by Sally Quinn
It only made her feel like giggling. She bit her lip even harder, made a slight choking noise which she disguised as part cough, part moan, and relaxed her body.
He took first one knee, then the other and pushed her legs apart, putting both his knees together in between hers. Then he entered her gently, thrusting methodically as he did so.
“Ohhhh, God, that’s so good,” he said.
“Uhhhhmmmmmm,” she responded. If she kept making noises it would be easier not to laugh.
Now he was kissing her on the lips, his mouth opened wider. She pulled her mouth away from his and began kissing him on his shoulder, biting his shoulder. It stifled her laughter.
He was leaning his face over her shoulder now, thrusting in and out determinedly.
Finally she could feel him begin to pant heavily, and as his whole body gyrated he cried out. Then his body shuddered and fell relaxed and heavy on top of hers. She was surprised to find that there were tears coming out of her eyes, trickling down her cheeks and onto the side of his face.
“You’re crying?” he half-asked. “Oh, Sadie sweetheart, I do love you. You know that, darlin’, don’t you? I don’t know what I would do without you. I really don’t.”
What was she crying about? One minute she was drunk and dizzy and giggling, the next minute she was in tears. She didn’t feel sad really. Well, maybe a little. Mostly she was frightened and confused. Glad that she had Rosey and that he loved her. So glad and so grateful.
“I love you too, angel,” she whispered, as she wiped her wet cheek on his and stroked the side of his head.
* * *
A dream woke her again. This time it was only three in the morning. Rosey had gotten up and moved to the other bed.
It had scared her. She and the dark curly-haired man were lying in a van with a glass dome watching the fireworks. They were naked and she could feel his body pressed up against hers as they watched the sparkles and flames and plumes shoot through the air. Her limbs felt hot; her body was trembling. He reached over and lightly brushed her abdomen, up upon her breasts. The desire was overwhelming. He leaned over to kiss her, his lips forcing her mouth open, his tongue finding its way between her teeth. “I can’t,” she said. “Please, no, stop. “I can’t do this to Rosey. I can’t do it to him.”
When she woke up she was trembling, and she found her hand between her legs, still sticky. She moved her hand up and down, caressing herself until she found herself breathing faster. Her body trembled, and she quickly drew her hand away and closed her legs, satisfied.
Immediately she drifted off into a deep sleep.
* * *
It hurt when she opened her eyes. Her head ached from behind her eyeballs. Her mouth was like the inside of a dry sock. She felt she couldn’t swallow or she would throw up. Rosey was sitting on the edge of the bed shaking her.
“Darlin’, it’s time to get up. We’ll be late.”
“Late?” she muttered. “Late for what?”
Through the squint in her eyes she could see that Rosey was already dressed. He was wearing a crisp white shirt and a black-and-white-striped tie. His hair was slicked back and still wet from the shower.
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, pushing back her tousled curls from the pillow.
She remembered before he reminded her.
“Oh, shit,” she said. “Don’t tell me. Church.”
“Sadie.”
“Sorry, angel,” she said.
She tried to sit up, then flopped back.
“Oh, God, I don’t believe it. I feel awful.”
“Could it be, my sweetheart, that you had a bit too much last night?” He didn’t seem angry. Even vaguely amused. He was always in a pretty good mood after he had gotten laid. They weren’t very active sexually, but Rosey thought he had a great sex life. He was always very loving afterward.
“What makes you say that?” She was lying on her back, her hand placed over her eyes to block out the light.
“Because you could hardly stand up without falling over when I came in and because you had to put your foot on the floor to steady yourself when we got into bed.”
She raised her hand and looked straight at him. She never gave him the benefit of the doubt. He was always surprising her.
He was laughing now, standing at the foot of the bed and grinning at her.
“You thought I’d be mad at you, didn’t you, darlin’? So I just played along as though I thought you were perfectly all right. You should have seen yourself. You were something. Trying to act all sober and coy, curling up in my arms.”
