Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

  “My dear,” said Archie. “You know perfectly well I wouldn’t be caught dead without a tie. In fact, you know how I dislike buffet suppers. No place to sit, nobody proper to talk to, balancing one’s plate on one’s knees, spilling wine.”

  Archie was beginning his preparty whine. Archie was such an old maid, sometimes she didn’t see how she could bear it another moment. On the other hand, she suspected he realized he was nothing more than a prop, not to mention the bankroll. She really ought to be grateful. Even though Archie had barely turned sixty, he dressed, looked, and acted as though he were in his mid-seventies. But there was nothing she could do about it. Even an ascot… no, forget it. Just pretend he wasn’t there.

  “Jane Fletcher,” said Miriam.

  “Jane Fletcher, NBC correspondent.” She was fairly nice, not bad-looking, better than most, smarter than average. She had been assigned to cover the Vice President during the campaign. Her husband, Blair, was an attractive lawyer for the SEC.

  Lorraine didn’t know Jane Fletcher, and she was a little leery of having a television person in this crowd of writers. These print people were so snobbish about the TV people, particularly those who hadn’t started on papers. The politicians, however, liked having TV people around, and they felt safer with them. Also, Jane was national, not local.

  “Jerry Mendelsohn.”

  “Allison Sterling’s friend.” This was not a romantic involvement. He wrote for the political section of The Weekly in New York.

  “Desmond and Chessy Shaw.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, Miriam. Chessy is one of my oldest friends.”

  “Allison is a friend of yours too, and the last time she came you got her escort’s name wrong.”

  Sometimes she really couldn’t bear Miriam. She wasn’t in the mood for this tonight.

  Desmond Shaw had been head of the political section at The Weekly in New York and had just been named columnist and Washington Bureau Chief. “Chessy is about to kill herself to break into the Washington scene, but my guess is she won’t have time before Des dispatches her back to New York in spite of her money and connections. The only question is… who is the lucky lady?”

  Miriam perked up at this one in spite of herself. She detested Chessy. And Chessy couldn’t stand her. They were rude to each other when Chessy called once a week from New York. Lorraine didn’t really like Chessy either. Their friendship went back years to New York, when Lorraine was working for a fashion magazine and Francesca and Desmond Shaw were the young couple about town.

  “If you breathe a word of this, Miriam darling, I will strangle you.”

  Miriam was indignant. She was, as Lorraine knew perfectly well, a sphinx. They could torture her to death before she would give out the menu. And that was probably the number one reason Lorraine kept her around. That and the fact that she was both fascinated and appalled at anyone capable of total discretion.

  “I’m quite sure,” said Lorraine, lowering her voice conspiratorially, “that it is Allison Sterling… but I can’t get a thing out of her.”

  * * *

  It was bad enough that Chessy was coming down from New York to go to the party with Des; now, to make matters worse, he was twenty minutes late for drinks. Allison felt like walking out, but she wanted a confrontation. She had left an unscheduled briefing at the White House at six fifteen to meet Des at Nora, a small restaurant away from the White House where they wouldn’t be seen at this hour. She didn’t much care, but he did. It hadn’t been a problem during the campaign, when they were both traveling, and when he was in Washington they had been happy to stay at her house and cook and make love in front of the fire.

  But the election was over last week. Des was now officially the Weekly Bureau Chief in Washington, and he had already rented a sparsely furnished house on Twenty-first Street near Dupont Circle. He still hadn’t told his wife he was leaving her, and now Chessy, who had originally planned to stay in New York, was making noises about moving to Washington.

  Since they’d started seeing each other at the convention, Allison and Des had been going to parties separately but without dates so that they could meet afterward. Journalists often traveled alone.

  Allison wondered if she hadn’t made a mistake in not confiding in Lorraine. The truth was that she wanted people to know. When Des had asked her to wait until after the election, it had seemed reasonable. He wouldn’t have to deal with Chessy while he was trying to cover a Presidential election. Besides, he said, they would both be traveling and it wouldn’t matter.

