by Sally Quinn
“Rosey is very upset about the part of the story which says that he is blind to the faults of his staff and would never consider anyone on his team to have been involved in anything like this. He kept saying, ‘Who could they have talked to? Who would tell The Weekly anything like this? You don’t think Jenny is talking to her friend Shaw, do you? I understand there’s a romance going on there.’ ”
“What did you say?”
“I told him that Jenny was the most trustworthy person I had ever known and she would never leak anything to anyone. That just wasn’t her style. And if she did, she certainly wouldn’t leak it to you because it would be too obvious.”
“Good work, baby.”
“Rosey kept saying at dinner last night, right after they called him with what The Weekly would say today, he kept saying, ‘How could they have heard of this? I only heard it last week, through Outland’s letter. Do you think he wrote somebody on The Weekly?’ I just acted more surprised than he was.”
“You know what surprises me? The fact that we haven’t made love yet.”
He pulled her up off the sofa and carried her into their little bedroom, where they made love for most of the afternoon. It was only later, when they were lying in each other’s arms, that she turned to him.
“And now for the bad news,” she said.
“Oh, Jesus, now what?”
“I have to go off the pill.”
“When?”
“At the end of this cycle.”
“Why?”
“Because I have something called mitral-valve prolapse.”
“Christ, what’s that?”
“It’s the new chic heart condition. It’s not serious, but because I’m almost forty and should have been off the pill when I was thirty-five, my doctor is making me quit now.”
“So what will you do?”
“I love it. Suddenly it’s my problem.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do—have a vasectomy? Forget it. I’m not having anybody mess with my tallywacker. No way. Besides, I read somewhere that it causes hardening of the arteries.”
“I didn’t say anything about a vasectomy. There are such things as condoms, you know.”
“That’s bullshit. Those things are out of the question. Why don’t you try an IUD?”
“Because I can’t. With mitral-valve prolapse you’re too susceptible to infection. He advises against it.”
“So what are we going to do?”
“Well, I have considered foams, sponges, jellies, and suicide and I have decided I’m going to try the diaphragm.”
“Great idea.”
“I’m glad you like it. I think it’s horrible. It’s a mess, with all that jelly, and it’s so undignified. Yuk.”
“It’s not as if we’re together that much. You’ll only have to use it once a week.”
She didn’t say anything. He looked at her. His jaw tightened. She looked away.
“Maybe more than once a week. Ah, yes, I forgot, you’re a married woman.”
“You know I have no choice.”
“Choice you have, sweetheart. It’s just that you won’t make it.”
“I don’t remember being asked to make it.”
They looked at each other for a long time.
He leaned over and kissed her, finally, caressing her face, her neck, her breasts; brushing her gently with his mouth, then kissing her fully on the lips.
“We have a lot to talk about when I get back.”
“Get back? You just got back. Where are you going?”
“I’m going with the President on his trip to the Middle East.”
“Oh, no. I thought you weren’t going.”
“I tried to get out of it, but New York really wants me on it for some reason. Besides, I may be able to nail Everett on this one. Why aren’t you going?”
“It’s only for five days, and it’s a working trip. None of the wives are going, and there are no big social events. What do they need a bubble-head like me along for?”
“The President ought to have his head examined for not taking you with him. If you were my woman I’d chain you to my side.” He leaned over and began kissing her again.
She knew they were going to make love again, but something made her pull away from him and ask a question she did not want the answer to.
“Who’s going from The Daily?”
“Allison. Who else?”
CHAPTER 15
They were so close they were almost touching. Allison could feel his rough tweed sleeve against her arm through her silk blouse. She was typing in her seat; he was kneeling in the aisle playing his tape recorder.
“I can’t hear the last word,” Des said. “I think it’s renege. Here, you listen.”
“It’s renege,” she said. “Okay, I’ve got it. We’re almost finished. I suppose we’ve got to say that they served bad fish on Air Force One? Manolas will be pissed.”
“Fuck Manolas. He’s the one who’s been joking around about being sure to remember our dysentery pills and not to drink the water. Now the entire plane, including the President, is about to land in Israel with the runs.”
“You know, if we put it in it’s going to be everyone’s lead.” Allison was giggling. “I love it. Especially after they trooped our revered Secretary of State back here to brief us on the importance of President Grey celebrating the involvement of Jordan in the peace process. ‘January 27. The President, yesterday, suffering from intestinal upset reportedly caused by eating contaminated fish on Air Force One, met with Israeli Prime Minister Itsak Ensellem for the beginning of…’ ”
The two wire-service reporters and the television correspondent laughed.
“In fact, why don’t we make it the lead of the pool report? They always hate it so when we don’t lead with what they want us to. I think they dragged poor Wells Harmon back here to throw us off the fish story.”
“Let’s just wrap it up with the fish, if you’ll pardon the expression. I want to get this fucking thing done so we can have a drink. Besides, you know that Manolas will be back again to brief us on arrival time and logistics. Let’s just give this to Congdon the next time he comes back here to pee and he can take it up and get it run off now.”
