White Christmas in Saigon

by Margaret Pemberton

  He opened the door for her and she slid into the seat. ‘I’m surprised he didn’t tell you. He was on leave and had had dinner with my parents. He came to pick me up.’

  He quickly came around the car and eased himself behind the steering wheel. ‘And he never came in and joined the party?’

  She shook her head and he could smell the faint lingering perfume of her shampoo. ‘No. We left together and went out for a hamburger and a Coke.’

  He sat in the dark car, not moving as the enormity of her words sank in. Then he switched on the engine and slammed it into gear. Jesus. He’d been as near as that to meeting her first; to asking her out; to falling in love with her.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked in concern as he slewed out of Columbus Avenue and into Broadway, his brows drawn together in a savage frown. ‘Have I said something to upset you?’ She couldn’t, for the life of her, think what it could have been.

  ‘No.’ He looked towards her, forcing the frown away, giving her a lighthearted grin that was far from what he was feeling. ‘I was just thinking how the course of our lives can be altered by small acts. Entering or not entering a room being somewhere five minutes early or five minutes late. That sort of thing.’

  She nodded. ‘I know. I go cold with fright when I think of how I might have refused to let my mother send Lewis instead of our driver, and how, if I had, I would never have met Lewis.’

  It hadn’t been exactly what he was thinking, but he could scarcely tell her that. He drove her home, still appalled at his instant reaction to knowing that they had been in the same room together before she had met Lewis. If he had seen her, would he have noticed her? The answer was a thundering yes. And would he have asked her out on a date? He couldn’t imagine himself meeting her and not asking. But would he have fallen in love with her? That was a question he couldn’t answer.

  He had never in his life been seriously in love, and he didn’t expect he ever would be. Long-standing commitments were not his style. Lewis was the one who was always serious about any emotional involvement he might enter into, and it was typical of Lewis that after meeting Abbra and falling in love with her, he had seen marriage as the next logical step. Scott had enough self-awareness to know that if it had been him, he would never in a million years have thought of anything other than having an intensely passionate and enjoyable love affair.

  As he swung the car into her parents’ drive, he smiled ruefully. He hated to admit it, but Abbra had been far better off falling in love with Lewis than she would have been falling in love with him. The smile deepened into a self-deprecating grin. Hell, how had he the arrogance to even imagine that she would have fallen in love with him? He was a football player, and in world that Abbra and her parents inhabited, a football player came pretty low in the potential-husband stakes.

  ‘Why are you smiling?’ she asked curiously as he braked to a halt.

  He laughed, wondering what on earth she would say if he told her. ‘I was just thinking how damned lucky Lewis is to have you as a wife,’ he said tactfully, ‘and of how damned lucky I am to have you as a sister-in-law.’

  He walked around and opened the car door, resisting the urge to kiss her on the cheek. ‘I won’t come into the house with you. I have a feeling your mother has seen enough of me for one day.’

  She stepped out of the car, the night breeze blowing her hair softly across her face. ‘And I’ll see you next week?’

  He nodded. ‘I’ll pick you up about seven. We’ll go somewhere a little more upbeat than Luigi’s. The Golden Eagle or the Kichihei. Somewhere that Lewis will approve, of.’

  As she walked away from him into the house, she wondered if, subconsciously, he often tried to do things that would gain Lewis’s approval. Perhaps, when Lewis’s tour of duty in Vietnam was over, they could go together and see Scott play. She was sure Lewis had never done so, and she knew that though he wouldn’t admit it, Scott would be as pleased as hell to know his elder brother was cheering him on.

  Although it was after eleven by the time she reached her room, she didn’t immediately begin to get ready for bed. Instead, she sat down at her desk, taking her half-finished letter to Lewis out of the drawer. She wanted to tell him all about Scott’s visit and, as usual when a pen was in her hands, she became unaware of time, and it was well after midnight before she eased her chair away from the desk.

