Dolores

  This book made available by the Internet Archive.

  For my mother

  DOLORES

  PART

  Everything to Live For

  There was a mean chill in the air as Air Force One began its slow approach toward Washington. Although the plane was warm, the occupants could almost sense the dankness below. Dolores shivered and folded her arms about herself and stared at the lights below . . . the thousands of tiny cars that moved like an army of lemmings through the city. And yet those rows of minuscule cars carried people to visit friends ... to a movie ... to some place they wanted to go. She shivered again and huddled deeper in the seat. She was still wearing the beige suit she had worn in New Orleans.

  It had been warm and sunny in New Orleans. But it was winter in Washington. She knew the press would be waiting for her when she got off

  3

  the plane. They were always waiting when she got off the plane . . . but this would be the last time she would ever disembark from Air Force One. James T. Ryan, affectionately called Jimmy by everyone, usually stretched out on the couch imtil the moment before landing (he still suffered pain from the broken vertebrae in his neck and the couch had been made especially for him) . . . only now he didn't feel any pain . . . and Elwood Jason Lyons was sitting on the couch. Jimmy was in the back . . . cold cmd alone ... in a box with that bullet that hit him . . . cleain and quick . . . right through his heart. They had caught the man immediately and riddled him with bullets as he tried to escape. H. Ronald Preston ... a man with a greenish-white complexion . . . tall and thin . . . hawk-nosed. Why had he done it? Did he think that in his miserable little life, this one act would give him a permanent place in history? Was that worth dying for? Just to be remembered as the man who killed James T. Ryan. Maybe the H. Ronald Prestons of this world had nothing else to live for, and dying spectacularly was the only important thing they could do. But Jimmy had everything to live for . . . God, no one loved life as much as Jimmy. Just this morning . . . the pride on his face as the audience called out "dolores!" . . . "do-lores!" And the lovely little Italian woman who had given her a flower and murmured, "Mw/ff-hellal" She certainly didn't look multibella now.

  One of her white gloves was missing and there was blood all over the suit. Jim liked the suit ... it didn't look as expensive as it really was. Oh God, why had she argued with him all that weekend about the luggage and the clothes she took? She had wanted to look her best, and had brought several changes even though Betsy Minton had checked and rechecked the weather reports . . . one could never tell. Right now, Betsy was with the children. Thank God for Betsy. She had started as a housekeeper when Jim was just a Senator . .. and when he had become President, she had elevated Betsy to personal maid and secretary. Betsy did everything. She had even taken the children to Jim's sister—and when the proper moment came, Betsy would break it to them.

  Break what to them? That their father had been shot while he was being cheered at a speech .. . that they would have to leave the White House . . . that their entire world had changed. Would they xmderstand about death? Mary Lou was six. She had seen her doggy die. She imderstood about Heaven. But the twins . . . little Jimmy and Mike . . . they were only three . . . they still couldn't differentiate between God and Santa Claus. She hadn't even tried to explain Jesus. Just last night in New Orleans, she and Jim had discussed religion. Was it just last night? He had wanted to go to bed with her but she was expecting the hairdresser at eight in the morning and there was the

  breakfast ceremony and then the long ride through the city to the huge auditorium where he was to make the speech. It was hot in New Orleans and her hair really had to be done. Jim had smiled . . . he tmderstood. Part of the duties of being First Lady was to look perfect. She sure didn't look perfect now . . . the wrinkled suit . . . her hair falling across her face . . . and now she'd never be able to go to bed with Jim again . . . never! No . . . she mustn't allow the tears to come. A lady doesn't show emotion in public.