Allison finished typing the last few sentences and pulled it out of the typewriter, handing it to Des:
POOL REPORT #1
The President never left the front of the plane for the whole trip, not even to take a walk at Lajes in the Azores. Manolas was asked if the President would come back to talk to us, and he said he “would see,” but nothing ever materialized.
Before we reached the Azores, a high government official (not the National Security Adviser or the Secretary of Defense) talked to us on background about the President’s hopes for the trip. He said that things were tenuous because they never knew what to expect from the Israelis. The reason the Jordanians had agreed to join the peace process in the first place was because the Israelis had agreed to begin to phase out the West Bank settlements. But the various factions in Israel are arguing about it, and there is some fear that they may renege on their agreement, which might foil the talks altogether. The President was made aware of this possibility only a day ago, but decided to stick with his plans anyway and risk the pullout of the Jordanians. He would still continue his talks with the Israelis and the Egyptians in any case. He denied that the purpose of the trip had anything to do with the campaign, and Manolas ended our briefing when we asked that question. The high government official then disappeared to the front of the plane to join the other notables, who included the Secretary of Defense, the National Security Adviser, the Chief of Protocol, Everett Dubois, the President’s Communications Director, and the President’s Chief of Staff, who will be departing soon to work on the campaign.
Manolas then admitted that the President, as were most of his staff, was feeling a bit queasy in the stomach from the bad fish that was served for lunch at the beginning of the flight. Manolas downplayed the ramific
ations of the fish story and encouraged us to concentrate on the briefing by the high government official, hinting that he might produce other such officials later in the flight. Otherwise uneventful.
Your Pool
Sterling and Shaw
“Here comes Congdon now,” said Des. He grabbed the pool report and gave it to the President’s aide.
“God, this sucks,” said Des. “The reason I hate these trips is that I know I’ll always end up in the frigging pool. You’d think traveling on Air Force One would be luxurious. But here we are in the ass end of the plane, next to the galley, in the narrow, hard seats which don’t recline, with every turkey on the plane coming back and forth to the john. I don’t know why I let New York talk me into this.”
Des was standing up now, shaking his knees out where he had been kneeling next to Allison. She was sitting in Des’s seat, one of four seats that faced each other across a table. As the newspaper correspondent, she was odd person out and had been seated across the aisle next to an airman.
“Here, you can have your seat back now, Des,” said Allison, getting up from his aisle seat, which faced backward toward the wall and the galley behind it.
“Oh, no, I don’t mind; why don’t you stay there, and I’ll sit here across the aisle.”
He didn’t say it, but the reason he didn’t want his seat back was that on the wall behind the two wire-service seats was a large picture of Sadie, smiling down at him. It was a beautiful picture, but there was something accusatory about her expression, and it made him nervous. Allison had been open and friendly and not at all hostile as he might have imagined. He suspected that it might be an act, but if it was, she was doing a good job. Jenny had told him that Sonny was seeing the Omani and some movie star and that she seemed in good shape, but he hadn’t expected her to be in this good shape. She was treating him the way she treated the television cameraman, who was a big, friendly sheepdog. It irritated him that she was uninterested in him, but it made it easier for them to do the pool together. She looked great. She was wearing a plum-colored cashmere sweater dress and a cardigan that matched. Her hair was cut shorter, soft and curly, not as severe as before.
“I have a better idea,” said Des. “Why don’t I see if the airman will trade with me? Then we can sit together.”
The other three reporters exchanged glances as the airman moved over and Allison and Des sat down across the aisle. Des lit his cigarette with White House matches and took several drags before he looked at her. They had been so busy that they hadn’t had a chance to focus on each other. Now here they were next to each other, with a long flight ahead of them.
“You shouldn’t smoke.”
“I know.”
“Sorry—I didn’t mean to sound preachy.”
“You look fabulous.”
“I know.”
“Well, kiss my ass.”
“Your hair is going gray.”
“I know.”
“It looks very distinguished.”
“I don’t want to look distinguished.”
“Does Jenny like it?”
“Jenny?”
“Yes, Jenny Stern.”
Des was thrown by this. Nobody had ever quizzed him about his relationship with Jenny. They went to parties together and everyone took it for granted that they were a pair.
He didn’t know what to answer. He couldn’t tell how much she knew. She was a good reporter; nothing would surprise him. If anybody in the White House press corps got on to the fact that he was having an affair with Sadie, it would be Allison. But she was so calm. He didn’t sense anything in her questioning.
“Oh, well, Jenny’s great. I love her dearly. And she is easy to be with. She kind of grows on you.”
“Are you in love with her?”
“Jesus, Sonny, gimme a break. I don’t want to get into that kind of thing. I like her a lot. Let’s leave it at that.”
“I gather it’s mutual. Jenny doesn’t seem to have much time these days for her old friends.”
“I don’t think that’s a problem. I mean, I think she’s just busy. She works her ass off over at the White House. That’s a tough job. There isn’t a lot left over for anybody else, even me.”
