Happy Endings

by Sally Quinn

Monica laughed and ran after Willie.

  “God, what would I do without her? I can’t imagine. Willie is a terror. And does he have a mind of his own. Stubborn as a mule.”

  “Who does he take after? Rosey was such a conciliatory person. A real diplomat, a total consensus guy. That’s what made him so effective. Willie’s genes must come from your side of the family. He’s so sturdy. He looks like a little mick street kid. Like a lot of the kids in my neighborhood when I was growing up. But I guess the Scots were like that, too. Must be McDougald blood.”

  He didn’t notice how she was looking at him.

  “I think it’s time for dinner,” she said.

  They drank too much. Red wine, good red wine. Sadie had had the cook grill the veal chops outside and they had pasta and a salad.

  After a few glasses of wine they both relaxed. Sadie found herself telling Des about her children, Rosey’s parents, her parents, what demands the family was putting on her. It felt so easy to talk to him. He knew all the players, or at least knew all about them from hearing so much during the two years they were together.

  The cook brought their sherbet and fresh fruit and Sadie gave her the rest of the evening off. She and Des would clear. Monica stuck her head in to say Willie was down and Sadie let her off, too.

  Soon the house was quiet. It had grown dark outside. The French doors to the family dining room off the terrace were open and the candles flickered in the air as they talked.

  “This evening has been good for me, Des,” she said. “I feel alive for the first time in two months. I’ve felt somewhat detached, as though I’ve been observing an experience somebody else has lived through. This is the first time I’ve been able to talk about Rosey without crying. I didn’t get you over here under false pretenses, you know. I really did need you.”

  “I know that. It’s just that I feel so conflicted about you, Sadiebelle. I don’t know what I can give you.”

  “How can you say that after tonight? You can give me hope. I can’t count on my children for that. They have their own lives to lead. Even now they’re in Richmond. Annie Laurie and Outland have to go back to college. I can’t ask them to stay and take care of me.”

  “You’ve got Willie.”

  “Yes, my sweet little fatherless Willie.”

  Her eyes welled up.

  “He’s going to need someone, some man around, Des. Outland won’t be here. I was thinking…”

  She saw that he was uncomfortable. She laughed self-consciously and wiped the tears away with her napkin.

  “I guess that’s the wine talking.”

  “Sadie. You’re right. But you’ve got to be realistic. I’m about to get married. Chances are you’ll get married again yourself. I can’t give Willie what he needs. I’m not his father.”

  Sadie didn’t say a word. She looked carefully at Des, sat back in her chair, reached over to her wineglass, picked it up, and took a long sip. She continued to look at him. He found himself reaching nervously for his glass, then staring into it after he had taken a gulp. Something made him start to perspire again. He took another gulp.

  “I’m not his father,” he said quietly, but without conviction.

  Sadie felt a chill go through her. Her teeth were clenched so tight that she could almost feel them start to grind. She clasped her arms around her body and began rubbing them as though she were cold. How could she have dared? She had sworn to herself she would never tell him. But now, here she was; it was almost midnight, she was drunk, Des was drunk, and she had a desperate need to have him know.

  Still, she wasn’t going to tell him. She couldn’t bring herself to tell him. He would just have to figure it out. How could he not know? How could he look at Willie, call him a little mick street kid, and not know? Because he didn’t want to know, that’s how. Well, the hell with him. He was going to know. Why should she have to keep this hellish secret all to herself for the rest of her life? She had to share it. Somehow she couldn’t put Rosey to rest until that was off her conscience.

  “Am I?”

  It was more a statement than a question.

  She didn’t answer.

  “Am I?”

  Still she said nothing.

  “Jesus Mary Mother of God.”

  His voice was a whisper.

  “Holy Mother.”

  Now his eyes filled with tears. He looked at Sadie, who was crying softly.

  “I am.”

  The two of them sat there looking at each other. Then Des slowly got up and went to her, taking her in his arms and holding her as tightly as he possibly could for a very long time.