  Now Des was going to this party with his wife, and Allison had had to resort to having her old buddy Jerry fly down from New York to spend the weekend with her and take her to the party. Jerry knew, so he was safe, and she needed someone who could get her through this evening.

  She was appalled that she was in this situation. Allison had vowed long ago that she would never get involved with a married man. Another five minutes passed and she succumbed to the waiter’s second request for a drink order. What the hell. It was Friday. She didn’t have to file before the party, and she needed a glass of wine to get up her courage. She was going to tell him that the time was now. Either he told Chessy this weekend or she would end it.

  Allison felt like a reluctant skydiver. She was in love. She had fallen totally for Des the first night. But she had had lots of attractive, successful, interesting men, and she wasn’t prepared for this. She had no intention of slinking around, hiding in corners. If Des wanted her he would have to have her openly, on her terms. She was working herself up. That was all right. It would be convincing. She knew he would be alarmed about this drink.

  Now he rushed in out of breath and she almost burst out laughing. He looked like a schoolboy who had been called into the principal’s office. As upset as she was, Allison couldn’t help thinking how marvelous he was. His curly black hair was disheveled; his Burberry had the requisite stains and rips (“bullet holes”); his shirt collar was unbuttoned; his tie was loosened and there was a tiny spot on it. The last time he had worn that tie she had told him there was a spot on it.

  “Sorry, baby,” Des said, leaning down to give her a kiss. Though she wanted to, she did not lift her mouth to him. She let him give her a peck on the forehead.

  He sat down self-consciously at the small table next to the bar, smiled, avoided her eyes, and turned to signal the waiter. “One Beefeater martini, dry, no vegetables.” He turned to Allison rubbing his hands together, indicating that it was cold outside.

  “Well,” he said.

  Just the sound of his deep voice turned her on.

  She said nothing.

  “Goddamn, I had trouble getting away from the office,” he tried. “We’ve had real problems with this cover story on Kimball’s Cabinet. Every source is giving us a different story. I don’t suppose you have insights you’d like to share.” Teasing. He was trying to jolly her up. He knew having the President-elect for a godfather was a problem for her. He had taken the tack early on to tease her about it, get it out in the open rather than pretend it didn’t exist. If he could josh about it in front of her colleagues it would make it seem more acceptable. Allison was not in the mood to discuss Uncle Roger today, or the cover story, or why Des was late. She was not about to help him out.

  Des practically grabbed the martini from the waiter.

  “So,” he said. “So I guess you’re pretty pissed?” When Des was nervous, what was usually the slight trace of a Boston Irish accent became pronounced. Even now it amused her.

  “Do I have a right to be?” She was determined not to raise her voice.

  “I can see I’m in a shit sandwich already,” he said with resignation.

  Allison was rather enjoying the scene. It was a new experience. In the three months or so that they had been seeing each other they had not spent that much time together. They had had disagreements but never really a fight. This was their first serious fight. If she could detach herself, she might learn something about him. And a
bout herself. She just had to stop thinking about his strong brown hands on her body.

  “I only asked a question,” Allison said. “What would make you think I was angry otherwise?”

  “Look, sweetheart, I know this is a tough deal on you. But try to see my side. What am I supposed to do when Chessy calls and tells me she is coming down for this party? She had already accepted for both of us. I haven’t had time to talk to her. I just can’t get into a hassle until I’ve finished this story. C’mon, be fair. What do you want me to do? Tell Chessy she can’t come down because I’m taking the woman I love to the party?”

  He was talking too loud.

  Allison shushed him, shaking her head slightly and motioning toward the people around them.

  Des looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking quickly around.

  “That’s fine,” said Allison. “I understand perfectly. We agreed you wouldn’t tell Chessy until after the election. And I realize you haven’t seen her since then. I also understand that you had no way of knowing Lorraine would have a party and invite Chessy as you were finishing a cover. You were trapped.”

  “Oh, Sonny,” he said, practically gasping with relief. He signaled for another martini and looked at her with his winning, normally devastating smile. “Baby, you are sump’n else. I didn’t think you would be nearly so understanding. What a doll.” He was almost chortling.

  “You don’t give me enough credit, darling,” she said quietly.

