Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

  He squeezed her arm as he walked past her out the door and to the elevator. She watched him from his study as he got on the elevator, looking down, and pressed the button. The door closed slowly, and she thought as she watched his face disappear what a dignified, distinguished-looking man he was.

  She couldn’t wait to get to the phone. She rushed into her tiny office next to the dining room and called Des at home.

  “I told him.”

  “Christ, I thought you’d never call. I’ve been sitting here waiting since eight this morning. I’m about to jump out of my bloody skin.”

  “Don’t you want to know what happened?”

  “What happened?”

  “It was easy. He didn’t take it badly at all. He was very calm and thoughtful.”

  “You sound disappointed.”

  “No—well, yes, I guess I am, a little. But I’m more relieved than anything else. It was harder on me than it was on him. I’m a little wrung out.”

  “I can’t believe this. The guy’s wife tells him she’s leaving him for another man and he’s calm and thoughtful. Baby, you are doing the right thing, that’s all I can say. It sounds like he’s planning a fucking transition like he went through with Roger Kimball. It blows my mind.”

  “Well, what would you do?” She sounded defensive.

  “I’d cut the guy’s nuts off. That’s what. All I can tell you is I wouldn’t be calm and thoughtful.”

  “How do you know he’s not on his way over to your house right now?”

  “You mean he’s not there?”

  “No. He went down to the Oval Office to think and plan.”

  “Jesus.”

  “Everett knows.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he showed Rosey the item in Anastasia’s column. Rosey didn’t get it, but obviously Everett did.”

  “That sleazy little son-of-a-bitch. I’m going to get his ass.”

  “You already have.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Rosey fired him. The story will be that he resigned, quote unquote, yesterday, that he and Rosey agreed it was hurting the campaign too much. They’ll blame it on the press, say they were persecuting him.”

  “Hey, that’s a story. Listen, I’ll talk to you later. I want to get on this one. And Sadie…”

  “Yes?”

  “You did good, baby.”

  * * *

  It was late afternoon and Rosey was still in the Oval Office. She had no idea when he would come back up. Sadie thought she would go crazy if she had to stay in the White House another minute.

  She had tried to reach Jenny at home, but there was no answer. She hadn’t told Jenny that she was going to tell Rosey. She tried Lorraine, but she was out too. Finally, desperate, she called her mother. She chatted with her for a while but broke off short, afraid that she would break down.

  She thumbed through several decorating and fashion magazines but was unable to concentrate. She tried to watch an old movie on TV, but she switched it off after twenty minutes. She turned on the music in her dressing room and did exercises for forty-five minutes, working up a sweat. But even that didn’t relax her. She went into her office and took out a notebook. She should write all of this down for her novel. She had to remember what Des had said once: “Everything is copy.”

  The Sunday-night movie was a tearjerker about a marriage splitting up. She had had a tray sent up to her room. Still no word from Rosey.

  She cried all the way through and finally, when it was over, she switched off the light, exhausted, and lay in the dark trying to imagine what it would all be like. Would the publicity be awful? Yes, she knew that. Would she and Des be truly happy? She had to believe it would all be worth it in the end. Otherwise nothing was worth the pain of losing one’s husband, one’s home, one’s security, even, to some extent, one’s family.

  It was about eleven thirty when Rosey came in. She pretended to be asleep. He went into the bathroom and she could hear the shower. He came back into the bedroom and got into bed, lying close enough to her so that she could feel his body’s presence.

  She knew he knew she was awake. It didn’t surprise her, for some reason, when Rosey reached out and took her hand. They lay there in silence for a long time.

  “I’m losing you and it makes me very sad,” he said in a soft, hushed tone of voice.

  “It makes me sad too,” she said.

  He didn’t say anything. He tried to muffle a sob, but he failed, and soon his body was racking. She had never heard anyone cry like that. She couldn’t bear it. She squeezed his hand and he squeezed hers back until she thought he would break her hand, and still he sobbed until she couldn’t hold back her own tears, and together they lay side by side in the dark and wept for the longest time. Then he pulled her to him and held her tightly in his arms.

  “Don’t leave me, Sadiebelle,” he said in an exhausted whisper when their sobs had subsided. “Please don’t leave me. I love you so much. I can’t do it without you. I need you. I know you don’t realize how important you are to me. But don’t you see? I’m the President. I have to be a good President. It’s an overwhelming responsibility. Nobody can do this job without support and love. It’s hard on you, I know. But I’ll make it up to you for the rest of our lives. If you leave me, I won’t run again.”

  “You can’t mean that, Rosey.”

  “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

  * * *

  They were in her little office off the West Sitting Room. It was Monday morning. Sadie was so tired she didn’t have the energy to sit up. Jenny was sitting facing her. She sat on the edge of her chair when Sadie broke the news.

  “This one is off the scale, Jen.” Sadie managed a weak smile.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I care for him. But I love Des. I really don’t think I can live without him. I don’t think I could bear the idea of living in this place for another four years without Des. And I can’t go on seeing him like this. It’s driving us both insane. I just have to be with him, Jenny. I don’t have a choice.”

  “Do you really believe that Rosey won’t run?”

