* * *
Two weeks slipped past uneventfully. It was another lazy weekend morning when there was an abrupt and unexpected knock on her door. Who in the world? Rachel Marie stumbled into the living room clad just in a long T-shirt, her bedraggled hair still in her eyes. “Who is it?”
There was a reluctant pause. “It’s Benjamin. Your godless infidel friend from school.”
Grinning, she pulled open the door. “Hey, Mr. Cey.”
“Please,” he remonstrated. “Benjie.”
“All right.” She motioned him into the cramped apartment, grateful she had tidied up late Friday afternoon. “What are you doing out and about so early?”
He scanned the place with its pleasant touches of femininity. “Not a bad place, lovey.”
“Thanks.” Rachel Marie shrugged, suddenly aware of her less than ideal appearance. “Sorry I haven’t quite finished with my makeup and all.”
“No worries. But if you’re game, I got a lovely surprise for you.”
She hesitated. Her relationship with Khemkaeng was still very much an uncertain thing, but she felt a loyalty she didn’t wish to jeopardize in any way.
“Give me a hint at least.”
Benjamin ruminated, scratching at his uneven sideburns. “All right. First off, fetch your swimming trunks.”
“How come?”
“Just do it, love. Second, if you come along, I think you’ll get a taste of America that you’ve been hankering for.”
He refused to say more, and she finally nodded. There weren’t really any other pressing things to do, and her lesson plans were all made up through Wednesday. “Okay,” she surrendered. “Give me five minutes to get something on and at least run a brush through my hair.”
“All right, lovey.”
Down on the street, he hailed a tuk tuk and jabbered expertly at the driver, motioning with his fingers about the price he expected. Sighing, the man nodded and motioned them into the bench seat, its plastic already warm and almost bubbling in the mid-morning sunlight.
“Where are we off to?”
Benjamin sighed. “You women are all alike! I offer you a repast beyond comprehension, and you insist on the details up front. Just trust me, dearie.”
“All right.” She grinned. Benjamin Cey was a quirky and delightful guy, but on the Dodger Stadium tote board of love where she had so generously ranked her Khemkaeng, he would strike out on all counts, and was astute enough to realize it. So he chattered on cheerfully about the shenanigans of his high school students at BCS, his presence in the simmering Bangkok traffic a colorful and nonthreatening diversion.
“That was a cute show you and your gang of thespians gave us the other day.” He nodded approvingly.
“You saw it? Didn’t you have class during middle school’s chapel?”
“I only teach two sections on Friday mornings, and I had about twenty minutes free. So I thought I’d pop in and enjoy some high drama at Albert Hall.”
Rachel Marie glowed, remembering the clumsy but infectious praise music, with Siroj banging out a passable rock beat on the school’s drum kit.
“Your little lady, what’s-her-name, could sure belt out the tunes, eh?”
“Vitaya?”
“Yeh. If BCS can hang onto her right up into high school, we’ll do some amazing stuff, believe me. Reginald’s starting a drama club, you know. But she’s got the confident talent and the looks both.”
“I know.”
The tuk tuk driver was steering them toward an exclusive suburb in the southeast part of Bangkok, and Rachel Marie looked enviously at the lush landscaping and western-style homes on their oversized lots. “Where are we going?”
“Just you wait, dear thing.” He leaned forward and pointed the diminutive driver toward a long alley on the right. “Leow kwaah.” The man obediently did a lurching turn that actually left tire skids on the pavement and roared up the soi. Benjamin gestured again, and the driver cut the throttle, easing to a noisy stop at the front gate of a palatial high-rise luxury apartment complex.
“What is this?” Rachel Marie craned her neck. “Imperial Manor. Who lives here, Benjie?”
“Never you mind about all that.” He thrust a bill at the cabbie and helped her out. “Just follow along and don’t moan.”
They went into a superbly appointed lobby with soft classical music floating out of recessed speakers. European frescoes adorned the wall and there was a playfully splashing waterfall with sculpted Italian gnomes spewing water out their pursed lips. Two young tuxedoed attendants nodded as she passed them, and Rachel Marie suddenly felt self-conscious in her tacky weekend clothes. “Why didn’t you tell me where we were coming?” she hissed under her breath.
