by Sally Quinn
He took a swig of his bourbon, which he was drinking neat, and turned to look at her.
“And then I meet you.”
She took a sip of her kir and said nothing. She didn’t know what he was leading up to and it made her nervous.
“You, my friend, were not part of the plan.”
She waited.
“You were the Scheherazade of Washington. You told fabulous stories and kept everyone enthralled. You were a brilliant editor. You were a beautiful woman. You were a woman in distress. You were part of the tableau of this city I was trying to beat. I had to stay aloof from you, from the city in order to master it. Once I got too close I was afraid I would fall into the trap, get sucked into the superficial life of this city I was trying to conquer, become a part of it and never manage to do what I set out to do, never make it back to Savannah. That’s why I was so hostile at first, that’s why I stayed away. I was afraid.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“Yes. I said ‘afraid.’ Another one of my dreaded fears.”
“I had a very contented if not passionate marriage with Jane. You threw a grenade in the middle of it. Nothing you did on purpose. It was my problem. You were just there.”
“But what—”
“I was glad to send Jane away. I wanted her gone so I could have you. Have you and the story. I got both.”
“Then what—?”
“I’ll let you talk in a minute. The problem was that I conquered neither you nor the city. I’ll never understand Washington. I’ll never like it. I’ll never be comfortable here. The drug story was just that. A drug story. Foxy was just a dupe. He could have been anywhere. His being attorney general was incidental. The fact is, ma’am, this ain’t my town.”
“May I say—”
“Please. One more thing. I never conquered you because you were in love with Des. And I ain’t your guy.”
“Oh Sprague, I—”
He held up his hand as he poured another drink.
“All this is a long way to say that I’m leaving the Daily, I’m leaving Washington, and I’m leaving you. I’m going back to Savannah to run the paper. The bastards have fucked it up and they’re begging me to come back and take over. I’m going back and I’m going to make them eat shit. So the fantasy is fulfilled. And what the hell, Ally. You were never part of my original fantasy in the first place.”
He leaned back against the pillows and smiled at her.
“Okay. You can talk now.”
She couldn’t say anything. All she could do was put her arms around his neck and kiss him.
“Oh Sprague,” she said. “I do love you.”
“That dog won’t hunt, lady. Go back to Des. He loves you. He needs you. The two of you belong together.”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure it could ever work for us again.”
“I have never seen two people more in love with each other than you two. I know what I’m talking about. You’re crazy about that guy, grapes notwithstanding.”
“Plums. It’s supposed to be with plums. Next time.…”
“Next time Des will get the plum.”
19
She had the feeling she was in a dream, completely dissociated from everything. She was floating high above the earth, wafting in and out of the clouds. The sky was painted in vivid pinks and blues. All her troubles had disappeared. She hadn’t a care in the world. She was happy. Very happy.
“May I get you another glass of champagne, Mrs. Grey?”
The stewardess was hovering over her, making sure she had everything she needed. She nodded. The stewardess refilled her glass for the third time. Or was it the fourth?
She leaned back in her wide comfortable seat, stretched her feet out in front of her, and took a long sip. Maybe she had died and gone to heaven. This was surely not real life. At least not real life as she had known it lately.
So much had happened in the last four weeks that it seemed like four years.
The President was inaugurated. A week later the President resigned.
All of Washington was in shock. The President cited the drug scandal for his resignation. It would be impossible to carry on the business of governing after having been tainted, however unfairly, by the attorney general’s behavior. He had, of course, asked for Foxy’s resignation at the same time. There was not a word about AIDS. It had still not surfaced in the press. It had been determined that drugs, theft, murder, corruption, torture, and international humiliation were more acceptable to the American people than AIDS. Sadie despaired over that.
It made her realize what a long way they still had to go to educate the people on the subject.
Blanche had been hysterical and had nearly driven Sadie crazy. Once it was over, she had left immediately for Nashville and had been embraced by all her country music buddies. Sadie wasn’t worried about her. She would be fine and a lot happier out of the White House and out of Washington.
Freddy was sick. It would get out in a matter of months. By then Malcolm and Abigail Sohier would have a remarkably smooth transition and would have the reins of government firmly in hand.
The Republicans were still screaming and yelling about fraud and how the President had known all along he was going to resign. There was some movement among the far right to demand some sort of reelection, but it wasn’t going anywhere. Most of the moderate Republicans were secretly thrilled that Malcolm Sohier was in office rather than their right-wing nut case.
She hadn’t seen much of Des. They still talked every day on the phone. They were now best friends. He still came by on Saturdays to see her and play with Willie. Usually they had dinner together. But he had been working so hard, with all the news, that he didn’t really have more time than that. It was just as well. After their talk they both realized there wasn’t anything left.
She had not seen Michael since the night of the “Christmas in Washington” show.
The day after the President resigned she had received a short note from him.
