‘Do you want to take up golf again, Harry?’ she asked.
He forced himself to shake his head. ‘No . . . when I’m not working, I want to spend my time with you.’ This was the right thing to have said.
Lisa turned to English, ‘I’m insisting that he plays. I’m sure you’re right. It will do him good.’
So it was agreed that Harry should play golf with Jack English every Sunday morning. When they met for the first time at the club house, English said, ‘Listen, pal. I’m not playing. You’re my alibi. I’ve got a hot piece of tail I want to take care of. You get it?’
Startled, Harry said, ‘So what do I do?’
English grinned. ‘You can get fixed up with a foursome. Be a pal. I’ll do the same for you any time you want.’ So Harry played foursomes while English had a couple of hours in the hay with his girlfriend. Then Harry began to see there was a chance for him to cheat if he found the right girl.
Then one evening when he returned from the office, Lisa herself gave him what he was hoping for . . . Lisa herself. . .
Four
Harry had a depressing day in the office. Nothing had gone right. He knew that if he had been a more forceful salesman he would have got a rich client from Texas on the dotted line, but at the last moment, the tall, leathery-looking man had shaken his head and said he wanted more time to think before he committed himself. The deal that slipped through Harry’s fingers was worth three hundred thousand dollars.
Feeling deflated, he drove home and walked out on to the terrace where Lisa was sitting in her wheelchair. She was staring across the magnificent garden where three Chinese gardeners were looking busy and doing nothing. One glance at her sullen expression made Harry’s heart sink. She was obviously in one of her bad moods.
As he came over to kiss her, she waved him away.
‘Don’t touch me!’
Harry sighed and sat down near her.
‘Had a bad day, darling?’
‘When don’t I? That woman Selby is a fool! I’m thinking of getting rid of her!’
Remembering Miss Selby’s glacial smile this news was no skin off Harry’s nose.
‘You know best. . . I’ve never thought much of her.’
This was quite the wrong thing to have said.
‘She has more brains in her little finger than you have in your head!’ Lisa snapped viciously.
ToTo, a small, sharp-eyed Japanese, came out on to the terrace with a dry Martini which he placed on the table by Harry, bowed and withdrew.
‘And you drink too much!’ Lisa looked enviously at the ice-beaded glass. Dr. Gourley wouldn’t allow her to drink any alcohol and Lisa liked a drink.
‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said. ‘This happens to be my first drink of the day. Would you rather I didn’t have it?’
‘Oh, have it!’ Lisa bit her thin underlip. ‘I want to be taken out tonight.’
‘Why, sure. Where shall we go? The Yacht Club? Bernini? Alfredo?’
‘I’m sick of those places. We’ll go to the Saigon Restaurant.’
Harry was surprised.
Along the waterfront there was a number of small, somewhat crummy restaurants and bars.
When he worked at the store, he often went to them. He knew the Saigon Restaurant, but had never eaten there. He didn’t fancy Vietnamese food. This restaurant was shabby, and usually full of tourists after a cheap meal, and the idea of Lisa dining there seemed to him to be a mistake.
‘Do you think you’ll like it? It’s always crammed with tourists.’
‘That’s where we are going!’
‘Well, fine . . . I’ll call them to book a table.’
So they went. It was always a commotion to get Lisa from her wheelchair into the Aston Martin. Harry had to lift her out of the chair and into the bucket seat. She always complained that he was hurting her. Then he had to collapse the chair and stow it in the back of the car.
They drove down to the crowded waterfront, arriving at the restaurant around nine o’clock. He wheeled her into the big, rather dingy main dining hall.
Dong Tho, the owner of the restaurant, came scurrying forward. Harry had alerted him on the telephone who Lisa was.
A tubby little man with a yellow wrinkled skin and bright black eyes, wearing the traditional black Vietnamese dress, Dong Tho bowed to the ground and smiled as he led them into a private room, away from the main restaurant and that overlooked the busy harbour. There were carnations on the table, and it was obvious from the snow-white tablecloth and the way the table had been set that Dong Tho had made special efforts to please, but Lisa wasn’t impressed.
