Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

  “Put that goddamned notebook away,” he said. He was slurring his words. “Put it away”—he gestured again—“or I won’t tell you what I’m going to tell you.”

  She took it off the table and pretended to put it into her purse, resting it instead on the banquette beside her. Reporters can take notes in the dark.

  “I think I know what has motivated our friend Everett Dubois into putting the kibosh on the Omanis.”

  His eyes were gleaming in the candlelight. This was it. He thought he could buy her with this information. She looked up and caught his stare. She quickly looked down. She didn’t want to seem too interested. It might scare him. She said nothing.

  “Ol’ Everett, it seems, got sumpthin goin’ with some Louisiana”—he said Looziana—“offshore oil company. The Omanis made some deal with a British company and Everett’s pals didn’t get the contract. I’m not saying Everett was going to get anything out of it, y’hear. All I’m sayin’ is that some folks think it’s mighty coincidental that Everett’s turned sour on the Omanis right after the Louisiana contract fell through.”

  Allison nodded to indicate she was listening. She didn’t want to cut him off before he finished; but he stopped talking.

  “What was the name of the company?”

  “That, I’m afraid, you’ll have to look up. I don’t have it right here at my fingertips. I don’t know the name of the British company either. In fact, little lady, I don’t know anything more than what I told you. How about a brandy?”

  “No, thank you. How much influence in this matter do you think Everett has with the President?”

  “Lots. Everett’s field is oil. He worked for that oil company in Louisiana long before he went to work for the Governor of Oklahoma. The President thinks Everett knows everything about oil deals and he trusts his judgment.”

  “Do you think the President knows about Everett’s connection to the Louisiana oil company?”

  “Hell, no. Rosewell Grey is the biggest candy-ass I ever met. He wouldn’t know a kickback deal if it hit him in the face. Now, that’s about all I have to say on this subject. If you won’t have a brandy, how about coming back to my place for a nightcap?”

  Allison had what she needed, and she figured he really didn’t know any more. She put her notebook into her purse and stood up. He jumped up and tried to pull her back down. “Wait a second—I haven’t paid yet,” he said.

  “It’s all taken care of, monsieur,” said the maître d’hôtel, who had stopped by their table. He nodded toward Allison. Allison had paid on her way to the ladies’ room earlier.

  Even in the dark she could see the Senator’s face turn red.

  “Hell, no, I’m not lettin’ some girl pay my way.”

  She was walking toward the door, not even turning around to see him. She stepped out onto New Hampshire Avenue just in time to see a cab heading toward the Kennedy Center. She hailed it and jumped in, breathing a sigh. The sigh was premature. Earl Downs was in the seat next to her before the cab could pull away.

  “Sure you don’t want a little nightcap?” His voice was pleading.

  She stared out the window.

  Then she felt his hand. She looked down and watched horrified as he put his paw on her thigh at the same time he was making a smacking noise with his mouth. It was the same sensation as watching a tarantula crawl over her.

  “Get your hands off me,” she said in a quiet, deadly voice, “or I will have the cabdriver take us directly to the police station, where I will have you charged with attempted rape.” Then she turned to him and looked him directly in the eye. “And don’t think I don’t mean it.”

  He moved his small, round frame over to his corner of the car and sulked as the cab drove down Pennsylvania Avenue to M Street, then turned right on Twenty-eighth. She could hear his heavy breathing, and his boozy breath filled the taxi, making her slightly nauseated. The cab pulled up in front of her house. She quickly opened the door and had begun to get out when she heard his raspy voice say in almost a whisper, “If you didn’t want to go to bed with me, why did you have dinner?” His expression registered utter confusion, and for a moment she almost felt sorry for him. Instead, she burst out laughing and ran inside her house.

  Later, when she went to close a window, she noticed the dark blue Mercedes parked out in front.

  * * *

  Allison was still smarting from her dinner with Earl Downs and her latest conversation—or rather, argument—with Ali. She had at last won out with her insistence that she could not accept the car. It had taken several dinners alone with him at the Omani Embassy. She would drive over in the car and leave the keys. He would have it delivered the next morning. The third evening at the embassy, she lost her temper.

  “If you cared at all about me, and you say you do, then you have got to take this car back and never give me another present. Please try to understand that our rules are different and you are hurting me by giving me presents, which I believe is the opposite of what you want to do.”

  Ali seemed convinced finally.

  At first she had thought she might have trouble with his trying to make a pass at her. But he never once tried to touch her or even insinuate that they might end up in bed. He was a perfect gentleman, and delightful company.

  He received her on the second floor in the garden room, a light, airy high-ceilinged room with French doors which gave onto a beautiful, private second-floor-level garden. It was a tiny oasis, with lush trees, fall flowers, a small grassy area, and a diminutive swimming pool lined in mosaics. There was a ceramic lion’s head which spat water into one end of the pool, creating the sound of a fountain burbling quietly in the background.

