by Sally Quinn
Rauch put his hand on Allison’s waist and steered her toward the middle of the room. Des watched Allison’s body stiffen and her face take on a quiet grimace. He used to tease her about that expression. He’d always told her it made her look like she was smelling shit when she put on that expression. “Anybody within twenty miles of you could tell you didn’t like the person you were talking to with that look on your face,” he used to tell her. He smiled, remembering how they would laugh and she would practice different expressions. He would look at her across a room and signal if she was successful, thumbs up or thumbs down. When they went to parties, Des would walk around with his thumb in the air most of the evening, and they would giggle together behind potted palms. Washington was definitely a thumbs-up, thumbs-down town. He had to suck in his breath; he hurt all of a sudden. The hurt came on him like that, about Allison. He would go along his way perfectly happy and then, whomp, right in the gut he could feel the wind go out of him. He hated it, hated her for being what she was, for doing what she had done to him, for humiliating him. Yet the irony was that he liked her for it. He had to admire what she had done because he knew he would have done the same thing. Allison had balls. He liked women who had balls.
Then he saw where they were headed. They were moving slowly toward Vice President Grey and his group. That was why Allison was grimacing.
Just as she approached Sadie, she turned for a split second toward the bar, and for an instant their eyes locked. Before he realized what he was doing, Des had raised his fist and signaled thumbs down at her. Her face broke into a smile for a brief moment before it started to shatter, and it was only by will that she managed to compose herself before she turned around. In that moment of spontaneous joy and grief Des saw everything that he had loved in Allison.
Sadie had just thrown her head back, responding to a joke from a worshipful Congressman, when her eyes lit on Allison and a tight smile replaced the laugh. Des had never seen two stiffer backs, two tighter mouths.
Before they could greet each other, Des saw Heinrich rush over, a worried look on his face. He leaned into the group and spoke so softly that every head in the room turned. All anyone needed to do in Washington was lower his voice at a cocktail party and ten reporters would surround him. Des could tell by the way Howard had his head tilted, his eyebrows knitted, and his hands circled around the backs of the Vice President and the AP Bureau Chief that it was something pretty interesting.
He hesitated for a moment before he took the few steps from the bar to where they were standing. He greeted the Vice President and nodded to the rest of the group before he turned to Heinrich.
“Howard,” he said teasingly in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “You can always tell when somebody in this town is in trouble. They invariably gather a group of heavies around them and pretend to confide some earth-shattering state secret. Anything to get attention. The next thing we know you’ll be rushing for the phone.”
Heinrich looked at Des, a worried expression on his face. “Prick,” he whispered to Des as he turned and headed for the phone.
Everyone turned to look at Des, who now stood in Howard’s place in the center of the group, between Allison and Sadie.
“So there really is a state secret,” he said, laughing in surprise. He was even more surprised at how composed he felt, standing between these two women.
“Mr. Vice President,” he said, his voice taking on an edge he hadn’t intended, “you can certainly tell The Weekly, now that whatever it is is all but out on the AP wire.”
Rauch glared at Des.
“The President is going to have to miss the dinner after all,” said Rosey Grey, looking uncomfortable. “Problems. Nothing major. We knew this afternoon he probably wouldn’t make it.”
“Don’t try to report it tonight, Shaw,” said Rauch. “Remember, there are no journalists present tonight.”
“That’s bullshit,” said Des under his breath, looking at Allison, who refused to meet his eyes. He well knew how she felt about the Gridiron.
“Ah, watch your language. Remember rule two: Ladies are always present,” she said, trying to maintain her humor.
There was an uncomfortable silence. The lights began to flicker. Rosey nervously took Sadie’s arm as the president of the Gridiron approached to lead them into dinner.
“It seems to me that filing a story of international importance may have a bit more social value than writing lyrics for a show that some asshole is going to get up and sing,” whispered Des to Allison, assuming everyone was out of earshot. He knew he was lowering himself into the mud with that one, but he was furious at Rauch’s cheap shot.
