Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

  “Aren’t you afraid that this scandal may hurt your campaign?” Des hadn’t meant to get this tough, but he was turned off by Rosey’s blind loyalty to Everett when he didn’t know the facts, and his instinct was to go for the jugular.

  “If being loyal to a trusted aide who has been proved guilty of nothing can cost me the election, then I’d be shocked.”

  The politician in him got the better after a moment.

  “But make no mistake about it, mister, it won’t. I’m going to win this thing and I’m going to win it big.”

  Des sensed that it would be useless to pursue the story further. Rosey was not angry anymore. He wasn’t going to play.

  “We were discussing the assets in having inherited the job of President,” asked Des. “Are there any detriments?”

  “I didn’t finish listing my assets, actually,” said Rosey. He paused and leaned back in his chair as if he were contemplating them. He rested both elbows on the arms of the chair and clasped his hands under his chin. He didn’t say anything for a while, just stared at Des with a strange look until Des could feel himself squirming uncomfortably.

  Finally he spoke.

  “My greatest asset, and one that cannot be measured, is my wife. Sadie. She has been my strength and my support, not only since I’ve had this job but through our entire marriage. She is a rare and beautiful person, and without her I could not—no, would not—function in this job.”

  * * *

  Sadie couldn’t keep her eyes open. She had been trying to write all morning and she kept getting drowsier and drowsier. She had been so tired lately, it seemed she was exhausted most of the time. She knew it had to be psychosomatic. She was just so upset that all she wanted to do was sleep. Even though it was Monday, Des was working. He had interviewed Rosey the Friday before, and the piece on the Presidents wasn’t due until the end of the week. Still, he wanted to get it just right, and he wasn’t taking any chances on letting anybody else mess with it. Des had promised her he would get over to see her later in the afternoon, and she was desperately trying to stay awake. She was losing the battle, and finally she gave up.

  She walked over to the big sofa and stretched out, her eyelids drooping before she even settled in. The air was warm and the French doors to her balcony were open and somewhere in the distance as she drifted off to sleep she could hear a lawn mower droning.

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

  His voice was loud and gruff, and it woke her up abruptly.

  “Unless, of course, you want a repeat performance of East Hampton. Is that it?”

  “Ummmm,” she said, still half-asleep. “What time is it?”

  He came over to the sofa and sat down on the edge next to her.

  “A little after four. I could use a beer, actually.”

  He got up and walked over to the bar, where he took out a Heineken from the small refrigerator, opened it, took a sip, and then came over to sit in the chair next to the sofa, putting his feet on the coffee table.

  “I’ll tell you. If they thought the piece I did on you was a puff job, just wait till they get a load of the one on your husband.”

  “Who thought it was a puff job?”

  She had pulled herself to a sitting position and was smoothing her hair back as she looked at him in surprise.

  He hesitated for a moment, then replied, “Oh, some of my colleagues. You know they’re never satisfied unless you take a pound of flesh.”

  “Well, thank God you’re not doing that to Rosey. He doesn’t deserve it.”

  “Yeah, especially after what’s going to happen to him this weekend. He’ll need this.”

  “What’s happening to him this weekend?”

  “You’re going to tell him you’ll leave him, remember? You have suddenly started developing a mental block about this.”

  “Oh, yes.” She looked down at the sofa, then pulled out a tissue and dabbed her nose.

  “No, no. It’s just my nose. I’m having trouble with my sinuses, I guess, and I can’t breathe. I’ve got the sniffles. I feel a little crampy, too. I always feel this way when I’m getting my period.”

  Des shrugged. He was not particularly interested in this conversation, she could see. He didn’t react well when other people were depressed or feeling down. She had noticed this first when Outland got into trouble. Des was not as supportive as she had hoped and seemed to want to distance himself from her problems. He had even called her a basket case at one point. It had given her pause a number of times. But she knew he loved her and she loved him, and that was what mattered.

  “I think we ought to talk logistics,” he said, taking another sip of beer. “This will be the last time we see each other until you tell Rosey. I think Sunday would be the best time. That way he’ll have the whole day to deal with it, to get used to the idea.”

  “Then what do I tell him?”

  She had slumped back on the sofa and was watching Des listlessly. He was being very businesslike and matter-of-fact.

  “I think you might say that you and I are in love, that we’ve been meeting for almost a year, and that we feel that it can’t go on like this any longer—it’s too risky—and that therefore, as soon as the election is over, you will leave him and move out of the White House. It’s that simple.”

  “And then what?”

  “And then we’ll live happily ever after. What do you mean?”

  “I mean, he’s going to say ‘And then what?’ and I’m going to want to be able to answer. Are we going to get married? Will we live here? What will I do? What about my children? There are a lot of questions that we haven’t resolved, Des. I think we ought to talk about them.”

  “That’s what we’re doing right now.”

  He sounded testy. She knew she sounded a bit whiny.

