Regrets Only

by Sally Quinn

“ ‘Yes, I would,’ she said, without hesitation. And an abortion if the test showed the fetus to be defective? ‘What’s the point of amniocentesis?’

  “If the tests determine that the fetus has Down’s syndrome,” the article went on, “then the woman can have an abortion. Unfortunately, the tests are not administered until the 16th to 18th week of pregnancy and take two to three weeks to develop, so that an abortion would be essentially a premature labor.

  “Sara Adabelle Grey’s position on amniocentesis should come as no surprise. She worked for Planned Parenthood while she was the Governor’s wife in Virginia. Planned Parenthood has a decidedly prochoice position.

  “Mrs. Grey also discussed her work with the National Trust for Historic Preservation and the renovation and redecoration of the Vice President’s house, mostly done at the Greys’ private expense as a donation to the country. In a frank interview which lasted over an hour…”

  “Don’t read me any more,” said Rosey. “I’ve got the picture. Now what do we do?”

  “Hunker down, boss,” he said. “There ain’t a whole lot more you can do. I would get Nan over here first thing in the morning, though, so we can figure out how to answer the right-to-lifers when the shit hits, which I predict will be about eight A.M.

  “And we’d better get Randy geared up for this too. They’ll want to know how you stand on the whole thing. In fact, I think you better call a breakfast meeting at the house about eight A.M. with me, Nan, Randy, and Mrs. Grey so we can get this whole thing figured out.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

  “Oh, and boss—”

  “Yes?”

  “Make sure she said it, first. You know how the press is. They could have distorted the quote or got it out of context or something. This is a new reporter.”

  “Do you think so?” There was too much eagerness in Rosey’s voice.

  “No. But make sure anyway.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Everett. I’ll see you at breakfast. Make it seven thirty. Get hold of the others for me?”

  “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

  Rosey turned to his wife. His lips had disappeared into a thin line. His face was pale, his eyes narrowed. He was in what Sadie called “one of his white rages,” she could see that. What she didn’t know was that it was directed at her.

  “What is it, sugar? You don’t look too happy. Who was that on the phone anyway at this hour?”

  “Everett.”

  “Oh. And what happy news did he impart?”

  “It was not happy news. Actually, it should come as no surprise to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The interview you gave The Daily. It’s in tomorrow’s paper.”

  She could feel her heart drop into her stomach.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. Oh?”

  She said nothing. She didn’t know what to say, so she decided to wait and let him say it.

  He was controlled, controlled the way he got when he was trying not to let his fury show.

  “I thought,” he said, pronouncing his words with care, slowly—“I thought we had agreed that you would discuss your historic-preservation project and nothing else, Sara.”

  He called her Sara only when he was angry. Sara Adabelle he reserved for teasing, Sadiebelle for passion and tenderness. “The whole point of not having you talk to the press in the first place was that you were unsure of yourself, you were afraid you would shoot your mouth off. It was you who were afraid. So why did you do it? We have talked about the abortion business over and over, and we had decided, I thought, that it was too controversial for you to get involved with.”

  He was beginning to lose his temper, yet the steely composed voice still prevailed. She rarely saw him angry, and it frightened her, especially when the anger was directed at her.

  “Well, I didn’t mean to get on that topic. I mean, she brought it up at the end of the interview. I couldn’t just stare at her and not answer the question. What was I supposed to do,” she asked, “say ‘No comment’? Then I’d really look like a fool.”

  “Why couldn’t you just say that your private life was yours and that others would have to make their decisions for themselves? Why couldn’t you say that your husband was against abortion and that you were not the person in office and that what you thought was a private matter.”

  “Because I am not a private person. I am a public person. I have ideas and thoughts and feelings of my own. I am my own person. I think those right-to-lifers are vile, despicable people. I believe a woman has a right to her own body. And I want to tell the truth about it because I think if I do it will have influence over some women in this country, and for me that is the most worthwhile thing I can do while I am the Vice President’s wife.” She was warming up to her subject, exhilarated by the idea of standing up to her husband. “Besides, it is the truth. Never lie to the press, remember—you are always telling me that. Never cover up. I am surprised that you want me to lie for you. And as for you being against abortion, that is a pile of shit. Yes, Rosey, dear, I said shit.’ ” She could feel her face flush, but she kept on. “You can goddamn well bet if your precious daughter Annie Laurie got raped by a nigger—yes, I said ‘nigger,’ which is what your genteel parents say in the privacy of their home—you can goddamn well bet she’d be on the abortion table so fast you wouldn’t believe it.” She paused for effect. “And you can goddamn well bet that if I happened to get pregnant, which, believe me, I will not, and I decided to have the baby, which I might or might not, you can surely bet that I would have amniocentesis and that I would abort a child, as painful as it would surely be, if that child had a major birth defect. And when you have your little strategy meeting tomorrow morning you can tell them all that the official line is that Sadie Grey is her own person and speaks for herself and not the Vice President and that he is the one in the office and not she. And now I am going to bed.”