  The garden-room walls were covered in pale lemon-yellow damask, as were the draperies and the plump down-filled sofas. The rugs were soft rose Orientals, the French watercolors in pastel hues. Fresh-cut flowers were on the mantel in front of the mirror, and from somewhere Debussy was playing. It was still warm enough for the doors to be open, and when twilight came Ali turned down the lights and lit candles around the room for a gentle glow.

  She wondered why she was not sexually attracted to him. He had to be one of the best-looking men she had ever seen in her life. He was witty, intelligent, and well mannered. Yet there was something neuter about him to her, much to her relief. She didn’t dwell on it. Sex would only have interfered with her agenda. Everett Dubois.

  It became clear to Allison only gradually that the reason he was as anxious as she not to be seen out in public was that he didn’t want to be identified as her source. At least now she felt free to pursue the matter of Everett. She brought it up casually over caviar. She had done her research and knew a lot more than when she’d dined with Earl Downs.

  “I’m rather curious as to why you chose to grant the offshore leasing contract to Marble Arch instead of Rittman. Rittman, from everything I can see, presented a much better bid, and they have a flawless reputation in Louisiana. Marble Arch has had so many problems with the North Sea drilling.”

  He cocked an eyebrow.

  “I don’t believe anything has been announced. Where did you get your information?”

  “Well, it seemed the obvious place to go was Everett Dubois.”

  She had not gone to Dubois, but then, that wasn’t exactly a lie, either. She hadn’t said she had, and it was the obvious thing.

  “Indiscretion will only hurt him, not Oman.”

  “He can hurt Oman?”

  “He already has.”

  “So why didn’t you play along with him? Give his company the contract? Even if he were going to get a kickback, that’s not your problem. You have different customs—or need I remind you?”

  “Ah, that such a beauty could be so cruel!”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He looked at her long and hard, then lowered his eyes and almost whispered, “The demands were greater than we found acceptable. At least with the British company there were no strings. He’s pl
aying a dangerous game, that man.”

  “It gets more dangerous for him as we talk.” She probably shouldn’t have said that, but Ali didn’t seem deterred.

  He smiled, and his teeth clenched together as he said conspiratorially, “We didn’t talk.”

  CHAPTER 14

  She had to tell Jenny. There was no choice, really. If it was going to work, she had to have an accomplice. And she was determined to make it work. It was going to save her sanity.

  She had asked Jenny to come upstairs for lunch in her tiny office in the family quarters. It was where she did her correspondence, paid bills, dealt with household matters. It was one of her favorite places in the White House because of its intimacy and its view of Lafayette Park and the gardens. It was her window on the real world.

  Sadie was standing by the window looking out at the demonstrators in front of the White House, trying to figure out how to tell her, when Jenny knocked on the door. Jenny had a questioning look as she walked in.

  “What on earth is going on? You sounded mysterious on the phone. And why are we meeting in here?”

  Sadie hadn’t realized how nervous she was. She had twisted one curl at the back of her head so hard that strands of auburn hair were beginning to come out in her hand. She smiled feebly.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Jenny.”

  Jenny sat down on the little chintz love seat against the wall and looked expectant. “So?”

  “Well…” she began, walking the floor.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m just fine. I have something to discuss with you.”

  “You’re not happy with my work, you’d like to look for another press secretary. Look, Sadie, if you don’t think I’m right for you, then—”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Sadie, laughing in spite of herself.

  “What is it, then? You’re acting like a deranged person.”

  “As a matter of fact, when you hear what I’m about to tell you you’ll think I am.”

  “Come on. Out with it.”

  Sadie paced a few minutes, then plopped onto the chair facing Jenny. She took a breath.

  “I’m having an affair.”

  Jenny stared at her.

  “I’m having an affair.”

  Then, as if she had no energy left, she collapsed against the cushion and waited for a response.

  Jenny still didn’t say anything, and Sadie didn’t have the energy to say any more.

  Finally Jenny whispered, “Holy shit.” Then she leaned back and put her hand on her head.

  “I think you need a new press secretary,” she said quietly. And then, raising her voice: “Are you out of your mind?”

  “I told you you would think I’m deranged.”

  “Does the President know about this?”

  “Now it’s my turn to ask you if you’re out of your mind.”

  “Do you mind if I ask a few questions like who, what, how, when, and where? Especially how?”

  “That’s why I’m telling you. I need your help.”

  “What? I’m supposed to help you with this suicide? No, thank you. I don’t even want to know about it. Let’s pretend you didn’t tell me.”

  “Jenny, I’m serious. I’m having an affair. I’m very much in love, I plan to continue seeing him, and I need to find a way. I need you to figure out a way.”

  “Jesus. On the oy vay scale of one to ten, this is definitely a ten.”

  “Will you?”

  “I have an idea,” said Jenny. “Why don’t you meet in the pressroom? That way it will save the reporters a few days’ work and it will get the whole thing over with in no time.”

  “Come on, Jenny. Be serious.”

  “You want serious? I’ll give you serious. This affair must stop immediately. It is insane. You cannot do it. You will be found out and you will destroy your husband, not to mention the welfare of the nation. Sadie, I’m not kidding, you have got to put your country first. And that’s all there is to it.”

