So this was Magdalena’s husband. He looked him over, figured she could have done better.
Reyes ignored his hand. “Who do you work for?”
“I freelance.”
“I don’t know what you want with me, Connor O’Loughlin, but I don’t talk to the press and I have no idea why the press would want to talk to me.”
“You don’t work for the government anymore. I thought you might be interested in telling me your side of the story.”
“I never worked for the government and I don’t have a story. You’re wasting your time here.”
He didn’t look disappointed—he must have expected Reyes to brush him off. He ordered two more beers. He slid the bottle along the bar to Reyes. Reyes slid it right back.
“You like what you see happening in Vietnam?” he said. “There’s boys dying out here every day and what for? Just so some people can use the war to get rich.”
“You just summed up the last five thousand years of human history.”
“You’ve had a colorful career, Mister Garcia. Can I call you Reyes?”
“No.”
“You ran guns and money in Havana, for both sides. After Castro took over you went back there on three separate occasions after the missile crisis and no one ever found out why. You worked for Howard Hughes in California as his security consultant. How am I doing?”
“You seem to be doing just fine without any help from me.”
“Then you showed up in Laos, moving opium out of the mountains and bringing back guns for the Hmong so they could fight the communists. Then you went to Africa and got a piece of shrapnel in your knee from a grenade. Then you show up here and no one can work out if you’re still working for the government or not. If you’re not, I figured you’d be happy to set the record straight.”
“I don’t care if the record’s straight or bent double. I read your books; I know who you are. You think you’re a crusader, to me you’re just another glory hunter like all the rest. I have nothing to say to you.”
“You can’t sit on the fence forever.”
“Watch me.”
Connor stared at him, hard. “Just the other day I saw a fourteen-year-old girl selling heroin at a roadside stall on the main highway from here to Long Binh. Like it was a lemonade stand. You happy to let this happen?”
“I can’t stop it.”
“I can. People back home like to read newspapers, Mister Garcia. It helps inform their opinions. If they know what’s happening, they’ll stop this.”
“People who read newspapers can’t stop this or anything else that’s bad in the world. All it will do is give them indigestion when they come home after a hard day at work.” Garcia finished his beer and slammed it down on the bar. He got up to leave.
“And stay away from my wife.”
Reyes sat back down again. “What was that?”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“No, I don’t.”
“I know a lot more about her than she thinks I do. I know it wasn’t a nervous breakdown that ended her Hollywood career. I know about the rumors about her and Kennedy, and I know she loved you once. The way she reacted last night when I mentioned your name, I’d guess that she still does.”
“If you know so much why are you asking me questions? Sounds like you have everything you need to know.”
“Just stay away from her.”
“What?”
“You come near her, I’ll kill you.”
Reyes looked him over, this skinny Boston scrapper with the bad attitude and thought: I don’t think so. He reached into his pocket for a dollar and threw it on the bar. “Buy yourself a beer and try to relax,” he said and walked out.
Stay away from my wife. Ballsy little bastard. Did he really say that to me?
And what if I don’t?
He sat on the balcony of his apartment with a fifth of bourbon, his feet on the iron balustrade. There was nothing to do in this country but sweat and drink. Did he really want to make this a habit? Sure, he didn’t have to work anymore; he had enough stashed away in a dozen different bank accounts that he could disappear inside a bottle for the rest of his life if he wanted to. But somehow the thought of ending his days sitting in the corner of some Asian bar mumbling into his drink didn’t seem like the very best option anymore.
But what the hell was there left, now he’d lost his appetite for the game?
And then there was the briefcase of China White that he’d stumbled upon. What to do about that?
“A colorful career,” is that what Mister Princess had called it? He would have characterized it as dangerous and dirty, but then he wasn’t a writer. He had played hard, risked a lot, salted away a lot of money and made sure no one ever got close enough to hurt him. Well, except for her.
But just lately he was aware of a nagging sense of despair. Fuck sake, he was lonely.
Stay away from her, the man said. He really didn’t like being told what to do.
If he hadn’t said that, perhaps he would have.
Chapter 10
He was mobbed outside the Caravelle by hordes of shoeshine boys and flower girls. He laughed and reached into his pockets to give them his small change. Other kids thrust packets of Embassy at him even though he shook his head and said he didn’t want them, just take the money.
Then he saw her sitting on the terrace of the Continental and he stopped and stared. Oh, Jesus Christ, it had taken him seven years to stop feeling like this. Now just one look and it all came flooding back.
She hadn’t seen him. He stopped by her table and his shadow fell across her newspaper. “Is this seat taken?”
She stared at him in shock, and it was a moment before she composed herself. Even then, all she could do was nod her head.
He sat down. “You look great. Even more beautiful then I remembered.”
“What do you want, Reyes?”
He called over the waiter. “Can I get you a drink?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Isn’t this the Happy Hour?”