  He was the first to break the silence.

  “Did Rosey know?”

  She nodded. Now she began to sob and he held her tightly again.

  “He told me he knew as he was dying.”

  “Oh Jesus, oh no. Oh my Sadie, my Sadiebelle. I’m so sorry. So sorry for everything.”

  He pulled away from her and took her hand.

  “Let’s go upstairs,” he said, without asking. “I want to see him. I need to see him. My Willie. My son.”

  * * *

  Des tiptoed into Willie’s room and saw the toddler sprawled across the bed on his tummy, his head at the foot of the bed, his pudgy arms hanging through the child guard. He knelt down on the floor and put his face next to Willie’s. He stared at him for the longest time, then sat up. With a strong, tan finger he gently traced Willie’s profile from his forehead down along his little turned-up nose, over his pink lips, down his firm chin, then stroked his fat cheeks. Willie sighed but didn’t wake up. Des took one of Willie’s hands in his and placed his other hand on top of Willie’s head, stroking the black curls back and forth. Finally he leaned down and put his body on top of the child while he knelt, embracing as much of him as he could, and then just held him.

  Sadie leaned against the doorjamb, her arms crossed as she watched. She felt as though her heart would break looking at the two of them, how much they looked alike. How could anyone not have guessed the moment Willie was born? The idea that Rosey wouldn’t have known seemed so absurd to her now. The idea that Des never even thought of it was appalling.

  “Des,” she said quietly.

  “I know.”

  He got up, walked to the door, then turned and looked once again at Willie, before he walked out.

  “Come,” she said, and led him across the hall into her bedroom. He sank to the canopied bed and put his head in his hands.

  She sat next to him and put her hand on his back, stroking him gently. The house was eerily quiet except for the night noises from the open windows.

  “Tell me what to do, Sadie. I’ve never had a son before. I’ve never had a son by a woman who was married to a President of the United States. What do I do? What do we do?”

  She could feel her heart respond. She knew she was treading on dangerous ground. But she was drunk and light-headed and emotional and she loved him, saw his pain, his confusion. She had to say what she needed to say, what she wanted, what she had always wanted.

  “We could marry and tell him the truth, tell everyone the truth.”

  Someone else must have said it. She couldn’t have been the one to utter those words, they were so preposterous. How could she take them back? She almost reached out in the air and tried to retrieve them, then had this image of how ridiculous she would look and nearly giggled. How could such intense emotion turn so suddenly from pain to humor? She felt ashamed.

  Des sat up straight and looked at her, his expression one of total shock.

  “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. It’s crazy,” she sputtered before he could say anything. “It doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know why I even said it. It’s just that I love him so much. I want him to have a father, his father. And because I love you so much.…”

  “Sadie.”

  “I do, Des. I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you. In my fantasy Rosey disappeared and you and Willie and I lived happily ever after. I know
I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I don’t care because I’m too drunk to control myself. I’ll never have the courage to say it again and I’ll have to pretend that I don’t love you from now on. So I figured I might as well tell you now so you would always know, no matter what, that I have loved you and I will forever.”

  She paused for breath, and then whispered.

  “Willie is our love child. Our child of love.”

  Des couldn’t take his eyes off her, off her brimming eyes, her beautiful, sweet, vulnerable face. He was drunk, too, and the soft, Southern lilt to her voice, the subtle smell of her perfume made him feel somehow transported by her need.

  He reached over and put his arm around her and kissed her first on the mouth, then on her face, her eyes.

  “Oh Des,” she murmured.

  She leaned back on the silk blanket cover and pulled Des with her, holding him tightly as he kissed her.

  He pulled away and looked down at her.

  He caressed her hair, searching her face, then sat up abruptly.

