Jade Page 9

  The food is amazing, but no one seems to be enjoying it, except me. They’re all so tense that if one wrong word is spoken, the room will explode. Periodically, I glance in Oliver’s direction. He’s engaged in a heated discussion with the latecomer, and, even though he’s keeping the appearance of calm, I can see that he’s more than annoyed. His hands are rolled up in fists so tight that his knuckles are white.

  We finish the meal, and one by one the other couples excuse themselves. Only four of us remain at the table. I get up to go to the bathroom; I drank so much tea that I’m drowning. I think I have a new addiction. Oliver barely acknowledges my departure with a nod.

  The Thai woman gets up with me. She bends over to say something to the American, who shakes his hand at her, as if she was an annoying insect. She’s pissed, and I can’t blame her. I would be upset, too, if I were discarded in a similar fashion. I would consider ‘accidentally’ spilling a very cold drink on the man’s lap.

  She walks with me to the lady’s room, where she readjusts her make-up. As I get out of my booth, she tells me, “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of being ignored.”

  As I wash my hands, I answer, “The conversation was stilted but at least the food was good.”

  “What do you say we go get a drink or two at the bar? Who knows, maybe we’ll get lucky and find guys who would enjoy spending some time with us!”

  “Sure, why not,” I say, “I’m not sure they’ve noticed we’re gone.”

  “I’m Apsara,” she says.

  “Like the Cambodian dancers?” She nods. “I’m Jade.”

  She laughs, and for an instant appears a lot younger. Underneath the stern appearance and the heavy make-up I see a girl about my age.

  “How appropriate,” she says, “Jade is dating the Jade Master. Come on, Jade, let’s get smashed, and bill our drinks to their table.”

  I follow her to the bar of the hotel, feeling very curious. She obviously knows Oliver. Maybe I’ll get some information about him from her.

  She picks a central table not too far from a baby grand piano. A young man is playing an old Nat King Cole song. I thought that only my grandmother and I listened to that type of music these days.

  The waiter comes to us. Apsara orders something for herself in Thai, and then asks me, “How drunk do you want to get?”

  “Not too much,” I answer, “I never drink.”

  “Oh, I see. So, something fruity with just a little kick for you!”

  A few minutes later, I’m facing a tall glass with a mixture of exotic flavors. It’s sweet, but it’s laced with something strong that I can’t identify. Apsara has two small glasses of a clear liquid-Vodka maybe. Whatever it is, it’s strong because her eyes are all teary after she’s drank both shots.

  She starts telling me about herself. She’s twenty-four. She’s not much older than me. She has studied gemology. Right now, she works in a lab where she tests precious and semi-precious stones.

  I notice that the table she’s picked is strategically located. We’re far enough from the piano to have a conversation at a normal pitch of voice, yet close enough to make eavesdropping on us impossible.

  “Soon, I will be recognized as one of the best in the field.” She tells me, “Of course, it’s taking me longer to shine than some of the idiots I went to school with, but that’s because I’m a woman. Today, in Thailand, it’s a man’s world, but that won’t last forever. You’ll see, one day we won’t have to play the silly bimbos to get ahead in life.”

  I like her spunk, and I enjoy the way she’s telling me what she thinks instead of beating around the bush. So when she’s finished venting and asks me about myself, I feel relaxed enough tell her that I cam to Laos to try to decide what to do with my future. I also tell her how I met Oliver. I’m wondering if it’s not the drink that’s making me so talkative.

  “Do you know him well?” I ask.

  “I met him a few times before tonight,” she tells me. “He works with John, the ass I came with tonight. John’s my boss as well as my boyfriend. I’ve heard other dealers speak about Olivier. You knew they call him The Jade Master, right? He’s respected in his field. He’s tough but he has the reputation of being a straight shooter.”

  She signals the waiter with a sweeping gesture that indicates that she wants the same for both of us. I’m already buzzed from the first drink, which I have yet to finish. I won’t be able to drink a second one.

