Happy Endings

by Sally Quinn

  “I can’t really pretend to be sick enough to need waiting on anymore,” he said.

  “You’re still not well enough to go out, particularly in this freezing weather. Thank God it’s Friday. At least you can spend the weekend at home. I’ll come back after I’ve put Willie down for his nap and bring you a surprise.”

  He looked as young and as excited as Willie did when she told him the same thing. She had to smile at the expression on his face, though it made her feel torn between them this week. Willie had been the major focus of her attention since the minute he was born, and only this week had she actually had to choose between him and somebody else for her time. Willie was out of sorts, especially at not having her there in the mornings to get up with him. She would have to make it up to him, but she was a tiny bit resentful that she was being pulled in two directions.

  When she came back that afternoon Michael had just gotten out of the shower and was wearing boxer shorts and a La Samanna T-shirt. He also had on his robe, which she had found in the closet and which he claimed he didn’t know he had.

  It was snowing heavily outside and she still had flakes glistening in her hair and on her face. She had put on bright turquoise blue sweats, which she said reminded her of the Caribbean and La Samanna and the fact that the first anniversary of their meeting was coming up in another week. She had stopped at the deli and brought him a cornedbeef sandwich and some kosher pickles. She pulled a chair up to the side of his bed while they ate. Michael ate every bite. After lunch she handed him two presents that she had carefully wrapped in white paper with blue ribbon.

  “Happy Chanukah,” she said.

  He opened one present to find a box of Christmas cookies with little red and green sprinkles on them. That one was from Willie, she explained, who was thrilled with his presents. It was also from her because she wanted to try again with the cookies to make up for the horrible scene at Passover.

  The other present was a tape of the song that was played New Year’s Eve in La Samanna when they were dancing together on the beach.

  “Now we have a first anniversary and a song,” she said laughing.

  “You really are a romantic, aren’t you?”

  “You once said I was the deepest person you knew and the shallowest,” she said. “My romantic tendencies represent both of those sides.”

  He put the tape into the tape recorder on his bedside table and they listened to it together. When the lyrics, “Say You Love Me,” were sung, she reached over to turn off the tape, but he put his hand on hers and stopped her.

  “Why won’t you look at me?”

  She reddened and shrugged. It was making her uncomfortable and embarrassed. It was too close to the bone, words that she wanted to be said and hadn’t been.

  She waited until the song was finished, then turned the tape off.

  “I have another surprise for you,” she said, pulling a small bottle of oil with an almond in it out of her bag.

  “This looks kinky,” he said with a grin. “I have a feeling I’m going to like this.”

  “You are, trust me,” she said. “If you aren’t well now, you will be when I’m finished with you. Take off your bathrobe and your T-shirt and turn over.”

  “This is kinky,” he said with an expectant grin, as he quickly undressed.

  He had a lot of hair on his chest. She hadn’t expected that. She had an almost uncontrollable urge to bury her head in his chest and wrap herself around him. Instead, she got up and pulled down the shades and turned off the lights. Sitting on the side of the bed, she pulled the covers down to his buttocks, pushing his shorts down as far as she could with decency.

  She poured a tiny bit of oil on her hands, rubbed them together and began massaging his back with an almost professional smoothness that came from being massaged many times over the years. She did this for about ten minutes until he began to moan and she realized that she herself was about to explode from sexual tension and desire.

  Finally he turned over and grabbed her wrists.

  “I can’t stand this anymore, Sadie Grey,” he said. His face was almost grim. “Why are you doing this? Why are you here? Why are you taking care of me?”

  She couldn’t stand it anymore either.

  “Because I love you.”

  It had been so simple to say.

  He pulled her to him and began to kiss her softly on the mouth, then more passionately. She thought she would faint. The energy had been drained out of her and she nearly went limp. All the fantasies she had had about this moment drifted away as she allowed herself to be touched and held and loved by this man. She realized that she needed desperately to be pleasured by him, to be filled up by him and his love, emotionally, intellectually, and especially physically. She needed to let it happen, to let him take charge, to have him make love to her the way he talked to her. She needed to take it all in. Later, the next time, she could participate, but this time she wanted to be taken by him, to belong to him completely, and the only way that could happen was to let him do it. Unlike other men she had made love to, where she was an active participant, this time she wanted him to please her. She felt he needed that, and that the greatest gift she could give him, and therefore them, was to let him do it. Later there would be time for her involvement. Now she wanted only to give herself completely to Michael.

  He didn’t disappoint her. How did he know to kiss her and lick her softly on her neck and shoulders until she wanted to scream? Most men weren’t that subtle. The pressure of his fingers on the rest of her body was perfect, gentle and eager at the same time. He knew exactly what to do with his tongue and his hands, and as he moved slowly down her body with his mouth until he rested between her legs she could hear herself as if she were in another room letting out little whimpers and gasps of pleasure. He was literally playing her body like a musical instrument. She had never known what that meant before. Now, when he entered her, she was so ready for him she came in a series of orgasms, like rushes of heat and electricity passing through her over and over again. She felt literally paralyzed with pleasure. She couldn’t make a sound, and only when he cried out and she felt him shudder did she remember to breathe again.