  She asked him about the cover story. He said there was some stuff in it he obviously couldn’t talk about. She understood. She didn’t push.

  “So,” she said, crossing her arms and leaning on the table. “How was it with Chessy last night?”

  His face fell. “Do we have to?” he pleaded.

  “Just curious,” she said pleasantly with a little shrug. “I am interested, you know.”

  “I’m sorry. You know how it was with Chess last night. It was the usual. She talked about how she was going to start looking at apartments in the Watergate and in the meantime put this needlepoint carpet here and that Coromandel screen, or whatever the hell it is, there, and silk curtains, and I don’t know. I just sat there getting deeper and deeper into the tank. Then she called me a drunk, accused me of ruining my daughter, and went to bed. That, for your information, is how it was with Chessy last night.”

  “Well, then, it shouldn’t be so hard for you to tell her you want a divorce this weekend.”

  Des looked up from his glass as if he had been slapped.

  “What?” His black eyes pierced hers.

  “You heard what I said.” She was trying to sound calm, in control, though her heart was beating and her lips were dry.

  “Wait a second,” said Des. “I never said anything about telling her this weekend. I mean, Jesus Christ, I’ve got this cover and—”

  “I did.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the fact that if you do not tell your wife of twenty-five years, the mother of your child, that you are divorcing her because you are in love with me, then it’s over. That, my friend, is what I am talking about.”

  She hoped her voice held conviction.

  “Jesus, Sonny”—his voice was soft—“you’re the first woman in twenty years I’ve wanted to change my life for. There’ve been a lot of dames, but you’re the only one I’ve loved. It’s just that—”

  “Just that it’s hard to make the break? Des, do you think I don’t know it? What do you think I’m telling you? I love you. More than I’ve ever loved another man.”

  Her eyes were dangerously close to welling up.

  “This is not going the way I had planned it,” she said, laughing, trying to hide her emotion. “What I’m saying is, I had better get out of this relationship before I can’t. I have the strength to do it now. I care too much about myself to let myself get fucked over. I also care too much about you to lose respect for you.”

  He looked so miserable that it was all she could do not to throw her arms around him. But she knew if she did she would lose her edge. And she had to admit that being able to have this effect on him did give her a certain thrill. She decided she had better leave while she was still in control… those dark eyelashes, that mouth, that firm jaw… and he knew it too. He’d seen his own effect on too many women.

  They hadn’t finished their drinks, but Allison stood up to go. “Call me Monday morning—if you’ve done it.”

  She leaned down before he could see what she was doing and quickly kissed him on the cheek in a last burst of mischief.

  “See you in a few hours,” she said almost gaily, and waltzed out the door, leaving Des clutching the edge of the table.

  * * *

  “Finally,” said Miriam, “Sir Rodney and Lady Edwina Abel-Smith.”

  “Always save the hardest till last.” Edwina was Lorraine’s closest friend, the wife of the British Ambassador. They had been friends in London during the years Edwina and Rodney were there between posts. About Lorraine’s age, Edwina had masses of tousled brown curls creating a jungle on top of her head, sloe eyes, a thin nose, and pouty lips. Eccentric, very English, she was also the most talented professional gossip Lorraine had ever known. Edwina had taught her the subtleties, and Lorraine bowed in deference. She had made a name in fashion magazines all over the world as a stylish hostess, decorator, conversationalist, appreciator of the arts, and—not least—one of the most famously promiscuous women on four continents. Anyone who knew anything knew that Edwina had had affairs with half the richest, most powerful and famous men in the world, though that may have been a slight exaggeration which Lorraine enjoyed perpetuating.

  Sir Rodney, terminally boring, rather like Archie, was from a well-known and titled family, and was as rich as he was dull. Edwina, who came from a rather modest middle-class background, was generally credited with helping her husband to success. She was a legend in the diplomatic corps, and upon their arrival shortly before the election all of Washington was poised to see just exactly whom she might go after in the new Administration.

  Lorraine was almost certain Edwina would make a play for Rosey Grey. Just a guess, but Edwina had been asking a lot of questions about the Greys. It was not by accident that they had both been invited.