Dear Sadie,
I’m sorry I haven’t responded before to your very interesting letter, but as you can imagine I have been quite busy. With any luck things should begin to slow down a little now. I’m off next week for an official tour of Eastern European countries. See you in Prague.
Michael
She had had to put her novel writing aside in the last few weeks. There had been a lot of preparation for the AIDS conference in Prague, which was where she was now headed. She had been asked to open the five-day conference. Michael would be there but only for the last two days, arriving in Czechoslovakia in time to make the major presentation at the end of the conference.
Coincidentally, Des would be attending a journalism conference in Prague at the same time. It had been organized to bring together leading American journalists and their Soviet and Eastern European counterparts to exchange ideas. She had also learned from Jenny that Allison was one of those who had been asked to speak at the same conference.
Prague was apparently the hot place these days. Because it was so beautiful, so completely undamaged from the war and undeveloped after the war, it still had the romantic old European atmosphere that so many European cities had lost. Every organization in America was holding its conferences in Prague and it had become a meeting ground for friends from all over the States.
Des and Allison had been obvious choices to be participants, since they were both so well known and so respected. She had been surprised that they had both accepted, however, because of the new administration. It was a busy news time. Did they accept because it would be a chance for them to be alone together in a foreign city?
She wanted Des to be happy. She hoped he would end up back with Allison. But she didn’t want to lose him when she had no one for herself. It was a selfish attitude but she was lonely and Des filled a need for both her and Willie. He wouldn’t be able to do that if he got back together with Allison.
She didn’t know what she hoped with Michael. She was going t
o Prague because she had agreed to do so a year ago. Michael had agreed at the same time. They were speaking to each other then. Were they not speaking to each other now? How would she know? She was so baffled by his response to her letter that she didn’t know what to think. How could he possibly write her the kind of letter he wrote to her, get her response, and not respond? It didn’t make any sense. He had been busy. He apparently had spent every minute with Freddy toward the end. If Blanche’s hunch was right, he was responsible for getting Freddy to resign.
Still, he could have written. He could have had the courtesy to let her know he had received her letter. She was beginning to hate him. He had caused her more pain than any man she had ever known. He had toyed with her mind. He had trifled with her heart. She was sick of his games, sick of him, sick of the whole thing. The awful part was that he still had a hold on her. Every time she thought she was through with him she would see him, talk to him, get a letter from him, and it would stir up all the feelings she thought she had suppressed. The thing to do, obviously, was not to see him again. After this conference she vowed to herself that was exactly what was going to happen. Blanche was gone now, so AIDS would not be the White House project. She would obviously stay involved, but she could be more selective about what she attended. She would make sure that Michael wasn’t going to be there. She had her novel to work on. What she really needed was to find another man, to find someone else to fall in love with. Her fear was that until she did she would not be able to get Michael Lanzer out of her life completely.
* * *
Everyone from the AIDS conference was staying at the Intercontinental Hotel in downtown Prague. It was centrally located and within walking distance of all the sights. The participants at the journalism conference were staying at the Praha Hotel out in the suburbs. Des was arriving after she did and was only going to be there for two days. They had discussed the possibility of dinner together if that fit into their respective schedules. Neither of them seemed terribly enthusiastic about it. In fact, she secretly hoped they couldn’t. She really wanted this trip to be an escape. She wanted to forget her life, if only for a few days.
* * *
Prague. It was as beautiful as everyone had said it was. She had a suite on the top floor of her hotel overlooking the palace and the old city.
It was the heart of winter and that first afternoon it began to snow. A bus tour of the sights had been arranged in the late afternoon. As they drove around and twilight approached, the white flakes began swirling around, throwing a magical spell over the entire city. For a while Freddy and Blanche and Des and Michael didn’t exist. She had the eerie sensation that she was about to embark on a new life, a life that had nothing to do with her old life at all. She was overcome with a sense of excitement and anticipation.
That evening a dinner was planned with all the members of the commission. She had become quite friendly with many of them over the past year and a half. They ate in a wonderful old wood-paneled restaurant with great atmosphere, stained-glass windows, soft candlelight, terrific goulash, a violinist playing corny love songs, and lots of wine. It was all so far away from Washington and everything that was familiar, that she was able to relax and enjoy herself in a way that she couldn’t remember having done in years.
The next morning she opened the session with a very moving speech she had written herself. She stayed until the end of the day, sitting in on every presentation and discussion. She did the same the following day. By the third day she was tired and wanted a break. Des had called from the Praha to apologize for the fact that he wouldn’t be able to see her. They had two full days and working dinners had been planned as well. He hoped she wouldn’t be too upset. She let him off the hook. She was in the same boat, too, she explained. It would be impossible for her to get away. She hung up the phone feeling relieved and liberated.