  They lay together quietly, entwined in each other’s arms for a long time. She was the one who spoke first.

  “Had you only kissed me and not made love to me, Dayenu!”

  He reached over and brought her to him, enclosing her in his arms.

  “Oh Sadie,” he whispered.

  “Say you love me,” she said.

  “I love you.”

  It was then that she felt the rush of emotion and it surprised her when the tears started in her eyes. She flung herself against his chest and buried her face in it, only realizing after several minutes that the tears were not all hers.

  * * *

  They were both emotionally exhausted but she needed to talk.

  “My love for you has been making me crazy ever since I met you,” she said. “I’ve been totally obsessed by you to the point of doing really stupid things like writing Sadie Lanzer and Mrs. Michael Lanzer on a piece of paper over and over. I’ve even called your house and hung up when Giselle answered. This is not normal healthy behavior and I don’t know whether to trust it or not. Am I just a bereft widow who is not functioning? Is it because you’re exotic to me, because I’ve never known any Jews before? Is it because you are a scientist, from a different world? Is it because you were effectively a virgin, although not inexperienced, I must say? All I know is that I love you and I can’t live without you. It seems so inappropriate, you and me. We’re so different. We have nothing in common. We don’t like to do the same things. Yet I feel more comfortable with you than I ever have with anyone in my life. It seems so totally right. I love the way you talk. Your words turn me on. My mind is my erogenous zone. Or was until just now.” She started rubbing her foot.

  “You know, I used to get a cramp in my left foot just talking to you on the phone. Then I got one when we were maki
ng love. Maybe that’s my erogenous zone. You’ve saved my life, you know. Now you’ll be forever indebted to me, as the Chinese say. I was lost and now I’m found. You’re stuck with me, Lanzer. I’m not making any sense, am I?”

  “Just keep talking,” he said, stroking her hair. “You need to talk. I’m listening.”

  “I loved Rosey. I was in love with Des. But I love you and I’m in love with you, too. I’ve learned so much from you. I’ve thought, many times, that I wouldn’t have been ready for you even a year and a half ago. You’re like somebody from another planet. Now everything you say sounds wise and funny and brilliant. Somehow what you’re doing about AIDS, what you’ve done, seems so much more important than what people in my world are doing. You’re saving people’s lives. You’ve caused me to totally reevaluate everything I believe in, everything I stand for. I feel so shallow and boring and frivolous around you, and yet you don’t make me feel that way. I see only understanding and sympathy and empathy in your eyes.”

  “And love. You should see love.”

  “I do.”

  “Then make love to me,” he said. “It’s your turn.”

  “You noticed.”

  “I did. Thank you.”

  “There’s nothing you don’t get, is there?”

  “Shut up, will you, and come over here.”

  She took him in her mouth this time. Though she had done this before, she had never had the sensation she had with Michael. For him it was the first time, and watching him experience ecstasy heightened her own pleasure almost more than she could bear.

  When they had finished making love, they fell away from each other, lying back separately on the bed, exhausted, breathing heavily, covered with perspiration.

  After a while, Sadie spoke dreamily.

  “I have this incredible sense when I had you in my mouth of doing something totally animalistic and primitive that people have been doing for thousands of years. It gave me such a sense of subjugation and power. I am completely yours, cavemanlike, your woman, down on my knees, bent to your will and your pleasure. And yet…”

  “And yet?”

  “At the same time I have total power over you.”

  “How so?”

  “I could bite it off.”

  “That’s comforting. You’re really playing into my pathology here, aren’t you?”

  She smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Presently she began to hum.

  “Why are you humming ‘It Had to Be You’?”

  “It’s one of my favorite songs.”

  “Sing the lyrics.”

  “It had to be you, you wonderful Jew, it had to be you.”

  He smiled, took her head in his hands and kissed her forehead.

  “I could go over the wall for you,” he said.

  * * *

  Giselle came back at the end of the weekend.

  His letter arrived the day before Christmas, their first anniversary.

  Dear Sadie,

  I love you more than I have ever loved anyone in my life. But I cannot see you again. This piece from Proverbs explains it better than I could. You will never know how sorry I am.

  For the lips of a strange woman drop honey,

  And her mouth is smoother than oil:

  But her latter end is bitter as wormwood,

  Sharp as a two-edged sword.

  Her feet go down to death:

  Her steps take hold on Sheol;

  So that she findeth not the level path of life:

  Her ways are unstable and she knoweth it not.

  Michael

  14

  She hadn’t been to the Colombian embassy since she was in her early twenties, since she had gone with her father one night. Sam had known the ambassador in his old days as a spook. She had forgotten how beautiful it was with its red-brick facade, long large windows, and paneled walls inside. It was right off Dupont Circle, a location not as desirable as upper Massachusetts Avenue and Kalorama, where many of the other major embassies were.

