Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

  “This won’t hurt a bit, and it will be over before you know it,” he said, and laughed. “You should see the look on your face. Now I know they weren’t kidding when they said you really didn’t want to do this. But you can relax. I have written the lyrics, and if I do say so, they’re brilliant. Or at least, brilliant for a Gridiron song. It’s a catchy little tune called ‘Why Can’t You Behave?’ ”

  “I’ve already been warned.”

  “Now, you don’t sing that one. You sing the answer. I wrote that one too. It’s to the tune ‘I’m Sorry for the Things I’ve Done.’ ”

  “Clever.”

  “They should have sent a lion tamer instead of a poor journalist,” Jed said, laughing.

  She laughed too in spite of herself. She ran her hand through her hair and smiled at him. She could tell he was admiring her, and she was glad she had worn her blue-green corduroy shirtdress. It made her hair look redder and her eyes brighter.

  “I don’t mean to be difficult. This all sounds fine, but what if it bombs? You’ll be backstage crying into your libretto and my husband will be up at the head table smiling bravely into his program. Has anybody given a thought to poor old Sadie if this falls flat?”

  “Frankly, Mrs. Grey—”

  “Sadie.” She hadn’t meant to say it, but now it was too late to take it back.

  “Frankly, Sadie, I have. Or rather, I had until I met you. I’m perfectly confident that there is absolutely nothing you can do to ruin this thing. All you have to do is walk on that stage—I thought you might wear black, maybe with sequins and a low back—and you’ve got them in the palm of your hand. For one thing, yours will be the last number. Those guys will all be on their fifth glass of wine by then and anything will look good to them.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Jesus, you’re relentless.” He laughed. “Now, before we start practicing, let me explain the logistics. We want this to be a surprise. You and the Vice President will be sitting at the head table. I will be sitting directly below you at one of the arms of the table. When it’s time, I will look up and nod and you will excuse yourself. The Secret Service will know where to take you backstage. After your number I’ll escort you back to your seat.”

  “You may have to carry me.”

  “I don’t think my date would appreciate that.”

  “Your date.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Somebody I’ve had my eye on for a long time but she was taken.”

  Why did Sadie suddenly feel her stomach clutch? She instinctively put her hand on her abdomen.

  “Oh?”

  “A reporter for The Daily, Allison Sterling.”

  “Ah, yes, we’ve met.” Sadie paused. “She’s lovely.”

  * * *

  Georges, maître d’hôtel of the Maison Blanche, had led Allison to her table in a little niche under a window facing the middle of the room. It was one of the best tables. She could see and be seen by everyone else. This was a major advantage in Washington, particularly at the Maison Blanche, just across the street from the Executive Office Building and the White House.

  Jed wasn’t there yet. Normally Allison would have been annoyed, but Jed was a wire-service guy. He had six or eight deadlines a day. Yet this was a good moment to get herself composed. She reached into her bag and pulled out half a pack of cigarettes, lit one, slipped the Maison Blanche matches into her bag, and leaned back.

  She took a long, hard drag, then stared down at the cigarette clasped between her two fingers. Her nails were unpainted. She hadn’t painted them in a while. Unusual for her to neglect her hands. She had always prided herself on her long, slim fingers, on her perfectly manicured nails carefully painted in Windsor Rose polish. Understated. Most women reporters had chipped polish. It was a professional hazard, typing on those machines. Chipped nail polish seemed to be a trademark.

  She lifted her eyes to find that several people were staring at her. They averted their eyes quickly. She had come in staring straight ahead and had failed to greet several friends whom she now spotted. In the center of the room, holding forth at a large round table, was a group of men who were making a lot of noise. They were all friends, high-powered journalists and lawyers who met monthly just to annoy their wives and their women friends.

  She could just hear them voting on which woman in the restaurant they would prefer. Allison had been invited once or twice to this lunch when the guys were feeling secure enough to include a woman, and she had witnessed their little games. She knew it annoyed them that she refused to be outraged. They were raising their hands now and they went around the room, pointing to various candidates and shouting at each vote. Finally they came to her. She smiled broadly and gave them the finger as discreetly as she could. They yelled with laughter; then one of them, a columnist, got up from his table and came over.

  “You won,” he said.

  “I’d rather take the vows,” she said, laughing. “Besides, every single one of you at that table could be pussy-whipped in a matter of days. It wouldn’t be any challenge. You should all be ashamed of yourselves. There are reporters in this room with Administration types, getting fabulous stories, and you are wasting your time playing ‘Would Ya.’ Just look at Worth Elgin over there kissing the Assistant Secretary of State’s ass. Now, there’s a real man.”

  Her friend went back to his table to give a report, which prompted another outburst, raised glasses to Allison, and a bottle of wine from the maître d’. Allison lit another cigarette.

  She knew she didn’t look her best. In fact, she didn’t want to look attractive; she didn’t want to attract. She was in retreat. The thought of going to bed with anyone made her sick. Even with someone like Jed Rauch, who was striding across the room.