  First Lady

  She felt a gentle hand pat her on the arm. Who dared to touch her! She was Dolores Ryan, First Lady . . . Oh God, no, she was Dolores Ryan, private citizen now . . . and the gentle hand that patted her arm belonged to Elwood Jason Lyons, the new President of the United States. He managed a sympathetic smile as he walked on down the aisle. She stared at the skinny back of the new President. She watched him sit beside his buxom wife—the new First Lady. They would live in her beloved White House, the place she had redecorated and made so beautiful. The place where she wanted Mike, Jinuny and Mary Lou to spend eight wonderful years. Elwood and Lillian's children would live there now. Ellie, Edie, Elwood, Jr., and

  Edward. Nice enough children but they wouldn't appreciate the beauty she had brought into the White House. She couldn't picture Lillian Lyons living in her white and yellow bedroom. Or one of the girls living in Mary Lou's bedroom. All yellow and white, a miniature version of "Mommy's." No, they'd change all that . . . and Elwood would probably change Jimmy's room. Elwood Jason Lyons thought of himself as a man of the people. He never let anyone forget his grandfather had been a coal miner. And that he liked plain ordinary food. They'd probably have wienie roasts right on the White House lawn. Oh Lord, why was she thinking in such non-sequiturs. Jimmy wouldn't like her to put down the Lyonses. Besides, there was nothing wrong with hot dogs. Jimmy loved them. When they went on the family's beach parties at Newport Beach, the whole clan ate hot dogs and Jimmy's brother, Michael, even used to put on a chef's hat when he served. The Ryans adored hot dogs and com on the cob. Jimmy used to get so angry when she packed a picnic basket of pate and cucumber sandwiches for herself. And he grimaced at the thin watercress sandwiches she often served for tea. He also thought her passion for caviar was ridicxilous.

  Caviar! That brought back memories of Paris. Paris had given them some wonderful close moments. There weren't too many of those moments in their lives . . . and, oddly enough, most of them

  came out of tragedy. Like now, sKe felt Jimmy was not cold and dead in that flag-draped box. He belonged to her. But he didn't belong to her. Impersonal doctors' hands would touch him and cut him open and do an autopsy and ... Oh God, he hated illness or weakness ... he had been thrown from a horse a year after their marriage and his collarbone had been broken. And how he had hated all those weeks in traction in the hospital, with nurses handling him, doctors probing, and no noticeable signs or promises of complete recovery. He had been so brave . .. until that one day when she saw the lone tear travel down his cheek. She had kissed it off with her lips and held his hamd . . . and he had managed a weak smile. Why had she been able to show her feelings then (was it because of his vulnerability?)? He always seemed a bit aloof when he was strong. But in the hospital for just one precious moment he had reached out for her emotionally. He had never done that before. Even on their honeymoon, he had wanted her . . . taken her ... but had not seemed to belong to her in any way. There had always been a part of James T. Ryan that he kept to himself, a strange coolness that would occasionally come to his eyes, a look that said, "No trespassing." Oddly enough, she had always run into this obstacle with anyone she loved or cared about. Her tennis pro when she was fifteen . . . she hadn't an inkling he was a homosexual . . . and the times he had walked off the

  court with his arm loosely draped around her had been enough to give her hours of schoolgirl dreams. But the dreams had lasted only a few precious weeks. Then her mother had dropped the bomb. When she caught Dolores stciring at Billy, she laughingly explained to Dolores that Billy had a friend, a special friend named Bob.

  She had continued to adore the tennis lessons, but had held back her emotions because she knew Billy had a world of his own ... a world she could not enter.

  Like Jimmy's private worl
d . . . Jimmy had recovered . . . there had never been a hint of a tear again. He was the old Jimmy . . . invincible . . . "Superman." And then one night she saw the bottles in his medicine chest. All marked "For Pain." And when she watched closely she saw a tightness in his jaw at times ... a pill popped into his mouth when he thought no one was looking .., and suddenly she was aware of the daily massages, the steam baths, the therapist who came to give him special exercises. But no admission of pain on his part, no close moments imtil the night of the debacle of the River War in Southeast Asia when so many American soldiers were killed. He had come to her bedroom that night to tell her the news. She had never seen him so defeated . . . and she had spnmg into his arms because she had seen the tears in his eyes. And that night in bed they had climg together . . . not even a night on their

  honeymoon had they ever been so close. She was sure the second set of twins was conceived then. And she carried her large belly with pride, because these two babies had come from moments of their deepest love.