“Shhhh. Don’t worry, lovey.”
The pair entered a thickly carpeted elevator and Benjamin punched the button for the fourth floor. “I thought you might like a tiny Bangkok taste of how the other half lives.”
“You?” She almost gasped.
He laughed as the elevator doors slid open. “Oh, my, no. I get the same paltry paycheck as you, sweetheart. I’m sleeping on a threadbare mattress over in purgatory meself. But this place . . .” He whistled and gave a wistful shake of his head. “After you, love.”
Rachel Marie went ahead of him through two thick transparent doors with a facing pair of exquisite swans etched in the glass. Suddenly she emitted an involuntary gasp of pleasure. “Wow!”
Perched on a fourth-floor balcony was a sparkling swimming pool, its clear blue water cool and inviting. Tiny submerged lights circling the perimeter of the watery oval gave the ripples a shimmering, iridescent effect. Ornate shrubs all around the pool were trimmed into exotic animal shapes, with cozy tables for snacking and poolside reading. A splendid Asian garden with bougainvillea and miniature palm trees was on the other side of the railing, and a meandering path threaded an idyllic journey through the verdant paradise.
“Now before you jump in the water,” Benjie chuckled, “check this out.” He went over to the far side of the hall where a young woman stood at an empty bar. He whispered a few words and she nodded. Fishing in a drawer, she pulled out a digital remote device and handed it to him.
“Come over here, Miss Stone,” he smirked. Pushing the button, a recessed wall swung open, revealing a massive big-screen television. Flipping it on, he punched in a few numbers and all at once she was gazing at a live shot of Dodger Stadium. “Recognize this place?”
Giddy as one of her sixth-grade girls, she jumped up and down, silly and happy. “Are they on? Right now?”
“Come on,” he scolded. “You knew L.A. got themselves in the championship round.”
“I forgot to check the last few days,” Rachel Marie confessed. “And this is . . . who? The Braves?”
“I don’t pay much mind to American baseball,” the scraggly teacher told her, his owlish demeanor clearly pleased at her enthusiasm. “But I noticed that, with the time zones and all, your game would be on just now. Plus”–he gestured at the opulent surroundings–“I knew this place would have the kind of satellite dish where they’d pipe the game in for ya.”
She watched in a happy daze as the Los Angeles players took the field and the announcer read off the lineups. “Just exactly like home.”
“Yeh. Bit of a taste of the old country, eh?”
Rachel Marie gave him a careful hug. “This is really a great present. But . . . how’d you get in here?”
He shrugged. “I got a friend, Nigel, who lives here. So we hang out a bit when he’s in town.” Benjie went over and stuck a toe in the inviting water. “Mmm, not bad.” Then added: “‘Course, the bloke’s on the road at least half the time and not using his flat. So he said to me, ‘Make yourself right at home, chappie.’”
“Nice!” Atlanta’s leadoff batter hit a routine grounder to the shortstop and she felt her Dodger blue blood tingling in her veins.
“I figure you can watch when your team is hitting at the ball, and then paddle about and enj
oy the cool water when the other team’s doing whatever.” He laughed self-deprecatingly at his own lack of sports finesse. “Sound all right?”
“Sounds perfect and awesome and wonderful.” Rachel Marie gazed around the expensively appointed pool area. “Where do I change?”
He pointed to his left. “The room for all the pretty lassies is right there.” He eyed her with friendly approval. “I guess you’d qualify there, lovey.”
The water was absolutely divine as she floated happily on her back, paddling from one side of the pool to the other, letting the cool liquid splash over her face. Every few minutes she gazed over at the enormous digital screen to make sure Atlanta batters were striking out in accordance with her prayers. It was a blessing, for just a few hours, to actually forget the stifling heat of Bangkok and the lurking stresses that came from being a foreigner. Here in this pristine adult playground, with the Dodgers thrashing their National League opponents only a few feet away, it was like all of Asia had receded and become simply a backdrop for her normal life.
