Happy Endings

by Sally Quinn

  “Well, she certainly succeeded.”

  They were both being so restrained, so polite.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Well, I called because I wanted to see Willie… and you. I thought you might like to ask me over for lunch.”

  “Oh. Well, that would be great. I mean, I’d love for you to see Willie. You won’t recognize him. He’s a real little bruiser.”

  “Yeah?” He laughed. His voice was hoarse with pride. “Has he, uh, does he have anyone to roughhouse with? Boys need to roughhouse.”

  “Only Outland, but he’s never here. Monica tries, and she’s very bouncy and loving. But Willie’s more interested in her enormous bosoms than in roughhousing. I don’t think it’s quite the same.”

  “That’s my boy.”

  “You pig. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “You’ve missed me, I can tell.”

  She laughed, then said spontaneously, “Des, why don’t you take me out to lunch? I’ve just been cooped up here for so long I feel like a hothouse flower. Except for a brief trip to Georgia and my AIDS meetings I stay home. I’ve got a serious case of cabin fever. We’re leaving for Long Island at the end of the week and it will be the same thing there. I’d love to go to a real restaurant like a real person, for a change.”

  “I don’t know. It’s just that I’d really like to see Willie.”

  “Come by here first and spend some time with him. That’s all you’d see of him anyway even if we ate here.”

  “It’s kinda public.”

  “We’re just talking about eating lunch.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “You haven’t told Allison you’re going to see me.”

  “Right.”

  “Okay. I’ll give you an interview. I’ll tell you what it’s like a year later. Everybody in America is dying for this interview. It’s yours. You can take your bloody notebook and put it on the table so everyone can see. Even Allison couldn’t object to that. It’s all in the line of duty.”

  “Sadie, I hate to appear to use you like that… you’ve got a deal.”

  “That was a hard sell.”

  “Where do you want to eat?”

  “Let’s go to the new Galileo’s. Obviously, I’ve never been there but it sounds great.”

  “Good. We can sit in the back. It’s fairly private there. We can talk. I’ll come by the house about eleven-thirty to see Willie and we can go from there.”

  “I promise you you won’t be sorry.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  The last time he had interviewed her she was First Lady, they were in the third-floor solarium, and halfway through they had fallen on each other and made passionate love. It had been the beginning of their dangerous love affair.

  That would not happen this time. She was certain. But Des still cared about her. She was certain of that, too.

  * * *

  Des and Willie made her cry, they were so wonderful together. Des roughhoused with him, rolling around on the floor, wrestling, punching. Willie climbed all over him, rode him, laughing and giggling. They were both bright red.

  Des had come loaded down with sports equipment for Willie. Tiny bats and soccer balls and racquets.

  “I didn’t bring books,” he said, rather apologetically. “I figured you’d probably handle that department. I wanted to do for him what a father should do. Give him what he’s not getting.”

  “He loves it,” she said reassuringly. “Can’t you tell? He adores you, too.”

  Des looked as though she had given him the greatest present in the world.

  “Mommy, can I go home with Uncle Des?” asked Willie, clinging to Des’s neck.

  Des and Sadie looked at each other, stricken.

  “Oh Willie, angel, I don’t know…”

  “Sure, I’ll take you home with me sometime, dumpling.”

  Des looked as if he was going to expire. He pulled Willie to him and hugged him tightly. It was only then that Sadie began to realize the extent of Des’s pain over Willie. The idea that she might be in Des’s situation was unthinkable. That she would not have access to her own child, not be able to claim her own child. Love her child and never have him know that she was his mother? It was too awful to contemplate. Yet that was what Des had to deal with every day of his life. Des, who was so bad at revealing his feelings, even to himself, looked suddenly vulnerable. She felt she could see through him. The X-ray showed him bleeding inside. It was hard enough on her. But it was her fault. She was the one who had caused this pain for two people she loved dearly, first Rosey, then Des. How could he ever forgive her?

  “We better get going or we’ll be late for lunch,” Sadie said. She had to get out or she would fall apart.

  “Right,” said Des, reluctantly prying Willie off him.

  Sadie called Monica, who appeared smiling and grabbed Willie into her arms.

  “Bye buddy,” said Des, mussing his hair, still unable to take his hands off him.

  “I love you, Uncle Des,” said Willie.

  “Yeah,” said Des and turned away quickly.

  * * *

  Galileo’s was packed when Des and Sadie came in and the place came to a halt as they were shown to their table in the back. As soon as they had passed through the front room the entire restaurant began to buzz with excitement. This was the first time Sadie Grey had gone out to a restaurant for lunch since her husband had been assassinated.

  The new Galileo’s was not as cozy as the little hole in the wall they had all been accustomed to. The old one had become so popular it had outgrown its space on P Street and they had been forced to move to a larger location farther down on 21st Street. Now, unfortunately, it looked like just another uptown Italian restaurant with tiles, white tablecloths, and tapestries. Still, the food was good and the atmosphere welcoming. Des had requested one of the tables in the back cloistered in a small cozy niche.