  While she’s waiting for the man to bring back her new order, she continues.

  “According to what one dealer told me, the man has a tender heart. He said that shortly after Oliver moved to Bangkok, he adopted a ten year old. The story I heard is that she propositioned him in the street, and that the thought of her being screwed by some dirty old man revolted him so much he had to bring her home with him. Last I heard, he’s got her tucked away in a local boarding school, and has been taking real good care of her.”

  I smile at the description. A tender heart is a sweet way to describe him. “I had no idea how they had met,” I tell her. “I know the girl and she’s lovely. He’s sending her to college in the fall.”

  The waiter brings us our new drinks and after he leaves, Apsara takes a business card from her handbag, scribbles her private email address on the back, and gives it to me.

  “Just email me if there’s anything specific that you need to find out about him. I’ll see what I can find out.” She adds wistfully, “I think us women should stick together.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and I hope that she can see I truly mean it.

  “Do you have a card?”

  “No, I don’t. The only thing I could put on it would be an email address. I no longer have a home, nor a phone number. I’m pretty much up in the air. All that I own is stored in two boxes in my parent’s garage, and I’m not sure what my next move will be.”

  “You’re so lucky,” she says, “Nothing to hold you down. You can do whatever you please. I wish I could be that free!”

  I raise an eyebrow. Even though she seems very open about a lot of things, I do not dare ask a direct question on the subject.

  “Family obligations,” she offers as an explanation before swallowing the content of one of the two shot glasses that she just ordered. She looks at the other, but decides against it, for now.

  I’m finished with my first drink and I’m so relaxed that I know it’s becoming dangerous. The already fragile filter between my brain and my mouth has been dissolved in alcohol and, at any moment, words that should remain unspoken are likely to fly out.

  ❦

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  DO YOU WANT TO GO dancing?” Apsara asks out of the blue.

  “You mean now? Just the two of us?”

  “Yes, I’ll text John where we’re going and when they’re done, they can meet us there.”

  “I’m not sure, Apsara, you must have me confused with someone else. I’m no party girl,” I explain.

  “Then it’s time to become one,” she says, “Life is too short to be dull.” She gets her cell phone out of her pocket book, and is about to text a message when I see John and Oliver come into the bar.

  Oliver sees me, and smiles. My heart stops, and I smile back. In my mind I’m playing a rerun of last night. A wave of lust washes over me. Butterflies are doing an aerobatic demonstration program in my stomach in anticipation of getting back to the hotel room.

  Oliver says something to John, who looks quite happy, too, and they start walking in our direction, when John puts a hand on Oliver’s arm and points with his chin to the other side of the room.

  Oliver turns around, and his smile vanishes from his face. His jaw drops. Apsara and I both look in the same direction. There’s a woman walking purposely in their direction. I can’t see her face, but even from the back, there’s no mistaking the fact that she’s in an advanced stage of pregnancy.

  She reaches the men, and John steps away, leaving Oliver and the pregnant woman to begin what seems to be a
heated discussion.

  Curiosity is eating me up, but the piano covers the sound of their voices and they are too far away to even attempt to read Oliver’s lips.

  John sits at our table in front of me and blocks my view. I wonder if he’s doing it on purpose. If he is, then they are friends again, or maybe solidarity between men supercedes professional disagreements.

  John looks at the second untouched cocktail, and at the shot glass on the table. I push my drink in his direction.

  “It’s all yours; I haven’t touched it.”

  I get up. The room is spinning a bit, but not enough to prevent me from walking where I want to go. As I get closer, Oliver notices that I’m approaching. His hand rests on the woman’s arm, and his face looks as if he’s pleading with her more urgently. I can read “please,” on his lips.

  She brushes his hand aside, and turns around to look in my direction. She’s Thai, and I’m sure her face is lovely when it’s not swollen as it is right now.