  She hadn't been able to take it when they were stillborn. Little Timothy and William. There had been a hint of tears in Jimmy's eyes too, but he had held them back because she was sobbing so hard. That's when he had said, "Dolo . . . I've always felt God has singled me out for some kind of greatness . . . and they say that with greatness goes tragedy. And remember, it's you who have to share both the greatness and the tragedy. So, remember, a Ryan never shows weakness in public. If you don't win the game in tennis, you jump over the net as if you had like a champion and congratulate the opponent." And then through her sobbing she had shouted, "But I'm not a Ryan . . . I'm a Cortez . . . I'm of Castilian descent. . . Latins are emotional." And she had wanted to cry out, "And Latins want to show their feelings . . . share feelings ... be close . . . not just at certain times."

  Yes, the closeness came during the tragedies.

  Nita

  And now this was the biggest tragedy of all. "Jinuny/' she whispered to herself, "I can't hold you in my arms because you're back there . . . growing colder every moment in that box. That's why I put my St. Theresa necklace around your neck. My father put it on me when I was seven. I never took it off. At least with that medal we are together. I hope there really is a hereafter because there were so many times we were apart ... so many times I found it impossible to tell you how I felt . . . but I'll try to do what you would want me to do today ... I'll be a Ryan. And I won't cry ... I didn't cry when I stood next to Elwood and heard him sworn in. I pretended I was a real Ryan. Oh Jimmy, I promise I No one will ever f or-

  get that I am Dolores Ryan . . . and no one will ever forget you. Til see to that. Jimmy, is there really anything . . . after . . . can you see into my mind ... are you 'up there' . . . have you met my father? They used to call him Dashing Dan because he was so handsome. He loved beautiful women, too . . . that's why my mother left him. But she was wrong because she sort of dried up after that. And no man could replace him and she would watch him dating all those beautiful actresses and models in New York. That's why I never left you, Jimmy. All those times when you— but I won't think of it now. You belong to me now ... forever .. . and I'll try to make you proud of me. The way you were that time in Paris . . . when you finally admitted that caviar didn't really taste bad at all."

  Caviar . . . there had been tons of caviar in Paris. That was when she had come into her own. Until Paris she had always been the blue blood, the pretty girl-woman married to a main with movie star looks and unbelievable charisma. She had been the imknown entity ... a girl from a fine family ... but a blank. And then that trip to Paris, during his second year of the Presidency. The French had adored her. They had admired her chic clothes and her easy fluency with the language. Poor Jimmy, he had sputtered a well-rehearsed greeting, but it had been Dolores who had taken over Paris. That was the first time she

  had seen the new look in Jimmy's eyes. Actually it was not really a new look ... it was the old look . . . the look he had given her when they were first dating . . . the look he had given her when she wore all those beautiful dresses on their honeymoon. The look that had vanished after the birth of Mary Lou. The look that had been replaced with guilt because he knew she had learned about Tanya. During the last months of her pregnancy, all of her "best friends" had hinted about Tanya. Elegant Tanya with the slight accent, married to an elderly Senator. Jimmy had disappeared a lot during those last months, while she sat with the heaviness ill-concealed even in chic made-to-order pregnancy clothes. He always had an excuse . . . some official business ... a meeting with his brother . . . but it hadn't taken her long to learn about his imofficial visits to the lovely house in Georgetown . . . especially when the elderly Senator was on his estate in Maryland. The Senator was twenty years older than Tanya and he knew all about the romance, but how could he compete with any man who wanted the beautiful Tanya, especially when the man was the President of the United States?

  But Paris had changed things. Dolores had come into her own as a full-fledged glamorous personality. And it had been like a second honeymoon. Even Jimmy's attitude about sex had been more intimate than aggressive. Sometimes it both-

  ered Dolores. She had never been able to abandon herself in sex. In fact, she had to grit her teeth each time she allowed Jimmy to make love to her. She had pretended to feel a climax to build up his ego . . . and it wasn't until Jimmy stopped asking that she found herself wanting it. Not wanting it out of desire . . . but wanting it because it gave her the security of her own femininity to know she was desired. Sometimes she read the movie magazines where she was called beautiful. Secretly she cut out the pictures of herself on the covers . .. and would stare in the mirror and whisper, "I am beautiful." Actually, she didn't believe it. Nita was the beauty. Juanita and Dolores Cortez . . . eleven months apart. . . the most beautiful debutantes in New York. How she had envied Nita's looks . . . and Nita was only five foot four . . . never too tall for a man. Dolores was five foot seven . . . marvelous now for fashion . . . marvelous because Jimmy had been six foot one. But at sixteen she had always felt oafish and climisy around Nita.

