by Sally Quinn
“We never saw each other,” he said quietly, and without another word he took Sadie’s arm and pulled her away toward the beach.
* * *
All Sadie could think about was whether or not Lorraine had seen the item. Lorraine had acted perfectly normal when Sadie arrived at the Jockey Club for lunch. Lorraine was waiting for her at one of the corner banquettes in the front room. They kissed on both cheeks, complimented each other on how they looked, ordered Perriers with a twist of lime, and cased the place before turning to talk.
Sadie had wanted to cancel the lunch, but Jenny had told her to “tough it out” when the item appeared in the New York gossip column that morning.
“Cancelling your lunch with Lorraine would be like holding a press conference and announcing you’re having an affair,” said Jenny. “You’ve got to go. And then you’ve got to tell Rosey. Somebody’s going to bring it to his attention. And by someone, I mean Everett. It’s now or never, kiddo.”
“I don’t think I can do it, Jenny.”
“Do what? Have lunch with Lorraine or tell Rosey?”
“Either. I think I’ll just go take some pills and quietly go to sleep forever.”
“I think you will not do that. I think you will go to lunch with Lorraine, act perfectly natural, smile and wave at your friends and admirers, and then come home and tell your husband you’re leaving him for another man.”
“Is the item that obvious?” Sadie’s voice was trembling. The worst was happening and she still wasn’t able to absorb it.
“Anastasia is not known for being the subtlest gossip columnist in New York. Let me just read it over to you once more in case you haven’t memorized it:
“ ‘Here’s a tough one, darlings…. What wife of a very very, very high-up government official was seen frolicking about a certain nearby beach resort with what high-powered Washington journalist? We’ll let you stew over that one for now, but here’s a clue. She was not wearing a red wig. It’s going to be a delicious spring, gossip-wise.’ ”
“Okay. Okay. It’s pretty obvious. Do you think Lorraine will have seen it?” She was trying to keep calm, but her heart was beating so quickly that she could feel her body twitching.
“Does McDonald’s have golden arches? Come on, Sadie. We’re talking All-Pro gossip here. Of all the people you could be having lunch with, she is either the worst or the best, depending on how you play it. You have got to be so cool today that Lorraine will get on the horn and start denying it the minute lunch is over.”
“What if she brings it up? What will I say?”
“Repeat after me: ‘What item in Anastasia’s column?’ Now repeat: ‘Oh, good—some fresh dirt. I’m starved for it. Tell me every detail. I knew you were the perfect person to have lunch with.’ And then you say, ‘How delicious! Do you think it could possibly be Helene Corwin?’ ”
Sadie laughed in spite of herself.
“Oh, you are so evil. I couldn’t do it.”
“The fate of our nation rests on the fact that you can.”
“You certainly have a way of putting things in perspective.”
“I’m only half-kidding.”
“I’ve never heard of Helene Corwin screwing around.”
“She doesn’t. You do. Remember? We’re just trying to throw sand in Lorraine’s eyes.”
Sadie ignored her.
“Poor Helene. I feel so sorry for her. She’s kept up such a brave face all the way through those censure hearings. I don’t see how she stood it. At least he didn’t get thrown out of the Senate.”
“Well, if he wins this fall it’ll be a miracle.”
“Maybe it would be better for Helene if he lost. Then she could get out of that dreadful marriage. I don’t think she’ll have the courage to if he wins again.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“You’re being awfully tough on me today, Jen.” Her voice was shaky.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be.” She came over to where Sadie was sitting and gave her a hug. She could hear Sadie stifle a sob.
“Okay, kid, I want you to come out of the corner fighting. You’re having lunch with a world heavyweight today.”
* * *
Sadie could tell Lorraine had something on her mind because she kept being distracted from her conversation. And she kept looking curiously at Sadie for any sign that everything wasn’t perfect.
Lorraine had that wonderful attribute without which any serious power maven was crippled: multiple pairs of eyes. She could monitor the comings and goings of everyone in the room while holding down an intimate and seemingly riveting one-on-one conversation. Sadie was awed. It was a busy day at the Jockey Club and there was a lot to keep track of. Edwina was having lunch with Claire Elgin. Bud Corwin and Earl Downs were commiserating, and Allison Sterling was in the opposite corner from Sadie and Lorraine with Everett Dubois. Allison pretended not to notice Sadie, and Sadie felt suddenly sick to her stomach, surrounded by this motley cast of characters. And though she was the President’s wife and therefore a natural object of attention, she couldn’t help thinking that most of them were staring at her a little too obviously. She remembered the nightmare she had had when she had first come to Washington in which she was walking through an amusement park and everyone was distorted and grotesque. It made her dizzy, and she kept having to blink to get people’s faces back into focus.
“Are you all right, dear?” asked Lorraine. Sadie closed her eyes again. She could feel the beads of sweat appear on her forehead and on her upper lip. She knew she had to get control of herself. She certainly couldn’t faint in the middle of the Jockey Club, though she couldn’t imagine how she was ever going to get out of there if it wasn’t on a stretcher.