  It was only after she had left the room that she began to tremble and she realized how much courage it had taken to talk to her husband the way she had.

  Rosey was so dumbfounded by her reaction that he couldn’t speak. He had never seen an outburst like this from her.

  After a while he went into the bedroom. Sadie was undressed and on her side of the bed. He decided to let her pretend she was asleep. He got into his pajamas, then crawled into his side of the bed. The two of them lay awake, not speaking, most of the night.

  * * *

  Everett was the first at the breakfast. He drove up to the house in a White House car. He loved the perks. Sadie had thrown on a pair of slacks and a turtleneck sweater for the early-morning strategy meeting. But as she had lain awake all night, she had determined to stick to her guns. It hadn’t escaped her that Rosey had been impressed by her stand. She was a little stunned at her own reaction, but quite proud when she thought of it. Now she was going to tell them all they had a choice. Either she would be his wife and nothing more, not a public figure, or she would be her own person.

  If he wanted just a wife, then she could be that. But that meant no independent trips, no projects, no official late things—nothing. She knew he wouldn’t settle for that. If he wanted her to be her own person, it might be a little frightening for him, but probably a little better for his image than he knew. People, especially women, would respect him for letting her do what she wanted, or for not trying to hold her back.

  She waited until Everett, Randy, and Nan were all downstairs in the dining room. Let them get their heavy sighing and eyeball rolling out of the way before she came in. She had decided to be strong.

  Their voices lowered as they heard her walk down the staircase, and they stopped talking as she walked into the room and took her seat at the long table, her back to the kitchen.

  Jackson had brought out her tea and put it in front of her, with skim milk and honey, the way she liked it.

  Still nobody said a word.

  “Well, good morning, everybody,” she said with a smile
. “Let’s not all have such long faces; it’s too depressing with the weather outside.”

  Rosey wouldn’t look at her. Everett had a sneer on his face. Nan looked as though she were about to commit suicide, and Randy just looked exasperated.

  “Before everyone rushes to speak,” she continued, pleased with the way she had taken control of things, “why don’t I make a few suggestions about the way we should handle this ‘snafu,’ I believe it’s called.”

  “Well, we’ve been discussing that,” Randy started, “and we thought—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Sadie. “Let me just say one thing. This is a crisis only if we let it be. It doesn’t have to be at all. Furthermore, it can be turned to our advantage if we are smart.” She paused and chuckled. “God, I don’t know why I say ‘our.’ ”

  “Sadie,” said Rosey.

  “Darlin’, if you don’t mind,” she said, as politely as she could, “I would just like you all to ponder my role for a moment. Rosey and I went over this last night, but I would just like to reiterate to you my thoughts on the subject. Being the wife of the Vice President is not the most fun job in the world, unless, of course, you happen to be a mindless half-wit, which, in all modesty, I don’t believe I am. So I’ve been a pretty good little girl for the past year playing the role of dutiful wife. I do everything you tell me to do, all of you. I go where you tell me to. Well, I guess the other day when that reporter was here I just had had it. I was sick and tired of it.”

  She could see Rosey wince, probably more in fear of what she might say than in reaction to what she had said.

  “I’m tired of not being able to say or do what I want to say or do.”

  “Sadie,” said Nan, “nobody’s asking you to do that. But it’s not too much to ask that—”

  “Nan,” interrupted Sadie, an unexpected firmness in her voice, “I know you mean well. And God knows you tried hard enough to get me to shut my mouth that day. I hope you are not taking any of the blame for this on yourself. I hereby testify to all of you that Nan practically bound and gagged me while this was going on. She did everything but pick up the reporter and carry her out of the house. I’ve been thinking this one over since it happened, giving it a lot of thought. It wasn’t that I had planned it. It was that I wanted it to happen. I needed to assert myself. And I’m not sorry I did it. I also don’t think that I made a mistake, either for myself or for my husband, and that is the matter I think we should discuss this morning as we try to determine our strategy.”

  Everett had been silent. “Well, now, Miz Grey,” he said, that tone in his voice which made Sadie want to pop him one in the face. “With all due respect, I beg to differ. I’m afraid that your remarks have put the Vice President in a terribly difficult position. He has, as you know, come out against abortion personally during the campaign, and it has not been a big issue. We all understand your desires and needs to be an independent woman and to lead your own life. But we can’t be naive enough to think that because you want your own identity it doesn’t reflect on the Vice President. This could hurt him, particularly when—or, uh, if he should ever be in a position to run for the Presidency. This could be a liability.”

  Rosey was still. He had decided to listen instead of interfering. He was almost curious.

  “That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you all about,” said Sadie. “On the contrary, I think people will respect my husband more and it will redound to his credit if I am perceived as someone who is a strong, thinking person in her own right. It will look like he had enough self-confidence to have a strong, independent wife. I think women will buy it. Have any of you all bothered to look at the polls on abortion? Eighty percent of the people in this country are prochoice.”

  “That may be,” said Randy, who was always a little deferential to Sadie. “But you know how vociferous the right-to-lifers can be. And how publicity-conscious they are. They can make your life miserable. It’s more in the Who Needs It? department than anything else.”

