by Sally Quinn
“Jesus, Allison. You’re tough. You’re really tough.”
“Am I right, Lauren?”
“I can’t say you’re not.”
“So tell me what you think I should do?”
“So get Estrella, the little fucker. I’ll beat his ass when I come back.”
“Atta girl!”
“Atta person, Allison. Atta person.”
* * *
“So, how was your day?”
“Walt Fineman. You haven’t had your eyes off me for one minute. I’ve seen you in that glass office of yours peering out over your newspaper. You don’t fool me for a second. You’re like a mother on her child’s first day in kindergarten.”
“You noticed.”
“You’re my security blanket, Walt. I had to make sure you were out there for me if things fell apart.”
“Did they?”
“Let’s just say it was not the easiest day I ever had in my life.”
“Are you discouraged?”
“Yes, but I’m not quitting, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You already quit this morning at breakfast, remember.”
“Yeah, well, I take it back.”
“Why? What changed your mind.”
“It’s too much of a challenge. It’s going to be a lot tougher than I imagined, but I like my chances.”
“What do you see as the biggest challenges?”
“Making the women be honest with themselves, face up to the truth. Not just Lauren either. All of them. They have a sense of entitlement that they don’t deserve any more than anybody else on the staff. The boys. Making them respect me and see me as a person, not as a woman. And Tyson. I’m looking forward to having his balls for breakfast.”
“Sonny, I have never made the mistake of underestimating you before. But I think you’ve met your match this time. The guy is one of the toughest people I’ve ever met, a real cool customer. I wouldn’t count on it.”
“With syrup on them.”
* * *
Allison was lying in the bath, bubbles up to her neck, her head resting on a rubber pillow on the back of the tub. Her left hand held a flute of champagne. The sounds of Gershwin wafted through the room from the hall. All the lights were out in the bathroom and several candles flickered in the darkness. Des was perched on the toilet seat, leaning up against the wall, his feet on the edge of the tub. His tie was loosened, his shirt unbuttoned at the neck, his sleeves rolled up. He needed a haircut. His hair was curling around the back of his ears and though it looked sexy it still looked a little unkempt. Though no more so than most journalists.
He was singing along off key and grinning at Allison.
“Embrace me, my sweet embraceable you. Embrace me you irreplaceable you.”
He had relaxed considerably since she had gotten home. The strain of their being apart had taken its toll. At first he had refused to join her in the bathroom, but a few glasses of champagne and he was on his way.
“Scorpio,” she mused aloud. “The most sensual sign in the zodiac. Cancer-Scorpio, a magnetic, harmonious combination.”
“I thought you thought astrology was a bunch of crap.”
“Well, I did actually. Maybe I still do. But I knew a lot of Arabs in London. One of them had this great astrologer he sent me to and I got hooked. I’m not really sure I believe it at all, but it’s egotistically satisfying and it’s a lot more fun than religion. Besides, some of the things the guy told me were uncanny.”
“Like what?” he asked, taking another sip. It was clear he couldn’t care less about astrology, but he was amused.
“Like that I was going to marry a tall, dark, handsome man.”
She noticed, or thought she noticed, his smile disappear for a moment, but then he laughed and she figured she had imagined it.
“He talked a lot about the importance of compatible signs. How you can never go wrong with a Cancer-Scorpio combination. He says you and I are karmically linked.”
“What the hell is that?”
“That we have been together in many past lives. Our karmas are linked so that we find one another in each life.”
“That’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard of. I thought you were supposed to work through your karma. Now you tell me I’m stuck with you for eternity.”
“Fuck you. It could be a lot worse. Do you realize how many men would kill to be stuck with me for eternity? You happen to be extremely lucky.”
“Do I get to get laid in other lives outside the relationship or is this it?”
“I don’t like your attitude, Desmond Shaw. If you keep this up you may not get laid in this one. I need more champagne.”
“I get no kicks from champagne,” he sang as he leaned over and poured her another glass.
“You actually have a pretty good voice,” she said. “Aging choirboy.”
“Considerably better than yours.”
“You’re really pressing your luck,” she said, holding her leg up out of the bubble bath and rubbing it with soap.
Des leaned over and kissed her big toe.
“Mere alcohol doesn’t thrill me at all…”
She put her foot on his chin and gently pushed him away.
“But I get a kick out of you.”
“Towel please.”
“Madame,” he said holding up a large terry-cloth bath sheet. He was not as steady on his feet as he might have been.
She stepped out of the tub, the water dripping from her body onto the bath mat. She looked directly at him with a challenging smile as he appraised her, then she turned her back to him so that he could wrap her up.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom, where he laid her on the bed up against the pillows. A fire was going in the fireplace, taking the slight chill of the November air out of the room. There were more candles, candles everywhere, the music was still playing, and on the chest at the foot of the bed was a tray of toast with lemon wedges, a tin of translucent gray caviar, two large baked potatoes, sour cream, and a tossed salad.
“I thought this was your birthday, my darling Shaw. What’s in it for you?”