Finally the wave of nausea dispersed and she sat upright and took a sip of her water.
“I don’t know, Lorraine. I feel as if I’m coming down with the flu. I seem to be a little feverish.”
Lorraine raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Well, as I was saying,” said Lorraine, “we might as well enjoy ourselves this spring season because when the fall comes and everyone’s off on the campaign, Washington will simply close down. I just loathe this town in the autumn of an election year. Nobody entertains. Either they’re afraid they won’t be able to get any stars because they’re out on the road, or they’re afraid they’ll waste all their time and money on people who won’t be in power after January. Of course”—and Lorraine smiled ingratiatingly at Sadie—“that won’t be the case this year. Everyone knows Rosey will be elected. But still… people don’t like to take chances, put their eggs in one basket.”
“It won’t make any difference to me. Being in the White House is never very entertaining.”
“Oh, you don’t know. The election-year blahs even fall on the White House, my dear. You just don’t realize it because you’ve never lived there during a Presidential campaign. I can’t begin to tell you how dreary it is until Thanksgiving. It makes one want to stay at the beach until the election is over.”
Lorraine had not brought up the beach by accident. She looked at her, but Lorraine didn’t bat an eyelid. She just kept on talking.
“Don’t you wish you could use your beach house in the Hamptons more?”
Sadie swallowed. Here it comes.
She was trying to remember what Jenny had told her to say.
“I’ve always loved the beach out of season. This is my favorite time at Fishers Island,” Lorraine continued.
Sadie felt another wave of nausea coming on.
“You didn’t happen to see that item in Anastasia’s column about the wife of a high-up government official, did you? I don’t suppose you would have. It was in that New York rag. But she is an amusing writer. Apparently—”
“Oh, yes,” said Sadie, too quickly, “I think I know the one you mean. Jenny told me about it this morning.”
She couldn’t imagine that she was being convincing. Her mouth was so dry her lips were cracking. She
tried to muster a giggle. It was pathetic.
“We decided it had to be Helene Corwin. Poor thing. What a time she’s had of it. Well, I don’t blame her. She deserves to have something nice happen to her. I hope it’s somebody decent and not somebody who’s trying to take advantage of her.”
Lorraine started to say something, but the maître d’hôtel was approaching their table. Sadie had hardly touched her filet of sole. They both nodded when he asked if everything was satisfactory.
“I want to tell you a story,” Lorraine said, after she had picked at her crab dijonnaise for a few moments without looking at Sadie. Sadie was surprised. She had not expected to get off this easily. Lorraine had clearly been boring in on her.
“There was a young Jewish girl from Kansas City in the early forties. Her name was Naomi Goldman. She came from a poor but honest family. Her father was a tailor’s assistant, her mother a seamstress. She learned how to sew and after high school got a job in a dress shop doing alterations. She became a salesgirl and finally ended up running the shop. She had, she felt, too much style to be in Kansas City, so she moved to New York and got a job as a receptionist at a small magazine. She had her nose fixed and changed her name to Lorraine Gordon. After several years she ended up at Fashion and was made an editor. Her success took her to London as fashion editor there, and she met and married a very old, very right British lord, who died soon after their marriage. In the meantime she had set up a celebrated salon, and eventually she married a rich American diplomat.”
Sadie had been staring at Lorraine, a puzzled expression on her face, but now her eyes widened in recognition.
“You? But Archie…”
“I know. Archie is the most anti-Semitic person you’ve ever met. And Archie does not know that I am Jewish. Nobody knows. I’m as elusive as our own favorite Howard Heinrich, who has a similar background.
“The irony is that here I am in Washington at a time when everybody who’s anybody is Jewish and I’m still trying to pass.”
She laughed bitterly. “If Archie didn’t have so much money and if I hadn’t become addicted to my career as hostess, I would have left him years ago. And if he ever found out that I was Jewish, I have no doubt that he would leave me.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I just wanted you to know that every day of my life I have lived in fear. In fear of being discovered. And I wanted to tell you that it is no way to live. I am trusting you with this secret because I care about you and I don’t want you to suffer the way I have. And I would like you to know that if I had a choice, I would never, ever do it again.”
Lorraine had been staring down at her plate, twisting her napkin, but when she looked up at Sadie, there were tears in her eyes and an imploring look on her face.
“Do you understand what I am saying to you, my darling girl?”
“Excuse me,” said Sadie. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
She quickly left the table and, followed by her Secret Service agents, found her way to the ladies’ room, where she threw up.
* * *
“Lorraine knows.”
“How can you be sure?”
Sadie had called Des as soon as she got back to the White House and told him what had happened.
“I’m telling you, she wouldn’t have told me for nothing. Especially after she’d brought up the beach. There’s no doubt in my mind. But if she knows, then everybody else must at least suspect.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
“That son-of-a-bitch Mayor. I’ll get his ass. The idea that he would have the nerve to spread this around considering his own compromising position.”