  “Jesus,” he said, plunking down beside her on the banquette, “the President nearly fucked us over. We had a story out on the wire saying that he was not going to attend the Gridiron, which he had declined, and now he’s changed his mind. It was a little embarrassing because we had put out a story saying he would be in New York meeting with the Soviet Foreign Minister after making a campaign speech at lunch. We were about to go into a great detailed analysis about why he was choosing to skip the Gridiron and what the Soviet meeting portended. We would have looked pretty stupid.”

  “Well, that’s a relief. At least I feel better knowing I was kept waiting for such a momentous story as whether or not the President would or would not attend the Gridiron.”

  Jed looked a little taken aback at the sharpness in Allison’s voice, but he recovered and smiled. She had to admit that he was attractive. There was a vibrant energy about him. He never sat still. Even now he was spinning the crystal ashtray around on the tablecloth. Allison had known Jed for years, but she had just never thought of him in any romantic way. For one thing, he had been married for a long time, and when he got divorced she was already with Des. They had never crossed on the singles circuit. Now he had called her out of the blue for lunch. She hadn’t had a date since Des. But lunch. Lunch was something else, especially here. She thought he was probably working on a story on the White House and wanted to pump her.

  “Just tell me what more important event than the Gridiron dinner is happening this month, please.”

  He said it with such a straight face that she had pulled herself up before she realized that he was kidding.

  “Jesus, have you ever lost your sense of humor. What ever happened to the happy-go-lucky girl… sorry… person I used to know on the press bus?”

  He hadn’t meant to be so frank, but her expression and tone had been almost contemptuous, and it had annoyed him. Now he saw her face fall as she twisted a Maison Blanche postcard into a little roll.

  Then she felt Jed’s warm hands on hers. “I’m sorry, Sonny. I just had no idea. I guess I shouldn’t have called you so soon for a date. Will you forgive me?”

  She heard only one word.

  “Date?”

>   “Why did you think I asked you to lunch?”

  “I, I, I guess I just didn’t think of it.” She tried a little laugh.

  “He’s really a shit, isn’t he.”

  “Don’t dump on Des. I did it. I didn’t give him any choice.”

  “That is such bullshit. The guy blew it, Sonny. And don’t think he wouldn’t have done the same thing, either, sweetheart.”

  “I didn’t realize you were so fond of Des.”

  “I can’t stand the bastard. And it’s time he learned a lesson, too.”

  “And just who’s going to teach it to him. You?”

  “No. He’ll get it. Just watch.”

  “That’s comforting.”

  “Oh, the hell with it. C’mon, Sonny. I’m here to advance a date with you. We’ll decide where and when later. But first, let’s order and then get down to business.”

  “I knew there was something else on your agenda besides romance.”

  “That’s why you’re the best reporter in Washington.”

  “Lot of good that does me.”

  “Order the mixed-seafood dish and shut up.”

  “Only if I can have another Bloody Mary first.”

  They ordered; then Sonny took out another cigarette.

  “It’s about the Gridiron.”

  “I can’t help you there.”

  “No, no—I mean, I have been sent by the membership of the Gridiron to feel you out.”

  “In front of all these people?”

  “Knock it off, Sonny; I’m trying to be serious.”

  “How can you be if you’re talking about the Gridiron?”

  “Sonny, please. I have been sent by the committee to ask you if you would consider joining if you were asked.”

  “Why don’t they ask and find out?”

  “You know perfectly well why they don’t. They’ve been turned down publicly by a rather prominent woman and they don’t want it to happen again.”

  “But Jed, I was dragged bodily out of the Hilton lobby by the police and almost jailed one year when they didn’t take women and blacks. How can I possibly join now?”

  “Because the reasons for your picketing are over. Besides, they need some attractive young blood. That’s you, kid.”

  “I can’t stand the motto. ‘There are no journalists present.’ What the hell does that mean?”

  “Allison, that’s perfectly simply. It gets all the high-mucky-mucks to relax and not think every remark they make in private is going to end up in the papers the next morning. That’s all.”

  “You’ve got answers to everything, haven’t you.”

  “So you’ll join?”

  “Jed, to tell you the truth, my objections so far have been inconsequential compared to my real problem.”

  “I give up. What is it?”

  “I can’t sing.”

  “Good. As long as it’s nothing serious.”

  “Look, Jed. I’m flattered. But it’s just not my scene.”

  “Have you ever been to a Gridiron dinner?”

  “No.”

  “Then be my date. See what it’s like, then decide.”

  Allison thought about it for a moment. She hadn’t been to anything public since Des left, but Rachel had given her back some of her confidence. And the lunch had made her feel quite good. She had actually forgotten about Des for several minutes at a time. And she could tell that Jed liked her. That was something she needed. Maybe going to the Gridiron with Jed would be a good reentry. People would see that she was still a contender.

  “I can’t think of anything I would like better. I’d be delighted to go to the Gridiron with you, Jed.”

  “It will be good for you. Not to mention me. My God, my stock will soar when I walk in the door with the fabulous Allison Sterling.”

  “That may be a slight exaggeration, but I can live with it.”

  “In fact, I’ll have the two most beautiful women in Washington in tow.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Off the record? And I mean way off?”

  “Sure.”

  “I’m coaching someone to sing a song I’ve written for the grand finale of the show.”