Ninety minutes later, refreshed and still giddy with the ambience cleansing her mind, Rachel Marie fell into a poolside chair, smiling broadly. She toweled the chlorinated water out of her hair and leaned back contentedly. With the humidity of Bangkok and all the scrambling around Bangkok Christian School’s large campus, she had shed a few pounds, and she felt invigorated and fit. Her bathing suit accentuated her nice figure and glowing skin, giving her a pleasant sense of well-being, confident that she looked good. Not that Benjie was likely to benefit.
“Not bad, eh?”
“Not at all.” She flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks again. This was just the best.”
“Well, well, old boy. Who have you got tagging along with you now?”
Benjie dropped his magazine, startled. “Wha . . .”
They both turned to look. Coming around from the swan doors was a well-built man who looked to be in his mid-thirties. He had on expensive cream-colored trousers and a blue-and-white striped shirt with the sleeves casually rolled up. A couple of costly gold chains and a muted pinky ring.
“Nigel!” Benjie leaped to his feet and shook hands with the newcomer. “Thought you were still in Kuala Lumpur, old boy.”
“Well, I was, you know.” Their host stepped around a wet spot and came closer. “But the DLF protest rally they sent me to cover got canceled when that typhoon blew in from Indonesia. So I got my ticket switched over, and figured I’d have at least a bit of weekend at home.”
“Pull up a chair and relax, then. Let me introduce you to this fetching young thing.” Rachel Marie blushed, feeling outclassed and certainly out-dressed by the very debonair stranger in his expensive designer clothes. “This is the lovely and talented Miss Stone, come all the way out to Bangkok from the colonies. She’s taken old BCS by storm with her teaching skills and her prowess on the badminton court.” Benjie added the last bit teasingly.
“Oh, yes.” Nigel showed off a telegenic smile, gallantly reaching over and shaking her hand. “Please, don’t get up. But lovely to meet you, dearie. Your friend Mr. Cey has mentioned how Missie Stone is by far the prettiest member of the dream team out at your place.” He turned to his unkempt friend and winked. “Here I thought you were waxing a wee bit lyrical, but turns out the truth is bigger than your fairy tales, my boy.”
He sat down, smiling again at Rachel Marie, then suddenly clapped his hands together. “My lady, we’ve treated you so shabbily here. No drink in front of you, and here you have your favorite sportsmen on the telly and all.”
“No, it’s okay,” she protested.
“Nonsense. I won’t take no for an answer.” He pointed at Benjie. “I know, beer for you, laddie. But what will you have, Miss Stone?”
She pushed a strand of wet hair away from her face, feeling the blood course to her cheeks. “I mean, what have you got?”
“Anything you wish, love. Martini, wine, soda.”
“Well, I don’t drink,” she interjected, hoping her enthusiastic host wouldn’t wilt in disdain. “Do you have lemonade?”
Nigel nodded. “One beer and one lemonade for the lovely lady. Coming up in a blink, sweetheart.”
He slipped over to the bar and Rachel Marie, still a bit overpowered by the newcomer’s matinee looks, pulled her chair closer to Benjie’s. “What’s going on with you guys?” she asked in a low voice.
“What do you mean, love?”
Rachel Marie grinned, feeling her self-assurance return. “Well, just that. I’ve never been so sweetheart-ed and dear-ied in my life. Do all you people talk like this every time you take a breath? I feel like I’m in a Cary Grant movie.”
His teasing smile revealed a badly chipped row of teeth. “Well, it’s a bit cultural,” he admitted. “But I confess that the flow of endearments gets stepped up a bit when a bird’s as fetching as you are.” He added the last without any hidden hook or agenda. “Facts is facts, dearie.” He clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oops, I did it again. Sorry.”
The trio sat by the pool and Rachel Marie sipped on the frosty mug of lemonade, fascinated. Nigel Blaine was witty with an effervescent laugh and he kept signaling to the bar for them to refill her glass. He regaled the two teachers with tales of political intrigue from Tokyo and hot scandals brewing in the casinos of Macao.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel Marie said at last, setting down the delicious drink. “But I feel like I’ve already seen you someplace. I know that sounds trite, but . . . what? Were you ever in a TV show or something? ‘Cause your face looks kind of familiar.”