  “I can’t do this, Sadie. I care too much about you. And I’ve just been hit by a bomb. I need some time to absorb this. I don’t know what’s right, but I do know what’s wrong and that would be to tell the truth about Willie. That child is the President’s son. We’ll have to think of another way. A way where the fewest people get hurt. And I’m afraid that those fewest people are you and me.”

  * * *

  It was the first of October and she still hadn’t heard from him. He had said he needed time and that he would call her in a few weeks. He wanted to think it over. It had been only a few weeks. He had said that he loved… no, he didn’t say he loved her. He said he cared about her. A very different thing.

  She wanted to die. She couldn’t believe she had told him she loved him and wanted him to marry her. Each time she thought about it she shuddered with humiliation and despair. If only she hadn’t lost control he probably would have called her the next day. She could have lured him back. Maybe she shouldn’t have told him about Willie. But that was impossible. It had been nearly impossible not to tell him even before Rosey died. He had to know. Now he was going to marry Allison. She had tried not to show how much she cared when he told her. Somewhere down deep she had always hoped she and Des would be together, unrealistic as it seemed. Maybe he was trying to decide between her and Allison. He could always marry her and they could still pretend that Willie was Rosey’s son. That way he could be a father to him and not hurt Willie, the kids, their families, the country… not cause a scandal. Sometimes it was so hard to have one’s life be determined by national considerations. It sounded so heavy, just saying it. It was even more ponderous living it. But that wasn’t even the point. She had never known she was capable of hurting so much.

  She was sitting at her desk in the upstairs sitting room, a sunny yellow room at the front of the house facing south. She was wearing black sweats and black sneakers and she was trying to answer her mail, which was taking up a whole room in the house. She hated it. It was tedious and depressing, and when Joyce, her secretary, wasn’t around it was even worse because she had nobody to complain to. She hadn’t really thought about getting back to her writing. She was too drained to write anything but a letter, and even that took all she had. It was impossible to go out without being mobbed and stared at. All she had was the telephone. And here she sat, waiting for it to ring. It rang.

  “Darling, you’re there.”

  “Where the hell else would I be, Lorraine?”

  Just hearing Lorraine’s voice now irritated her.

  “Oh sweetheart. Is it a bad day?”

  “Oh no. I’m having a great day, Lorraine. How about you?”

  Mistake.

  “It comes and goes. Yesterday I just couldn’t stop crying. But today I’ve gotten my chin up a bit.”

  “Good for you.”

  Lorraine would have made a great presidential widow. In fact, she would make a great widow period. In fact, she probably couldn’t wait for the day old Archie would keel over and she could collect all his millions.

  “Nothing like a good bit of gossip to cheer one up,” said Lorraine.

  “Absolutely.”

  “Well, it seems that our beloved First Lady… one Blanche Osgood… oh, that woman is so common. I don’t see how Rosey could have chosen Freddy Osgood as his running mate. It’s really too much… anyway.…”

  At that moment Willie came tumbling into Sadie’s study, his sturdy little legs and arms flying all at the same time, and landed in her lap. He grabbed the telephone and pulled the receiver away from her, as she started to laugh.

  “Hey, tubby, where’ve you been all morning?”

  “Me not tubby. Me Willie.”

  “Oops, excuse me,” she said, covering her mouth in mock horror to his delight. “I thought you were tubby.” And she grabbed his leg and began to munch on his thigh. Then she heard Lorraine barking at the end of the dangling phone.

  “I can see this is not a good time to talk,” said Lorraine in her most irritated voice.

  “Let me call you back,” said Sadie, gagging, as Willie wrapped the phone cord around her neck. Gratefully, she hung up.

  “You know what I’m going to do? I’m going to eat you up,” she said. She began to make gobble noises, pretending to eat his limbs until she had him convulsed with giggles.

  “Oh Monica, this is delicious,” she said as the nanny appeared behind Willie. “Come have some. He tastes better than candy.” And she continued to gobble until the three of them were rolling on the floor, infected with Willie’s hilarity.