‘I expect we will be poisoned,’ she said as Harry wheeled her chair up to the table.
Dong Tho giggled with embarrassment. He handed out two menus, a foot long. Harry stared at the list of dishes: they meant nothing to him, then he looked at Lisa.
‘Should we leave it to him?’
‘I suppose so,’ Lisa said indifferently. Harry could see that she was now sorry to have come, but since it had been her idea, she couldn’t take it out on him. ‘This is a mistake.’
Harry could have slapped her. He was embarrassed for the little man hovering around them. He told him they wanted a simple Vietnamese meal and would he arrange it?
While they waited, Lisa stared out of the window, watching the crowds milling around the sponge fishing boats that had just come in. She wasn’t in the mood for light conversation so Harry kept quiet. Then the door opened and a girl came in carrying a tray with the first of Dong Tho’s offerings. The girl was wearing Vietnamese costume: white silk trousers and a sheath long tunic of rose pink. Her hair was plaited and lay in a thick black rope down her slim back: the sign of virginity: the married Vietnamese women wear their hair up.
She came into the room behind Lisa and facing Harry. He looked at her, then his heart skipped a beat. He had never seen any woman quite so beautiful. The small, delicate features, the big, almond-shaped eyes, the fairy-like figure rocked him back on his mental heels. He quickly looked away as the girl began to place the dishes before them.
Lisa glanced at her, then seeing her beauty, looked sharply at Harry, but Harry had somehow managed to hoist a bored expression on his face and was now looking at the dishes.
‘This looks acceptable,’ he said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I suppose so.’
The girl had gone. Harry had a feeling that the sun had shone on him — a white, burning, bone-melting sun — for the space of a few seconds and now he was in sudden gloom.
The girl was Dong Tho’s daughter. She was eighteen years of age. Her mother, an American, once worked at the American Embassy in Saigon. She had met and married Dong Tho and had one child: Tania. They had left Saigon when Tania was five years of age and had settled in Paradise City. Dong Tho had opened his restaurant with his wife’s money.
When Tania was sixteen years of age, her mother died. She had been eaten up with cancel for some years: her death came as no surprise.
Tania had to take her place. She worked in the restaurant, hating it. With half-American, half-Vietnamese blood, she found the need to balance her life correctly bewildering.
When she came in to change the dishes and to bring more dishes, Harry again gave her a quick appraisal, careful it was quick because he was aware of Lisa’s hostility towards the girl.
This fairy-like beauty caught at his throat. She had all the advantages of Vietnamese beauty, but retained the American feminine figure. Her breasts made a blood stirring mound under her rose pink tunic, her legs were long and her hips narrow, but solid.
Lisa found fault with everything although she ate well. Harry was glad when the meal finally ended.
‘That girl. . .’ Lisa said as they waited for the check. ‘She’s a half-caste. What do you think of her?’
‘Is she? I didn’t notice.’ Harry looked out of the window. ‘Anyway, I’m not interested in Orientals.’
Lisa leaned forward, her eyes glittering.
‘What are you interested in, Harry?’
He forced a smile.
‘I’ll tell you,’ he lied. ‘I’m interested in you. I remember when we first met. . . when it was never better. I go along with that memory, darling. . . the best ever.’
Lisa’s hard, sad face crumpled a little. She put her hand on his.
‘That’s the nicest, loveliest thing you have ever said to me, Harry.’
For the next three days, Harry dreamed of Tania. Then the following morning when he was in his office, Miss Bernstein came in to tell him the client who had a luncheon date with him had had to cancel.
Harry saw his chance.
‘Too bad . . . well, phone the Yacht Club I’m not coming.’
Miss Bernstein looked suspiciously at him.
‘Where will you be lunching, Mr. Lewis?’
‘I don’t know. . . I’ll get a sandwich somewhere.’
