Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

  Sadie remembered being envious and wondering if she were telling the truth. They all lied all the time, politicians’ wives. You had to lie. You had to pretend and put on a brave face. She wondered if there was anyone in Washington who suspected her marriage wasn’t perfect. She thought about it for a moment. Des knew. Allison probably knew. She was a woman. She would know in her gut. And Lorraine. Lorraine could sniff out things like that. She was like a pig to truffles. Even so, those three, for different reasons, wouldn’t ever discuss her marriage with others, she was sure of that. She was safe with her lie. Even with Rosey. Rosey was happy working from six in the morning until midnight. She really didn’t see him as much as she had before, but he was there. He came “home” for lunch, usually with several staffers. He held meetings after working hours in the family quarters, with a Scotch-and-soda, and most evenings somebody from his staff dined with them. He was there all the time, and he wasn’t there. He would seem a devoted husband on the surface, including her in as much as he could, yet she might as well not have been there for all the attention he paid her. At night he was so exhausted that he hardly had the energy to give her a peck on the cheek.

  The social aspect of the White House was not exactly a priority with him. Rosey assumed that Sadie was good at parties and teas for Congressional wives, and he had faith that her staff would be good. She dressed well, made a good impression, and to his relief, her confinement meant that she would have less opportunity to shoot off her mouth. He had given her only one command. No interviews, no briefings, no press conferences. Period. If they didn’t like it they could lump it. He wasn’t going to have his Presidency distracted by some comment Sadie might make as an aside to a hungry young reporter trying to make a name for herself.

  So there she was, like a medieval princess in a tower, being “protected” by her powerful king and knight. How many women would envy her! How many women, in Washington alone, were this very night imagining what it must be like to be Queen of the land, to have it all! She had it all. And here she was, her Erno Laszlo pHelityl cream carefully applied under her eyes and around her neck, standing out on the second-floor balcony sobbing. She hated having Rosey be President of the United States. She hated being the First Lady. Now she was trapped.

  It had not been the best way to enter the White House, she had to admit, and that could have had something to do with how she felt about the situation. She had liked Roger Kimball. Seeing him paralyzed was horrible. The doctors knew right away that he was going to be paralyzed on the entire right side of his body, if not for life, at least for years. He would require intensive physical therapy and rest. His brain had not been damaged.

  Roger Kimball had been a class act. As soon as he heard the doctors’ prognosis he had resigned, nearly three years into office, and issued a statement asking the American people to back William Grey to the fullest. Sadie had been too shocked during those first few days really to take in all that was happening, but when she thought back on it she was awed by how well the Kimballs had handled the whole affair. Molly had taken charge. She had rallied to Roger’s side, encouraged him to step down, and had received the Greys graciously. She had made arrangements for Roger to return to Colorado with several of the best specialists in the country. If he was to recuperate, she insisted, he should do it in his beloved mountains. Sadie sensed that the Kimballs felt almost relieved leaving Washington, the White House, the Presidency. Their open sense of relief, especially Molly’s, filled Sadie with dread. She wanted to ask Molly a million questions, but the time did not seem right.

  It didn’t matter so much in the beginning because they were literally in mourning after the Kimballs left. It was decided that the smartest and most tasteful thing the Greys could do would be move quietly into the White House and for Rosey to take over quickly and firmly. There would be no social events for at least three months, and certainly Sadie would not talk to the press about anything. They would go to a few political events which had been on Kimball’s schedule and which they could not avoid. They would whisk in and out as unobtrusively as possible. No splash, no fanfare, no parties. The image had to be one of a serious President leading the country with a strong hand under the most trying of circumstances.

  It was not until the end of June that it was deemed acceptable for the Greys to entertain. A state visit by the President of Brazil had been long scheduled and it was decided that the Greys should go ahead with it. That meant it was time for Sadie to rally. Thank God she had Tilda as her social secretary. Tilda was already versed in Washington protocol. She could relax on that score. But Nan Tyler had declined to make the move, choosing to go into private life. Nan had never quite recovered from Sadie’s abortion interview. So she had to choose a press secretary—not an easy task; there was too much information coming out of the White House on the First Lady’s side to avoid it. The only two women journalists she knew at all were Sonny Sterling and Jenny Stern, who had made a campaign trip with her to Savannah earlier. Even if she had wanted Sterling, which she most certainly did not, she knew it would be completely inappropriate given her relationship with Roger Kimball.

  Jenny Stern was another story. Plain, cozy, sensible Jenny was well liked by her colleagues. Jenny would have the effect of deflecting animosity or hostility that might be directed toward Sadie. The fact that Jenny and Allison were close friends would not pose a problem. Sadie liked and trusted Jenny, and it was obvious from a piece Jenny had written after their trip to Savannah the previous fall that she felt the same. Jenny would be able to sell her product well.

  Rosey, however, was hesitant.

  “She’s Jewish, isn’t she?”

  “So what?” Sadie was furious.

