Happy Endings

by Sally Quinn

  “Below the salt” was the most dreaded phrase in Washington, Sadie had learned. That was why she had taken to round tables. It solved so many problems, not only protocol, but from the standpoint of enjoyment. At a small round table nobody could have a terrible time. If one’s dinner partner was a disaster one could always get a group discussion going.

  Of course, Sadie didn’t really take much of what Lorraine had to say these days to heed. Not only was Lorraine a dying breed, the Washington Party was going the way of the Washington Hostess, as well.

  The problem was that Washington was in effect in its third-term presidency. Roger was a Democrat, then Rosey, now Freddy. Though the latter two had brought some of their own people in with them, they had inherited the office. So they had kept most of the same people on. Not only that, but they had drawn from Democrats who had been in office twenty and twenty-five years earlier, long before the Republican administration that preceded Roger had come into power. What this meant to Washington was that everybody knew everybody else.

  Washington parties were working events. People went to parties to meet people, make contacts, exchange information, more or less like a Middle Eastern bazaar. Parties were neutral territory where people from opposite political camps could lay down their arms and break bread together without hostility or animosity. They were the arena where those from the Hill, from the administration, from the press corps, diplomatic corps, military, and the vast numbers of lobbyists could meet and trade.

  Parties were an extension of the workday. Only the clothes changed. Black tie was becoming rarer and rarer, so even the uniform remained the same.

  If people were going to continue to work after they left the office they needed a pretty good reason since work ended around eight. The reason for parties had always been to meet people. But Washington was no longer a transient stopover. Now everyone knew everyone else. Their children had grown up together. There was no point in entertaining anymore. With no forum, the would-be hostesses had all gone out and gotten jobs.

  This was relaxing for the social and political climbers, and for those who put in twelve-hour days. For journalists and writers, however, it was nothing short of deadly. No forum, no gossip, no news.

  This was one reason Blanche was in such trouble. If there had been a lot going on, the press would have been distracted by substantive issues and events. But with the town so dull, anybody was fair game, especially the First Lady.

  * * *

  Blanche was annoyed with Foxy for inviting Antonia Alvarez because she had wanted him as an extra man for Sadie, but Sadie had persuaded her that that was a terrible idea. The “Good Night” anchor’s wife was away so there was an extra man. Still, it would be the first time she had attended a party since Rosey had been shot, and the idea of walking into a room, particularly at the White House, particularly alone, was terrifying.

  What made it even more difficult was that Michael would be there with his wife and Des would be there with his wife.

  Even though she knew it was going to be hard, Sadie hadn’t quite anticipated the trepidation she felt as she got out of her car and was escorted into the diplomatic entrance as a guest at a White House party for the first time in six years.

  She did know she had to look perfect. Maybe it was frivolous, but if she looked great she wouldn’t feel like such a pitiful person. She had read about widows who felt a loss of self-esteem when their husbands died. It had never occurred to her she would be one of them. She had too much going for her. Yet now she was feeling it. It didn’t make things easier that she was the widow of a President.

  She knew that even though the fitted turquoise cut-velvet dress became her, even though her hair seemed to have more body than it ever had, framing her face provocatively, even though she still had a little honey-colored glow from the sun at La Samanna—it was worth a couple of wrinkles later—and her hands and feet had been manicured and she had spent what seemed like hours on her makeup, and was wearing sexy new underwear to give herself more confidence and she had had a massage to relax her… even so, she was a mess.

  She had planned to arrive late. That would irritate Blanche, since Blanche had billed it as Sadie’s coming-out party. However, she hadn’t actually put it on the invitations. She had a choice between standing with Freddy and Blanche as the guests arrived or making an entrance after everyone was there. She chose the latter. That way nobody would feel sorry for her. She could stand anything but that.