“You didn’t say anything because you wanted to be made love to, that’s why,” she accused.
“Well, missy, you may just be right. Now come on and get out of the bed, ‘cause we’ve got to go to church. I have spoken to the good bishop and he is expecting us. Apparently they’re going to have a small reception for us afterwards.”
“Ohhhh, please,” she moaned. “Please don’t make me go to church. Please. I’ll do anything to get out of going to church. Besides, I’m about to get the curse. ‘I’m so very sorry, Bishop, but you see the Vice President’s wife was unable to make the services this morning because she had menstrual cramps.’ ”
“Nice try, darlin’,” he said, laughing, then looked more serious. “I do believe you are in worse shape than I thought. What did you girls drink last night, anyway?”
“Don’t worry,” she assured him. “This is a very expensive hangover. Only the finest wine.”
He pulled her reluctantly out of the bed.
“I’m terribly sorry, Bishop, but you see the Vice President’s wife was unable to attend because she had a bloody awful hangover this morning.”
He thought it over in mock seriousness. “Nope. I just don’t think it’ll work, darlin’. I just think you’ll have to get dressed and walk proudly and with dignity on my arm down the aisle. How ‘bout if I call downstairs and get the stewards to whip up a mess o’ grits for my sweetheart this morning? It might absorb some of those fumes.”
He was in his jesting, St. Anthony Hall mode this morning. She couldn’t remember him being this playful in a long time. It was too bad that she felt so awful or she might have enjoyed it.
Instead, all she could do was to stagger to the bathroom and grab the bottle of Tylenol and splash cold water on her face before she got into her bath.
Now it was time to start being perfect.
* * *
The idea of a Bloody Mary after church was the only thing that got her through. She really didn’t like the National Cathedral, and she did not look forward to spending every Sunday morning there for the next four years. But Rosey was insistent. He was a serious Episcopalian and had been religious about going every Sunday in Richmond even before he got involved in politics. The National Cathedral was the High Episcopal church in Washington, the obvious choice for him. It was too big, with all that gray, cold-looking stone inside, to please her. She liked cozy little Presbyterian churches with sun pouring in.
She kept her head down in church and barely got through the reception afterward until Rosey took mercy on her. It was only once they were in the limousine that she realized she was perspiring, that her forehead was damp and the curls around her face had begun sticking to her head.
“Score one against Miss Perfect,” she mumbled to herself out loud.
The stewards had prepared a light lunch after church as the Halls had asked them to do, but they were clearly not very happy. They were even less happy when Rosey told them that as soon as they moved in they would be having a large Sunday dinner in the middle of the day and invite people over. In Richmond they had always had Sunday dinner at G and Miz G’s, much to Sadie’s chagrin. But it was family, and usually they had a big group, so it was never too bad.
She resisted the idea of having another Bloody Mary as she picked at her omelette.
After lunch she excused herself and went upstairs for a nap, leaving Rosey to disappear with Everet
t Dubois, his right-hand man, into the back office. It was just as well, since Sadie despised Everett. Besides, she needed a rest if she was going to be able to get through dinner with George Hall later that evening. She couldn’t remember having felt this awful in years. Sunday, she decided, was a lost day. As she drifted off to sleep she made a note to call Lorraine and thank her for the dinner. Lorraine would have talked to Chessy about the party afterward with Des. She would be full of news. Sadie would definitely call Lorraine later. In fact, she couldn’t wait.
* * *
“My dear, you certainly were in top form last night.”
Sadie was barely awake when Lorraine called.
“Lorraine?”
“Oh, Sadie, did I wake you up? You sound sleepy.”
“No, no,” she said quickly. “I was just dozing.”
“I’m sure I could have used a little nap too.” Lorraine laughed. “I had a dreadful headache this morning. In fact, I still haven’t got out of bed. Sweet Irma brought me an ice pack for my head and some Alka-Seltzer. I did glance at the front page of The Daily, though. I noticed that Allison Sterling had the lead story on the new Cabinet. It doesn’t have her byline on it. But she wrote it.”