Rauch overheard. “Unless, of course,” he responded angrily under his breath, “that asshole happens to be the wife of the Vice President.” Before Des could answer, Sadie turned from in front of them and smiled at Des; then she raised her wrist and made a thumbs-up gesture, entirely by coincidence, and winked at Des.
The lights flickered again as Rauch tried to steer Allison away.
“Ah, yes, and the third rule of the Gridiron, I believe,” said Des, “is that the Gridiron singes but never burns.”
* * *
The tables in the large ballroom were set in the shape of a gridiron, with one long head table raised a bit from the floor. Directly in front of the head table was the stage where the skits were to take place.
Sadie and Rosey were led to the head table, and both were seated together on the left side of the Gridiron president, directly in front of one of the grids. It was at that point, where the long table was joined by one of the tables shooting off it, that Allison and Jed were seated. Allison found herself looking up at the Greys. The seats to the right of the president of the club were empty. That was where the President and his wife were to have been. The word was out now that they would be arriving for the last skit, but there was still some buzzing in the hall about the empty seats. It required an enormous restraint for most of the journalists not to rush for their phones. Allison had tried to get away from Jed to get to a telephone, but he had held tightly to her, probably suspecting that she might well do just that. Allison knew Des had called The Weekly. She had seen him veer off toward the phones after his exchange with Jed. She knew she should probably be on Jed’s side, but she was, in fact, furious with him. It had ruined the evening. And now here she was seated under Sadie Grey.
Sadie scanned the room from her perch, searching for Des. She couldn’t see him. He must have gone to the telephone. She liked the fact that he was breaking the rules. He was so unlike Rosey. Rosey was the consummate clubman. He had belonged to clubs since he was born. There were the Richmond Country Club and the Men’s Club downtown, and of course there had been St. Anthony Hall at the University of Virginia. He had always belonged. His stride, his carriage, his voice, his gestures—everything about him—said, “I’m an insider. I belong here. I am comfortable with myself.” William Rosewell Grey III had never not belonged. Here he was, moving to Washington, D.C., the clubbiest, cliquiest town in the country, and he walks in as Vice President and has everybody in the city at his feet. Even his choice of party was brilliant. A Southern Democrat was acceptable even to Republicans. They could all wink at each other and know what they really meant when they said they were Democrats. She turned to look at him in his white tie and tails. She couldn’t help thinking of Rosey being delivered by his mother in tiny white tie and tails.
The Vice President was sitting at his seat, at ease, his aquiline nose so perfect, his eyebrows arched to the right degree, his smile one of benign acceptance. It occurred to Sadie that in her husband’s mind everyone out there—the entire roomful of important and powerful people—respected him. She envied him that confidence. Here she was sitting at the head table knowing that she was a damn fool for agreeing to sing in this skit tonight.
The room suddenly went pitch-black, and the only thing one could see was the sign of the lighted gridiron over the head table. The voice of the president of the Gridiron Club bo
omed out over the loudspeakers, welcoming the guests. He concluded with “There are two rules of the Gridiron Club: ladies are always present, reporters are never present. And the Gridiron singes but never burns. Please be seated.”
With that, the Marine Band began to blare, and everyone turned to confront the terrapin soup as the first skit got under way. It was the Republicans’, since the out party is always first. Each skit had about ten songs, taken from old hits, and to Allison each song seemed longer than the last.
For one thing, since Jed was involved in the program and since they were all hysterical about the logistics of getting Sadie up on the stage without anybody noticing, he was up and down from the table most of the evening, which left Allison sitting with an empty seat on one side and the head of the AP in New York on the other. He was a bore who kept trying to press her for “inside Washington stuff.”
Sadie was a wreck. The songs dragged on as she waited for her turn.