“Oh, come on, Des. It wasn’t him. It was her. She doesn’t have that much to lose. Her husband isn’t in office or anything. And besides, she’s a journalist. You know how—”
“How are they?”
She laughed, a bit nervously. “I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Yes, you did. You meant you can’t trust us with a good story, and you’re right. I would have done exactly what she did, except I care too much about you. She obviously doesn’t give a damn about him. Poor fucker.”
“I’m scared, Des.”
“Has Rosey said anything to you?”
“No. But he has seemed awfully preoccupied. I don’t know whether he knows anything. Maybe I should try the Helene Corwin gambit on him, bring it up first.”
“Forget it. If he doesn’t know it won’t hurt him, and if he does, then let him bring it up.”
“I can’t believe Allison and Everett weren’t discussing it.”
“They were there?” He said it quickly, abruptly.
“Yes. At the corner table opposite us.”
“Shit.”
It didn’t have the same ring when he said it this time.
“I just can’t believe this is happening.”
“It’s happening, baby. It’s happening. What you’ve got to come to terms with is that you’re going to have to sit down with him fairly soon and tell him you’re going to leave him. Just do me one favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Wait till my interview with him is over.”
“What interview?”
“I’m interviewing him next week. We’re doing a cover story on him. The peg is other Presidents who have inherited the office and what their chances are of getting elected for the first time.”
“So you want me to wait until after that?”
“I think you should tell him immediately after the interview.”
She could feel the perspiration begin to appear on her forehead again.
“I think I’m going to be sick.”
* * *
“Mr. President.”
“Des.”
The President got up from his desk in the Oval Office and walked around it with his hand extended toward Des as he was escorted in.
The door to the garden beyond was open, and a late-May breeze was wafting into the room.
“Sit down, please, sit down,” said Grey as he motioned toward a seat on the comfortable sofa near the fireplace.
“How about some coffee or tea?”
Des nodded, and the President motioned to the steward who was entering the room. He had a few words with Manolas, who had brought Des in, while Des looked around the room. He had not been in the Oval Office since Roger Kimball had left the Presidency, and he could see Sadie’s handiwork everywhere. Her presence was so strong through her taste that he could almost feel her plumping up the pillow behind him and straightening a picture on the wall. It was one of the things he liked most about her, the way she could make a man feel comfortable, cozy, and he had an enormous sense of irony sitting here in the Oval Office with the President of the United States knowing that he was fucking his wife.
“Well,” said Rosey, a friendly if reserved smile on his face. “What can I help you with today, sir?”
“As you know, sir, we’re doing a cover on those Presidents who have inherited the office and how they fared. I’d like to talk to you a little bit today about what specific difficulties you encountered and how you think it might have been different had you been elected to office the first time around.”
Des could see Rosey relax. This one was a soft ball. Rosey wasn’t quite sure where Des was going with the interview, and he had no way of knowing that under the circumstances Des wouldn’t think of hitting hard. All Des could think about was the fact that doing this interview was probably the grossest example of conflict of interest that he had ever been involved in in his life. Except possibly for the interview with Sadie. But New York had ordered it up. What the hell.
“There is no question,” said Rosey, “that I was far better prepared than most elected Presidents, having been Vice President and having been so closely involved with every aspect of the job, thanks to Roger Kimball. That, I think, was my greatest asset. And too, there was a staff already in place. A new President has to appoint an entire g
overnment, and sometimes that takes months to get off the ground. I was able to hit the ground running, as they say. I also feel that I was elected. After all, I ran with the President on the same ticket. By voting for that ticket, I feel the American people were giving me a vote of confidence as well.”
He was being so serious. Could he be nervous? Des couldn’t see why. Normally President Grey had a wry sense of humor. But today he was uninspired and flat. Des could see what would drive Sadie crazy about living with Rosey. He couldn’t imagine the guy relaxing, having fun, making love. He didn’t want to, either. This was certainly not going to be a major-impact interview, but then, he hadn’t expected it to be. He and Rosey continued in the same vein, with Rosey answering the questions with predictable answers, politely but without much enthusiasm. Des hadn’t planned to bring up Everett in his interview with the President because it really wasn’t relevant to the story, but about halfway through the allotted hour he felt the need to jolt Grey out of his recording pattern.
“Mr. President,” he said, “you must be aware by now of the building problem regarding your special counsel, Everett Dubois?”
“Of course I am aware of it,” he said, nearly jumping from his seat. “The poor man is being persecuted by the press. Not a day goes by that he doesn’t have to defend himself against these accusations, and it is taking its toll on him, believe me. Allison Sterling in The Daily has been particularly hard on him, and I regret to say, so has your journal.”
“You are absolutely convinced that Everett Dubois was not involved in a kickback scheme with Rittman Oil? That he pressured the Omanis until they gave the contract to another company and that now he is lobbying to limit aid to Oman?”
Rosey’s voice was calm. “This is an outrageous claim, sir, if I do say so. This is a decent and loyal human being who has served me long and well. And even though he may be tried and convicted by the media, until a special prosecutor finds him guilty he is innocent in my book.”