  Talking to Scott about Lewis had somehow made Lewis seem much nearer. The three months until she’d see him again no longer seemed like three hundred, but more like thirty. She undressed and slipped on her nightdress. The following week, when she’d see Scott again, would make the time seem even closer. With a happy smile she climbed into bed and turned off the light, closing her eyes, imagining that Lewis was with her, holding her, loving her.

  ‘But you can’t possibly intend to go out with him again!’ her mother said, horrified. ‘You’re a married woman, Abbra! You can’t still go out with young men as if you were single!’

  ‘I’m not, Mom,’ Abbra said, quickly losing her patience’s ‘Scott is my brother-in-law, not a date. There’s a whole world of difference.’

  Mrs Daley was not sure that there was, but she could hardly say so without sounding crude. Her husband had not agreed that Abbra’s friendship with Scott Ellis was undesirable, and to her dismay Abbra had gone out with him again. The following week he had driven up to San Francisco and they had gone to the zoo and on a ferry ride, and for a fish supper at Sausalito.

  ‘I really don’t like it,’ she had said to her husband. ‘How do we know that Lewis will approve of all the time Abbra is spending with his brother? I was under the distinct impression that Lewis did not think very highly of Scott!’

  ‘He doesn’t think very highly of Scott’s choice of career,’ her husband corrected her. ‘Their father told me that. But I’m sure it’s just Scott’s age. I’m sure he’ll come around.’

  Mrs Daley pursed her lips. There was nothing for her to do but make sure that Abbra continued to be aware of her disapproval, and to hope that the day would never come when her nameless fears would take on substance.

  In November, Scott was pronounced fit and was in the roster to play in a home game against the Cleveland Browns.

  ‘Why don’t you drive down and watch the game?’ he suggested to Abbra. ‘You could be the first member of my family to see me play.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she promised. Lewis had written to her, telling her how pleased he was that she and Scott had become friends, and in his last letter he had teasingly asked if she was now a fan and attended games.

  Her mother had shaken her head in disbelief when Abbra had told her of her plans. ‘You are going to get yourself a reputation for being one of those girls who follow football players from city to city!’

  ‘Oh, Mom! You’re being ridiculous,’ Abbra said in affectionate irritation. ‘Everyone knows that Scott is my brother-in-law. No one is going to think that I’m a fan who has latched on to him!’

  ‘They will,’ her mother insisted. ‘And almost as bad is the amount of time you’re spending away from your school work. You have exams to think about and you should be home studying, not driving down to Los Angeles to watch the Rams play the Browns!’

  Abbra sighed, feeling a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t told her parents yet, but she had already made up her mind to leave college at the end of the semester. She would be leaving when Lewis returned anyway, and college was no longer what she wanted. She wanted to write, and she had already begun, showing Scott her first tentative stories, encouraged by his enthusiasm.

  ‘You should send them off to one of the women’s magazines,’ he had said when he had read them. ‘They’re much better than most of the stuff they publish.’

  She had laughed. ‘And when was the last time you read any stories in a woman’s magazine, Scott Ellis?’ she asked teasingly.

  He had grinned, his wide-set eyes and thick curly hair reminding her of a painting she had seen of a medieval Medici pri
nceling. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t very recently,’ he admitted unabashed, ‘but I’m damned sure that what you’ve written is worthy of publication, and they certainly won’t be published if all you do is put them away in a drawer. The British Special Air Service has a motto, “Who dares, wins”. Remember that and send them off. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and all that jazz.’

  She had laughed again and told him that he was an idiot, but a few weeks later, when she had gone over the stories for the twentieth time, she plucked up her nerve and sent one of them to the fiction editor of a leading women’s magazine.

  Despite her mother’s continued disapproval, she drove down to Los Angeles to watch the Rams play the Browns and enjoyed herself thoroughly. It was the first time she had seen Scott in his own environment, and she was surprised by the amount of attention he attracted from fans and the media.

  ‘You’ve been playing for the Rams only a few weeks. How come you’re such a big star?’ she asked teasingly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied with his easy, self-mocking grin.

  ‘It must be the way I comb my hair!’