  * * *

  Everyone was there when she got off the elevator on the second floor of the White House. She only saw two faces. She saw Michael and she saw Des. She wanted to get back on the elevator and disappear. This was going to be too hard. Then she saw the President. Freddy. Not Rosey—the idea of Freddy as President was still grotesque. She and Rosey had argued over it many times before he chose him. Politics had won out. Rosey had been right. But then Rosey had thought of himself as invincible. Rosey hadn’t counted on getting shot.

  Sadie looked around the room and saw that all eyes were on her. Curiosity was what she saw first. Faces that had prepared to be sympathetic turned to admiration.

  “Well, don’t you look scrumptious, Miss Sara Adabelle,” said Freddy Osgood.

  He took both her hands in his and held them up to his mouth to kiss them.

  Blanche, who was only just recovering from the sight of Sadie, walked over to her right behind Freddy.

  “Oh Freddy, don’t be such a cornball. Who do you think you are, some kinda French count?”

  “How ’bout President of the U-nited States?” he asked.

  “Well, excuuuuuuuse me,” she said, raising one eyebrow.

  “Come on, you two,” said Sadie smiling. “Everybody’s looking at us.”

  “That’s right, Freddy. They’ll think we’re Maw and Paw Kettle.”

  Sadie pretended to miss the edge in their voices.

  The President turned to take her into the crowd.

  “I’m sure you know everybody, Sadie, but let me just take you around the room.”

  Sadie glanced over at Blanche. She could see her eyes were moist as she forced a smile.

  Blanche was a disaster. Her platinum hair was piled on top of her head with several rhinestone clips. Her dress was a white form-fitting number covered with rhinestones and beads. It had a rectangular-shaped cutout right above her ample breasts. She had on dangling rhinestone earrings and too much makeup. She didn’t look as if she belonged in Washington, much less in the White House.

  “What’s wrong?” Sadie whispered.

  “What’s wrong is that you look like the First Lady and I look like fifty dollars for all night upstairs—that’s what’s wrong.”

  Before Sadie could say a word Freddy was guiding her into the group.

  He introduced her to the country music singers Blanche had invited from Nashville, then to the Corwins, the Warburgs, and the Elgins whom she knew, of course. At last she was in front of Des and Allison. She thought she felt perspiration on her forehead. She wondered if Allison would notice.

  Des looked straight at her. There was conflict in his eyes, and guilt. And love?

  They leaned slightly toward each other, neither sure whether they should kiss or shake hands. He took her hand and leaned further forward, giving her the option. She took his hand and offered a cheek, which he brushed lightly and pulled away quickly.

  “How are you?” he asked, aware that the whole room and Allison were watching.

  “Congratulations,” said Sadie. Her own voice sounded odd to her. “And I should say best wishes to the bride.”

  She turned to Allison.

  Allison looked gorgeous.

  She had on a satin floor-length dress that was pale blue-gray, the color of her eyes. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of blue-gray pearl earrings. She was elegant and simple and understated. Suddenly Sadie felt like fifty dollars for all night upstairs.

  “Thank you,” said Allison.

  They stared at each other awkw
ardly, Allison searching Sadie’s face for clues. Sadie knew Allison was wondering whether she was going to leave Des alone, or whether she would have a go at him again if things got rough.

  “How’s Willie?” asked Allison abruptly.

  “Jenny was telling us she’d spent the day with you and Willie recently,” said Des quickly. “She talks about him all the time. You’d think she was the real mother.”

  Des froze as he said this. So did Sadie. But Allison laughed innocently and Sadie relaxed.

  “Y’all monopolizin’ Sadie,” said Freddy. “Let me finish taking you around.”

  Benton Halloran, the “Good Night” anchor, was talking to Foxy and leering at Antonia Alvarez. He was already half in the bag, Sadie was disturbed to note. She had been so preoccupied with Des that she hadn’t focused on the fact that Freddy was leading her to the head of HHS, Rose Horowitz, who was talking earnestly to Michael and Giselle. She could tell Michael was trying desperately to pay attention to her as he followed Sadie’s progress through the room.