  “So…. Nothing. I was just asking.”

  “For God’s sake, Rosey. One of your most trusted advisers is Jewish—Howard Heinrich. Jesus Christ, everybody’s Jewish. What’s the matter with you?”

  “I just thought the First Lady’s press secretary should reflect the First Lady.”

  “Rosewell, you have spent the last two years telling me my image was rotten. Jenny Stern is the perfect person to correct that. Now you’re telling me she should reflect my image. I wish you’d make up your mind.”

  She was surprised to hear herself talk that way. The strain of the past two months had really taken its toll. She had gotten little or no support from Rosey, and now he was criticizing her first proposal, which she believed to be first-rate.

  Rosey looked stunned. She never spoke to him that way. They stared at each other for a few minutes; then he put his hand over his forehead and almost slumped down in the chair in the bedroom.

  “This hasn’t been easy for me either, you know,” he said finally, quietly.

  She wasn’t ready to give in.

  “You’re as happy as a pig in shit, Rosewell Grey. You have wanted to be President of the United States all your life and now you’ve got it. Oh, I know it wasn’t the way you wanted to get it. You’ll have that chance in a year or so. But I never wanted it. I never wanted to be First Lady. And what I really don’t want is to be put down at every turn by my husband for not being perfect. You’re going to get plenty of criticism. You need my support, and you’ve got it. But I need yours just as much. Maybe more. You’d better understand that.”

  It was unusual for either of them to speak to the other with so much hostility or so much honesty. They were silent again for a while.

  “We can’t do it, Rosey,” she said finally, “unless we are a team. We need each other now. At least, I can’t do it.” She could feel the tears burning. There was no use even trying to stop them. She had been crying so much lately she was used to it. She was carrying around Kleenex in her pockets, and she reached unconsciously for one and blew her nose.

  Rosey’s face softened. He got up from where he was sitting and came over to her. She was still standing. He put his arms around her and rocked her slowly in his arms. They stood there and rocked each other back and forth for several minutes without
saying a word.

  “You’re right, darlin’. I apologize. I love you. I’ve been so preoccupied that I hadn’t really focused on how rough it must be on you. Forgive me. From now on we’ll be a team.”

  She had never felt closer to Rosey than she did at that moment, nor would she ever feel as close to him again.

  The following week she hired Jenny Stern.

  * * *

  Jenny had been working for Sadie for only two weeks. Already Sadie felt extremely close to her. Jenny made her feel secure. She was a great cheerleader, a wonderful adviser and confidante, a terrific booster. By June the two were practically inseparable. Sadie kept apologizing for hanging on too much, but she needed Jenny’s physical presence almost as much as she needed her emotional and psychological support. Naturally, Rosey had plunged back into his work without giving her a second thought. Nor did he ever mention Jenny again. He seemed relieved that Jenny had taken some of the pressure off him.

  Jenny had also organized Sadie’s life logistically. Sadie hadn’t even decided where she wanted to work. Jenny had taken her on a tour the first day she came. It had cheered Sadie tremendously. They had chosen Sadie’s office, Jenny’s office, and Sadie’s small study in the family quarters.

  Sadie had taken the office in the East Wing that had been used by Molly Kimball’s chief of staff. It was relatively small, but there was room for a sofa and several chairs, and it faced the South Lawn with a view of the garden.

  “You’ve got to start out by making people think you are serious and not some fluff-head who cares only about clothes and parties,” Jenny had said firmly. “If you don’t have an office it will look as if you’re not involved.”

  “Even if I didn’t have any projects,” said Sadie, “I would insist on an office. It gives me someplace to go. If I don’t have anything to do I’ll just go over to my office, close the door, and read fashion magazines.”

  Jenny winced. “Oh, God, please don’t say things like that out loud! That’s the kind of thing that shows up in the ‘Backstairs at the White House’ kind of books.”

  “But I only said it to you,” Sadie protested.

  “Yes, but I might be the one to write it.”

  Sadie looked startled for a moment before she burst out laughing.

  “I’m not kidding,” said Jenny. “Don’t assume that anybody can really be trusted. There will always be someone who feels rejected or shortchanged or just plain resentful that you are First Lady and they aren’t. Nothing you say or do can be considered private.”

  “I suppose you’re going to tell me that my bathroom is being monitored.”

  “Well, if I were you I wouldn’t take my clothes off before I got into the tub,” said Jenny.

  Sadie burst out laughing. “What the hell—maybe I should just get it over with and parade nude down Pennsylvania Avenue on a horse.”

  “Before this is over you’ll feel as if you had.”

  “Thanks a lot, Jenny. You’re a real help.”

  “I’m just trying to prepare you for the worst. If it doesn’t happen, you’ll be pleasantly surprised. Now, what about your projects?”

  “The same. Historic preservation and Planned Parenthood.”

  “With an emphasis on historic preservation.”

