by Sally Quinn
Sadie had finished her corn bread. She took a linen napkin and delicately wiped the butter off her chin. That would be another hundred calories right there. She was going to have to watch it.
“Now, dear, I think we’d better do the house.”
It was a wonderful, graceful Victorian house, surrounded by a veranda and set high on a hill in a parklike enclosure overlooking Massachusetts Avenue. It had big, sunny windows and large, open rooms. There was a coziness about it that demanded it be decorated informally.
Audrey showed Sadie downstairs to the kitchen in the basement—which was, she decided, unacceptable. She inspected the china closet and was shocked to see such cheap china for the Vice President’s house, and so little of it. Audrey explained that people stole souvenirs so it didn’t make sense to have good china. Back upstairs, and down the hall where Rosey was working, was the office of Audrey’s staff person.
“You’ll surely want to bring in your own person for that job,” she said. Oddly enough, this was something Sadie had not given much thought to.
She had never, first of all, expected Rosey to be picked, and then she hadn’t thought that they would win. She had imagined they would go back to Richmond and settle down, that Rosey would take up his law practice or maybe run for the Senate. She was walking around in a dream world.
“The office where your staff person will be is also used as a holding room for V.I.P. guests. We call this door here at the end of the hall the V.I.P. entrance so we don’t have to call it the back door.” She laughed. “You’ll learn that that kind of thing is very important in Washington. Always remember that it is not what things are that matters, it is what they appear to be.”
Upstairs, Audrey showed her the master bedroom. Sadie noticed that there were twin beds against the wall next to the bathroom. Over to the right where the turret was, there was a rounded end of the room with a small desk and a chair. “This,” said Audrey, “is where I do most of my work. The view is lovely from here, and it faces south, so you get the sun all day long.”
“It must be nice in the spring and summer when you get a cross breeze,” said Sadie.
“Oh, no, the windows are sealed. The Secret Service insists. We have to have air conditioning in here, even in the winter.”
Sadie felt sick. “I can’t live that way,” she said.
“That’s what I thought too—but no matter how much we complained, they wouldn’t relent. I’m afraid you’ll have to try to get used to it the way we did.”
A tiny bead of sweat had appeared on Sadie’s upper lip as they continued their tour.
The third floor was perfect for the two children, with large bedrooms and a sitting room, though they were both away at school for now.
“I hope that gives you some idea,” said Audrey after the tour. “Feel free to roam around. Now I must be off. My plane leaves at one o’clock. I understand George and Rosey have a working dinner tonight. I hope you won’t be too lonely. I’ve told the head steward to prepare something for your dinner tonight. You will forgive me for leaving, my dear? I shan’t be back until Monday, and I know you’re leaving then. But we’re only a phone call away. You know you and Rosey are welcome to stay here anytime you like.” She smiled a mischievous smile. “I think the President was a little irritated when he heard I’d invited the two of you to stay here. Of course, he and Roger Kimball are poles apart politically. Not like we are.” She kissed Sadie on the cheek and disappeared into her room to collect her things.
Sadie walked back into the guest room and closed the door. She flopped down on the bed, which had been made while she was downstairs, and lay there for a few minutes.
“I, Sara Adabelle Grey, am the wife of the Vice President of the United States.” She let the words out slowly, then waited until they drifted away, then said them again. “Oh, my God, what have I got myself in for?” It was not unusual for Sadie to talk to herself. She seemed to be doing so more and more lately. “Well, now what am I going to do? I suppose I could start thinking about decorating.”
She wasn’t really in the mood. She was restless. She didn’t want to lie around the bedroom all day, and she really didn’t want to stay home by herself that night. She couldn’t take a walk without the damn Secret Service.
Maybe she could call Lorraine Hadley.
* * *
Sadie got through on the third try. Lorraine Hadley was thrilled. Sadie was full of praise.
“My God, my phone’s rung off the hook this morning,” Lorraine said. “I must say I’ve heard nothing but compliments for you, you and your handsome husband. That’s all anybody’s talking about. Particularly the women. You may find that gets you in trouble here. Attractive women are not always welcome.”
Lorraine was somebody she could learn from. Sadie already felt comfortable talking to Lorraine.
“So you and William had a good time?”
Sadie wasn’t used to Rosey’s being called William, though she knew Rosey had asked Lorraine to call him that. They had changed his nickname from Rosey to Bill after he became Governor, though nobody in Richmond ever called him Bill or William. Everett had insisted that William Rosewell Grey III was an unacceptable name for a politician, and that Rosey was out of the question.
He had been introduced to the national press as William Grey, and that was what most people in Washington would call him unless they knew him well. Now that he was about to be Vice President, people were going to call him Mr. Vice President. But Rosey wanted to be referred to in the press as William Grey.
Sadie assured Lorraine that they had had a splendid time. They chatted. Finally she asked about Desmond Shaw.
There was a slight pause, and Sadie was embarrassed for no reason. Why had she asked? Why was Lorraine pausing?
“I’m asking,” she said, “because he’s coming over here this afternoon to interview Rosey. Well, I just want to know if he is all right.”