  She was happy to be there but also very glad Des had suggested they sit in the back corner where the tables next to them were filled with her own Secret Service agents. In spite of the fact that she didn’t dare go out for that reason, it was a shock. She hadn’t been prepared for the sensation she was causing. Washington had become so boring, nothing was going on; so to have Sadie appear at a restaurant was a very big deal. It would be talked about for weeks.

  They ordered their drinks, she a sparkling water, Des, on his best behavior, a beer.

  “What? No martini?” she teased.

  “I have to keep my wits about me.”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve given them up?”

  “I wish I had. I’m afraid I may be one of the last people in town to still have a martini at lunch.”

  “And just a wee taste of Irish at night?”

  “You remember.”

  “I have forgotten nothing about you, Des.”

  They both looked a little uncomfortable.

  “I hadn’t forgotten your curly black hair either,” she went back to teasing. “I was surprised to see how much gray there is now. You’re going to look very romantic with all white hair. Very Irish. Very poetic.”

  “It won’t be long now.”

  “So,” she said, changing the subject, “where’s your notebook?”

  “We’re not doing an interview.”

  “Why not?” She was really surprised.

  “It’s nobody’s goddamned business what you’ve been doing or what you’re feeling. Fuck ‘em.”

  “How will you explain this lunch to your office… to Allison?”

  “I don’t care about the office. I told Allison that I had called you to tell you about the baby and to suggest that I drop by and see you and that you wanted to go out to lunch.”

  “And that was fine with her? I don’t believe it.”

  “I told her you were in love with somebody.”

  “You didn’t! It will be all over town. Des, how could you?”

  “I had to see Willie… and you. I didn’t
want to lie to her. I want to be able to continue seeing Willie. This was the only way. Sonny won’t tell. You’ll just have to trust me on that one.”

  “I guess I don’t have any choice, do I?”

  “You are, aren’t you? I mean, in love with somebody?”

  “In love? I don’t… I think so… I mean I… yes. Yes, I am. I am in love with somebody.”

  “Good. Great. That’s terrific. I’m happy for you.”

  “Do you want to know who it is?”

  “Not necessarily. I mean, I don’t really care. I don’t need to know. You don’t have to tell me. Yeah, sure. Who?”

  “This is not for Allison. Okay? You can tell her you don’t know.”

  “Of course.”

  “He’s a doctor. He’s younger than I am. He’s Jewish. He’s married.”

  Des gave a low whistle.

  “His name is Michael Lanzer. He’s head of the National Cancer Institute. He’s helping Blanche and me with the AIDS project. You met him at the White House in February.”

  “No kidding? That guy? You’re in love with that guy?”

  “Surprised?”

  “No, its just that… you really go for the ethnics, don’t you? First a Mick, now a Jew. What next?”

  “There isn’t going to be a next. This is it.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Nothing’s going on.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Neither do I, actually. I’ve never had a relationship quite like this one before.”

  “Pardon me for asking, but does he know he’s the lucky guy?”

  “I’ve never told him.”

  “Has he told you he loves you?”

  “Never.” She laughed at the look on his face. “I must say, Des, it’s unlike you to be this inquisitive about somebody’s personal life. I can’t believe it’s you.”

  “What does he know?”

  Des was irritated, she could tell. She wasn’t quite sure why.

  “He knows about you. He knows about Willie.”

  “Shit, Sadie? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Now it’s your turn to be upset. He won’t tell. You’ll have to trust me on this one.”

  He smiled in spite of himself.

  “So what has this momzer got to offer for himself?”

  “Momzer?”

  “Jewish for bastard.”

  “Des, what is it you’re upset about?”

  She was pleased that he was so agitated.

  “It’s just that you’re a pretty fabulous dame. Not to mention a national treasure. I hate to see you waste yourself on some married… guy who you’re not even sure loves you. Besides,” he said as an afterthought, obviously to be more persuasive, “I have to consider Willie. Any man you end up with is going to be the stepfather to my son. I have a stake in this relationship.”

  He liked that idea. She could see he was going to pursue it.

  “I want to know that Willie is going to end up with somebody who loves him, who is going to help him grow into a man.”

  “Des, you can’t run my life or Willie’s life from the sidelines as the mood suits you. I have to live the way I feel is best for me and Willie. You have your own life now with Allison and little Katherine on the way. I wish things could have been different, but God didn’t plan it that way for us. I loved you once, with all my heart. Letting you go was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But I had to. Now I see a chance for happiness for me and my child. And if it’s meant to be, I’m going to grab it. And I will hope you’ll understand and give me your blessing.”

  He paused a long time.

  “I will. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

  “Des?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Does this whole conversation sound like it’s right out of a soap opera?”

  “Yes, but then, as it turns out, so are our lives.”

