Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

  Ali Habib would be mad for Allison. He understood perfectly that one did not want a woman who was an accessory. In New York, London, Paris, perhaps. Not in Washington.

  Earl Downs, the maverick Senator from Florida, might as well be a bachelor because his wife never came to Washington. Not very attractive, but hugely powerful, having replaced John T. Hooker as chairman of the Forgein Relations Committee, he had a commmanding personality and was an addition to any hostess’ salon. Lorraine just happened to know that Jones Barrett, the actor who was the new head of the National Endowment for the Arts, would be in town.

  She would fly in her beauties from New York, invite enough people from the Administration to make it work, and voilà! another succès fou. It wouldn’t hurt that The Weekly had just done a takeout on reporters who cover the White House. They had featured Allison quite heavily throughout the piece as the glamour queen of the White House press corps, returned after a two-year exile while her godfather was President. Lorraine suspected Jerry Mendelsohn had had something to do with the spread. She had heard that Desmond Shaw had not been involved.

  Of course, the spread in The Weekly had nothing to do with Lorraine’s wanting to have a party for Allison. It was coincidence. She was worried, however, when she called, that Allison might think so.

  * * *

  Allison smiled when Lorraine told her why she was calling. She really liked Lorraine. She was a game old broad. Allison loved her for caring so much. Sometimes she wished she had as much dedication these days to her career as Lorraine had to hers. There came a time when you saw the same old stories going by for the hundredth time and you just didn’t give a damn. Lorraine would care desperately about her parties until they carried her out of Dumbarton Street in a box.

  “Why not?” she said. “I want you to invite every attractive bachelor you can think of so they can fawn all over me.” She laughed. “I need a little ego massage these days.”

  “What a good idea,” said Lorraine, but she was already thinking that she would start with Ezio’s wonderful vegetable pâté. This one would be seated. Three tables of twelve. Allison between Ali Habib and Jones Barrett. Lorraine would keep Senator Downs for herself. She would wear her new caftan, a simple column of leopard chiffon.

  “Lorraine, are you still there?”

  “Oh, yes, darling. What is it?”

  “You’re not going to invite…?”

  “Of course not. I never even considered it.”

  * * *

  It had been a long time since Allison had been to Lorraine’s house. She felt recharged after her night with Nick, almost ready to go out again, almost ready for men. She hadn’t made love with anyone since Des, until Nick, and it was only then that she realized how much she had missed not only the sex but the holding. She needed that. She had a feeling that something good was going to happen at Lorraine’s.

  Lorraine had asked her to come a bit early, and she was happy to do so. She wanted to seem in command, and receiving would make her feel that way. She had decided to look sexy rather than chic. Her hair would be parted on one side and hanging over the other, a little longer than shoulder length. Veronica Lake. The white silk-and-cashmere dress had a high neck, long sleeves, a plunging back line, and a body-molding fit. Des would have said she looked as if she were on the prowl. Fuck Des.

  Lorraine was dazzled, possibly miffed.

  “Darling,” she said, brushing the air with her scarlet lips, “you look positively ravishing.”

  Allison smiled.

  “Doesn’t she, Archie?”

  “Ravishing. You’ll have to beat them away with sticks, eh?” Archie chuckled at his own little joke.

  “Archie, you always say just the right thing,” Allison said to annoy Lorraine. “Now tell me about the bachelors. Who am I going to let take me home?”

  Lorraine knew that the party would be a success. She had had some doubts earlier. Allison had insisted on her inviting dreary Walt Fineman. She was adamant about that and adamant about the fact that Allen Warburg not be invited, even though rumors were heavy that he was about to be named editor and Wiley Turnbull was on his way out.

  “It’s my turf, Lorraine,” Allison had said. “I don’t like Allen Warburg. If he gets to be the editor I’ll live with it, but he’s not my friend.”

  “All right, Sonny, if you insist,” Lorraine had sighed, “but there are a few friends of mine I really can’t exclude.”

  “Don’t tell me. Claire and Worth, Edwina and Rodney.”

  “Well, yes. I’m sorry, but…”

  “You don’t have to apologize, Lorraine. Besides, a little competition will keep me on my toes, which of course I will have to be to talk to Edwina anyway.”

  “Now, Sonny.”

  “I shouldn’t have said that. I know she and Claire are your bosom buddies. Speaking of bosoms, Claire—”

  “Sonny!”

  “My guess is that Edwina will go for Ali and Claire will come on to Jones Barrett, unless, of course, she thinks she can do Worth some good by going for someone more politically well placed.…”

  “Sonny, I really don’t—”

  “You think it’s the other way around?”

  “No, but…” Lorraine was exasperated.

  “Come on, Lorraine, you know I’m telling the truth. But just because they’re both horse’s asses doesn’t mean they’re not good at what they do. By the way, what do they do?”