  “Jenny, I just want to say one thing. I really care about Planned Parenthood. And I am willing to stand up for what I believe in. If it proves difficult for Rosey, then we will just have to deal with it. He doesn’t hesitate to ask me to support him in what he believes. If he really believes that the thing I care the most about is too costly for his career, then he can divorce me. I will not give up this issue for him or anybody else. Okay?”

  “That’s a pretty strong statement.”

  “That’s because I feel strongly about it. Jesus, Jenny, it’s not exactly as if I walk around wearing a T-shirt that says ‘Kill Babies.’ But I do believe in the right to terminate a pregnancy and I will say so publicly.”

  “These things get pretty specific. Do you believe in it up to the ninth month, and if so, why is that not murder? I’m playing devil’s advocate here, you understand.”

  “I think there should be a cutoff. I think the cutoff should be as long as it takes to get an amniocentesis and diagnosis, which is about five months. Certainly, people should not be allowed to abort after then. That’s what I believe.”

  “Already you’re getting into a hornets’ nest. But don’t worry, I’m not going to let you near the press.”

  “It’s that bad, huh?”

  “Let’s just say it falls into the Who Needs It? category.”

  “Frankly, Jenny, if I never see another reporter again it’s fine with me.”

  “What about me?”

  “You’re not a reporter anymore, remember?”

  “That’s right—I keep forgetting. I’m a flack now.”

  “Does that bother you?” Sadie was surprised.

  “You want the truth? It does, a little bit. I always thought good reporters didn’t do anything else. I feel as if I’ve sold out on some level. Oh, everybody’s been really great about it. But I feel a little uneasy. I guess I always will. But the fact is I wasn’t going anywhere much at The Daily. I was a reporter on the national staff, I suspect, because I was a woman. I didn’t like to admit that to myself. When you asked me to take this job I looked around and thought, Is this what I want to be doing when I’m sixty, slogging away, getting all the shit assignments? The answer is no. It looked like a way out. But you don’t get something for nothing. I had to sacrifice my idealistic view of myself as unbuyable.”

  She could see that Sadie was disturbed by what she was saying.

  “Listen,” said Jenny, “it has nothing to do with you. You must understand that. This is just about my own inner struggle. I struggled for ten seconds and then accepted the job. It’s a great job. And it will put me on the map. When I leave I’ll write a best-seller about all the inside dirt at the White House and get a lucrative job as a Washington consultant, have a big office, a staff, maybe a driver. I’ll get invited everywhere, I won’t have to work really hard, and I’ll get a great lecture fee. So you can see the pros outweighed the cons. Rather heavily.”

  “Just as long as you’re not unhappy.”

  “Believe me, it will give me enormous pleasure to mete out the crumbs of information to the vultures. Not to mention remaking your image.”

  “What do you mean, remaking my image?”

  “I intend to—”

  “I know. You intend to turn me from a frivolous blabbermouth into a serious person.”

  “Well, I would hardly use those words to describe the First Lady.”

  “Worse have been used, I’m sure.”

  “Give them time.”

  * * *

  Later that week Sadie and Jenny and Tilda met to discuss the first White House party, to be held in July. Sadie couldn’t shake her depression. When Rosey finally did appear in the evenings, he was full of White House business. It was impossible, and she knew it could only get worse. She had participated in a few things which Jenny had suggested—chairing a benefit for Children’s Hospital, a tea for the American family who had just returned from Russia on a goodwill tour, a meeting sponsored by Amnesty International for Mothers of the Missing in Latin America. She had continued work in a rather desultory fashion on the National Trust for Historic Preservation, and she had turned down a Planned Parenthood request to do television messages. Nothing she did really inspired her, and she was more wary, more afraid of doing anything that might attract controversy.

  There were days when she didn’t feel like getting dressed, and she would keep a wrapper on most of the morning until Jenny literally came to fetch her and take her down to her office. Some afternoons she slept for several hours and woke up feeling tired.

  Lorraine was her lifeline. Lorraine called her every day that she didn’t call Lorraine. She didn’t dare tell Lorraine how depressed she was, but Lorraine could hear it in her voice.
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  “Now, darling,” she had said one day, “you must pull out of it.”

  “Out of what?”

  “I’m not exactly a mind reader, but I’ve never heard anyone sound as listless as you do. Your voice is a giveaway. If you want to pretend you’re deliriously happy, you’ll have to make a better go of disguising your voice.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “I’m afraid it is, dearie.”

  “It’s just that I feel so trapped. Is that an awful thing to say? I know I should be thrilled to death about all of this, but I can’t help feeling like Rapunzel.”

  “You know most First Ladies feel that way at some point, don’t you? I’ve known a few of them, or have been close to friends of theirs. It’s natural. And particularly now that security is so tight after all the assassination attempts.”

  Sadie was taken aback by that. How strange that she hadn’t even given that a thought. Even with all the security she hadn’t thought about the assassination attempts. Perhaps because she and Rosey hardly went anywhere.”

  “Does it get better?” She realized as she had said it how pathetic she sounded.