“Eisenhower,” he admitted. It had been a lame press dinner in 1956, and it wasn’t even attended by Eisenhower or his crony Nixon, who was vice president at the time.
“My God, we are getting old.”
“It’s just a number.” He didn’t believe that and he didn’t know why he said it. He was intensely aware of getting older, especially at this impasse in his marriage.
“I’m bored,” she said. “Let’s talk to someone. Introduce me around.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know many people here. I suspect there are a lot of agency men. CIA. We’re in the belly of the beast.”
“What about him?” It was General Burke, moving toward them fast with his hand out, ready to shake. “You must know him.”
“Eastman,” Burke called. “You got the invitation. I’m glad you came.”
“Meredith, meet General Donald Burke. General, this is Meredith.”
“Call me Don, please. Where have you been hiding?”
“My calendar has just been full of interviews,” said Eastman.
“I didn’t mean you,” said Burke. “I know about you. I mean this lovely woman.”
“Meredith’s just in from New York.”
“It’s a pleasure, Don,” Meredith said and Burke took her hand.
“Come to see the last of Saigon, huh? Well, this is it. I’m glad you could both make it to the party. President Thieu is here. He’ll be saying a few words about the so-called ‘peace’ we’ve been hearing so much about. Personally, I don’t think he knows his right hand from his asshole. I know, I shouldn’t be talking like this. But what do I care? I’m going home in a few days.”
“And where is home, Don?” asked Meredith.
“Anywhere but here. Forgive my sarcasm, dear. West Virginia. You’re not a correspondent, are you? You have an aura of mystery about you.”
“You’re very charming,” she said. “I’m a publisher. I worked on Alan’s first book.”
“You’re kidding. The American War is my favorite book of all time. In the Shadow of Eden comes in a close second. Have you read it?”
“I have,” she said, referring to Heimish’s war book published that same year.
Eastman scoffed.
“You’re a tastemaker then,” said Burke. “You didn’t take me for a reader, did you?”
“I would never think that of you. I’m completely thrilled that you admire Alan’s work.”
“How’s the writing?” he asked Eastman.
“Gestating. I never talk about a piece of writing until it’s finished. I do, however, want to talk to you about Dak Pek.”
Eastman looked at Meredith to gauge her reaction. Dak Pek sounded dangerous, like he had plans to act on. The sound of the name was pressing.
“Not here,” Burke said. He looked around. “Let’s go over by the shrimp.”
“My, you two are secretive,” she said. “I’ll let you go. I’ll be here.”
Eastman and Burke walked through the crowd and over to the shrimp station, where the general gathered an obscene number of crustaceans onto his plate. His method was to devour. Tear the heads off, chew them up, spit out the inedible. Eastman stuck with the fruit because he would be drinking tonight and didn’t want to risk another upset stomach by mixing alcohol and seafood.
“I’m sorry I’ve been out of touch,” Eastman said. “I’m dealing with a lot of factors. Also I’ve had an unexpected surprise. Meredith arrived this afternoon.”
“I don’t give a rat’s dick. Just keep that lovely lady safe. That’s your first priority. Now Dak Pek.”
“Can you still get me up there? If you can, I want to check it out, even if it’s just from the air.”
“Situation is hairy. Cease-fire is out the window near Dak Pek. Fighting continues, but you won’t hear that at the four o’clock follies. I believe that is what you in your business call a scoop.”
“Yes, indeed. So it’s possible?”
“It can be arranged. You’ll have to drop into Pleiku first and get a dustoff to Dak Pek. I’ll call you in the afternoon. What about your wife?”
“Meredith’s not my wife. She’s just a good friend. She stopped here en route to Sydney to look in on me.”
“When you leave for Pleiku I can see after her if you’d like.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“They don’t make ’em like that anymore.”
“How’s that?”
“Women with backbone. A head on her shoulders. I bet she holds her own in a room full of grunts. Does she cook?”
“I believe she has someone for that, Don.”
“Now I’ll have to determine whether we can get you up there,” the general continued, “if not tomorrow then in the coming days. You should have called me sooner. I thought you would be in touch. Answer your damn phone when I call. I’ll leave it to the discretion of the pilot whether you can touch down or not.”
“I’d be happy just seeing it from the air.”
“The ground war, isn’t that what you said? Talk to the men on the ground.”
Eastman found himself backing out of the trip already, just as the general was proposing the plan. He was trying to get away from Meredith, but why? He wasn’t so sure. It may have been his interest in Channing, and not wishing to appear attached. They had something, he was sure of it, at least before he shit the bed. Rather than suffer any more embarrassment, he left his plans with Burke intact for the time being.
“However you can help get me there is much appreciated,” Eastman said.
“Did you ever track down Norman Heimish?” asked Burke.
“No. He left town, I think.”
“He’s back.”
“You’ve seen him?”
“He’s standing right over there. Talking to your Meredith.”
Eastman swallowed his champagne whole and dropped the glass on the table of prawns. It was Heimish. Conversing with Meredith among a swarm of Saigon’s elite.
“Why Gen’ral, what have we got ourselves here?” Eastman said, using his Texas accent. He placed his thumbs into his belt as if beneath his dinner jacket were two quick-draw revolvers. Of course, he felt nothing but two extra inches of belly flap. “I believe we have ourselves a Mexican standoff.”
“I sensed there must be some bad blood between you two boys,” said Burke.
“He robbed me of something once.”
“A woman?”
“A Pulitzer Prize.” Eastman dropped the Texas twang. “Don, if you would excuse me now, I have some business to attend to.”
The general turned to refill his plate. “That’s fine. Better get some more shrimp while the gettin’s good. We’ll be in touch about tomorrow.”
Eastman walked toward Heimish and Meredith as if in a trance. He was thinking of ways to skewer his old friend in front of his mistress. He downed another champagne quickly while the waiter stood by. Then he took two more flutes, one for himself, the other for Meredith.
She had probably welcomed Heimish over, as they knew each other from New York. She was well aware of their falling out but she wasn’t going to be impolite to anyone on his account, especially to an author of Heimish’s caliber.
The years had been kind to Heimish. Eastman sized him up from the profile. He may have lost a good amount of hair but it suited him. He was not very tall, but he was broad, as broad as they came, with thick shoulders and arms, one of those men who looked uncomfortable in tailored clothing.
When was the last time they’d seen each other? Was it all those years ago at Heimish’s polygamy farm in Illinois? They hadn’t been completely incommunicado for the last decade. Besides the few times they’d spoken on the phone after the Illinois incident, Eastman sent letters to Heimish, concise paragraphs of backhanded praise written after Eastman found a particularly bad review of one of Heimish�
��s books and could hence quote the worst parts in his letter.
Heimish turned around and smiled at Eastman as he approached. His face was still handsome in that boyish way, with his square jaw.
“Alan!” Heimish said. “What in God’s name has brought you to Vietnam? And you’ve gotten Meredith all mixed up in your fiasco. I look up, I see her, I swear I think I’m at a New York publishing party. God, it’s good to see you, brother.” Heimish put his hands around Eastman’s arms.
“Norman, what has it been? Seven, eight years?”
“Too long. And God, I feel old just looking at you, which means I’m old, too. Meredith, do you know I met this man nearly twenty years ago?”
“So did I,” she said.
“And you’re just as in love with me as you were then,” Eastman said to her. “More so.”
“Flatter yourself if it makes you feel better,” she said.
“I heard you were in town,” Eastman said. “But I didn’t know how to get ahold of you.”
“I was in town. And then I wasn’t. You should have called the Times bureau. They usually know where I am. I just got back from Cambodia.”
“You’re kidding,” said Meredith. “Alan was just about to go there. Weren’t you, Alan?”
“Meredith, please,” Eastman said.
“I thought you said you were going to Cambodia?” Meredith said.
“I said I might go to Cambodia. But now you’re here. So maybe I won’t.”
“I don’t think the situation in Cambodia is getting any better,” Heimish said. “The war will be there when you get there.”
“I know that. I just don’t want to announce my plans to a roomful of newsmen.”
“Alan,” Heimish said, “that’s not the way it is out here. There are no scoops to be had. There’s just a shit situation and a bunch of brave individuals bearing witness to it. It’s a calling, you know that.”
He didn’t know that, actually. All these years Eastman didn’t think of writing and reporting as a calling or vocation, but as a job. A job where he’d done well, not having to work for anyone. A job where he could exist as he was and not have to change for anyone. He wanted to say something equally impressive about the work, but he didn’t have anything in reserve. So when he opened his mouth, he found himself saying, “Chasing the war is like chasing a fine woman. Once you lay her she can never be enough.”
Meredith was appalled. “That’s a hideous analogy,” she said. “Absolutely hideous.” She shifted slightly in Heimish’s direction and shook her head as if to apologize on Eastman’s behalf.
“That’s the old guard talking,” said Heimish. “You see, Meredith, old guys like us feel threatened by women in charge. We’ll die out soon enough.” Heimish was being courteous. Eastman knew his statement was hideous and he was sorry he’d made the remark. Still, there was a time when Heimish would have joined in and had a quip or two to add. The remark had made Meredith uncomfortable, and she was now so visibly disappointed in Eastman that all he could do was deflect her rage by keeping a smile on his face, as if he didn’t care about her feelings. But he did care about her feelings. Why couldn’t he just apologize? It was Heimish’s presence. It put him off his game and he was resorting to animalistic modes of survival at a cocktail party. Whenever he did so, the night was sure to end in disaster.
A change of subject was desperately needed to save him from himself, and when he looked to Meredith she continued to scold him with her eyes. Only she could absolve him and remedy his evening.
“Norman,” Meredith said, “I think your new book is just wonderful, I had meant to write you.”
“Thank you. You’re opinion means everything.”
“I haven’t read it,” said Eastman. “What’s it called?”
Heimish appeared burdened to have to recall the title of his new book for him, which meant two things. The book wasn’t living up to its expectations or Eastman was finally getting to him.