  “You can tell him we are going to get married. We’ve talked about that before. But first you have to get divorced. I’m going to rent a house in Georgetown within the next month or two, with Jenny’s help. She will take pictures and you will approve of it. You will continue to write, presumably best-selling novels that will be made into TV miniseries. I—well, it’s hard for me to know what I’m going to do. I have created such a serious conflict of interest here, interviewing both you and the President, that I may have to quietly resign my position. I just don’t know how badly what I have done will be received, but I know I’m going to take a lot of shit. And well deserved.”

  “But why? What could you have done? The only way you could have gotten out of doing what you did was to tell New York about us. You can’t be Washington Bureau Chief and refuse to interview the President. You had no choice.”

  “I did. I could have resigned then. But I didn’t, and I may have to take the consequences.”

  “But Des, what will you do? How will we live? You don’t have any money.” Her voice was high-pitched, and she knew she sounded frantic.

  “Relax, baby. We’ll be all right. I can still stay at the magazine and be a columnist and do all the talk shows. Like it or not, I’ll be famous when this happens. I might as well capitalize on it. And you will be even more. We’ll do better than we can even imagine right now.”

  “What about the kids?” She didn’t sound convinced.

  “The kids will be fine. We’ll get a house big enough so they can stay with us if they want to when they’re home. I don’t imagine that will be often.”

  She laughed a little bitterly. “Not for my Outland—not while Rosey’s President. Annie Laurie will quit St. Tim’s and enroll in National Cathedral just so she can live in the White House with her daddy and be his little hostess. God, she’ll be in seventh heaven.”

  “How does that make you feel?” he asked softly.

  “I don’t know. I just… it just…” She couldn’t finish her sentence. All she could do was weep.

  Des got up and came to her, taking her in his arms.

  “It’s just that it’s all so scary,” she said when her tears subsided. “I never realize
d how hard it would be. I love you so. And I’m so miserable the way things are right now. I know what I’m doing is right. It’s just that I’m scared. And I can’t bear the idea of hurting Rosey.”

  “You have nothing to be scared of because I’m here, my beauty, and we’ll have each other. Besides, it will be easier for him than you think. The man is obsessed with his job. And it’s not going to get any better in a second term. And don’t forget, he’s eligible to run again after this. You could be looking at eight more years. You wouldn’t survive that, Sadie. And you know it. Rosey is committed to being President, which is a noble commitment. But it doesn’t leave enough for you. And my guess is that if the guy had to choose his country or you, he’d choose his country.”

  She didn’t say anything for a while. She just sat on the sofa and cried silently. Then she looked up at Des—an imploring look.

  “Did he—did he say anything about me in your interview?”

  Des paused for a moment and then looked directly back at Sadie.

  “Nothing that I remember.”

  * * *

  She couldn’t do it at breakfast. Sunday breakfast was his favorite meal. He had pancakes and eggs and bacon and coffee and fruit, and then he settled back to read the papers. It always took him most of the morning to read the papers. It was the one day he allowed himself the luxury. Every other day he read the news summary. Sundays he insisted on reading at least the two major papers himself.

  She sat at the table with him trying to read the papers herself, but it was impossible to concentrate. She had been up all night trying to work out how she would tell him. Nothing seemed right. She took a sip of tea and looked around the room. Her eyes rested on the beautiful Daniel Webster sideboard and the soft blue French wallpaper. Certainly there was nothing in this room that she would change. She couldn’t wait, however, to get her hands on the West Hall and the President’s bedroom. She had barely been able to stand it, not redecorating instantly, but Rosey had told her that they should wait until he was elected. She knew exactly how she was going to do everything. What was she thinking? She wasn’t going to do anything. She was leaving. She felt her stomach drop. She was so short of breath that she kept having to force herself to take big gulps of air from time to time just so she wouldn’t suffocate. She had been eying the cigarette box on the breakfast table which was always kept full for various aides of Rosey’s. She hadn’t had a cigarette herself since before she left Richmond, but now she had an overwhelming desire for one. She reached over, took a Marlboro, and picked up the book of matches that read THE PRESIDENT’S HOUSE. That was the whole problem. It didn’t have anything to do with her.

  It was that little reinforcement that she needed, and she used it to make herself angry, to give herself courage, to make it easier. She lit the cigarette and took a long drag, glaring resentfully at an unsuspecting Rosey, taking a gulp of his coffee as he turned the pages of The Daily. Well, he could live here in his house for the next eight years. She would be somewhere else living in her house.

  She took another drag and blew it out noisily, trying to attract his attention. He hated it when she smoked.

  Finally she got his attention.

  “Smoking again?” he asked casually.

  “What does it look like?”

  “You know you shouldn’t. It’s not good for you.”

  He turned back to his paper. “I think I’ll go get dressed,” she said as she got up from the table and walked out into the West Hall.

  She hurried into her bedroom, trying not to think of the red-flowered chintz in the West Sitting Room, only to be confronted with the birds. Lately, the birds on the wallpaper had been making her dizzy, even nauseated. She kept waking up in the middle of the night and thinking that the birds were attacking her. And she had five more months of it. Des would never know what a sacrifice she was making for him.