* * *
On the third day after the morning session she arranged for her agents to get a car. She had decided to break away from the conference and do some sightseeing.
It was dark and gray outside. The coal from the stoves had left a thin blanket of soot on the white snow. Everything looked dingy and depressing. She was glad as they got in and out of the car that she had worn high boots, her fur-lined coat, and her fur hat. It was bone-chilling cold, damp, and penetrating. She shivered and pulled her coat closer around her.
It was close to five when they arrived at the old Jewish cemetery. It was getting dark and the snow had begun to fall again, covering the city once more with its magical blanket.
She had read about the cemetery, used from the fifteenth to the eighteenth century, the old-new Gothic synagogue built in the thirteenth century, and the postwar State Jewish museum. She asked the agents to stop and see if it was still open. They pulled up a few minutes before closing and the agents explained who Sadie was. A guide was provided to lead them into the now completely empty cemetery.
She was not prepared for what she would see.
No description could possibly evoke the torrent of emotion she felt when she entered the gate. There were thousands of gravestones, crooked and blackened, crowded into the small courtyard together. They looked as though they were huddled together with their arms wrapped around each other. She had the oddest sensation that they were moving, whispering, moaning in the twilight. But how could they? They were only monuments. They weren’t real. Was it her imagination? Or the wind blowing the snow?
She stood gaping.
The guide was silent, accustomed to the first reaction.
After a moment she began to speak slowly and quietly, explaining that there were over ten thousand graves, with over a hundred thousand Jews buried in them, some ten deep for lack of space.
At the back of the graveyard, next to a high wall, in a grove of stark trees and branches, was a large tomb. It was covered with stones and candles.
This, explained the guide, was the grave of Rabbi Low, a very famous rabbi born in 1609. It was the custom to write a wish on a piece of paper and place it on his grave under a stone.
Rabbi Low! She remembered that night she had made the Sabbath dinner for Michael. He had told her a wonderful story about how his grandfather had wished to be reunited with his grandmother at Rabbi Low’s grave in Prague. They had found each other later in America.
The guide was getting anxious. It was nearly dark and the snow was coming down quite heavily. She glanced at her watch.
Sadie asked for a few minutes by herself and nodded to her agents.
They walked back toward the gate with the guide, leaving Sadie alone at Rabbi Low’s grave.
She fumbled in her purse for a pencil and a notebook. Struggling to see in the twilight, the wet snow sticking to the paper, she wrote her wish.
“Please let Michael believe that I love him.”
She folded up the note and placed it on top of the tomb, weighting it down with a large stone she had found on the path at her feet.
She was about to leave when a man’s hand reached out from behind her. He picked up the note from under the stone she had just placed there. She almost let out a cry, she was so startled.
As she turned to call her agents she saw his face in the dusk, the snow swirling around his eyes as he tried to read what she had written.
He looked up from the piece of paper and smiled.
“He does.”
* * *
This time it was going to be different. This time they were going to make love to each other.
They were back in her hotel suite. He was standing in the middle of the room. She was leaning against the door. He really didn’t need to touch her. He was already making love to her with his eyes.
“I’m sober and I’m well,” he said.
“Good,” she said, slowly taking off her coat. “Because you’re going to need your wits about you.”
He took off his coat and threw it on the chair.
She let hers slide to the floor.
He took his tie off. Then h
is jacket.
She slipped out of her boots, then her pantyhose.
He took off his shoes and socks, then his belt.
She was wearing a long-sleeved cashmere dress that buttoned down the front. She began to unbutton it slowly, one button at a time, the top button first, then the next, then the next.
He stood watching her, never taking his eyes from hers.
She was always amazed at how beautiful he was, when she was not entrapped in his gaze. Those cheekbones and that mouth, which always seemed hungry when he was studying her.
He was unbuttoning his shirt as she undid her dress.
His shirt came off first.
Her fingers were working in slow motion. Finally she parted her dress in the middle revealing her bra, which barely covered her breasts, and the top of her underpants.
She took a deep breath and swallowed.
She let her dress slide to the floor. She couldn’t bear it, she wanted him so much.
He dropped his pants, then his shorts.
She could see he was in the same condition.
Slowly, she slipped off her pants and her bra.
She walked over to him and stood so close that they were almost touching. She held her face up to his, her mouth slightly parted.
He waited.
She put her hand on his chest and pushed him backward to the sofa, then down.
He sat looking up at her, his expression a contrast in amusement, curiosity, and desire.
Before he could ask what she was doing she sat on his lap, straddling him with her legs, wrapping her arms around his neck.
Now it was his mouth held up to hers.
She leaned down and took his lip in her teeth, biting him playfully. She felt his hands grab her waist in back, then slide downward.
She moved her body in toward him as far as she could. He was so hard now that it was impossible to get closer. She lifted herself up slightly and, finding him, she sat on him, thrusting herself to him until he filled her completely.