He reached over and touched her damp hair, then leaned down slowly and kissed the back of her neck, her earlobes, her shoulders. He stopped abruptly and pulled back, cupping her face in his hand, then got up quickly and walked over to the fireplace. He stared into the fireplace for a moment, then took the poker and began to attack the logs ferociously.
“Des? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Everything. Nothing.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yes… no.”
She was sitting up now, holding the damp towel around her.
“Des, what in God’s name is the matter? You look like you’ve just seen a horrible accident.”
“Sonny, I…” He had his arms out in front of him, then turned back to the fireplace.
“Shit,” he said with such forceful exasperation that it propelled her off the bed and over to where he was standing.
“Des?”
She touched his arm tentatively and he turned to look at her.
“Sonny. I just want you to know how much I love you. And how much I need you and want you.”
“Oh Des,” she said with a relieved laugh. “Is it that terrible? Are you so afraid of being pussy-whipped by me that you can’t stand to love me? You really are such an idiot. Honest to Christ. I thought there was something really wrong. Now kiss me and let’s eat. I’m famished.”
She held up her mouth toward his and allowed him to kiss her lightly. She turned and let her towel fall to the floor in a mock seductive way. She put on her negligee, leaving the front slightly open, and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back, her legs crossed.
“So am I,” he said, with obvious relief. He sat in the armchair next to the bed while she piled caviar on a baked potato and handed it to him. He poured her a glass of champagne, then one for himself. She fixed her own potato, then leaned back against the pillows and took
a long bite, savoring it with her eyes closed, moaning as she ate.
“Oh God, that’s good,” she said when she had swallowed it. “Oh that is so good. If I had a choice between good caviar and great sex I…”
“Let me guess.”
“Great sex. No contest.”
“What if it’s a choice between great caviar and good sex.”
“Ooooo, that’s a tough one.”
“Let me guess.”
“Good sex. No contest.”
“What if…”
“Shut up you gorgeous brute and come here.”
“Sonny, we haven’t finished eating. Have you lost control?”
“Well, you’ve done such a brilliant job of keeping my mind off my hideous first day at work, I think you should keep it up. Over here, big guy.” She patted the bed and smiled at him.
“You have no shame, woman.”
Something was off. He seemed nervous to her, the usual confidence, cockiness were missing, but she just couldn’t place what the problem was.
Normally he would have been all over her by now, but he hadn’t made a single real advance. She was so tired she would have been content just to go to sleep, though she felt it was expected that they should make love. She didn’t see any way around it. Particularly since he seemed reluctant. He was clearly waiting for her to make the overture.
Now that she thought of it, he had been acting reticent on the telephone for the past several weeks. Or was it longer? There was something in his voice. He was holding something back. But what? Was he having an affair? Was he in love with someone else? No. She didn’t think so. Not that fast. Besides, if he were, he would have told her. He’d been waiting for her for a long time. They’d been through too much for him to let a little flirtation get in his way. It was not another woman. She was sure of that. So what was the problem?
Des got on the bed with her and for a long time they lay together kissing each other quietly. He caressed her hair and looked at her with so much love that she nearly wept.
She began to undress him, slowly, taking off his tie, then unbuttoning his shirt, caressing his chest. She unbuckled his belt, undid his pants, unzipped his fly. He watched her as she reached inside and pulled him out. When he didn’t harden right away she took him in her mouth and gently caressed him with her tongue.
She smiled at the results, looking up at him smugly.
“Ha,” she crowed. “Look what I’ve done. How can anyone ever say women don’t have all the power.”
“Pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you?” he chuckled. He pulled her up to him and kissed her, then quickly finished undressing himself. He turned her over and let his weight descend on her as she let out a sigh.
“Oh Des,” she whispered. “I’ve missed you so. Make love to me now, please.”
“Baby, oh Sonny, I love you,” he said. “I love you.”
She moved under him to receive him and as she did she felt him grow soft. She moved her pelvis against him several times to stimulate him but nothing happened. He was completely limp. She paused and they were still for a long time.
“I’m sorry, Sonny,” he said after a while, his voice cracking with emotion. “God, I’m sorry.”
She caressed his back, his hair, his body, hugging and holding him as hard as she could.
“It’s okay, Des. It’s okay. I understand. Don’t feel sorry. It’s all right.”
“It’s not you, baby. Do you understand. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Is there somebody else?” She held her breath. She couldn’t bear to hear the word yes.
“Not another woman.”
She was so tense now that she began to giggle out of sheer nervousness.
“You mean there’s another man?”
“Jesus, you’re an asshole.”
Des pushed himself up off of her and laughed. They could both feel the tension dissipate.
They were sitting up now, grinning nervously at each other.
“Well, what then?”
“I don’t know, Sonny.”
He looked at her and she could see the pain.