  Allison hadn’t wanted to go. It was mid-December, a week before her due date, and by this time she was so heavy and bloated she felt like a slob. She hadn’t slept through the night in months. It was all she could do to get to the office, get through a day, and get home. She was, however, determined to go from story conference to the labor room lest anybody accuse her of letting down on the job. It was the most miserable time she could imagine. She longed to just take off and lie in bed reading and daydreaming and talking to Kay Kay. Her unborn child had become her best friend; she wondered how she had ever lived without her. It appalled her that she didn’t give a damn about what was going on in the office, and it took everything in her to feign attention. Sprague was getting particularly upset with her for not getting more involved with the drug story, but he was too much of a Southern gentleman to complain about her to Walt or Alan while she was in her delicate state. She knew that he wouldn’t do it for political reasons either. It would be unpopular for a male to complain about a female being pregnant even if she wasn’t doing her job—unfair but true. The feminists had mau-maued their male colleagues into submission.

  Des had talked her into going because the Weekly was working on a drug story. She was sure that Des had no idea that Sprague was also working on a lead that the Foreign Minister was involved in the drug business. Somehow Sprague had managed to get an invitation to the dinner. His wife would be there. She had never met Jane and was terribly curious about her, about what kind of woman Sprague would be married to. They had stayed pretty remote from the usual fare of book parties that brought most journalists together in Washington. So tonight was unusual. She had to admit that Sprague was a dedicated reporter. As antisocial as he seemed to be, he would actually turn up at an embassy dinner for a story.

  This was one of the first big embassy parties in a long time. The embassies were essentially dead. They just didn’t matter anymore since shuttle diplomacy, television, direct dial, and the fax had replaced the need for ambassadors.

  The only reason anyone cared about this particular embassy party was that everyone knew that the President of Colombia was a puppet and that the Foreign Minister really ran the country. So the party was more like a party for the President of Colombia. Then, too, Antonia Alvarez had hit like a storm, the only new glamorous face in Washington. She was sought after as a diversion, if nothing else. Antonia and Foxy had become the glitzy couple. Also, the word was out that Sadie Grey was going to be there. It would be her first official party since the White House dinner the previous February. Sadie was now an icon and everybody wanted to be where she went. Unlike most embassy parties, nobody had turned down this invitation. It was definitely the party to be invited to.

  Allison wore the only cocktail maternity dress she could still get into, a blue-gray silk with long sleeves and a round neck with pearls. She was sick of the dress by now, and sick of being huge, but she knew that no matter how dowdy she looked there would be other women there who looked worse. Washington was not exactly the fashion capital of the world.

  Allison hadn’t seen quite so much press at a party in Washington in years. She had made sure that the Daily’s Living section covered it, but she was surprised to see that even the networks had sent camera crews. Nothing like drugs and celebrities to bring them out. She and Des were late getting there and most everyone had arrived. The receiving line was starting to break up. It was a ratfuck of the first order. Reporters had surrounded Foxy and Antonia looking for good quotes early in the evening so they could make their deadlines. Another group surrounded Sadie Grey and Foreign Minister Mendez, who had obviously broken away from the receiving line to be near her. Mendez had grafted himself to Sadie and was not about to allow her to be more than an inch or so away from him. Mendez was an attractive man in his mid-sixties, tall, tanned, suave, beautifully dressed, and even more beautifully mannered. He was rich, he was internationally known for his reputation with women, gambling, racing, and business. He also had a vast art collection and
impeccable taste. It amused Allison to see how he was using Sadie and pouring on the charm. She knew, or at least was fairly sure, he was one of the biggest drug dealers in the world.

  Sadie, to her credit, seemed uncomfortable with his attention and his attempt to attach himself to her.

  Des grabbed Allison by the hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

  “We have to go say hello to Sadie,” he said.

  Before she had a chance to reply they were standing in front of her. Sadie looked more beautiful than ever and Allison couldn’t help but feel slightly sick to her stomach. Would she ever be able to look at this woman and not have that clutch of fear in her gut?

  Before, whenever she had seen Sadie and Des together, there had always seemed to be something unspoken between them, some secret look, something that made her think he might still be in love with her. This evening Sadie greeted Des warmly, but there was a detached friendliness about their handshake that made Allison think that Sadie really was in love with somebody else. She greeted Allison warmly and asked immediately about the baby, about her pregnancy.

  “I hear it’s a girl and you’re going to name her Katherine. I just love that,” she said in her charming Southern accent.

  As she talked, Allison had an odd feeling that Sadie was more interested in her pregnancy for reasons she didn’t understand.

  “You look just superb,” she said. “So much better than I did. I think it gets worse every time. I was as big as a house with Willie.”

  Des took Allison’s hand quickly and made an excuse to move on, leaving Allison totally perplexed about the exchange they had just had.