  Sadie felt like an Olympic sprinter who had just cleared a major hurdle, only to have to repeat her feat.

  “I guess I don’t have to introduce the good doctor, do I?” said Freddy.

  Sadie realized he’d forgotten Michael’s name.

  Giselle stiffened.

  Sadie was ready, once more, to turn and flee. She decided to address Giselle first.

  “Giselle, I’m so happy to see you,” she exclaimed. “I’m only sorry we’re not at La Samanna. I hope you recovered from your illness.”

  “Yes, thank you,” said Giselle.

  She turned to Michael casually.

  “Michael,” she said.

  They shook hands formally.

  “Let’s go see how Blanche is doing,” Freddy proposed, and Sadie moved away gratefully.

  Blanche was hyperventilating.

  “Sadie, what do you think, how does everything look? Do you think we should go in for dinner?”

  “Blanche, relax. It’s perfect. You look wonderful and everything looks heavenly. Everyone’s going to have a great time. It’s already a success. You can just tell.”

  “Thanks to you. You did it all.”

  That was, in fact, the truth.

  Sadie had chosen the French tablecloths with hearts on them, overseen the flower arrangements, talked to the chef about the menu, helped with the heart-shaped decorations, and suggested to Blanche that she and her music guests from Nashville entertain everyone after dinner.

  “You don’t think people will think it’s tacky,” Blanche had asked.

  “Blanche, it will be different. It will be un-Washington. It will be totally you. That’s the point.”

  But now Sadie was observing the fruits of her labors with satisfaction. She knew that giving Blanche the credit was smart. It didn’t hurt for people to know she had an influence over the First Lady and, therefore, the President. Not that she cared for social reasons. It just made it easier for her to get things done. What she wanted to get done now was to help Michael make AIDS an important project for Blanche.

  The cocktails were held at one end of the great hall, which also doubled as a living room for the family.

  Sadie had suggested putting tables in the oval room, which was normally used as the formal reception room in the family quarters to make the dinner cozy. Candles were the only lighting.

  Sadie, of course, had done the seating. She had put herself at Freddy’s table on his right so she could act more or less as hostess. He had wanted her there too for moral support more than anything else. On his other side she had put Abigail Sohier, who could make anyone feel comfortable. On her other side was the now-tipsy Benton Halloran. She had never met him, but Des had told her, when he was doing the Sunday morning talk show, what a lush the guy was. She was curious about him. He was so appealing on the air. She had placed Michael at her table but not next to her. He was seated between the head of Health and Human Services and Antonia Alvarez. That should keep him awake.

  Des and Allison were at other tables. She had put Des next to Blanche. Let’s see how he fared with this First Lady. But Des would like Blanche, she knew. He liked sexy “dames” and she would amuse him. Allison she had put next to Lorraine’s boring husband, Archie, in an uncharitable moment, but had compensated by putting Foxy on her other side. Sadie thought Foxy was bad news. Allison would have a field day with Foxy.

  The noise level was very high during dinner. A sure sign of success. Sadie could see that Blanche had relaxed and was having a good time with Des as well as with Alan Warburg on her other side. She had put her between two journalists. Blanche wanted good press. This was her chance.

  Sadie had begun at her table by talking first to Halloran. Halfway through the main course she turned the table. Just as she turned to Freddy she heard Antonia Alvarez ask Michael, in a pronounced Spanish accent, “Why aren’t you afraid to get AIDS yourself, Dr. Lanzer?”

  Sadie looked at Michael only to see him glance quickly at her.

  The table quieted as everyone looked at Lanzer.

  “There is,” said Michael carefully, “an unspoken camaraderie among people working in a lab where there is a live AIDS virus. People have acquired AIDS in the lab.”

  “And how do you know you don’t have it now?”

  “People are screened once or twice a year.”

  “How often do you get tested?”

  “Twice a year.”