“If it doesn’t have a byline, how can you tell?” asked Sadie.
“Her name is in the box at the end of the story. It’s just a matter of learning how to read the paper. I’ll teach you how to do that. You’ll be an expert in no time. But just a little primer for now. Allison, as you are well aware, is Roger Kimball’s goddaughter, which means that she has now got the ear of the most powerful man in the world. If a story this definitive appears in The Daily, you can be sure that they had Allison check it.”
“Then why wouldn’t her byline be on it?”
“Because then everyone would know that she got the story and it would look like conflict of interest.”
“But they know anyway, if you’re right.”
“Ah, yes; but this way they can’t really point the finger and The Daily is safe on accuracy.”
Sadie was still a little groggy, but what Lorraine was saying didn’t seem to make a whole lot of sense to her.
“I don’t get it. Why would her being Roger’s goddaughter”—she would have to start saying “the President”—“make her guilty of conflict of interest? She hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“You’re dealing with tribal shibboleths, Sadie. Journalists have their own set of values and customs and ethics. The public doesn’t really care that much. But you watch. Allison is going to be in for a very tough time. Much tougher than she thinks. And it’s going to be her colleagues who will give it to her, not the public. She can’t appear to be flacking for Roger Kimball; she can’t afford to look as if she favors the President or is in his pocket in any way. I suspect they’ll take her off the White House immediately. And I imagine that if anyone writes tough stories about the new Administration it will be Allison, just to prove something. I can’t wait to see what Des has written for The Weekly. I hope for their sakes he doesn’t have a Cabinet story. It could be very difficult for them if they are both covering the Presidency. You don’t have to be stupid to figure out which one of them will get the most inside stories.”
Sadie hadn’t thought about that. She couldn’t imagine anything worse in the entire world than to be in direct competition with the man you loved. The idea of having to lose and lose deliberately all the time would be terribly demoralizing. And to Sadie’s mind, there could be no alternative to losing.
“Do me a favor, darling,” said Lorraine to her pupil. “As soon as we hang up I want you to go and read the paper. Look at Allison’s story. You’ll understand. Then read Worth Elgin’s column in the View section. It’s a valentine to John T. Hooker.”
“The head of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee?”
“That’s right. He has been wooing Hooker for years. John T. is one of his best sources. He is Worth’s candidate for Secretary of State. A long shot, since he is so controversial. But if he gets it, Worth will be set up for the whole Administration—and so, I hate to say, will be his adorable wife, Claire. Claire is probably addressing the envelopes for the invitations to the first party in honor of John T. just in case.”
“Lord,” said Sadie.
“It all goes with the territory. Now, darling, I know all this is a little much, especially on a Sunday afternoon when one is trying to recover from a hangover, so I’ll give you one juicy morsel. Then I really must hang up. Archie will expect me to put something on for our supper.”
“What?”
“Well, I absolutely swore not to breathe a word to anybody.”
Sadie laughed. That was Lorraine’s code for “It’s not all that confidential.”
“I swear.”
Lorraine lowered her voice. “I hear that Claire Elgin is having an affair with our own Senator Bud Corwin. And as far as I’m concerned they deserve each other. Bud Corwin has never been in love with anybody but Bud Corwin in his entire life. And Claire is such a fool.… It is absolutely impossible for anybody to have an affair in Washington without getting caught. Period. This is Lorraine’s Law. Ah, it certainly is going to be an interesting fall. And what with that one and Sonny and Des…” She paused for effect. This was the first time Lorraine had acknowledged that one so openly.
Sadie for some reason did not want to discuss Sonny and Des. She changed the subject. “Are you a good friend of Claire’s?”
“Of course I’m a good friend of Claire’s. I’m one of her closest friends in Washington. Unfortunately, she wants to be a great hostess and have an affair. I am Claire’s friend as I am everybody’s friend. One cannot be a great hostess in Washington and have enemies.”