“Oh, certainly. It will be fine. I wouldn’t worry about it.…” Another awkward pause.
Sadie was furious with herself.
“I wouldn’t get too interested, darling,” said Lorraine.
“Anyone you’re interested in interests me,” said Sadie, trying to sound casual.
“That’s right, darling, and your husband is the Vice President-elect of the United States. Don’t forget about that. No one else will. And he’s very attractive. All I’m saying is that just because you’re married doesn’t mean you can’t have a little flirtation now and then, does it?” Lorraine could hear Sadie breathing.
“All right, dear, I know I’m being mischievous. I’ll tell you why. There’s nothing I love better than a little intrigue, especially a little romantic intrigue, and we almost never get that in this city. My God, everybody’s so power-mad, and they wouldn’t dream of doing anything to jeopardize their political situations. But every now and then…”
Sadie was more relaxed now. And Lorraine was putting out the bait. It amused her.
“What are you talking about, Lorraine?”
“Ohhhh, nothing much. It’s just that I… Can I trust you, Sadie?”
She had her now. All she had to do was reel her in. Sadie knew it too.
“Of course you can.”
The magic words.
“Now, this is strictly between us, darling. You mustn’t breathe a word to a living soul.”
“I wouldn’t think of breathing a word,” said Sadie, repeating what was to become a catechism.
“Well, I suspect there might be something going on between Des and Allison Sterling. Of course, I don’t think poor Chess has a clue, though I must say she and Allison did not hit it off at all last night. Were you noticing any of that?”
“A little,” said Sadie. She didn’t want to admit that she had paid much attention. “I did notice that Chessy and Allison didn’t exactly seem like best friends. But they’re so different. They don’t really have anything in common.”
“Except Des.”
They laughed.
“Do you know anything or are you just guessing?” asked Sadie. “I thought Allison seemed relaxed and cool, completely in control, as though nothing could faze her.”
Sadie wasn’t really aware of the frost in her own voice.
“So you didn’t like her?”
“I thought she was nice. I didn’t really have much of a chance to talk to her. She seemed to be involved with the men.”
“Oh, you really didn’t like her.”
“Lorraine, you are being mischievous. What are you up to?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s just that I noticed that Des was being very attentive to you. If he and Sonny do have something going between them, his interest in you would account for her behavior last night. I think Sonny wants him, and if she does she can get him away from Chessy easily, even if she doesn’t know it.”
“Would he just leave Chessy? Is that what you mean?”
“In a flash. He’s ready to go. I’ve seen Sonny when she gets her mind set on something. She’s ferocious. Whatever Sonny wants, Sonny gets.”
“Poor Chessy,” said Sadie. She meant it. She felt suddenly afraid.
“Speaking of Chessy, she’s coming for dinner tonight with Archie and me. Would you like to join us? Your husband mentioned last night that he had a working dinner this evening. We’d love to have you. Very informal. Ezio would adore a chance to show off for you.”
“That’s nice of you,” said Sadie. “I think I would like to, actually. I was dreading the idea of eating all alone in that big dining room. I’d be happy to come.”
Lorraine was clearly delighted. Sadie was a catch, and she had her firmly in her grasp. Not that she didn’t like her: Sadie realized that. But she understood that by going there twice on the weekend she was giving Lorraine a leg up on the social scene. She didn’t want to belong to anybody. But she knew that a relationship with Lorraine could benefit her as well. Lorraine was a good tutor. She would be an excellent guide through the minefields, and if she helped Sadie she would be helping Rosey. Besides, she was fun. And Sadie needed a friend.
* * *
Rosey had said that Shaw would arrive at four. Sadie phoned the kitchen to remind the stewards that she would be taking tea with the Vice President, and instructed them to ask him what time he would want it. She feared Rosey would forget that he had invited her.
When the steward came and knocked on the door it woke her. It was almost dark outside, and she saw from the clock that she had slept for almost two hours. It was after five.
She jumped out of bed, called to the steward to tell him she would be right down, then ran into the bathroom. She splashed water around her eyes so as not to disturb the mascara, brushed her hair quickly, and ran out the door.
Rosey had taken Shaw into the back sitting room off the living room downstairs.
Desmond Shaw had on corduroy trousers, a crew-neck sweater, an open-necked shirt, a tweed jacket, and loafers. Sadie was used to seeing Rosey in a coat and tie, no matter how informal the occasion. Shaw had an Irish barroom look to him.
He was laughing a deep low laugh, as though he were really enjoying himself. He had just lit a cigarette with a gold lighter, which he put back in his pocket, and was taking a deep drag. Rosey was standing looking at him, both hands in his pockets. There was an air of masculine camaraderie which Sadie could feel as she stood in the doorway watching them. She liked men and she liked seeing them together; she liked watching them sniff around each other to get the measure of each other’s worth and power.