At the end of the Republican skit there was the Republican speaker, chosen from among the hopeful Presidential candidates, then more food, then introductions of the Important People just to remind the audience that this was no ordinary political banquet. Then it was on to the Democrats. After several songs Allison was about ready to excuse herself to go to the ladies’ room when she noticed that Sadie had done just that. She had glanced in that direction in time to see her almost roll out of her seat and down the back of the platform. It would be too obvious for her to duck out now. Besides, Jed might notice and think she wasn’t being a good sport. Most of the guests had more or less given up on the President, and a wave of disappointment had settled over the room. There was nothing more exciting than waiting for the President to show up. It was not his presence that mattered. In fact, his presence usually slowed things down. It was the waiting.
Then, as people were toying with their baked Alaska, there was a whining of the mike and a voice announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States” and the band struck up “Hail to the Chief.” Everyone in the vast hall jumped to his feet as President Kimball appeared at the end of the platform and was suddenly up in front of the assembly, waving his hands in greeting and smiling.
Rosey stood to greet him, jumping to his feet a little too quickly, Allison thought, grasping him by both hands and then more or less escorting him to his seat. Guilt was the way Allison figured it. When people clasped with both hands in Washington, it meant something—guilt, embarrassment, insecurity… something, but never affection. Rosey felt guilty. He felt guilty because he was going to run against Roger Kimball or try to persuade Roger Kimball not to run. Allison hadn’t really seen it before. She had thought Rosey was a cooler customer than that. She hadn’t figured him for a two-handed clasper. Rosey wasn’t a grinner, either. The upper classes didn’t grin. It was middle-class to grin. Here was Rosey grinning. Yes, he was definitely planning to knock off Roger Kimball.
Kimball was pale and he seemed to be perspiring. His beautiful mane of white hair, which was normally smooth and perfectly combed, had a slightly ruffled quality, and it looked damp. His smile was tentative, and his eyes were darting around as though he were afraid of an enemy, afraid of being assaulted.
Allison knew her godfather well, and she knew that whatever was the matter with him, it was not just work-related stress. There was something else wrong too. Aunt Molly had not accompanied him.
Kimball was still smiling his uneasy smile as the roomful of people remained standing, relieved that the President had actually come. Finally, he sat down, looking grateful. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rumpled handkerchief. Allison had never seen him so disheveled in public. Of course, she was sitting practically under his nose, so she could see him more closely. At one point he looked out across the table and around the room and caught her eye. She smiled at him and winked, and he seemed to relax a bit. But there was little time for private messages. The last skit was about to begin.
The lights went out and a spotlight focused on one lone man sitting on a tall stool on the stage, his back to the audience. The band struck up and the man turned around, looking astonishingly like Rosey Grey. All eyes turned toward the head table to see if the Vice President was still there. He was, and even he had an astonished look on his face. The man turned to his left and began to sing “Why Can’t You Behave?” Then the spotlight focused on the other side of the stage, to the left, where there was another stool. A woman was sitting on the stool, her back to the audience. She had tousled auburn hair and a low-backed black beaded dress. She did not turn around. Every eye in the room looked back at the Vice President, to find the seat next to him empty. The audience broke into uproarious applause. The more the man sang lyrics that made it clear he was Rosey Grey chastising his wife for shooting off her mouth, the louder the audience applauded and laughed. Only after the first stanza was it clear to Allison that the man playing Rosey Grey was Jed Rauch. He had on a wavy light brown wig cut in the slicked-back preppy style in which Rosey wore his hair, and somehow the makeup emphasized his thin nose and made his lips look less full. He was dressed as if he were headed to an Old School Tie reunion, even down to the watch fob, the collar pin, the pin-striped suit with the old-fashioned lapels. And the lyrics were quite funny, referring to Sadie’s strong language, her views on planned parenthood, and a recent outspoken attack on Southern Republicans at a Democratic fund-raiser in Savannah.
When “Rosey” finished, Sadie turned on her stool to face the audience.