  So much swelling is not normal. There must be something wrong with her pregnancy: she is retaining way too much fluid. I want to slap myself. Why should I worry about her condition when she obviously wants me dead?

  If looks could kill, I would be shattered into oblivion. There’s such hatred in her eyes that it can’t be directed only at me. To hate so much, one must have loved first. Horrible thoughts collide in my mind about her and Oliver. I scold myself. I will not let my dreadful imagination get the better of me. I will wait for the very reasonable explanation he will necessarily have for me.

  As I get close, Oliver tenses, and shakes his head sideways, silently asking me to go away.

  “Don’t bother,” she tells him, “I was going, anyway. I certainly don’t want to be introduced to my husband’s whores.”

  I stop dead in my tracks. It takes all my willpower to not punch her in the face. I only resist the urge because she’s pregnant and tiny. If I knock her out, something could happen to her baby. Oliver’s baby?

  “That was uncalled for, Sirikit,” Oliver says to her back as she marches out. She’s standing as tall as she can, and even from the back I feel that she radiates anger.

  Oliver catches my arm, and I jerk away. I don’t want him to touch me; I want him to vanish from the face of the earth. He’s married, and his wife is pregnant!

  “I can explain,” he says, “It’s not as it looks.”

  “Oh, she’s not your wife?”

  “Well, no. I mean, yes… legally, she is.”

  “I see. And is she expecting your child?”

  “The father could be anyone from the mining team.”

  “So it could be yours?”

  “Yes.” His answer is a whisper, and he’s staring at the floor. It’s not his proudest moment, for sure. At least he has the decency to appear contrite.

  My rage is such that I’m not about to feel sorry for him.

  “Then it’s precisely as it looks.”

  The sarcasm in my voice is unmistakable, and I need this edge not to crumble to pieces.

  “It’s funny, I have this precise memory of asking you if there were anymore of your family members, beside your daughter, that I should be aware of and I remember your answer was no.”

  My mind reels. Two sentences are dancing a mad jig in my head: He’s married. She’s pregnant. He’s married. She’s pregnant. I have to remember to breathe.

  I’m the other woman, and he’s a bastard.

  I turn around and go back to Apsara’s table. I will not cry, I will not scream, I will not slap him, I will not tear his eyes out. I will keep my head up high.

  John is drinking the fruity drink, and looking down in the glass, purposely avoiding looking up. Whatever he knows, it’s embarrassing him. Apsara takes a look at me, and she hands me the shot glass that remains on the table.

  “You look like you could use it,” she says.

  I take the glass, and swallow the content in one gulp. It’s liquid fire. It burns all the way down. My eyes are teary.

  “Wow, that’s strong.” I breathe through my nose, and concentrate on the burn. I will not feel any other pain. If anything, I will feel anger. Anger, I can manage.

  Apsara gets up and asks, “Shall we get this party started?”

  “Absolutely!” I cringe inwardly. I’m sure I sound a bit over-enthusiastic.

  “Where are we going?” asks Oliver, who has approached the table quietly, and is now standing right behind me. He’s so close I can smell him and it hurts, I love his smell so much.

  “Don’t you have a pregnant wife to get home to?” I snap.

  “No, I’m staying with you. Bangkok can be a dangerous city at night,” he says. “I brought you here. I’m responsible. There’s no way I’m leaving you out of my sight.”

  “In that case, I think I will go back to the hotel. Thank you for the offer, Apsara. It was lovely meeting you. We’ll party another time. I plan to stop by for a couple of days before I fly back, and I’ll email you when I have more definitive plans.”

  She shakes my hand, leans closer to me, and whispers, “Don’t hesitate to call if you need anything while in Bangkok.”

  I smile, shake hands with John and follow Oliver into a taxi.

  During the ride back, I ask him, “Are you happy with your dinner?” He looks at me, startled. “I’m not being facetious. I was asking if you reached an agreement with John.”