  * * *

  Lorraine had barely reached the foot of the stairs when Irma opened the door and let in Desmond and Chessy.

  “Lorraine darling,” said Chessy eagerly. “I hope you won’t think us gauche to arrive on time. But I told Des I never see you and we had to come early so we could visit.”

  The two women kissed, brushing the air.

  “Chessy, how marvelous to see you. You look positively divine. You’ve cut your hair. Des, my angel, I’m angry with you. You never call. You’ve given your heart to another hostess.”

  “Knock it off, Lorraine. You know I’ve been out campaigning.” Des gave Lorraine a hug, then looked around for the waiter. “What do you have to do to get a drink around here?” He spotted Archie, hovering near the foot of the stairs.

  “Hi, Arch, how goes it?” he said as he moved in to grab Archie’s hand, then, seeing his attire, let out a long low whistle. Archie had worn his Chevy Chase Country Club blazer and velvet slippers, despite the fact that Lorraine had laid out a cashmere jacket and loafers.

  Lorraine hurriedly led the way into the living room, ignoring Archie, and the four circled around the fire. The waiter appeared immediately with Desmond’s martini, soda for Lorraine, a Scotch-and-soda for Chessy, a gimlet for Archie.

  “You always do everything so well…” said Chessy. “But darling, let’s not waste a second. Tell us who’s coming. I feel like a tourist.”

  “Well, of course this is just a simple buffet for Lawrence. Everyone will be on the floor.”

  She was eying Chessy’s black silk dress. There was no way Chessy would end up on the floor. She was overdressed for Washington, Lorraine was pleased to note.

  �
��Lorraine, who’s coming, for heaven’s sake?”

  “Well, the Vice President-elect and his wife,” said Lorraine, and let the words sink in.

  “Where did you meet them?” Chessy asked, eying Lorraine suspiciously.

  “Well, I haven’t met them personally,” said Lorraine. That was just the information Chessy wanted.

  “Oh?”

  “Well, Rosey Grey’s parents are friends of Archie’s. He’s known them for ages. In fact, we entertained them in London when they came over once a year, the senior Greys, while Rosey was Governor of Virginia. But I thought—we thought it would be nice to have the new Vice President and his wife over to make them feel welcome in Washington.”

  Lorraine was a bit embarrassed. It was so obviously a coup to have them. It killed her that they had been Archie’s acquisition. She knew that Chessy knew that it was pretty hard-core social climbing. Chessy was in a hostile mood, too. Des was ordering his second martini. They must have had an argument.

  “How thoughtful of you to invite the new Vice President and his wife over,” Chessy said.

  Lorraine stiffened. Chessy was playing hardball tonight. “Wouldn’t you like to hear the rest of the guest list?” she asked.

  “Of course,” Chessy answered a bit tartly. Something was coming.

  “Allison Sterling. I’m sure you’ve heard of her. Desmond, you know her.”

  Des, who had been leaning against the fireplace with his martini, enjoying them going at it, bristled slightly. Now he sensed that he too was going to get it as a weapon against Chessy.

  “She’s The Daily’s White House correspondent and the goddaughter of the new President-elect, in case you haven’t been reading the columns. I know you’ll like her.…”

  Silence. Lorraine had scored. And by the look on Des’s face she was sure that Allison was the one. Lorraine had heard the campaign gossip. She had made the right guess.

  The doorbell rang. It was the opinion-page editor, Worth Elgin, and his wife, Claire.

  “Lorraine,” said Claire Elgin, “the house looks divine. You always outdo yourself. And what a cozy fire.” She handed her coat to the waiter, ordered a glass of white wine, and raced over to the fire to stand with her hands behind her back making small shivering noises. “Oh, it’s marvelous; I think I’ll just stay here all night. Hello, Archie dear,” she said as she brushed his cheek with her heavily powdered one. “And Chessy, I haven’t seen you in ages. I hope you’ve decided to come down to Washington and keep an eye on Desmond.” She gave Des a warm smile. Chessy was not going to like this evening, she could tell. And Des was acting odd. He wouldn’t argue with her. It was disconcerting.