She had managed to hide her nervousness. Somehow, just being up on the stage had calmed her considerably, and the audience support had buoyed her.
She hadn’t realized what a ham she was. She turned to Jed and began to sing in a soft, husky voice:
“I’m sorry for the things I’ve done. / I know that I’m the foolish one. / I’m sorry for the things I’ve said…”
Her voice was low and husky enough that it camouflaged a lot, and it made her sound sexy and irresistible. By the time she had gotten out her first stanza the audience was on its feet, applauding and yelling, and Sadie was encouraged to ham up the lyrics that blamed the press for her mishaps. As her song was ending, Jed got off his stool and came toward her, she got off hers and walked toward him. They then launched into a duet: “Why can’t you behave?” “I’m sorry for the things I’ve done.” They ended in the center of the stage hand in hand. When it was over and the audience was shouting for encores, Sadie blew Rosey a large kiss from the stage and the audience went wild.
All eyes but Allison’s were on the stage. She had turned along with everyone else to see Rosey’s response, but then they had all looked back at the stage. Only Allison kept her eye on the head table, where Roger Kimball was quietly propping up his head with his elbow and wiping his brow. She looked over at the Secret Service agent who was standing directly behind him. She saw the agent make a move in the darkness to aid the President, but Kimball waved him back.
The Democratic speaker was Freddy Osgood, a liberal Democratic Senator from New Mexico who had his own eye on the Presidency. His wife, Blanche, was the tackiest woman in town. A former country-and-Western singer, she still dressed in sequins and fringe, and her beehive hairstyle was the only one left in Washington, probably on the East Coast. Freddy was shrewd, tough, funny, and an extremely conscientious Senator, however, and he was much respected. Blanche and Freddy were not exactly regulars on the Georgetown circuit, but there were those who thought that a plus for them.
Freddy’s speech was witty. When he had finished, the president of the Gridiron Club stood up and raised his glass in the only toast of the evening.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, following tradition: “To the President of the United States.”
Roger Kimball pulled himself up, and the crowd solemnly stood and saluted him with their glasses raised.
When they were seated, the President spoke in response.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “As you may have noticed, I w
as a little late and more than a little underdressed tonight for this exalted occasion, but I did get here just in time to hear our glamorous Mrs. Grey blame it all on the press, and I couldn’t help wishing I had been asked to join her in a medley instead of the AP Bureau Chief here.” There was some laughter. “Actually, I have a better voice than Jed Rauch does.”
That got a real laugh. Then the President looked down at his plate, where he clearly had some written remarks, and repeated them without much spirit. Finally, he raised his glass and toasted the Gridiron and made a special toast to Sadie Grey, who was back at her seat, flushed with success. “If you’re looking for something to do, maybe we can find a spot in our press office. There’s no reason the Vice President should have all the advantages.”
There was a slight rumble in the room. Was the President admitting that he felt some pressure from Rosey Grey? The chatter became louder as the President turned to go. As he came to the edge of the platform, one of his agents reached up to take his elbow, and this time Roger Kimball accepted.
* * *
As Jed Rauch and Allison were walking down the hall to the Richmond paper’s open-house suite, Allison asked him casually how he thought Roger Kimball had acted.
“Jesus, the guy looked wiped,” he said. “I wonder if there’s something wrong with him. He was worse than usual.”
“That’s a cheap shot,” said Allison. “He looked as though he felt terrible.”
“Well,” said Rauch, “if there really is something wrong, that’s a story. Will you tell me if you hear anything?”
But once again, Allison didn’t care about the story.
Rosey and Sadie didn’t stay for any of the after parties, although Sadie had rather wanted to. She was feeling great and would have loved to stay around and accept congratulations. But even though this had been Rosey’s idea, he was in a tiny bit of a pout. They rode up Massachusetts Avenue in their limousine in silence. Finally Rosey spoke, almost to himself:
