to your own room.
For the past half hour, we have been standing outside my door under a bug light chatting, laughing, and laying some lip action. The hedge blocks the view from the house, but we’re still under video surveillance by whoever is watching the monitors tonight.
Finally, we separate slowly and painfully as if we were Velcro. Not because we want to, but because we’re losing our balance and about to fall onto the cobblestone walkway. It makes us giggle. Yes, euphoric from jet lag and from all that is Mai, I actually giggle.
“I better go in, Sam,” Mai says.
I hold her upper arms and step back. “I agree, but I don’t want you to. But I agree.”
“English is such a hard language to understand.”
“I need a cold shower.”
“That I understand. And I agree.”
Neither of us move.
“Are you going in?” I ask.
“Yes. Are you?”
“Yes.”
Neither of us move.
Finally, Mai extends her hand. “I will be the stronger person. Good night, Sam. In Vietnamese good night is chúc ngủ ngon.”
“Chúc ngủ ngon,” I say, shaking her hand.
“Yes, very good.” She pulls me into her for one final, all-too- quick kiss, and a whispered, “Chúc ngủ ngon.” Oh man. I’ve never heard anything so sensual.
She walks quickly to the end of the walkway, turns and shoots me that heart-stopping smile, and disappears beyond the hedge.
“Die-amn!” I say, and step into my room for an ice cold shower.
Usually, I can do full splits, but two days of sitting has tightened my hamstrings and groin muscles so that I’m about a foot short of going all the way down. No problem, my muscles will loosen in a couple of days. I get to my feet and throw a few easy front kicks, some muay Thai roundhouses, and a dozen jab and cross punch combos.
Slept like a baby for eleven hours. The earplugs shut out any strange sounds and the mattress was sent from heaven. A couple of lizards parked on the ceiling above the bed worried me for maybe a minute before I drifted off to la-la land. They could have laid on my lips all night and I wouldn’t have known.
I drop down onto my back and rep out fifty jackknife sit-ups, fingers to toes as fast as I can do them. Okay, that’s enough. My body doesn’t feel quite right yet and my head feels as if it were full of oatmeal. Don’t want to burn up what little I got before the day even begins.
My cell rings.
“Reeves,” I say, my mind still in Portland.
“Reeves. Nguyen here.”
“Smart ass,” I laugh.
“I never understood that,” Mai says, with feigned confusion. “How can the word smart and ass be in the same sentence?”
“Well, an example might be, Mai Nguyen is very smart and has a great—”
“Okay, Sam. You woke up… feisty. Is that the right word?”
“Frisky. You would say ‘You woke up frisky.’”
“Thank you. You woke up frisky today. Do you want some croissant and fruit, and some coffee?”
“That sounds wonderful. I’ll be right over after I clean up.”
I take the fastest shower ever, get dressed, and I’m out the door six minutes later.
“Did you sleep well, Son?” Samuel asks. He and Mai are seated at the table. Ly sets down a plate of croissants and sliced papaya.
“I think he woke up frisky, Father,” Mai says.
He frowns. “Frisky?”
“I slept wonderfully,” I say, looking at Mai over the rim of my cup. “Gosh, this is really excellent coffee.”
“I am happy you like it,” she says, missing my not so subtle change of subject. “It is called Trung Nguyên. It is our, uh, domestic coffee.”
“It’s fantastic. Do you have Starbucks here?”
“No Starbucks,” Samuel says, thankfully forgetting the frisky comment. “I like their French Roast but nothing compares to Trung Nguyên. Many critics say it is the best in the world. Besides, a cup of coffee here is fifty cents. In America, a Starbucks costs four dollars or more. No Vietnamese here is going to pay that much for coffee.”
Mai refills my cup. “It is hot today already,” I say, appreciating the ceiling fan.
“Always warm in Vietnam,” Mai says. “This is the rainy season now. It will be hot and rainy and… muggy?”
Samuel nods. “Muggy, yes. You have not seen it rain until you see it rain here, Son. The streets flood for a couple of hours and then everything is dry and hot again.”
I stuff a piece of croissant into my mouth. “I’m so thrilled to be in Saigon.” I wave my hand at the table. “This is all really fantastic. The way you live. Everything. It’s not what I expected.”
Samuel’s face sobers. “We are very fortunate. As you will see, there is great poverty in Vietnam, especially in the countryside. In Saigon, it is not always as obvious, except for street beggars in the core area, and in a few scattered parts of the city. That is because we are the third wealthiest city in all of South East Asia. Others in Vietnam are not the same.”
“Father will not say much about it, but he and Mother give much to the poor and to organizations that help people. The old soldiers’ home cost much money to operate and Father pays for it himself.”
He waves her off. “That is fine, Mai. Everyone helps when they are able.”
“That is so not true. You and Mother are extremely generous—”
“Have some more papaya, Sam,” Samuel interrupts. “It is quite sweet this time of year. We have many types of fruit here…”
His predator eyes return.
Mai touches his arm. “Father? What…”
He turns toward the glass doors. Did he hear something?
The Superman overture tinkles from Samuel’s cell.
“Intruder,” he says, calmly looking at the screen. “In the yard.” He scoots his chair back and stands before the full meaning of his words sink into my still jet-lagged brain. He stands to one side of the glass doors and quick-peeks around its frame.
The