“But if you think she’s a fool…”
“Most people in Washington are. There must be some who think I am. Claire just happens to be a worse fool than most. Nobody’s perfect.”
“Oh, Lorraine, you make me laugh; you really are funny.”
Just then Rosey came into the bedroom. Sadie hated talking on the phone when he was around. She apologized to Lorraine, telling her she had to get off the phone.
“Not before I tell you one thing,” Lorraine said. “I want to warn you of something, Sadie.” Her voice had suddenly grown serious. Sadie sat up a little more in bed.
“Claire, like many others in this town, will try to befriend you. She can be very seductive and very cozy. Take my word for it. I wouldn’t trust her as far as I could throw her.”
“Lorraine, you’ve been so helpful. I really can’t thank you enough.”
“Oh, yes, you can, darling. We’ll talk.”
* * *
Dinner with the Vice President was quiet and pleasant. George Hall was supportive and encouraging to Rosey. He seemed calm and relaxed. And Sadie felt reassured.
“How is it that you look younger than when you came into office?” asked Sadie.
“Governor, I have to say your wife is not only lovely but very intelligent as well.”
“But I’m serious,” insisted Sadie. “Neither of you has that desperate look that outgoing Presidents and Vice Presidents usually have. You look happy and relaxed. Please tell us your secret. I’m already beginning to feel the tension and I’ve only been here for a weekend.”
“Well, Sadie, you are asking a serious question and there is a serious answer.”
“Well said,” said Rosey. He was very quiet, taking it all in.
“This is directed more to you, Sadie,” said Hall. “This is a fascinating and tantalizing place. And there are some really expert game players. Some people feel there’s no point to being here if you’re not going to get in there and play. I’m just too old for all that, so I never got into it the way some do. Because it’s a dangerous game. Careers and reputations can be made or destroyed by it, and if you want to be dramatic, lives can be saved or lost; countries can be destroyed or built. If you’re going to be part of it, it’s like playing blackjack at the highest stakes with the m
ost brilliant opponents. And in Washington nobody stops to pick up the wounded. The most dangerous part is the gossip. It’s considered fun and exciting, and it’s deadly. I don’t mean to frighten you, but I think it is terribly important for both of you—particularly you, Sadie—that you understand. The gossip is seductive, and I apologize for saying this but I couldn’t help but overhear that Lorraine Hadley had called you this afternoon. I want to tell you that she is one of the cleverest and most ambitious players in Washington. She won’t want to lose you. She can be great fun; her parties are the best in Washington. But the most important thing to know about this city is who to trust.”
* * *
The next morning she saw the Daily story about the Cabinet. It was all over the radio as they took the limousine to the airport to return to Richmond. That afternoon she saw the Weekly cover story. Shaw had three of the Cabinet names wrong. It made her feel sick. It also made her feel excited. She couldn’t figure out either emotion.
CHAPTER 4
This was not her milieu. Nevertheless, it was a coup for Lorraine to be involved, even if Des Shaw had insisted on having the party at Nora, a rather dreary little restaurant near Dupont Circle, an iffy neighborhood. But it was “in” because journalists hung out there. You had to pretend to adore it. It was everything Lorraine hated. As far as Archie was concerned, it was out of the question. “You eat there and I’ll eat at the Metropolitan Club,” said Archie firmly, “and frankly, my dear, I think it is reverse snobbism and highly hypocritical of you to pretend to like it. It has nothing to recommend it. And that includes the patrons.”
It had been an eventful eight months since the election even by Lorraine’s standards.
The Greys had taken Washington by storm, and she felt some of the credit was hers. Sadie was proving an excellent protégée; her grasp of the city in such a short time was impressive. As for Rosey, he had managed to inspire the confidence of the President and his staff—no mean feat for a Vice President—and with no apparent effort had established himself as a figure of power. Their skills, their looks, and their money made these two a combination to be reckoned with.