  She had laughed, but the time that she spent with him when he was Scott Ellis, professional football player, only increased her deep affection for him. He had such an open and honest air that she knew no amount of flattery would corrupt him. Despite his media appeal and his veritable army of fans, there was a total lack of pretence or show about him. He was, quite simply, always himself. And even though he was far more of an extrovert than Lewis, underneath his easygoing affability there was the same kind of attractive solidity and inner strength.

  At the end of the month, when the team was playing in Denver, he asked her if she would like to fly out and watch the game with the team wives and girlfriends. She had already met and made friends with quite a few of them, and when one the girls suggested, that she share a room with her, there seemed to be no reason why she shouldn’t go.

  ‘A weekend?’ her mother had shrieked. ‘It’s absolutely impossible! Totally unthinkable!’

  This time even her father agreed.

  ‘I’m a married woman, Daddy,’ she said, knowing that her mistake had been in returning home after her marriage as if she were still a schoolgirl. ‘I’ll be with other women I know and with my brother-in-law. Morally and physically I shall be utterly safe, and there is no reason at all why I shouldn’t go.’

  Her father was not swayed by her argument, and only a timely telephone call from her father-in-law prevented her from either having to cancel her plans or face an all-out fight with her parents.

  ‘It’s Colonel Ellis,’ her mother said, the telephone receiver in her hand, a hint of respect in her voice. ‘He wants to speak to you, Abbra.’

  Ever since the wedding her father-in-law had courteously telephoned her once a month. Usually he merely asked her how she was; if she had heard from Lewis; and reminded her that she was welcome to spend a few days in New York at the family home whenever she felt like doing so. This time he was telephoning to say that he had business in Pueblo, so he was going to drive to nearby Denver to watch the Rams play the Broncos. He had spoken to Scott to tell him he would be there, and Scott had told him that she was also going. He was telephoning to tell her he was looking forward to seeing her.

  From then on she knew that the battle was won. After she had finished speaking to him, he spoke with her father. Abbra heard her father agreeing with colonel that it was a pity he and her mother couldn’t accompany Abbra for the weekend and make a real reunion of it, but that they would, no doubt, meet up again next year to celebrate Lewis’s return home.

  Her father-in-law’s attitude toward the President’s buildup of forces in Vietnam was predictably enthusiastic.

  ‘It’s the only way to show those bas—’ He corrected himself quickly. ‘– To show the Communists that we mean business,’ he said as they ate dinner in a small restaurant he had taken them to after the game. ‘Leave them to their own devices and they’ll be swarming up Waikiki Beach before we’ve had time to blink!’

  ‘Isn’t that a little bit of an exaggeration?’ Scott asked idly, spearing a forkful of broccoli. ‘The Communist aim is to unite North and South Vietnam under Ho Chi Minh, not invade America.’

  Abbra saw an angry flush stain her father-in-law’s neck and knew that he was controlling his temper only with difficulty. ‘The Communist aim is world domination!’ he said, forcefully, leaning across the table toward his son and stabbing his finger on the tablecloth to emphasize his point. ‘If Vietnam falls to the Communists, then the entire region, the whole of Southeast Asia, will collapse too, and when that happens, the United States will find itself surrendering the Pacific and having to defend our own shores!’

  ‘And if we continue to send in more troops, and the conflict continues to escalate, then the end of the road is going to be the direct intervention of China and nuclear war,’ Scott said, provoking his father even more.

  The colonel’s nostrils flared, the red flush staining and spreading. ‘How the hell have you become such an expert on what will or will not happen?’ he bellowed, oblivious of Abbra and the other diners. ‘You haven’t been to West Point! You’re a ball player, not a general!’

  ‘I’m just giving my opinion,’ Scott said tightly.

  His father was about to say that his opinion wasn’t worth a shit, when he became aware of Abbra’s agonized expression and of other diners turning their heads towards their table with prurient curiosity.

  He clamped his mouth tight shut, took a deep, steadying breath, and then gave Abbra an apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry, Abbra. I should have warned you that my opinions and Scott’s differ widely. But the lessons from the Second World War are too easily forgotten. If we and our allies had moved earlier than we did to stop the Nazis, then that war could have been averted. The same rules apply to the Communists. We need a strong display of muscle to make sure that they know we mean business. Then, and only then, will they back down and allow the South its freedom.’