  It was as if Sadie were watching her body sitting calmly in the chair as her spirit drifted up to the ceiling and gazed down dispassionately at the scene. She felt nothing. No fear, no guilt, no remorse, no frustration.

  “It’s not negotiable, Jenny,” she said with utter calm. “Either you help me find a way to do it secretly or I’ll have to find a way myself. I think you’ll agree that with your help we have less chance of being found out.”

  “You never answered my question. Who’s the other half of ‘we’?”

  Sadie looked at her with a straightforward glance.

  “Desmond Shaw.”

  Jenny could feel her stomach drop out.

  “Holy shit,” she said.

  “You already said that.”

  “This time I mean it.”

  * * *

  Sadie lay in bed that night thinking. Rosey had long since been asleep. He always went to sleep the minute he kissed her good night and put his head on the pillow. They made love even less often now. Every six weeks or so. He was so busy, so preoccupied, so tired. It was a relief. Shortly after she and Des had made love Rosey had wanted to and she had put him off. She knew in a few weeks she would have to. It upset her but if she was going to continue with Des she would have to learn to compartmentalize the two. She couldn’t keep Rosey at bay if she wanted to keep him from being suspicious.

  She had finally persuaded Jenny. It was her implacable stance that had won her over. Jenny was stunned. She had obviously thought she could talk Sadie out of it. And too, Sadie knew that Jenny must hurt for Allison. Not to mention the guilt she obviously felt about her complicity.

  It had taken them most of the day to figure out how it might work. Jenny had called down to her office to tell her people to hold calls and Sadie had rung the butler for lunch. For some reason she was ravenous. Being able to talk about it and make plans had given her a sense of exhilaration. Jenny ate scarcely a bite. She sent down for some cigarettes and drank a dozen cups of black coffee. But she had come through.

  The plan was this: “Lagoon” would have to take an office. Lagoon was the Secret Service name for Sadie. Rosey was “Hilltop.” Des, they decided, would be “Canyon.”

  Lagoon would tell Hilltop that she needed another office away from the White House where she could write. Hilltop knew that Lagoon had been longing to get back to her writing. But it was difficult because both in her East Wing office and in her private office off the West Sitting Room, there were constant interruptions. There was an office over in the Executive Office Building, the hideaway of a former President, which had remained vacant. Jenny knew about it because Everett Dubois was trying to secure it for his private use and Hilltop’s staffers were trying to discourage that. All Lagoon had to do was open her mouth and it would be hers. Hilltop was already feeling guilty about not spending enough time with her, and he would do anything to make her happy.

  It wasn’t entirely a subterfuge. She really did want to get back to her writing. Canyon had been very encouraging. Even though she had enough to do to keep her busy, none of it gave her a sense of accomplishment or fulfillment. Writing was something she did for herself. She was bored and lonely sitting around the West Sitting Room talking on the phone in her spare time. Still, even with this private office, Canyon would not be able to visit her often. She would, in fact, have a place to write in peace.

  The tricky part was going to get Canyon into and out of the EOB. There was a guard at the main entrance behind electronic gates who checked everyone’s credentials, signed people in and out, and called whomever they were to visit before letting them in. Jenny was going to have to befriend one of the guards in the afternoon shift. She would confide in him that the First Lady was writing a novel, that it was ultrasecret, and that her editor would be visiting her occasionally to work with her on the book. Jenny would tell Toby Waselewski, Lagoon’s private agent, and she would get Toby to check with the guard each time Canyon was coming. Canyon would have to come at a specified time so
that only one of the guards would be aware of him.

  Jenny thought it might work. For a while.

  * * *

  “Des?”

  “Hi, beauty. I thought you’d never call.”

  “Sorry. I’ve had the kids from Children’s Hospital here all afternoon for a concert. I couldn’t get away until now.”

  “Jesus, it’s so frustrating not to be able to call you.”

  “I’ve fixed that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve had a private, unmonitored telephone put in. It doesn’t go through the White House switchboard. I’ve had it installed in my office off the West Sitting Room. I’ve given instructions that nobody is allowed to answer it but me.”

  “That’s genius. How did you pull that off?”

  “I told you. Rosey is so worried about my mental and emotional health that he will do anything to make me happy, with the exception of giving up the Presidency.”

  “So when do we continue with our interview? And where?”

  “I told Jenny.”

  “Christ. How did she take it?”

  “Not too well at first. In fact, rather badly. But I told her if she didn’t help me I’d have to figure out a way to do it on my own.”

  “And?”

  “She’s on the case. I must say, once she puts her mind to it she really is amazing. She’s already figured out the whole strategy.”

  “Are you going to let me in on this or am I the last to know?”

  “No, no. Here’s the plan. You know Rosey’s gone down to New Orleans to speak to some offshore-oil types—something Everett got him into. Anyway, he has agreed to give me an old office over in the EOB. It was used by President Norton. I haven’t seen it, but Jenny says it’s wonderful. She and I are going to do a walk-through tonight, since Rosey’s out of town, and sort of fix it up a little bit. Then Jenny will give you your marching instructions.”