  “Oh my chile, you do my poor ole heart good,” said Sadie, sitting up to catch her breath. But only for a moment, until Willie jumped on her and knocked her down again.

  “God,” she said, “Willie, you’re getting so strong. You know Mommy hates to roughhouse. What do mommies like to do?”

  “Cuddle,” squealed Willie with delight, throwing his arms around her and climbing into her lap. He buried his head in her shoulder, then looked up and grinned.

  “Daddy like roughhouse.”

  Sadie saw Monica’s face fall and she suddenly felt the wind go out of her.

  “Okay, fats, we’re off to play group,” said Monica quickly, sweeping Willie off the floor into her arms.

  “Give Mommy a big kiss.”

  She held Willie over to Sadie while he planted a wet kiss on her cheek and whisked him out of the room before Sadie could protest.

  It was interesting how, now that the initial grieving phase was over, all conversations that even touched on Rosey or the assassination were cut off in midsentence or changed. Even her closest friends did it. It was now that she really needed to talk about Rosey. But people seemed so uncomfortable with it that it made her reluctant to force the conversation. If only Des would call her. He didn’t seem to mind talking about it. Yet she may have ruined the one relationship that could have helped her the most.

  The phone rang. It was Lorraine again.

  “I’ve been on the phone and I thought you might have tried to call back,” she said.

  “No, actually I was playing with Willie.”

  She could tell Lorraine was annoyed.

  “Well, there was one little morsel I thought you should know about.” She paused for effect.

  “Desmond Shaw is going to marry Allison Sterling.”

  There was a note of triumph in her voice, almost as if she knew about Sadie and Des. Of course she didn’t.

  “I know,” Sadie said, trying to sound casual. Trying not to sound as though she hadn’t just fallen down a dark well. So he was really going to marry Allison. They were announcing it. Her evening with Des hadn’t changed anything. He hadn’t even bothered to tell her. How could he hurt her like this? It was hard to imagine.

  “What do you mean, you know? How could you know and not tell me. This is incredible news.”

  “I guess maybe I just have other things on my mind. Listen, Lorraine, I’ve
got to see to Willie. I’ll call you later, okay?”

  She had just put the phone down when it rang again.

  “Sadie? It’s Jen.” She hesitated.

  “I’m afraid I have something to tell you.”

  “About Des and Allison?”

  “Yes.”

  “Lorraine beat you to it. I knew they were thinking of it. Des came over for dinner a few weeks ago. He told me.”

  “Des came for dinner? Oh Sadie, was that a good idea?”

  “As it turns out, no.”

  “Well, I thought I ought to tell you before somebody else did. I should have known Lorraine would get there first. I heard it last night from some reporters at the Daily. How the hell did Lorraine hear it?”

  “Probably from some of her pals in London. Isn’t Allison still over there?”

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “How do you feel about it?”

  “How do I feel about it? Oh great, Jen. Just ecstatic. I’m so happy for them both.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to be sympathetic. I’m not doing a very good job.”

  “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to… it’s just that… oh God, Jen, I don’t know how much more I can take.”

  Her voice cracked.

  “Sometimes I think if it weren’t for Willie I’d—”

  “Do you want me to come over?”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  Sadie put the receiver down and stared out the window. It was a gorgeous fall day. The leaves were beginning to turn and the maple in front of the house, the one she had always admired even before she moved, was about to come ablaze with scarlet. It reminded her of the day, years ago, when Rosey was still Vice President, that she had first had lunch with Des.

  She had refused him at first, then had thought of a zany way to meet him without being seen. She had gotten her gardener to smuggle her out of the Vice President’s mansion in a garbage can in the back of his van.

  It had been such a daring thing to do. She could hardly believe now that she had ever been that silly and carefree. Des had met them on the George Washington Parkway and had taken her to the Auberge Chez François, a romantic country inn in Virginia. The restaurant was normally closed on Mondays, but the proprietor had opened it especially for them because Des was an old friend.