  * * *

  She had talked to him a few times from Easthampton in August. It was always she who called him. He seemed happy to hear from her and often they would have quite long talks if she called at the end of the day. He was usually much more accessible on the phone than he was in person, except for La Samanna and Cumberland Island. Beaches. That was it. He was vulnerable on beaches. She had tried to get him to come up to Long Island but he wouldn’t. Besides, except in the winter, it was too public. She had found that out the hard way when she was First Lady and she had been spotted with Des in early spring on a cold, wintry beach. That was the weekend she had gotten pregnant with Willie. That was in another life, though. She had been obsessed with Des. Now there was Michael to think about. She had missed him terribly while she was away. It wasn’t that she was used to seeing him—she wasn’t. It was just that in Washington she knew he was there and that she could see him if she needed him, if she had to.

  Now she was back. She had closed the Easthampton house the week after Labor Day. She had returned to Washington in time to enroll Willie in nursery school. She had gone back to her office uninspired and depressed at the prospect of her life, of her future.

  * * *

  Except for those few phone calls, Michael had been out of her life for months. After their time in Georgia they both seemed to have sensed that the differences between them were too great.

  The only problem was that even though she had tried to put him out of her mind, she began to miss him terribly. For one thing, having dismissed him psychologically, she had nobody to think about. That left a terrible emptiness in her life. But more than that, oddly enough, as the weeks passed, she began to miss the Jewishness of him. What had seemed to her overwhelming now seemed fascinating.

  She had begun to associate him with holidays, almost as if he were family. In her mind he was, or had been, ever since she had made up her mind to marry him. Now Christmas was coming, and New Year’s, and Chanukah. She was actually beginning to think that way now. She knew he was not going to La Samanna again, so she had decided not to go either. She knew she would be absolutely miserable there without him even though she had decided not to see him anymore.

  It was all too complicated. She was in a sort of weird emotional limbo. The holiday season was upon her and she was not handling it at all well. She needed to talk to someone. She needed to talk to Jenny.

  * * *

  They were in her office at the E.O.B.

  It reminded her of the days when she was First Lady and they would sit for hours and talk about Des. It was in her office there that she and Des used to meet, where they had their affair, always with Jenny, then her very unhappy press secretary, sitting in the outside office guarding the door.

  Then she used her office for Des and for writing her novel, with which Des was ostensibly helping her. He had come to see her under the guise of being her editor. The novel was on the shelf at the moment. She hadn’t felt like writing in a long time, not since she had gotten pregnant with Willie. One day she would get back to it….

  Now her office was for AIDS and Michael, talking to Michael, that is, because she had never met him there. Now she was sitting in front of the fire, sipping her tea, her feet curled up under her on the sofa, talking to Jenny about her new love. Or rather her new ex-love.

  “Tell me what to do, Jen. I’m really in love with him, at least I think I am, although I don’t trust it. I don’t trust shiksa madness either. I don’t know whether he’s really infatuated with me or just my shiksaness. I don’t know anything anymore. All I know is that I’m a mess. But Jenny, he’s so feeling and caring and understanding. He’s the most sensitive man I’ve ever met.”

  Jenny rolled her eyes.

  “Sadie, let me tell you about the famously sensitive Jew, who doesn’t exist because they are all narcissists.”

  “But he’s not. Not when he’s with me! Don’t you find him attractive?”

  “I can see where he would be very attractive to a lot of women. It’s just that I don’t buy into that thing, at least not anymore. That d
oesn’t mean that you shouldn’t. I really believe that Jewish men should be with gentile women. The bad part about a Jew marrying a Jew is that he will turn her into his mother. The thing is that he won’t be tempted to make a shiksa his mother. It is much harder for a Jewish man to work his pathology on a shiksa wife. Jewish men behave better with shiksas, that’s the truth.”

  “So what’s the downside?”

  “The downside, need I remind you, is that he’s married, Sadie.”

  “Suppose he weren’t?”

  “The downside is that when Jewish men and gentile women have children and she wants to send them to Sunday school and have little creches under the Christmas tree and dress them up for Easter, he goes berserk. And there’s another downside.”

  “What’s that?”

  “For him, once the sexual desire for his gorgeous shiksa ebbs he’ll look at her and think, ‘For this I’ve given up my culture?’ ”

  “What if she converts?”

  Jenny rolled her eyes again.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re thinking about that.”

  “No, but what if she did?”

  “Then he wouldn’t be in love with her.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because she would be neither Jewish nor a shiksa, which is even worse.”

  * * *

  It was Christmastime and on television everyone was wishing everyone a happy Chanukah. The newspapers and magazines all had Chanukah stories. The stores, even the few she went to and always early in the morning before the crowds came, all had Chanukah signs, greeting cards, wrapping paper, food, toys, candles, six-pointed stars. Where everything at Christmas used to be red and green, now it was blue and white.

  Had it always been that way? Had she just never noticed before? Had her consciousness been that changed?

  Now she saw the endless array of Christmas ads, carols, toys, foods, presents, the inundation of Santa Clauses, reindeer, elves, baby Jesuses, mangers, wise men, Christmas trees, tinsel, fake snow, and twinkling lights as being anti-Semitic at worst, bad for the Jews at best.