  “I don’t know what I believe anymore. I don’t see how he can mean it. He’s the most dedicated person I’ve ever known, and he cares deeply about this country. I know he feels he is by far the most qualified to run it. I can’t imagine that he would give it up. And for what? For a wife who has left him? Besides, he’s paid so little attention to me lately that it’s hard for me to believe he loves me so much he would give up everything he ever cared about even if I leave him. It just doesn’t make any sense. Still, he was very convincing. I just don’t know what to tell you.”

  “Have you told Des?”

  “I called him yesterday after I’d told Rosey. But Rosey was so calm in the beginning. None of this happened until late last night. Des doesn’t know about his threat.”

  “Sadie, do you have any doubts about Des—about spending the rest of your life with him, about giving up this place and your husband for him? Because if you do, you better articulate them now, face them before it’s too late. This decision you’re making is irrevocable.”

  “Oh, God. Of course I have doubts. I’ve tried to talk to Des about them, but he doesn’t take me seriously. He keeps saying we have each other and he loves me and that’s all that matters. But I’m terrified. I’m not sure Des knows me, knows who I am. I’m so scared that he’s just enticed by the fact that I’m the First Lady, and when I leave the White House I’ll be just another nifty dame. Des is used to being with a woman who has a career and is totally independent. I’m not like that. I am a dependent. I don’t know anything else. I have my writing, but I’ve never made a penny out of it. I think Des expects me to suddenly become a successful writer overnight, that he’s banking on the fact that my name will sell books or stories. I can’t support myself and I don’t want to have to. My idea of romance is having someone take care of me. Th
at may be a cop-out, but it’s the honest truth. I know I’m always annoyed with Rosey because he never tells me how much money he has, and he’s so tight with it anyway. I always feel like we’re broke, even though I know he’s worth millions. He’s broke unless he wants to spend it. Then his money appears miraculously. Sometimes I feel kept with him, as though I am not my own person. But in the end I feel more comfortable living that way than being totally responsible for myself.”

  “I think those fears are well founded. Des is an independent man, and he has never had to support a woman. Chessy was loaded. He bought his own clothes and paid for dinner when they went out, but that was about it. Sonny is the most independent woman I know, or at least she would like everyone, particularly Des, to think she is. It will be a change for him.”

  “But will it be a welcome change? I don’t know. That’s what scares me. And I’ll tell you honestly, Jenny. It scares me that Des won’t talk to me about it. One of the things that drives me crazy about Rosey is that he will never talk to me about how he feels about anything. The reason I fell for Des in the first place is that he was so open with me about how hurt and lonely he was. He showed me his vulnerability. Now he’s closed up again. I have absolutely no idea in the world what he’s thinking or feeling. Whether he has any doubts or fears about this whole thing. Whether he still has any feeling for Allison. Those are big worries. Maybe there’s no such thing as a man who talks. Maybe it’s just that I’m only attracted to the ones who don’t. But I feel a little bit as if I’m jumping from the frying pan into the fire, if you’ll pardon the cliché. Des and Rosey are a lot alike in many ways, except that Des is sexy and Rosey is not. The question is, is that enough?”

  “You’ve got a lot to think about. And you don’t have any time. If Rosey is serious, he’s going to have to announce before the convention that he’s taking himself out of the race. It’s now the beginning of June. That leaves him six weeks before the convention in San Francisco.”

  “I know what I’m going to do.”

  “What?”

  “I’m going to leave Rosey and go with Des. I have no choice. Otherwise I’m in the land of the living dead. And if Rosey wants to give up the Presidency, then that’s his problem. I’ll not let him lay it on me.”

  Sadie said this with such resolve that there was no doubt in Jenny’s mind that that was exactly what she intended to do. She was amazed at how calm Sadie seemed as she sat up and leaned over to pour herself another cup of tea from the tray the butler had brought in earlier.

  The phone rang on Sadie’s desk—the regular phone. Jenny picked it up.

  “Mrs. Grey’s office. Oh, yes, right. Will you hold one moment, please.” She turned to Sadie. “It’s Dr. Williams.”

  “Oh, great. It will be just my luck if I have to have an artificial-heart transplant.” She took the phone from Jenny.

  “Yes?” There was an anxious note to her voice.

  “Right? Yes. Good! Yes? What? Oh, no.” Her face turned ashen and she grasped her stomach. “Oh, no.”

  Jenny jumped up.

  “Okay, yes, I will. Right. Thank you very much, Dr. Williams. Yes. Right. Goodbye.” Her voice was shaking as she hung up and slowly turned to Jenny.

  “What in God’s name is it, Sadie?” she practically shouted.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  She paused to let the news sink in, then looked at Sadie sharply.

  “Who’s the father?”

  “I don’t have any idea.”

  * * *

  She couldn’t, wouldn’t tell Des. Nor had she told Rosey. She had made love to Rosey the night she returned from East Hampton. Or rather, he had made love to her. He had been out campaigning and was glad to see her after a week. He had approached her after they’d gone to bed. Twice, the time with Des in East Hampton and that night, had been spontaneous and unexpected and she had neglected to use a diaphragm. She hated it, anyway. It was inconvenient and messy, and she had been so used to the ease of the pill that somewhere in her brain she hadn’t really thought she would get pregnant again.