  “Someone?”

  “Sadie Grey.”

  * * *

  Des saw them at once. He had walked into the Capitol Hilton reception room where cocktails were being served. Most of the white-tie crowd was already assembled, and as it always was in Washington where there was an assembly of power, the air was electric. Most of the Cabinet, the Supreme Court, Congressmen, Senators, the top members of the White House staff, and the Vice President and his wife were already there, surrounded by some of the top publishers, editors, and reporters in the country.

  Des straightened his white tie and leaned up against the wall for a minute. He intended to go look for O’Grady, his host for the evening. O’Grady had accepted the invitation to join the club against the good advice of most of his friends and colleagues, who told him the club was Establishment, a stuffed-shirt organization. “Me, a little Mick kid from Boston turning down the Gridiron. Me ol’ mother would be turning over in her grave. No, thank you, Desmond laddie. I’ll join, just so I can invite you as a guest. I’ll need moral support.”

  Des had promised O’Grady he would be early. But it was Saturday night, and as usual, the queries from New York had started to come in around three that afternoon.

  Now here he was in his monkey suit, ready to work the room, and right in front of him, no more than ten feet away, one to the right, the other to the left, stood Allison Sterling and Sadie Grey, each one breathtaking. His head swung back and forth as though he were at a tennis match.

  Sadie had on a slim black beaded dress with long, tight sleeves, a boat neck, and a plunging back. Her auburn hair was fluffy and tousled-looking. She wore no jewelry. He had never seen her looking so spectacular, and he could feel his throat tighten with desire.

  Allison was in white. It was one-shouldered chiffon, floating, ethereal. She wore a pearl-and-diamond bracelet on the bare-shouldered arm, tiny pearl earrings. Her silvery blond hair was brushed back, slightly waved, and fell loose and flowing down her back. This one he felt in his gut. He still loved Allison, there was no question, but looking at her he was overwhelmed with anger. It would take a long time for that rage to subside.

  Love was not a word he associated with Sadie. Lust, certainly. It was the kind of physical longing one has for what is now the unattainable.

  They were both surrounded by attentive men. They were both chatting animatedly. Neither saw Des, who was riveted to the spot. He was looking at the two most beautiful women in Washington, and he realized for the first time that he wanted both and that he couldn’t have either. It took everything in his power not to turn around and walk out the door.

  Des wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there when somebody slapped him on the back and he looked around to see the eagle face of Howard Heinrich, the President’s top adviser. “Now I understand why you’ll never amount to anything in this town, Shaw,” said Heinrich.

  “You’ve lost me, as usual, Howard,” said Des, laughing. He had no idea what Heinrich was talking about or whether he had missed something. What troubled him was that Heinrich always managed a grain of truth. He was, in fact, afraid that he really had just about had it in Washington, that there was nowhere for him to go.

  “Don’t act dumb around me, Shaw,” said Heinrich, a big grin on his face. “Any man who would come to the Gridiron dinner and mope around over a dame instead of pressing the flesh with the great and near-great is a sure loser in Washington, that’s all.”

  “You’ve got me wrong, Howard. I was just standing here deciding which group to join. You see, there’s the Vice President’s group over there, the Supreme Court Justice over there, and, of course, there was the group you were talking to. In fact, I had just decided to join your group. It’s my policy to work the group I feel I can cultivate most successfully. But now you’ve saved
me the effort.”

  “You’re pretty fast on your feet, Shaw. I’ll hand you that. But if I know you, you hadn’t given my group a thought. You had your eye on the Vice President’s group, and I don’t mean the man himself. You could eat him for breakfast.”

  “Howard, how unpolitic.” Des laughed, playing along. “You would speak of our likely next President that way, cutting off your chances in his Administration. I’m shocked.”

  “Don’t be. He needs me. I’ll still be around, so don’t get too excited. And don’t change the subject. I wasn’t talking about Grey and you know it.”

  “You’ve got to help me out, Howard.”

  “I’m talking about our Second Lady, you horny son-of-a-bitch. You know, you surprise me, Des. You’re a damn good poker player. I’ve played with you. But your face is giving you away this time. Every time you look at our Miss Sara Adabelle you’re like a starving man at a banquet. It’s a pitiful sight.” Heinrich was fishing. If Des showed his anger, he would betray his feelings. He forced another smile.

  “Well, Howard,” he said in his most casual manner, “you’re only just a little off. It’s more like a man parched with thirst at a bar. And if you don’t mind, this is one Mick who could use a wee taste along about now.”

  “You know, Des,” said Heinrich as Des walked toward the bar, “she could be had.”

  Des was standing at the bar when he saw Jed Rauch walk over to Allison and put his arm around her in what seemed to be a rather proprietary way. Allison, instead of shrugging her arm away, which she had invariably done when Des had shown any public display of affection, smiled up at him. Des had never liked Rauch. Rauch was one of those guys who had built up a reputation based on very little merit. Allison had said so more than once. Now here she was all over him like a tent. Rauch was whispering something to her, and Des watched her face. She got that look that Des knew; she sucked in her upper lip and bit it slightly on the edge.