“You just missed it by five minutes. The rest of this evening is reserved for bitterness and recrimination.”
He was going to order a beer, but changed it to rum and lime, for old time’s sake.
“What are you doing here?”
“I heard you were in town.”
“I’ve been in a lot of towns and so have you. That still doesn’t answer my question.”
“Do you want me to leave?”
She nodded.
He stayed where he was. “I hear you’re married.”
“Last year.”
“A journalist? What the hell’s that all about?”
“He loves me, he treats me well.”
“When has someone treating you well ever mattered to you?”
“You son of a bitch! How can you say that? You think you come across as a nice guy? You swept me off my feet, sure. But then you’d disappear for months at a time. I had no idea if I was the one for you, or just one of hundreds.”
“I told you from the first that you were special.”
“For all I knew you said that to every girl. At least with Connor I knew what I was getting.”
“Well I’m glad you’re happy now.”
“Thanks. I thought you’d be pleased.”
“How did you meet him?”
“I got a job with a New York publishing company as an editor.”
“Good for you.”
“Ted helped me. He felt sorry for the ditzy actress who had a breakdown and ruined her entire career. Connor was one of my authors. He was writing about Cuba, about Kennedy.”
“You were helping him with research?”
“You see? That’s why there’s no point in having this conversation.”
Reyes hadn’t expected it to go this way; he thought it was down to him to forgive, she seemed to think differently. “Not a day’s gone by when I haven’t thought about you.”
“I never
gave you a second thought.”
“Really? I saved your life. Twice.”
“Yes, you did. So why didn’t you come and find me when it was all over? You knew where I was. I waited and I hoped. Now it’s too late. I can’t ever forgive you for not forgiving me.”
“Wait a minute, wasn’t it you that married that guy - what was his name? Jack? No wait, I must be thinking of that other woman, you know his wife, the one crying in all the pictures. You must have been the piece of tail on the side.”
“I thought you said we were all entitled to one mistake.”
“If you’re Marilyn Monroe or if you’re single. But you were with me. Or that’s what I thought.”
“It was a long time ago, Reyes.”
“What the hell has time got to do with it? I forgot what I was wearing yesterday and where I had breakfast, but I sure as hell remember what it felt like when I found out you’d cheated on me with a man who used women like Kleenex.”
“I’m sorry, Reyes. I made a big mistake. I fucked up. But I learned my lesson, now I’m married and I’m not going to make that mistake a second time.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. He seems like a nice guy.”
It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
She stared. “You’ve met him?”
It was too late to retreat. “We had a brief conversation.”
“Dios mio. So this is why you’re here. What did he say to you?”
“He didn’t say anything, he was just being a journalist, pumping me for information.”
“I don’t believe you.” She stood up. “I’m not sitting here for this. Why did you do this, Reyes? If you wanted to buy me a drink you should have done it seven years ago.”
“Better late than never, isn’t that what they say?”
“It’s what they say but it isn’t true. Sometimes late is the same as never. Goodbye, Reyes.”
This was new; she had never walked away from him before, he didn’t think she ever would. She was right, she had changed, and so had he.
But perhaps she was right, and they had both left it too late.
Chapter 11
MAGDALENA
I went back to my room and started packing my bags.
A long time since I had taken charge of my life. I had drifted listlessly through life after my ‘breakdown.” It felt like the juice had all been squeezed out of me. Living felt like a bad habit. Now here he was, showing up in my life again, and lighting spot fires everywhere. But this time I would not let myself get burned.
And what did Connor think he was doing? Did he think he owned me? One day he’s treating me like an hysteric - they don’t scare me - and the next he’s pulling his macho games with Reyes. I was his wife. I had a right to some respect.
To hell with him, it was time I went home.
I didn’t need either of them. Perhaps it was time to make a clean break.
I hurled the last of my things into my suitcase and sat on the lid to shut it. I was so angry I could barely get my breath. These...these fucking men...they had you once and they thought they had you for life. I thought Connor was different, but he was just like all the rest.
Damn that Reyes.
Seven years, he could still take my breath away. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? Even out there on the terrace I could still smell his sandalwood aftershave, feel the heat of his body from the other side of the table.
“Damn you,” I said aloud and went to raid the mini bar. I took out a handful of miniatures and sat down on the bed to drink them one at a time.
I would tell Connor my decision tonight when he got back, and tomorrow I would get a flight back to New York.
Sitting on the roof terrace of the Caravelle it was possible to watch the war while enjoying cocktails and a leisurely dinner. White-jacketed waiters moved among the diplomats, correspondents and American businessmen while dusk settled over city, throwing the silhouettes of the palm trees along the Saigon River into sharp relief against a violet sky. Soon it would be time for the Air Force to start carpet-bombing again.
Connor looked desperately tired. He’d hardly spoken at all through dinner and I waited for my moment, carefully rehearsing in my head what I was going to say.
I wondered how he would take it.