  But she was pregnant, with either Des’s baby or Rosey’s baby, and they would both know, when they found out, that she couldn’t know who the father was. The baby was due in January.

  She wanted Des badly, needed him more than she had ever needed anyone, and yet she knew she couldn’t tell him. In a way she was relieved that they wouldn’t be able to see each other for two weeks. He was in Louisiana all this week, so they would miss their Monday. Then she was going out on a long-promised campaign swing with Rosey the following week. The staff were getting anxious that she hadn’t been out that much, and there had been a few inquiries from the press. By the time she and Des met again, it would be only three weeks until the convention. She talked to him regularly on the phone, whispering the usual “I love you’s” and the “You know what I’m going to do to you when I finally get my hands on you’s,” and she tried to be as jolly as possible, not giving her anguish away.

  Although she hadn’t actually said anything to him, it was obvious from the way Rosey was acting that he thought she had decided to stay. The threat of stepping down was serious, and she would find it very hard to let him do that. He was treating her like a queen—being terribly solicitous, letting her have anything at all she wanted.

  What Sadie really wanted to do was get drunk and stay drunk, and now here she was six weeks pregnant, the convention only a month away, and unable even to have a glass of wine or an aspirin or a Valium or anything that would put her out of her misery.

  She had nobody to talk to but Jenny, and she clung to her like a life preserver.

  * * *

  “What’s the matter, baby?”

  Des pulled her away from him and looked down at her pale, unsmiling face.

  “Don’t you feel well?”

  He had just walked into her office in the EOB, so excited to see her after their two-week separation, so ebullient about their plans, that he hadn’t noticed at first how drawn and sallow she appeared. It was only when he held her to him that he could feel her limp body and the slightly feverish perspiration on her brow.

  Now he was studying her with concern.

  “As a matter of fact, I feel really lousy,” she said, giving him another weak hug before she went and collapsed against the pillows of the sofa.

  “I think I’m coming down with the flu. It might even be pneumonia. It’s probably psychosomatic.”

  She managed a weak smile.

  “I always get pneumonia during campaigns. I hate them so, and it gives me an out. I’ve got a sore throat and a slight fever and I feel rather weak and dizzy. I shouldn’t even have come here today for fear of infecting you. The last thing you need now, in the middle of the campaign, is to get sick yourself. With me it doesn’t really matter. I can stay in bed. Nobody misses me.”

  Her plan had been to lie to him about not feeling well to cover up for her anguish over being pregnant, but as it turned out she really was feeling sick, and worse than that, she was feeling terribly sorry for herself.

  “I miss you, my love. I miss you every second we’re apart.”

  Sometimes she couldn’t tell whether he meant it or whether he was being facetious. He had that funny twinkle in his eye which usually meant he was teasing, only she wasn’t in the mood to be teased. She didn’t ask if he was serious. She wanted—needed—to believe him.

  Why was it that now, when she was agonizing over her decision, both Des and Rosey were making it more difficult for her by acting so loving? If only one of them would behave abominably it would make things so much easier.

  She had waited to tell Des about Rosey’s threat in person, because she wanted to see his face, make sure he understood how much she loved him, before he responded.

  “Des,” she began hesitantly, after he had joined her on the sofa.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t think he means it. I mean, you never can tell. But I can’t believe he would do it, but…” />
  “What are you talking about?”

  “Rosey. He says he’ll refuse the nomination if I leave him.” She blurted it out.

  “Bullshit.” He burst out laughing.

  “Well, I don’t see what’s so funny.”

  “Are you kidding me? That guy is the most dedicated S.O.B. I’ve ever met. If you left him, he would have to have the Presidency. He wouldn’t have anything else.”

  “But how do we know that?”

  “Believe me, sweetheart. I’m a man. I know what’s going through his head. He’s not going to lose the thing that means the most to him and give up the other at the same time. It just doesn’t make sense. This is not an emotional man. This is a very clever politician. And this is a very clever ploy to shame you into staying with him. In fact, it kind of pisses me off for him to use you like that. He’s not going anywhere. I can promise you that.”

  “I wish I were as sure of that as you are. You weren’t there. You didn’t hear the desperation in his voice.”

  “So tell him you won’t leave him, then.”

  “You mean lie to him?”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  “But it wouldn’t be fair.”

  “On the contrary. It would give him a great sense of confidence throughout the campaign. And it would guarantee that he would stay on and get reelected, which would be a patriotic act. And it would ensure that he would in fact have his job after you left him. I think it is a truly noble thing to do.”

  “Being noble has many faces,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Oh, nothing. I was just talking out loud.”

  * * *

  Des had put his arms around her and was caressing her body slowly and softly. He kissed her on the neck and on the head, pulling her closer to him as he did.

  “I want to make love to you. It’s been two weeks. That’s too long, baby. It will never be that long again after we’re together.”

  “Oh, Des, I really feel so rotten.”

  “I’ll make you feel better, my beautiful Sadie.”