Benjamin guffawed. “That’s a rich one.” He pointed at his own very average visage. “Now here’s a face to give a lady nightmares.” He cocked his head toward their handsome host. “You probably saw Mr. Blaine here on the telly.”
“So . . . you do do television?”
Nigel grinned, fully aware that he had the kind of finely chiseled face which lit up television screens. “Here’s the thing, Miss Stone. I’m stationed here in Bangkok”–she noticed that he accented the second syllable of Thailand’s capital, just as Benjie did–“but I file news reports for a whole collection of networks here and there.” He gestured toward the pristine landscape below. “You see, even your American big four–NBC, Fox, and the lot–can’t afford to keep a correspondent in every country of the globe. So when a story out here breaks, like those riots at the airport last summer, then I piece it together and do a video piece for one, then the other.”
“Huh.” She tried to remember if that was really it. “Say something for me like you were on TV,” she challenged. “Like, how would you finish a piece?”
He grinned easily. Picking up his nearly emptied martini, he struck an aren’t-I-handsome pose, and intoned: “For NBC, this is Nigel Blaine in downtown Bangkok. Back to you, Lester.”
Rachel Marie bobbed her head. “Yeah. I vaguely remember seeing you, I think. But kind of a while ago.”
“I mostly do stories for the BBC and an English-language channel in Rome. But sometimes if America wants the same story, except with their own on-air tag, I do it for them too.” He raised the glass at her. “Pays all right, too, if I say so myself.”
She risked a peek over his shoulder and was gratified to see the Dodger players filing past each other in a triumphant blue line, giving each other the obligatory high fives of congratulations. Randy Newman’s signature pop tune, I Love L.A., blared through the speakers.
Nigel grinned. “Did your team win?”
“Uh huh.”
“Excellent.” He hoisted his drink again as if to toast her. “You know, if there are more games you want to see, you’ve got a home away from home right here.” A wink. “Anytime, lovey.”
“Well, most of the time U.S. night games plus fourteen hours are right while Benjie and I are in the classroom.”
“Of course.” He nodded affably. “Well, weekends then.” He reached over and gave her a TV celebrity’s condescending pat on the arm, causing her to tingl
e pleasantly. “It’d be a delight to bump into you now and again.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The hourglass icon of computer-freeze-please-wait-wait-wait hovered maddeningly on Rachel Marie’s monitor as she labored to input her Wednesday spelling scores. Pranom, as academically precocious as she was beautiful, had a perfect row of twenty difficult words, all written in a precise feminine cursive that was almost mechanical. In the upper right corner was her trademark sign-off, a penciled note. “Missie Stone is #1 teacher!” The little nuggets of affection, mostly from the girls, were a continual source of pleasant bemusement; nonetheless, she felt out of sorts as the school’s balky software continued to hiccup.
The last of the spelling scores finally went through and she hit SUBMIT with a sigh of relief. Part of her prickliness, she knew, came from the unsettled feelings that lingered about Khemkaeng. Where were things heading with him?
She remembered a school party in tenth grade where she had come home, flopped down on her parents’ bed, and howled: “I don’t even know if he likes me!” It felt like that now, and Khemkaeng’s sometimes studied and proper demeanor was in stark contrast with Nigel’s suave and relentless poolside flirting three days earlier.
The sun-drenched TV star from England obviously wasn’t a romantic candidate, considering the reality that he was a hedonistic, cynical jet-setter, no doubt with an impressive list of libidinous conquests. But his charm was effusive, and–oh my oh my oh my my my–his melting blue eyes and good looks were downright scary. After two hours of poolside innuendo and winks and sweetie-pie compliments, the adorable Mr. Blaine sent the two teachers home in the back seat of a luxuriously appointed car with a driver he summoned with a beeper.
The second floor of BCS was quieter now, as the last gossiping knots of high schoolers trooped down the stairs and out to waiting taxis and chauffeur-driven family cars. Rachel Marie folded the spelling papers into a neat stack and put them into a blue folder for returning to the kids. So how do I spend tonight? She tried to force away the growing unease that had nagged her for the past week.
Love In a Distant Land: Rachel Marie Series Book One Page 14