“I don’t know how to explain it to you. Maybe it’s my old Catholic training coming back to haunt me. I’m wrestling with some demons and I need to work it out. I know I’m already divorced. But the idea of remarrying seems like a major step. I’ve done a lot of thinking about it and I think that’s what I want. But I’ve got to have some more time. I don’t want to be a two-time loser. I’ve got to square things with my maker. I’m not too happy with some of the things I’ve done in my life, with the way I’ve hurt some people. I want to make sure I never do it again. I’m not sure I’m ready to be able to make that promise to anyone. I love you too much to give you less than you deserve, and that’s what you’d be getting if you married me right now.”
Allison listened quietly as she leaned against the pillows. She had pulled the sheet up over her breasts.
“Oh Des, did you think I wouldn’t understand? I do. We’ve been away from each other for so long. We’ve caused each other too much anguish. I’ve been desperate about the fact that we would leap into marriage so quickly after I got back. It’s only six or seven weeks until Christmas and I’ve got a new job. Boy, do I ever have a new job. It just wouldn’t be fair to either one of us to race into a marriage without spending more time together. The pressure was making me crazy. It was just unrealistic.”
She threw herself back on the bed, her arms and legs spread out around her.
“God, I feel so relieved. I feel like a new person. Thank you for being honest. I was too afraid to say anything for fear of losing you again, maybe this time forever.”
He was still sitting on the edge of the bed and she put her arms around his back, kissing his neck and his cheek from behind.
“Why don’t we go to sleep now? I’m exhausted.”
“Same,” he said, more than convincingly.
They lay down on the bed holding hands.
Allison closed her eyes and yawned.
“Goodnight, Des. I love you.”
“Goodnight, Sonny. I love you, too.”
She sensed he was still awake even though she was dozing off. She could feel his eyes on her. She could hear his deep sighs.
After a long while she turned over and one eye fluttered open to find Des looking longingly at her.
“Do you think,” she mumbled softly, “that in another life, you might be able to get it up again?”
9
Des’s package for Willie had arrived a few days before Christmas, his birthday.
She opened up the box with some trepidation. She didn’t know what she was expecting. A silver cup inscribed “To William from your loving father, Desmond Shaw”?
When she saw what was inside it made her smile. It was a tiny baseball mitt. The note said, “Sadie. Tell Willie this is from his special friend. D.”
It reminded her of why she loved Des so. There was so much unspoken love and hurt in his simplicity. There was something masculine, shy, and brave about it.
She missed him. She missed Rosey, too. Not just for herself but for Willie. He needed a father, a man. Now the man who would have been his father was dead and the man who was his father couldn’t be.
The weather had become bleak around Thanksgiving. That had to have been the most depressing period in all her life. They said that six months after a loss was when it really hit you. They weren’t whistling “Dixie.”
She had had no choice but to have Thanksgiving at her house on Dumbarton Street. Rosey’s parents had wanted them all to come to Richmond, but the Greys condescended to them and her parents felt uncomfortable there. Her parents had wanted to do it in Savannah but that would have been just as uncomfortable for everyone.
In the end it didn’t matter. The whole thing was a disaster. The minute G., Rosey’s father, stood to say Grace: “Bless, oh Lord, this food to our use and us to thy service,” Miz G., Rosey’s mother, had started to cry. Then, of course, Sa
die’s father had insisted on saying Grace: “Lord make us truly thankful for these blessings we are about to receive for Christ’s sake. Amen.” Her mother burst into tears. When Outland, sitting in his father’s place at the head of the table, began carving the turkey, Annie Laurie started to sniffle. What had caused Sadie to lose control was poor sweet Outland, mutilating this monstrous bird.
When she began to cry, Outland let the tears stream down his cheeks, standing at the table, carving knife and fork in hand.
Only Willie remained unmoved. “Mommy, everybody always crying,” he said.
“You’re right, darling. Everybody’s always crying around here. Especially Mommy, and it’s got to stop. Mommy has done nothing but cry for nearly six months and she can’t stand it anymore.”
She went around to the other end of the table where Outland stood, trying to regain control of his emotions, and put her arm around him, holding Willie’s hand. Then she went over to Annie Laurie and rather formally kissed her. Finally, she returned to her place at the table, raised a glass and said, with as much composure as she could muster, “To absent friends.”
She took a sip and everyone followed suit.
“Now, everyone. Let’s try to enjoy our Thanksgiving dinner, please.”
That had more or less saved the day. But it had still been tense and gloomy and she was relieved when she was able to put Willie down at seven and plead a headache herself.
When she crawled into bed after soaking in a hot tub for nearly an hour, she vowed she would not spend Christmas at home.
* * *
La Samanna. It looked the way it sounded. Azure blue and white, golden, pinks and corals. Tropical, remote, pristine, lyrical.
They had taken the last villa on the crescent beach. It was at the end of a winding path hidden by lush foliage, vines, and bougainvillea. Far up on a rock ledge was the main villa with the Moroccan bar, tiled pool, and dining terrace overlooking the ocean.
She was right on the beach with a bedroom, living room, kitchen, and terrace. It was landscaped with palm trees and flowers for privacy. Willie and Monica had a room adjoining her living room. Outland and Annie Laurie had separate entrances upstairs. The Secret Service agents had the ground-floor room on the other side of Willie’s.