  She was giving up the most fabulous decorating project in the world. And the pity was that she had already decorated it in her mind. The yellow oval room was going to be painted the most beautiful soft rosy red. The pain of it all was nearly too much. Maybe Des would agree to let her stay on just long enough…

  In the dressing room she stood in front of her wardrobe. Her clothes were tagged with the dates of when and for what occasions she had worn them. What was proper to wear for telling one’s husband one was leaving him? She looked at the tag on the peach jersey dress as she took it off the hanger: “Interview with Desmond Shaw of The Weekly.” Her liberation dress. She would wear it.

  Rosey asked for lunch in his study. He had some work to do. She waited until the butler had taken away his tray. He was poring through a magazine. She sat down in an armchair opposite his desk. She hadn’t thought of anything else for days and now here she was and she still didn’t know how she would say it. Rosey had only nodded to her when she came in and had gone back to his Diplomatic Affairs magazine as though she weren’t there. She could sense that he knew something was coming. He was going to let her begin. Since her outburst over Outland he had treated her rather gingerly.

  She tried to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out. She sat there for almost five minutes, gripping the arms of the chair with her fingers for moral support.

  “Rosey, I…” she blurted finally.

  “What is it, sweetheart?” He pulled his reading glasses down his nose and looked over them at her with an affectionate smile.

  Don’t smile at me, she thought. Don’t be nice.

  “I can tell you’ve got something on your mind,” he said with a patience in his voice she hadn’t heard in a long time. “Why don’t we talk?”

  This was not in the script.

  “Look, why don’t we take the helicopter to Camp David for a walk, then come back and I’ll take you out to dinner.”

  “Rosey, what are you talking about? We can’t just do that.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  With that he jumped up, came around his desk and pulled her out of the chair.

  “We can’t, Rosey.”

  “Just give me a reason why.”

  “I’m leaving you.”

  She hadn’t meant to say it. The stunned look on his face mirrored her own. After the words were out, there was no recall.

  “I’m leaving you, Rosey.” It was almost a plea. This time she began to cry.

  She sat in the chair burying her head in her hands, his knees in front of her head almost touching her as he stood quietly, absorbing what she had just said to him.

  “I’m leaving you,” she said a third time, her voice so quiet that he barely heard her. She needed to keep saying it, as though it would reinforce her resolve if she heard it herself.

  Slowly he let himself down in the armchair next to hers. She could feel him let the air out of his body as he sank back in the chair and his body went limp.

  She didn’t dare look at him, not really believing that she had done this.

  “I don’t understand,” he said finally.

  “I’m in love with someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “Desmond Shaw.”

  She could hear the air as he let out his breath.

  “But how? How can you know you love him? What chance have you had—”

  “We’ve been having an affair for nearly a year.”

  “Oh, my God.”

  She finally got her courage to look at him. His head was resting on the back of the chair and he had his hands over his eyes.

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a Kleenex. She seemed always to have tissues with her these days. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. The motions were comforting. They gave her something to do.

  Rosey stood up. “Do you know what could have happened if you were found out?” He was angry now.

  “I do. So you can understand how strongly I must have felt to do it.” She was surprised at how calm she sounded. She was trying to regain control.

  “Who knows about this?”

  “Jenny
and Toby Waselewski.”

  “No one else?”

  “No.”

  “Well, we’ll have to keep it that way. Now…”

  Rosey was suddenly very businesslike. He had taken charge, swung into action as if he were forced to make sudden funeral plans and had no time to grieve for the dead.

  His manner made it easier for her.

  “I thought I should tell you now so we could prepare for me to leave immediately after the election.”

  “Jenny. Of course. How stupid of me. The children?” He was talking to himself.

  “Outland will be away till you leave office. Annie Laurie will be thrilled.”

  “Why did you decide to tell me now? Today?”

  “For one thing, I couldn’t stand living a lie anymore. And then there was that item.”

  “What item?”

  “The one in Anastasia’s column in the New York paper about the high-powered government official’s wife and the journalist.”

  “That was you?”

  “You saw it?”

  “Everett showed it to me. Asked me who I thought it could be. I didn’t know. Hell, that’s not my field. I told him to ask you. You were the one who would know. He just smiled.”

  “That son-of-a-bitch. I’ll get him if it’s the last thing I do.”

  “You don’t have to. He’s leaving.”

  “He what? I thought he could do no wrong in your eyes.”

  “He was persecuted by the press.”

  “Spare me.”

  “It’s an election year and he’s hurting me. I fired him.”

  “Finally.”

  “I know he’s never been one of your favorites, but I’m going to miss him.”

  Sadie couldn’t believe they were having this conversation at this particular moment. She had just told her husband that she was leaving him and there they were arguing about one of his aides.

  Rosey stood up to face her.

  “I think I’ll go down to the Oval Office. I have some thinking and planning to do.”