“I gather she and Sadie Grey have become very tight.”
This was not at all what Des wanted to talk about, but Allison was relentless. When there was something she wanted to talk about, she wouldn’t give up. It was what made her both such a good reporter and so hard to live with sometimes.
“They have a good working relationship. Yeah, they get along fine.”
“I have to tell you I feel quite hurt by Jenny. I mean, she was my closest friend and now she doesn’t even have time to talk to me on the phone. Every time I call her she sounds guilty, and it’s making me suspicious. Maybe she’s involved or the White House is involved in something that she doesn’t want me to know about. Is there something going on she doesn’t want me to know about?”
“I think Jen is just up to here with work, and she does see a lot of me, and she has just kind of let things slide. I wouldn’t worry about it.”
He was trying to sound casual. He wasn’t succeeding.
Allison looked at him curiously.
“Why are you being so defensive?”
“For Christ’s sake, Sonny, lay off. I’m not the President of Brazil.”
She had pushed him too far. She laughed.
“Sorry. I apologize. It’s really none of my business.”
She picked up a newspaper, trying to feign indifference.
“Oh, God, I think that’s worse. Having you pretend you’re not interested.”
She looked at him slyly; then they both cracked up.
“Okay, it’s my turn.”
“Your turn at what?”
“What’s with you and the Sheik of Araby?”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about.”
“The Desert Fox. I hear you’ve been seen cruising around town in a blue Mercedes.”
“He’s a great lay.”
“What about Mr. Hollywood?”
“One of the best.”
“And Nick?”
It didn’t sound like jesting.
“Nick is a close friend. I adore Nick. Besides, Nick lives in the Middle East and I live in Washington.”
“Are you going to see him?”
“I don’t think I like being interviewed. I like it the other way around. But I guess not all of your subjects feel that way. I never got to tell you I thought your cover on Sadie Grey was the most incredible puff job I have ever read in my life. What did she do, go down on you?”
He tried to smile.
“Why don’t we agree to cut the third degree? Let’s talk about our work—a nice, safe subject.”
“Great,” she said. “I gather you’re onto Dubois. I saw the bit in The Weekly about Rittman Oil not getting the Omani bid and I heard you were in Louisiana that same week. Nice work.” She added it reluctantly.
“My, aren’t we gracious.” He laughed. “But what makes you think Everett Dubois is involved?”
“For one thing, the look on your face. You were always a lousy poker player.”
“You working on it too?… But of course you would be. Ali Baba would have turned you around three times and pointed you in Everett’s direction. Be careful with that one. It’s not as obvious as you might think. Don’t let him use you.”
“I can’t be used any more than you can.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just what I said.”
“I forgot. You were always a terrific poker player.”
POOL REPORT #2
The President was greeted at the plane by Prime Minister Itsak Ensellem, and the two men embraced. President Grey was then led to a waiting limousine and proceeded to the King David Hotel. There was no ceremonial arrival because of the late hour. There will be a welcoming ceremony tomorrow at the Knesset.
The motorcade from the airpor
t was without incident. There were a few people with placards along the way which our Israeli driver told us were anti-giving-up-the-settlements. They were not loud or disruptive. The President went immediately to his suite. Grey would answer no questions as he entered the hotel. Manolas said he might after the ceremony at the Knesset but was making no promises. Manolas said the President is feeling better, but we suspect the beginnings of a cover-up on the fish story. Stay tuned.
Sterling and Shaw
“I need a drink.”
“I think we’ve been here before.”
“How’s your stomach?”
“Much better. I’m starved.”
“Good. Let’s go eat.”
“Are you asking me for a date, Shaw?”
“Why not? Two old friends. Get together, reminisce, have a few drinks, a few laughs.”
There was a nervousness in his voice that she had not heard before. He seemed almost insecure. It was odd how she was suddenly the one who was in control. Probably it was her attitude of amiable nonchalance that had intrigued him. She hadn’t intended to behave that way. In fact, when she had learned that she and Des were assigned to the pool, she’d tried to get out of it. The only reason she was stuck with it was that nobody else wanted to make the uncomfortable flight in the back of Air Force One.
She had summoned every ounce of self-control to manage to be friendly and casual when she met him at Andrews Air Force Base. As they began working together, it had seemed natural and familiar, and she had relaxed. Still, being around Des made her throat go dry. He was so strong, so masculine. There was something in him that was lacking in the other men she had been seeing. He was Lancelot. All the things that used to annoy her seemed to appeal to her now… the shirt sleeves rolled up under his jacket; the top button of his shirt never buttoned; the jacket with the hem coming unraveled; his hair never properly combed; ink stains on his shirt pocket. He looked like a journalist. He had always said she was trying to pussy-whip him into dressing like an investment banker. She would reply that she only wanted him to look handsome. But of course, he already did. She liked it that his hair had grayed. She liked the crinkles around his eyes. She liked his straight white teeth and his crooked smile. She liked everything about him, dammit. In fact, she loved him. Still. She would never let him know it. She had to be cool.