  “Sonny, I absolutely will not listen to one more word. You’re being positively vicious.”

  “And you love every minute of it.”

  “That’s unfair.”

  “Who said anything about fair?”

  * * *

  Howard Heinrich was the first to arrive. Good old Howard had managed to hang in as counsel to the President after Rosewell Grey took over. He was more powerful than ever. And being an attractive bachelor, he was on every hostess’ list. Allison suspected that Lorraine had a slight sneaker for him and might even have done something about it if she hadn’t taken her hostess’ vow of chastity.

  Allison also suspected that Howard didn’t like her, though he was too political to show it. He had never made the slightest pass at her, either during Kimball’s Administration or after, when she had gone back to covering the White House full time. He spent a lot of time talking about how he was sure every man who met her wanted to go to bed with her. He talked about it too much. But he was a great source, and she particularly liked him because she suspected he disliked Sadie Grey.

  “Lorraine, my sweet, as usual you look lovely and your house is perfect.” He kissed Lorraine on both cheeks, then turned to Allison. He surveyed her carefully, taking in the whole effect, then whistled.

  “My, my, this is quite a coming-out party,” he said. “There’s not a man in this room who will be able to keep his hands off you.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on, Howard,” said Allison. “And I wish you especially would try to keep yours under control.”

  Lorraine looked stricken. This was the counsel to the President. But before she could say anything, Howard had his arms around Allison in a bear hug, laughing.

  “If it weren’t for the inhuman demands on me because of my job, Allison, you know I’d be on your front doorstep every night.”

  The doorbell rang. It was the Elgins and the Abel-Smiths.

  “Ahhhhh,” said Lorraine, her arms widening in a welcoming gesture, “my favorite people. Now the party can begin.”

  * * *

  “You are more beautiful than even your pictures.”

  Ali Habib’s eyes were sparkling with admiration as he turned to Allison once they had sat down. He was as good-looking as his pictures: tall, with coal-black hair swept back, deep black eyes, interminable eyelashes, sensual lips, and a perfect desert tan. His accent was Oxford, his suit Savile Row, his shirt Turnbull and Asser. The only thing that marred his perfection was the slight fullness in his cheeks and the hint of rings under his eyes which gave him a rather
debauched look. Too many nights in the Casbah.

  Despite his attractiveness and obvious come-on, Allison couldn’t help introducing politics into the conversation. She was, as usual, blunt. She found that she got more that way. If you caught people off guard, they responded, more out of surprise than anything else.

  “I hear you’ve been working over several people in the Administration,” she said, a smile on her face. “I’m told you’re a pretty good persuader. Have you gotten what you want from the President yet?”

  She was right. He looked stunned. He had been concentrating on sex and she had caught him off guard.

  “How do you know that?” he asked. He wasn’t smiling any longer.

  “It’s my job to know that. You want technology, a guarantee of protection, and a Palestinian homeland. That’s a tall order. But you should be able to get the first two. Oman is in a pretty good negotiating position.”

  “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as you might think.”

  “I didn’t say it was simple.” She bristled at the insinuation. “I said you’re in a pretty good negotiating position. Besides, President Grey is a lot more pro-Arab than Roger Kimball was.”

  “Unfortunately, as I’m sure you know, there are a few obstacles in our path.”

  He was either trying to tell her something or challenging her knowledge, and she didn’t know what he was talking about.

  “Doesn’t the challenge make it more interesting for you?” She was teasing him. She wanted him off balance; she intended the double entendre.

  He couldn’t tell whether she was coming on or not. “I’m afraid the challenge is not very attractive. The opposition to our interests comes from someone very close to the President.” He paused, then zapped her back: “But I’m sure you know all of that.”

  Who in Rosey Grey’s inner circle could be anti-Oman and so influential? Why?

  “What I don’t know,” she said, still faking, “but what you could enlighten me about, is what his motives are.”

  “You’re the reporter; you find out. Frankly, I find it most baffling.”

  Allison didn’t know whether he knew she didn’t know whom he was talking about.

  “I have an idea,” she said. “Why don’t you have a party in his honor at the embassy? Dancing, caviar, champagne, music—that sort of thing. Soften him up a bit.”

  Ali grimaced in spite of himself.

  “This man would never be interested in a party of that sort.”

  So it was Everett Dubois. The President’s special assistant. How odd. As far as she knew, Everett was in tight with the Arabs and the oil companies. Suspiciously so. It didn’t make any sense. But it would be fun to find out. Allison loathed Everett. He was a sleaze.

  Ali was looking at Allison trying to determine whether she had understood. He seemed to want her to know something without having to tell her.

  “Of course—you’re absolutely right,” she said. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you assign one of your most beautiful spies to seduce him?”

  Ali laughed delightedly. “How do I know you are not an agent for the CIA assigned to seduce me?”

  “You don’t.”

  “I promise you it will be the easiest assignment of your life.”