  “Randy, I appreciate what you say. But what I want you all to know is that I feel very strongly about this issue. I don’t think anyone here has addressed that fact. I care a lot about it. I have felt bad for a long time about not speaking out. I think I can make a difference. Now, I know that the Vice President”—she said this looking directly at her husband, but carefully, without any trace of sarcasm in her voice—“has come out against abortion. But he has said he is against it personally. He has never said he is against it for others. He can now say that he is against any Constitutional amendment. He can say that it is one issue upon which he and his wife disagree, and he can also be humorous about it and make some remark about how it would be old-fashioned and unliberated to try to control his wife’s thinking even if that were possible, which it is not. What man in this country would not identify and sympathize with that? What woman wouldn’t respect his stance?”

  “But what if they ask him the obvious question?” asked Nan, a pained look on her face. “What if they asked him what he would do if you were pregnant?”

  “Yeah,” echoed the others at the table. They hadn’t thought about that one.

  “That’s very simple,” said Sadie. “You say that we’ve had our family. And if they really pressure you, you say that you would be against it if it happened but that there would be no way you could physically stop me, if I were determined to have an abortion, because you are not the keeper of my body.”

  “Oh, Jesus,” muttered Everett.

  “Look, Everett,” said Sadie in her toughest voice, “if this is all too much for you, you can leave now. If you think this is going to ruin my husband’s political career, now’s your chance to bail out and latch on to a winner.”

  “Sadie,” said Rosey. It was a reproach. Still, he was impressed with the new person he was seeing. He knew she was independent, but he had never seen her like this. He couldn’t figure out where it had come from, this assertiveness. She had never gone after Everett in public before, or at least not that he had seen.

  Everett seemed stunned. He looked at Rosey, who avoided his glance, then down at his plate.

  “Anyway,” finished Sadie, “I just want to sum up my thoughts. I am sorry for the fact that I have not spoken out on this issue before. I feel guilty because it is something I believe in devoutly. My husband and I disagree on this subject—at least politically.” She had to get that one in. “I respect his views. I will not make a crusade out of this. And I will not make it my project and I will not take on the right-to-lifers.

  “But I will say what I think if I am asked. I will make a point of saying that Rosey and I disagree, but I will tell the truth.”

  With that, Sadie pushed back her chair and got up, walking to the door of the dining room. As an afterthought, she turned to the assembled, who were staring at her as though she were the latest victim of the body snatchers.

  “Now,” she said with a mischievous smile, “if I were the wife of the President, it might be a little different. But I’m not. So you can all thank God—for the first time, I suspect—that Rosey isn’t the President of the United States.”

  And so do I, she said to herself as she turned and went up the stairs.

  CHAPTER 9

  The Vice President’s plane circled Andrews Air Force Base on its approach, and Allison regretted that the campaign swing was over. It had been fun as well as profitable. Rosey Grey had seemed to come alive and relax on the campaign trail.

  The midterm elections were almost upon them, the Democrats had been lagging in the polls all fall, and Kimball’s strategists were using William Grey to push a positive view of the Administration. There were rumors that Kimball might not run again—rumors about the President’s health—and the press was beginning to size up the Vice President.

  Allison had signed on for this trip early, sensing that a good story was getting better. She had put in a routine request for an interview with the Vice President—it was normally no big deal—but now Grey was besieged. A
ll three networks had crews on board, and reporters had taken turns moving to the front of the plane for fifteen minutes with the Vice President. Allison had the last interview, two hours before landing, with nobody scheduled after her. The others had concluded that it was because of her relationship with Kimball. The interview had gone well. Grey had not denied that he wanted to be President—the first time that he had not done so vigorously.

  “I could use a drink,” he said finally to signal that the interview was over. “How about you?”

  “I’d love a beer.”

  “Let’s not talk about politics anymore,” he said after the steward had brought their drinks. “Tell me what’s going on that I should know about.”

  “Have you heard about Corwin?”

  Rosey looked blank.

  “There’s talk that Bud Corwin has been going to some health spa which turns out to be a massage parlor.”

  “Oh, no,” said Rosey. Then he paused and looked at Allison carefully. “We are off the record now?”

  “I’m glad you mentioned that,” said Allison. “Do you want to be off the record?” She couldn’t help smiling.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think nobody is ever off the record in an interview unless they say they want to be off the record.”

  “You play hardball, if I do say so, ma’am,” said Rosey, returning her smile, then becoming serious. “Is it agreed that we are off the record from here on out?”

  “Agreed,” she said.

  “How reliable do you think this rumor is?” He was trying to be casual.

  “Nobody is taking it very seriously. Most people think it’s a Republican rumor started to get the Democrats in trouble right before an election. You know—’head of the Senate Armed Services Committee in massage parlor’—but I’ve certainly never heard anything of the kind about Bud Corwin before. I don’t think his marriage is in great shape. But that’s nothing new for a Washington politician.”

  “If you had to guess, what would you say?” asked Rosey.