  And all those secret tears she had swallowed when Nita became engaged to Lord Bramley. Dolores had adored Lord Nelson Bramley. And she had felt he admired her. They had met at "their" coming-out party, a party when she and Nita had been presented together. Being "presented" at nineteen! But it was the only way her mother had been able to manage it, presenting the two sisters together. Things had been rough after

  her father's death. The Cortezes were still high in the Social Register but nil in Dun and Bradstreet. But with it all, the debut of Dolores and Juanita had been an important social event. Every eligible male had accepted. With the help of an old friend who had turned society press agent, Mrs. Cortez had even managed to have a few titles attend. Lord Nelson Bramley was the outstanding name. Not only was his lineage perfect, he was also a millionaire . . . and he was the most handsome man Dolores had ever seen.

  Lord Bramley had danced with Nita a few times but it had been Dolores he had danced with most of the evening. After that, he had taken them both to the theater several times. And then there was the night he came to call ... to speak to Mrs. Cortez alone. Dolores waited in her bedroom, trying to hide her excitement, while Nita placidly played solitaire on the bed. It seemed an eternity before Mrs. Cortez sent for both girls. She was smiling happily. Lord Bramley had asked for Nita's hand. Somehow Dolores had managed a bright snule as her mother beamed and Nita demurely accepted.

  Yes, in the beginning, Nita had it all. Tiny . . . slim figure . . . heavy black hair. (Dolores had been bom with mousy brown hair and had started streaking it with peroxide at school . . . she felt she had to when people kept commenting on Nita's striking coloring.) Nita's marriage had been spec-

  tacular. For weeks, the newspapers carried pictures of Nita and Lord Bramley. The Beautiful Pair . . . dining at the Colony . . . lunching at "21." Often Dolores was included in the luncheons . . . she tried to decline but she knew she ha
d to make some appearances. At night, alone in bed, she refused to allow herself to cry, because she felt if she ever let loose, she would have no control.

  She managed to go to Nita's fittings for her trousseau and wedding gown (the last of the Georgian silver and Limoges china had been sold for these luxuries). "Dolo," her mother had said, "you're just going to have to elope when your big moment comes! I can't afford another wedding." Dolores had gotten a job with the U.N. as a translator. She had not only conquered French but was fluent in Spanish and she began to study Russian— anything to obliterate Nita's marriage and all the attending press.

  The Baron

  She had been at the U.N. a year when she met James T. Ryan. She realized he was marvelously attractive but she was imable to feel any emotion about him. It was too soon after Lord Bramley. However, they dated whenever he was in New York and she pretended an enthusiasm she didn't feel. After all, dating the most eligible attractive Senator was a coup . . . and when their pictures began to appear in the society columns, she promptly sent them to Nita.

  She knew it didn't impress Nita. Nita still had it all. She had had two lovely sons within three short years after her marriage. Her pictures appeared in Women's Wear attending every lavish Eiuropean ball. She commuted between London,

  Paris, and Italy, and Dolores was quick to note that Nita had at least seven fur coats.

  But it didn't hurt as much because Nita was in London . . . and she was in New York in the thick of it, with a dashing Senator commuting to see her. James T. Ryan was the direct opposite of Lord Nelson Bramley. His father, Timothy Ryan, never hid the fact that he had worked as a bricklayer in Shamokin, Pennsylvania . . . came to Philadelphia with eight himdred dollars and woimd up becoming the top contractor in the East. He owned property and buildings in Philadelphia, New York, Boston, Detroit, Chicago. He bought up real estate in Florida in the thirties when it was cheap . . , he became a multimillionaire before his two sons and three daughters were in their teens. Yet he always remained "one of the people." His wife, Bridget, was beautiful and strong. She shut her eyes to his notorious affair with a famous sculptress and went to Mass twice a day and prayed for strength. And when he had his first major heart attack, he gave up the sculptress and came home to Bridget.