  She smiled, but she was unnerved. She looked away and took a sip of wine.

  “Why don’t you start working me over, as you say, when I take you home tonight?”

  “I’m hurt that you haven’t asked me for an interview,” said Jones Barrett, turning to Allison. He was turning the table himself, forcing Ali to turn to the woman on his left. Lorraine had seated them both next to “wives.” Now Jones looked liberated and Ali resigned.

  “What would you like to talk about?” she asked. “Your latest picture?” He was sexy, there was no question about that.

  “How about the Presidential campaign?”

  Her instinct was to put him down. On second thought, though, she figured most women would have that reaction. A secure woman would be charming and appreciative. She decided to change her tack.

  “It’s true,” she said.

  “What’s true?”

  “You are sexy.”

  “I don’t believe you said that.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, your reputation is… I mean, isn’t it a bit uncharacteristic for you to say that?” But he was clearly pleased.

  “I’m a reporter. My job is to discover truth and report it.”

  “How about investigating a little deeper?”

  “Are you sure you want that? I’m pretty thorough.”

  “You’re pretty sexy yourself.”

  They were both pleased with their little game. His hair was deliberately uncombed. He looked as if he had just gotten out of bed. He focused on her as if she were the only woman he had ever seen. She decided she would definitely like to make love, probably this evening. Ali would have to wait. Besides, Ali was too complicated. And he had a story she needed.

  “I could always interview you,” she said, “but then we’d have a problem.”

  “Let’s skip the interview,” he said quickly, and grinned his adorable grin.

  “I could make you famous, put your name in lights. I was thinking of a three-part series for the A section on ‘The Politicalization of Jones Barrett.’ I’d go back and interview all your old girlfriends, get them to remember when you first got interested in politics.”

  Jones smiled and leaned over to her so that his mouth was almost touching her neck. “I really want to fuck you,” he said. She could feel his breath touching her neck. All she could think of was how to get through the rest of the evening so they could leave and go home to bed. Several people at the table had stopped talking and were looking at them. It did appear that Jones was about to kiss her. He straightened up quickly. She looked at him solemnly and said with a sincere voice, “I quite agree. Isn’t it a coincidence that we both feel the same way about an issue on which I am normally quite conservative?”

  “Politics does make strange bedfellows,” he said.

  * * *

  Archie was the worst toast-giver in Washington. It was legendary. This was no exception. He managed to insult Allison by announcing that she had been in hiding for almost a year, but now she was back on the market. “And she looks like she’s doing pretty well for herself tonight,” said Archie, leering at Allison. “To Sonny!”

  Allison had had just enough wine and was just giddy enough that she started to giggle as she stood to respond.

  “I would like to thank Archie and Lorraine for launching me tonight. And as I look to my left and to my right there is no question that I could not have done better myself. It’s wonderful to be at a party inspired by friendship alone.” Did anybody believe that one? “Where everyone is here simply to have a good time.” She knew nobody believed that, but Lorraine beamed. “I’ve had the best time I’ve had at a party in years, and the only thing that mars the evening is that Archie is not available.” She paused for the appreciative laughter and Lorraine’s shriek of pleasure. “A toast to our host and hostess!”

  It wasn’t until after dinner, when Allison was perched on one of Lorraine’s love seats talking office politics with Walt Fineman, that Senator Earl Downs made his approach. Downs had always repelled Allison with his pudgy little body and squinty little eyes.

  “Why, Miss Allison,” he said, “I hope you don’t mind if I join you. Unfortunately I was not lucky enough to sit by your side at dinner.”

  Walt jumped in. “Please do, Senator. We were just talking about the predicament in Oman.”

  Downs’s face dropped. This was not what he had hoped to discuss.

  “Ah, yes,” he said carefully. “You were sitting next to Habib.”

  Allison heard the caution in his voice and glanced quickly at Walt. As Chairman of the Foreign Relations Committee, Downs would know what was going on. He knew as well as Allison that the only thing that mattered was that one knew what was going on. In Washington knowledg
e was the hot commodity.

  “I gather that Everett Dubois is causing the Omanis some trouble,” said Allison, testing.

  “He said that?”

  She smiled. Downs took that as an affirmative. “Well, hell, if Habib’s talking about it… Frankly, we don’t understand what Dubois’s problem is, but I’ll be goddamned if he doesn’t have the President’s ear on this thing.”

  Allison didn’t know what “this thing” was, but she wasn’t about to quit now. She could see Walt looking at her with amusement. He loved watching her do her number.

  “Senator,” said Allison, “I don’t believe I’ve introduced you and Walt Fineman. As you know, Walt is the National Editor at The Daily.”

  “Glad to meet you, Walt,” said Downs. “Of course I know of you.” He had had a bit to drink, Allison thought.

  “It’s always been a mystery to me what President Grey sees in Everett Dubois,” said Allison.