Harry went to the Saigon Restaurant. As soon as Dong Tho saw him, he bowed to the ground and conducted him to the private room.
A minute later, Tania came in with the menu. They looked at each other. Harry knew he couldn’t afford to waste time.
He smiled his charming smile and said, ‘You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.’
There was that Oriental, blank expression on her face that was to bother Harry for months ahead.
‘Thank you,’ she said and handed him the menu.
Her closeness, the fairy-like slimness of her, her ivory, perfect skin set Harry on fire.
‘What is your name?’ he asked.
‘Tania.’
‘I am Harry Lewis.’
‘Yes.’
Tania knew all about Harry Lewis, and especially all about Mrs. Harry Lewis who was said to be the richest woman in Paradise City.
Harry hesitated. He knew he might not have the opportunity to visit the restaurant again for weeks. He had to rush his fences. There was something about the way the girl was looking at him that encouraged him.
‘Have you anything to do next Sunday morning?’ he asked. This was kill or cure. He knew the approach was crude, but he had no alternative.
There was no change of expression. She continued to regard him with that Oriental, deadpan face.
‘I have to be here at midday.’
‘But before then . . . you aren’t tied up?’
‘No.’
Harry drew in a deep breath. He said gently, ‘Could we meet somewhere? I would like to talk to you . . . to get to know you better.’
She lowered her eyes. She looked so lovely Harry had to restrain himself from shoving away the table and taking her in his arms.
‘I must ask my father,’ she said quietly, not looking at him.
Harry thought: God! Now, what have I started?
‘Do you have to?’ he asked, alarmed.
She looked at him and smiled reassuringly.
‘My father has great admiration for Americans. He is very understanding. What would you like to eat?’
‘Oh . . .’ Harry relaxed. ‘To eat? Oh, anything . . . I’m not hungry.’
She nodded and went away.
Harry lit a cigarette and stared out of the window. Was he walking into trouble? Dealing with Orientals might be tricky, and yet. . . he thought of that slim body, that exquisite body.
Tania found Dong Tho supervising in the kitchen.
‘Papa . . .’ She beckoned.
He followed her out into the corridor.
‘Mr. Lewis wants to talk to me on Sunday morning,’ she said. ‘Where can I take him?’
Dong Tho’s little black eyes lit up with joy.
‘Ask him here, of course. He can always have the private room.’
Tania looked steadily at her father, then shook her head.
‘There should be a bed, Papa.’
Dong Tho flinched, but he was a realist. His brain always worked swiftly. If his daughter became the mistress of the husband of the richest woman in the City, not only Tania, but he, himself, must surely benefit.
‘There’s the Wang-Cho Hotel,’ he suggested. ‘It is very discreet.’
Tania shook her head.
‘Oh no. Mr. Lewis wouldn’t like that. He is a great gentleman. The rooms are too small and there is only the bed. No, that wouldn’t do.’ She paused, then looked steadily at her father. ‘I believe he has fallen in love with me.’
Dong Tho brightened. This was becoming better and better. He thought for a long moment, selecting and discarding, then he said, ‘I could speak to Anna Woo. She might let you have her apartment for the morning.’
Anna Woo was the most successful call girl in the Chinese quarter of the City. She had a luxurious one-room apartment on the ground floor of an apartment block inhabited by rich Chinese who minded their own business and were never curious.
‘That would do very well,’ Tania said.
‘But Anna is a great thief.’ Dong Tho frowned. ‘It will cost a lot of my money. Are you sure he is serious? This isn’t just a one-night stand?’
‘No . . . I am sure he is very serious.’
‘Then I will telephone her now.’
Tania went into the kitchen and filled a bowl with Chinese soup. She filled another bowl with fried shrimps and rice and carried them to Harry.
‘Well?’ he asked feverishly. ‘Have you spoken to your father?’
‘Not yet,’ Tania said, putting the bowls before him. ‘Please enjoy your lunch.’ As she left the room, she paused and looked at him, then she smiled. ‘Don’t be anxious,’ and she shut the door.