  “That must mean that you are more at risk than the others. Have you had an accident?”

  “Actually, yes.”

  Michael looked at Sadie. He was in fact, talking to her. Not to anyone else at the table.

  “What happened?”

  “I was stuck by a contaminated needle.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Two years ago.”

  Everyone at the table was on the edge of their chairs.

  “Are the tests conclusive?” persisted Antonia.

  Sadie held her breath.

  “No.”

  She looked at him in desperation.

  “Forgive me for being so inquisitive, Dr. Lanzer,” said Antonia, “but it’s a subject that fascinates everyone.”

  “Not at all,” said Michael. He was speaking in a calm voice. “I’m happy to answer any questions. It’s too important for people to be kept in the dark.”

  “What kind of testing is available, Dr. Lanzer?” asked Freddy.

  “There’s the ELISA test, which can be false positive,” said Lanzer. “If that’s positive, you do the Western test, which, by the way, is named after a Dr. Southern. If that’s positive it’s likely the person is infected but you can still do the PCR test. That can also be false positive and that can send people into a panic. There’s a fourth test that also determines the CD-four to CD-eight ratio. If that’s low you get alarmed.”

  “Do most people who are told they’ve tested positive get all of those tests?” Freddy asked.

  “No. But now it’s really important to do early screening because the good news is that early treatments are working. DDX, not AZT, is a dramatic new weapon against AIDS.”

  “Why don’t more people know about it?” asked Freddy.

  “That’s a good question, sir,” said Michael. “And that’s what we’re hoping will happen now that the First Lady has taken an interest in this issue. Communication is essential.”

  “What would be the most effective way to do it?”

  “I would suggest a national AIDS screening test, sir. And nothing could be more effective than if you were the first person screened.”

  “Oh, Mr. President, what a good idea,” said Abigail Sohier.

  “And so dramatic. You should definitely do that,” said Antonia, just the slightest bit mischievously.

  “That’s a very interesting idea, Dr. Lanzer, and I shall certainly consider it,” said Freddy.

  “Dr. Lanzer, what part of the population is most at risk?” asked Abigail.

  “Nobody
can say anything with certainty about anything. However, if you’re a drug addict you’ve got a real problem. Or if you are the wife or lover of a drug addict.”

  Sadie noticed Antonia’s smile fade.

  “Gay men are at risk and you’re at risk if you’re the lover of a bisexual. In the Bronx, one in eighty children are born of mothers who are infected. Runaway children are going to be the next big risk.”

  “What about the normal average everyday American boy?” asked Freddy.

  “Probably fairly safe,” said Michael, “although everyone should take precautions, even those least at risk.”

  “How can you get AIDS other than through drugs or transfusions or intercourse?” asked Abigail.

  “For instance,” said Sadie, “you can’t get AIDS by kissing. Am I right, Dr. Lanzer?”

  “It has never been documented.”

  “But would you recommend kissing someone who was at risk for AIDS?”

  “I can’t see where a superficial kiss would do any harm.”

  “How does your wife deal with your being at risk?” asked Antonia.

  “You’d have to ask her.”

  He looked at Sadie now and it was her turn to lower her eyes.

  “Dr. Lanzer, tell us,” Halloran interrupted. “Why is it that AIDS in this country is predominantly homosexual and in Africa it is more or less heterosexual?”

  “If I knew the answer to that,” he said with enormous relief, “I would spend the rest of my life basking in glory.”

  * * *

  “Freddy, I think it’s time for the entertainment,” whispered Sadie to Freddy.

  Freddy leaped to his feet. He thanked everyone for being there, made a few remarks about Valentine’s Day and how he was hoping this dinner would be the beginning of a love affair between the White House and the Washington establishment, and then turned it over to his wife. Blanche spoke about her two male friends, both well-known country music singers who had done duets with her in the past, and took the opportunity to announce that she was about to do a number of concerts with them and others to benefit AIDS.