  “Yes, thank you. I did.” He watches me with a puzzled look on his face, and opens his mouth as if to add something. He thinks better of it, shrugs, and remains silent.

  The motions of the car are making me sick. I think my entire body is rebelling against the last drink I had.

  We reach our hotel, and get in the elevator. When we get to the bedroom I rush into the bathroom. I’m sick. The drinks and the entire meal come out. So much for the cooling effect of chrysanthemum tea!

  I throw cold water on my face, and almost laugh when I look up in the mirror. My make-up is half washed out. I look like a raccoon. I clean myself up, and leave the bathroom. My plan is to go sleep in one of the empty beds of Chanlina’s room but Oliver has shut the door and when I try to open it, it’s locked from her side.

  I turn around, and look at him. He’s staring back with a weary expression on his face.

  “We’re not really married,” he says, looking intently at me.

  “Seriously?” I snap back, sounding more bitter than I want to. “Come on Oliver, who are you trying to fool? You know being married is a yes or no condition. You are married or you are single, there are no degrees. You can’t be a little bit married or half married. You are married or you are not.”

  “It’s more complicated than that. We had an arrangement. We were to stay married for a few years so I could get an extended visa.”

  “So, you’re saying it was not a marriage, but a fraud.”

  “Yeah, that’s one way to put it, I guess.”

  “Okay. For the sake of the argument, I’ll play along, and admit that you two are not really married.” I make symbolic quotation marks with my fingers as I say “really”.

  He looks relieved, and starts walking toward me. I pull my hand up, palm facing him and step away from him until my back hits the wall. I don’t want him to touch me, now. I know what his hands do to me. They freeze my thought process and I’m not done with the questions.

  The fact of the matter is that I don’t want to know the truth, because I’m probably not going to like it. “Now tell me, Jade Master, if it was just a fraud, how can she be expecting your kid?”

  His hand reaches his forehead, and slides to the back of his head as he answers me.

  “She came to the mining site for a week, and one night, after a bad accident, we all got seriously drunk. That night, I think we all fucked her. I don’t remember doing it, but she says we all did.”

  I see shame in his eyes, but I’m not sure it’s actually there. Maybe I see it because that’s what I want to believe he is feeling.

&n
bsp; “If I did, I was unprotected, and that’s why I would not make love with you before I got tested,” he adds.

  The fact that he’s taking about making love with me, and fucking her is not lost on me. I’m pretty sure his choice of words is spontaneous and not calculated to draw me back to him, but it does.

  “She thinks Liam’s the father. He’s the one she ended up with after the first crazy night. She came to me because he hasn’t been answering her calls nor her emails. She lashed out at you, because I told her I was not getting involved, while she wanted me to do something about it.”

  “I see.” I’m looking at the floor and blinking to keep tears away.

  He comes closer to me, and even though I know it’s wrong, I don’t pull away. I want him so much that I can’t resist. His hands wrap around my back and he leans over until our forehead touch. I’m trapped between him and the wall.

  I close my eyes, and savor his touch. I’m lost to reason, because I love everything about this man. I love his eyes, his voice, his hands, his mouth, and even his smell. I breathe it in and shiver against him.

  But then the image of his wife pops back in my head. I can’t chase it away. She’s way too swollen and the aggravation of tonight’s encounter must have aggravated her blood pressure. I have this horrible feeling that she’s in danger, and no one but me is seeing it. I’m pretty sure that she has not been getting medical supervision during her pregnancy.

  “Whether it’s your kid or not, you need to take her to a hospital,” I say.

  “Okay, I promise, I will.”

  “You don’t understand. I mean tonight. Now.”

  “You’re serious?”

  I press my palm against his chest, and push him back far enough to look in his eyes. I need to convey the urgency of the situation.

  “Yes. I’m thinking preeclampsia. She could die, the baby could die. If I had been thinking clearly, I would have told her when I saw her…”