  He glared coldly at Scott as he spoke, daring him to contradict. Scott, tempted almost past endurance, resisted the urge for Abbra’s sake. He knew she had been thrilled that at last his father had attended a game and watched him play. And that the flare of disagreement which had erupted between them had distressed her.

  ‘Okay,’ he said, suppressing his irritation and forcing a smile. ‘Pax. Let’s talk about something a little less emotive. Let’s talk about the Rams’ chances next week when they play the Chicago Bears.’

  The conversation turned to smoother waters, and the evening had ended amicably but from then on Abbra was aware of the great difference between Scott’s uneasy relationship with his father, and Lewis’s relationship with him.

  In December, President Johnson announced that the bombing of North Vietnam would be halted on Christmas morning for an indefinite period. In the first week of January she received a letter from Lewis describing a Christmas Day dinner of locally caught duck embellished with nuoc mam sauce, and an afternoon spent treating the village children to candy from his SP rations, and in the same week Scott decked a fellow player in the dressing room for making off-colour remarks about his relationship with her.

  It was an ugly incident and one she was not aware of. It had been a home game against the Chargers and the Rams had lost miserably. Tempers had been short in the locker room and someone had savagely made an accusation that there was too much partying going on between games and not enough hard training.

  One of the veteran players on the team, who had been receiving bad coverage in the press with veiled hints that he had peaked and was now past his prime, had looked viciously across at Scott and said loudly, ‘That goes especially for guys who can only get it up with their brothers’ wives. What do the two of you do every night, Ellis? Pray that some accommodating Viet Cong puts a hole in big brother?’

  Scott’s fist sent him flying backwards even before the word brother was out of his mouth. The brawl that followed
was the worst to take place in a locker room that anyone could remember.

  When they had finally been separated, and when furious coach had warned them that if there was a repetition of the incident, both of them would be suspended for a week without pay, Scott had stormed into the club bar, where Abbra was waiting for him, saying tersely to her, ‘Come on, we’re leaving.’

  ‘What on earth is the matter? What’s happened to your face? What …?’

  ‘Come on,’ he had repeated taking her by the arm and steering her towards the door. In another few seconds the club room would be full of differing reports of what had happened, but all the reports would be unanimous on what the remark was that had triggered the fight. It made him sick just to remember it, and the thought of her overhearing it made him feel murderous. ‘I had a disagreement with another player in the locker room,’ he said to her when they

  were safely outside. ‘It was no big deal, but I don’t want to find myself drinking with him this evening. Let’s go to Yesterdays for a beer and a sandwich.’

  He had been so obviously reluctant to talk about the incident that she hadn’t asked any further questions. At the end of the week she was flying out to Hawaii to join Lewis, and she could scarcely think of or talk about anything else.

  ‘Hawaii’s going to be a big change for him after Vietnam,’ Scott said, driving downtown, the filthy words of his fellow player ringing in his ears.

  Abbra had begun to tell him that it wouldn’t be quite so bad as perhaps they imagined, because Lewis had already enjoyed a three-day rest and recuperation break at Vung Tau, an in-country beach resort, but Scott was no longer listening to her. In the three months since he had met her, he hadn’t looked up any of his old girlfriends, and he hadn’t once dated any new ones. In fact, incredibly, for the last four months he had been totally celibate. It was quite a thought, and so was the reason for it.

  She was talking happily about the presents she had bought for Lewis and jealousy, hot and hard, twisted his gut. He hadn’t been dating because he had been happier with Abbra than he could possibly be with anyone else. He hadn’t been screwing around because the only girl he wanted to screw was Abbra. His brother’s wife. His hands tightened on the steering wheel until the knuckles were white. Jesus. Why hadn’t he seen the truth before? Why had it taken me ugly words of a teammate, jealous of his prowess on the field, to make him see the blindingly obvious? And now that he had seen, what in the name of all that was holy could he do about it?