was fine. We talked about historic preservation. I think it went all right. Nothing exciting.”

  “Good girl. Well, listen, I’ve got to run. I have to go see the Chief about something. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  “All right, darlin’. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

  * * *

  This Christmas Eve was not going exactly the way Sadie had planned it. Particularly her first Christmas in her own house. She had tried to plan a nice family Christmas, but with only the two of them and the children it didn’t seem like much of a crowd—certainly not compared with the Christmases in Richmond, where the Greys’ house seemed to be filled with family and friends for a solid ten days. Everyone was out of sorts. Sadie had been the one to insist on staying in Washington, but then, faced with rather dull prospects, she had tried to rally some friends around. It was interesting to realize finally that they didn’t really have very many close friends in Washington. They were feted and admired and invited and sought after, but when the crunch came, on special holidays when you wanted to feel close and kind of cozy with your friends, there just wasn’t anybody around. The Sohiers had gone up to Boston, and Lorraine and Archie Hadley had taken off for England, where they always spent Christmas.

  “Darling, you certainly don’t want to stay in this dreary place at Christmas,” Lorraine had said when Sadie first told her they planned to stay in town for the holidays. “It’s too depressing. There’s simply nobody in town. The entire Congress goes back to their home states. The President goes off to Colorado and takes half the press corps with him. The lawyers and Establishment types either go skiing or go to the Caribbean. Who else is there? There aren’t any parties to speak of. The restaurants are completely empty. If you do stay, don’t tell anyone. Just hide. It’s better that way.”

  Sadie did not tell Rosey what Lorraine had said, but she had the sinking feeling that she was telling the truth. Still, she had made such a point of the fact that this was her home and she wanted to spend Christmas in it. She had taken the confrontational route with the Greys, deliberately inviting them to her house knowing perfectly well they would never budge from their castle in Richmond. Miz G could rule the world from there. Outside of Richmond nobody cared about them, and so they simply never went anywhere except to visit old friends and family in London and Scotland once a year. G and Miz G would come eventually, but it was going to kill Miz G to see Sadie get all the glory.

  Rosey had realized that Sadie was taking a stand on the issue, and as usual when she did take her rare stands, he went along. He understood that she was trying finally to establish her independence from his family, who had dominated their lives in Richmond, even when he was Governor of Virginia. He sympathized with her need to make her own nest, create her own environment. Yet he was miserable about it, and his misery showed. He had never spent a Christmas away from his own family before. Annie Laurie was being a giant pain. She had done nothing but sulk and go out shopping with a few of her friends from St. Tim’s.

  Outland was trying to be a good sport, and he certainly held no great affection for the Greys. Yet there was something rather festive about an old-fashioned English Christmas with carols and punch and eggnog and lots of servants around in their best uniforms and people dropping in and garlands of evergreens and candles. They always went to services on Christmas Eve in Richmond, then came home to a midnight supper.

  Half of Richmond came back to the house with them, and they stayed up until all hours, sending the little children to bed to await Santa Claus.

  Christmas morning was festive and exciting, with stockings and all of the cousins and uncles and aunts arriving for a huge feast in the middle of the day. It was truly the perfect Christmas, and even Sadie had to admit that try as she might, there was absolutely no way that she could re-create it.

  The stewards had prepared dinner so that they could leave early on Christmas Eve. Except for Jackson they were an impersonal lot, all Filipinos who had their own families and were hardly devoted to the Grey family. Rosey came home from work in time for a drink with Sadie and the children in front of the fire in the downstairs sitting room. Sadie had turned on all the Christmas lights and lit candles, but still the house seemed big and empty with just the four of them. Rosey decided to play some Christmas carols on the baby grand in the reception hall, and they stood around the piano singing Christmas carols rather listlessly. They were all a bit embarrassed at the forced nature of their little ceremony and grateful when Jackson called them to the table.

  Dinner was solemn. Sadie tried to get the children to talk about their schools, but they had long since learned that such conversations were fraught with danger. Outland could never get through a discussion of his school experiences without some kind of criticism from his father. Annie Laurie’s interests were so involved with clothes and parties and who was from which family that Sadie invariably got angry with her.

  The minute dinner was over, Outland excused himself to go watch television and Annie Laurie engaged her father in a game of backgammon, a game Sadie despised. She found herself sitting alone in front of the fire while the two of them played, then excused herself to go upstairs. Rosey insisted they all go to Christmas midnight services at National Cathedral, which
nobody was very enthusiastic about but they did anyway.

  Christmas morning was no better.

  The opening of the presents was dull and perfunctory. Sadie gave Rosey the VCR he had been asking for. They each had asked for specific presents, which they got. Sadie was treated to the one surprise. Rosey had had a small replica made of the Vice President’s house, all newly decorated the way she had done it. It was perfectly and exquisitely made, and she couldn’t have asked for a more wonderful present. It was clever and imaginative. Exactly what a present should be.

  She burst into tears. Rosey was plainly delighted.

  “Hey, sugar,” he said. “It’s not all that terrific. It’s just something I thought you would like.”

  “Like? I love it! It’s beautiful, and so thoughtful. I feel so embarrassed. You obviously put a lot of time and effort into planning something like this. I feel so guilty. I didn’t get you anything nearly as nice.”

  “You got me just what I asked for. Don’t you see it’s much more of a pleasure if I can get you something you really love? That’s the best Christmas present I could have.”

  He got up and came over and kissed her, brushing away the tears from her cheeks. He was pleased and touched by her reaction. He loved her, too, she could tell. Just looking at his adoring gaze, she felt the tears coming again. Out of guilt this time. She felt like a true bitch. She had kept him away from his own home and a much jollier Christmas, really ruined her whole family’s Christmas actually, and Rosey was giving her this wonderful present.

  The children were a bit embarrassed by this show of affection. They rarely saw it between their parents. Outland seemed pleased. Annie Laurie was miffed by her father’s obvious devotion to her mother. She wanted to be number one with her daddy.

  Sadie had given all the stewards the day off; she planned to cook Christmas dinner herself. After the presents, and coffee, orange juice, and croissants which she had ordered the night before, Rosey and Outland turned on the TV set to watch the football games and Sadie reluctantly headed downstairs to the basement kitchen.