“It’s called A Winter in May,” Meredith said. “Such a brilliant title, don’t you think? You must read it, Alan. It’s profound.”
“Thank you,” Heimish said. “I’ll send you a copy, Alan.”
“Don’t bother. She has a copy.”
“I’ll send you a book anyway. You can give it to someone. You’re at the Continental, right?”
“That’s right. Where are you?”
“I’m staying in town, a private residence. The amount I’ve been coming and going, it’s better than trying to book a room in Lam Son Square.”
There was an awkward pause filled with aggression and it was mostly coming from Eastman’s body language, the way he stood in a fighter’s stance, still holding in his fists two flutes of champagne. He offered the extra glass to Meredith as a peace offering. She took it from him in exchange for her empty glass, so right away his hands were once again full. This discomfort made him feel the pangs of anxiety. He was having trouble finding his footing in the room.
“You have an apartment, you say,” Eastman replied. “I’d love to stop by and see it.” It occurred to him that Heimish no longer lived in Illinois but had moved to Rhode Island with his wife and two daughters.
“I’m renting from a friend at the embassy,” said Heimish.
Eastman thought the profile fit Channing’s former lover. He got the feeling he had whenever he figured out the ending to a book he was writing, when all the players began to align neatly and the erroneous details fit like pieces in a cardboard puzzle. He felt clarity of mind. As if suddenly the walls of the palace had turned to glass and he was allowed a glimpse at the truth. It wasn’t spiritual; it was a truth experience. He thought of Channing and looked around the room for her. He wanted to share the news with her (perhaps because he felt left out) that Heimish was renting the special apartment she mentioned.
Meredith, sensing a shift in the atmosphere, tried to change the subject yet again. She asked Heimish questions about Saigon. She asked about safety in the city, and that only irritated Eastman more. Was she trying to upend his authority? Heimish recognized the motivation behind Meredith’s questions, and he was happy to oblige. He told her just how unpredictable things really were and that she should be taking extreme caution.
“That’s why invitations for tonight arrived so late,” Eastman informed Meredith. “They probably didn’t want too many to know that there would be a gathering with the president. Too dangerous.”
“No, I knew about it for a few days,” said Heimish. “Speaking of which, have you met the president?”
“I’ve met several presidents. But no, I haven’t met this one.”
“I interviewed him,” said Heimish. “A few times, although I can’t recall just how many.”
“What’s he like?” asked Meredith.
“He’s like all politicians. Short on time and answers questions that weren’t asked while dodging the ones that were. Then time’s up and you’re shuffled off.”
“Is that what you’re working on?” said Eastman. “The political angle? Is it a book?”
“An article for the Times magazine. But there’s always a book, isn’t there? And don’t worry. There are plenty of Vietnam stories to go around. Tragedy is dynamic.”
“Now he’s going to tell us about tragedy,” Eastman said.
Heimish didn’t take the bait and politely smiled.
“It’s good to see you back at it, Alan. These are tough times, what with this Vietnamization baloney. We need writers like you to dispel the lies and the bullshit.”
“That’s why I’m here. To do the good work.” Eastman looked around the room at the faces he didn’t recognize. A commotion started up on the other side of the banquet hall, near the stage. Some armed men had entered the room, presidential guards. They were clearing a path rather aggressively, which was becoming a theme for the evening. Once a suitable path was cleared o
f partygoers, President Nguyen Van Thieu entered to a round of applause and made his way onto the stage to the center podium.
Heimish explained that they should get a little closer and led them, with his wide frame, into the crowd toward the stage.
Eastman got out his pad and began to take notes. He knew Thieu hated journalists, much like the infamous Madame Nhú, who, in the early sixties, had wanted them all thrown out of the country.
Thieu made some lame duck introduction, the same stuff any politician back home would start out with, only his way of speaking was guileless. Even when he spoke of peace he seemed angered. He briefly complimented the success of the Paris agreement and assured everyone that South Vietnam’s relations with the U.S. were intact. It was only when Thieu began to speak of history that Eastman became interested.
“History has proved,” said Thieu, “that the world cannot have solid peace without stability in the Pacific region. Our brothers and sisters with interests in our region know this to be true, and that is why they have worked tirelessly to repair what has been broken. Disruption in the Pacific has always led to a fractured world and a broken economy for all. History has also shown that for the Pacific Ocean to deserve its own peaceful name we must have the courage and determination to push for lasting peace.”
“Pacify” was the word that came to Eastman then. America was trying to pacify South Vietnam as it removed itself under the guise of Vietnamization. Train, support, aid, disappear. The messy business of removing itself from a lost war.
As Thieu concluded a rather short speech, it felt like everyone needed a time-out before the party could resume. The words were uplifting, but his delivery sucked some of the air out of the room.
“What do you think?” Eastman asked Heimish.
“I think he’s in for a rude awakening when the checks from Uncle Sam slow down.”
Meredith excused herself to go to the powder room and Eastman and Heimish stood alone together for the first time in a long while.
“I’m looking for a friend who’s supposed to be here tonight,” said Eastman.
“Who?”
“Anne Channing. Do you know her?”
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