Rosey had never been a man’s man in the truest sense of the word, but he was tall and handsome and intelligent, good at sports, and successful. Des Shaw, on the other hand, was the kind of man men flocked to. They always ended putting their arm around him, jousting with him, calling him a son-of-a-bitch, a prick, a bastard, in the most affectionate way. Rosey commanded men’s respect. With Shaw it was something else. It was an immediate attraction.
She had asked the stewards to light the fire. Jackson, the head steward, had taken an instant liking to her and was bustling around trying to please her as best he could. He had brought in a tray with tea and cookies. Somehow to Sadie, Des, standing there, didn’t exactly appear to be the tea type.
“A little Irish whiskey in your tea to take the chill of the day off?” said Sadie, a slightly husky tone to her voice.
Both men looked up. Des smiled.
“Why, Mrs. Grey,” said Des, not moving. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
She could see that Rosey was a little taken aback by his familiar tone. She was a little, too, for that matter. Yet he had done it with such natural ease, such confidence, that she felt a little foolish for being surprised.
She smiled at Jackson, who had been listening, and gave him a nod. He scurried out of the room for the whiskey.
“Looks like you’ve got poor Jackson under your thumb already,” said Rosey, laughing. “Poor fellow never had a chance.”
Rosey was proud of her, she could tell. He liked having other men think she was attractive as long as she didn’t do anything to provoke their attention, like being overtly sexy. It made him feel good to have other men give him admiring looks when they met her.
“I daresay, Mr. Vice President,” Shaw offered, “that this entire city awaits the same fate as poor Jackson.”
She had walked over to the coffee table near where they were standing and sat down to pour the tea. She could feel Shaw’s eyes on her as she walked. She could feel the blood rushing to her face.
“Did you have a nice interview?” she asked quickly.
Both men started to answer at the same time, then stopped, deferred to each other, then laughed.
“I’d be interested to hear what you have to say, sir,” said Shaw.
It amused Sadie to hear Des call Rosey sir.
“It was a very informative interview for my part,” said Rosey, laughing. “I can’t remember when I got so much information out of a reporter who was interviewing me. Very educational. This is going to be an interesting four years.”
“What did you learn from the interview, Mr. Shaw?” asked Sadie.
“I learned that your husband is not going to be my best source for leaks in the new Administration.”
Jackson was back with the Jameson, which Sadie poured into Shaw’s teacup.
“And please call me just Des, not Mr. Shaw. It’s much too formal.”
He looked directly at her.
She looked away.
* * *
Rosey had surprised her.
The light went on.
“What in heaven’s name are you doin’ lying here in the dark, sugar? Are you awake?”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “I was just lying here thinking.”
“Well, I just talked to Kimball in Colorado. That’s what I’ve been doing for the last half-hour. I must say I feel something of an idiot.”
“What’s the matter, darlin’? You look so upset. Is there anything I can do?”
He seemed agitated. He was pulling off his tie. He always showered and changed before dinner, even if it was just the two of them, which it often was.
“Well, I had just finished with Shaw. He asked me about a number of Cabinet appointments he is going to report this week. They were all the names Roger had discussed with me last week. So when Shaw brought it up just now I didn’t confirm the names, but I certainly didn’t deny them.”
“Well, are there many changes?”
“Three.”
“Why did Roger wait so long to tell you?”
“I suppose he was trying to minimize the leaks and he probably hadn’t gotten them all to accept until just now.”
“Well, if he can’t trust his Vice President, who in the world can he trust?”
He stopped and looked at her. “I guess he’s just going to have to learn who to trust. He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t know yet exactly what kind of a player I am. I can understand.”
“What about Shaw? He’s going to write thi
s story.”
Rosey was sitting on the edge of the bed in his undershorts, taking off his shoes and socks. He turned to look at her, his eyes wide with amazement; then he laughed. “We were just talking about trust. How can I convince the President that he can trust me if I go running to the nearest reporter every time I learn something? I told Shaw nothing. He told me that these were the people he had heard were going to be named. That left room to confirm or deny. He shouldn’t take my lack of denial for a confirmation. He knows better. He’ll have to get a substantial source. He’s a big boy.”
“Still, it could be embarrassing for him. It’s going to be on the cover.”
“Nonsense,” said Rosey. “These reporters get things wrong all the time. They’re used to it. They’ll have another story, another magazine, another cover. Nobody will remember. These guys play hardball. They’re after us every time they get a chance. Good news is no news. Bad news, page one. Let me goof, get a fact wrong, disagree with Kimball, forget somebody’s name and by God I’m guaranteed page one headlines. And that goes for you. Everything you say or do is fair game. We shouldn’t trust anyone, even Desmond Shaw.”
* * *
Lorraine had said informal. Sadie had brought a pair of dark brown wool-crepe pajamas and simple heavy gold clip-on earrings with cat’s-eyes in the center.
She dusted her pale cheeks and gave herself the once-over before she went downstairs to the waiting car. She did look pretty good for thirty-eight. Brown was not her favorite color, but it was a good fall color, it worked with her hair, and Rosey liked it. He had picked it out for her at Bergdorf’s, where she shopped mostly when they went to New York. It was perfect for this evening. She wanted to look elegant tonight, not sexy.