‘Well, that’s how it began,’ Al Barney said, accepting another cigarette. ‘It had to end in trouble, of course, but these sort of affairs generally do, but the following Sunday morning was the happiest Harry had ever spent, and after all those months of living like a monk, he became obsessed with Tania.’
As luck would have it, Lisa was having one of her bad spells. From time to time, she had a lot of pain and when Harry went to her room this Sunday morning, Helgar met him at the door and said Madame shouldn’t be disturbed. She was under sedation. This was a relief to Harry as he was so worked up at the thought of meeting Tania, he wasn’t too sure that he wouldn’t have betrayed himself if Lisa had seen him. He told Helgar he would be back in a couple of hours or so, and she stared at him with her cold, hostile eyes, saying nothing.
Harry had already called Jack English, warning him he would be at the club house. English said it was okay with him because his girl had the ‘curse’ and he would be playing golf.
‘Found something interesting, Harry?’
‘Yes. We’ll have to take it in turns now.’
‘My luck! Well, okay, you’ve been a pal to me. I’ll go along with you.’
Harry was pleased with Anna Woo’s apartment. There was parking space under cover for the Aston Martin, and when Tania let him into the apartment, he was startled at the luxury of it all. Anna Woo knew how to live. The big airy room with its green sun shutters, its ornate furniture and blood-red, heavy pile carpet and its king’s size divan made an ideal love nest.
Tania was wearing a pale blue sheath over her white trousers and she had her hair loose . . . it reached down to her waist.
She looked so lovely that Harry could only stand and stare at her.
‘Would you like a drink first, Harry?’ she asked, smiling at him. ‘Or shall we make love now?’
They made love at first violently and then gently and tenderly. They made love like this three times before Harry realised he had been in the apartment over three hours.
‘My God! I must go!’
While he was dressing Tania lay like an ivory goddess, naked on the divan, watching him. She was smiling gently, although her heart was beating fast. Had she made a mistake? Was this just this once and now satisfied, the American would forget her, but she need not have worried.
‘How about next Sunday?’ Harry asked as he slipped on his sports shirt.
She got off the bed, sha
king her head. Her heart beat less fast.
‘My friend won’t be able to let me have this apartment again . . . it was a special favour.’
Harry stared at her in dismay as she began to dress.
‘But we must. . . isn’t there any other place you know where we could go?’
For the past two days both she and Dong Tho had hunted for some other place. Dong Tho had been horrified at Anna Woo’s charges.
‘There is a small furnished apartment — not quite as good as this — but nice, that is to let opposite,’ Tania said. It was in fact Anna Woo who had told her about it. ‘It costs one hundred dollars a month . . . three months in advance.’
Harry didn’t hesitate.
‘Take it,’ he said. ‘I’ll give you the money’ He thought a little uneasily of his dwindling bank account. He would have to try to cut down on his personal spending. He gave her three one hundred dollar bills. ‘I must go.’ He took her in his arms, fondled and kissed her, then knowing he was dangerously late back home, he said goodbye. ‘The next Sunday at nine o’clock. . . across the way’
She smiled happily.
‘Yes.’
Harry met Jack English at the Yacht Club. Both of them had been lunching clients.
‘I won’t be at the Golf Club on Sunday,’ Harry said.
‘Oh, come on!’ English looked dismayed. ‘We agreed to take it in turns. It’s my Sunday.’
‘I’m sorry.’
English’s eyes narrowed.
‘You could be. If you don’t cover me — I don’t cover you.’
Harry had anticipated that this would be English’s reaction. He had given the situation some thought.
‘Do you think we could fix something with Joe Gates?’
Joe Gates was the Golf Club’s barman who handled all the telephone messages coming in for members out on the course.
English brightened.
‘That’s an idea. . . how?’
‘Why don’t we slip him twenty bucks a week, and if either of our wives call, he can say we are out of reach. Before we leave our girlfriends, we call him and he alerts us if there have been any messages.’
1968-An Ear to the Ground Page 8