“Connor, I’ve been thinking about things, and maybe it’s better if I went back to New York.”
He would look disappointed, then relieved. “Good idea, honey. I told you that you’d be bored out here. I’ll see you back home in a couple of months.”
But was that how I wanted it to play out, or would that just be delaying the other conversation we have to have?
“Connor, I’ve been thinking about things and maybe it’s better if we took a break from each other to think about things.”
“What do you mean, honey? You want to separate?”
Was that what I wanted, to break up the marriage? I hadn’t thought so until I saw Reyes again. But what kind of marriage was it when all you could think about was your ex?
And if we did break up, then what would I do, move on to the next lover, and pretend to be happy until the next time I bumped into Reyes in some bar somewhere in the world?
“I know what your friend’s so nervous about,” he said, interrupting my thoughts.
“My friend?”
“Angel. Isn’t that his name? Doesn’t seem very appropriate.”
“It’s not.”
“You know I walked out of the press briefing this afternoon at JUSPAO and this little kid ran up and stuck this in my pocket.” He threw a small glassine packet on the table. I picked it up. There were a few grams of white powder inside.
“We saw that kid giving these out on the way in from the airport that first day.” I said.
“That’s right. And I’d just heard the press officer telling some reporter from NBC that there was no heroin problem among the soldiers here in Saigon. And there isn’t a problem—these guys can get this shit anywhere. They’re throwing it at them in the street.”
The glasses on the table rattled as the carpet-bombing got under way in the north. It was like being in the middle of an earthquake. The flash of the bombs flickered against the night sky like sheet lightning.
“The embassy says they can find no evidence that the Vietnamese government is involved in selling heroin to US servicemen in Vietnam. But the reason they can’t find any evidence is they studiously refuse to look for any. Here we are, defending democracy for them, while they’re turning our boys into junkies. What’s going to happen to these kids when they get back to the States? They won’t give them this shit for free in Detroit or Pittsburgh.”
The trouble, I realized, was that I admired Connor more than I loved him. He was a good man, he believed in what he did and he had the courage to see it through. But he bored me.
“All they care about is beating the communists. Well maybe the communists aren’t the danger after all, perhaps guys like Angel are the real evil here.”
“Don't you ever wonder if it’s worth it?” I said.
“What’s that, honey?”
“All of this. You’re right, of course, but this world’s always been a dirty place. You uncover one can of worms, there’s always another one. You’re not going to change it.”
“All it takes for evil to flourish is for good men to stand by and do nothing,” he quoted at me.
“Maybe you’re right, but ever since I was a little girl in Cuba I’ve heard people talk about peace and justice and all we got in the end was Castro and dead presidents.”
“I can’t walk away from this.”
I nodded. “I know you can’t.”
“I know I drive you crazy, but you knew this about me when you married me.”
I finished my drink. He was right; I did know that about him. It seemed glamorous then, being with a white knight who believed in something, the sort of man Papi might have approved of. But being with a man just
because you thought you should wasn’t a very good reason.
“Are you still glad you married me?” Connor said, and I felt my cheeks burn, knowing I’d given myself away.
“Of course I am.”
“You’re such a bad liar.”
“I do love you, Connor.”
He smiled at the way I had sidestepped him. He took my hand and looked at me in a way he hadn’t looked at me in a very long time. “I don’t know what I’d do if you ever left me. I mean it. I’d die without you now.”
I felt the trap spring shut.
That night he made love to me, nervous as a teenager. We seemed to be so out of tune with each other now, I was only partly engaged, and he grew frustrated when I could not come. He kept trying until I made him stop. I eased him on top of me and he made love to me with something like desperation. Even after he came he wanted to stay inside as if this was our very last time.
Did I want it to be?
“I've lost you,” he whispered.
“Shhh,” I said and stroked his hair and held him. I felt his weight on top of me, suffocating me, like the guilt of my secret knowledge. At last he rolled away and we lay in the darkness, staring at the ceiling, listening to the slow whirring of the overhead fan. I was naked in Saigon, my husband’s fingertips resting on my thigh, my mind lost to him, far away and far back in time.
I loved Connor because Connor was safe. There were no highs like there were with Reyes but at least I knew he loved me and he’d never leave me. With Reyes there was always that doubt. Besides, he scared me. If I gave him my heart and it all fell apart again I’d lose the last of my dreams. This was my last buck, and if I gambled and lost, what was there left? Maybe I’d rather leave it in my purse for a rainy day.
Twice now we had walked away from each other. We both had such volatile temperaments; how could we ever make it work? Perhaps I needed someone like Connor. He needed me, Reyes didn’t.
I missed how it was with Reyes. It wasn’t because of the passionate sex; it was that the sex was so passionate because of everything else. Somehow we were made from the same stuff he and I. It was what brought us together and what dragged us apart. He was like a drug to me, and I got angry and scared when I wasn’t getting enough.
Saigon Wife Page 4
