Beauty Rising (14 page)

“Just be patient,” said Hoa. “They’ll come for us.”

I felt nervous – almost sick in the stomach. I had turned away from this kind of lifestyle only to find myself once again in a high risk situation. We stood there silently, glancing every few seconds to the individuals who whispered in the corner. Finally, one of those men, a tall slender one who walked with his shoulders back and head held high, approached us.

“Miss My Phuong?”

“Yes.”

“Right this way.”

I glanced at Hoa, and she nudged me on with a soft push.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Go ahead.”

He led me to the opposite end of the room, and up the staircase to the first room on the left at the top of the landing. I looked down to where Hoa stood, but she had already gone. I felt very much alone.

“Go on in,” the man said and then turned and made his way back downstairs.

I slowly opened the door and walked into the large suite which was tastefully decorated with vibrant red and green colored paintings depicting various scenes of rural Vietnam. The room included a work space with a large wooden desk, a sitting area with a sofa, loveseat, coffee table, and a large bed with high wooden posts. On the opposite side of the suite stood a man in a business suit. He stared out the window and could only be seen from behind. He had black hair with strands of grey on the side. Closing the door behind me, I walked over to the sofa.

“Hello, sir.”

The man turned around. It was Mr. Duc.

“Hello, My Phuong,” he said.

My heart raced but my mind was blank.

“Please, sit down,” he said as I sat on one end of the sofa and he came over and sat opposite me on the love seat. “It is very nice that I get to see you again. Maybe you are surprised?”

I nodded.
“The American teacher said you were her best English pupil ever, so your English must be very good.”

I nodded.

“There is no need to be so formal My Phuong. I thought maybe we could be friends, and perhaps you could teach me some English. Mine is only so-so, but I would like to improve. Would you be able to help me?”

“Yes, of course. It would be my honor to help you learn English.”

“Excellent. Could we start tomorrow evening around the same time?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Okay.”

“And I suppose you remember the way out?”

“Yes, of course. Goodbye sir.”

That was it. I strained to imagine what was really going on. Hoa had informed me about many things that went on at these get-togethers, but English was never one of them. He wanted help with English. Then I started wondering why he only wanted help with English. Did he not find me attractive? Did I do something wrong? Would Co Thu be furious with me tomorrow? Would I be in danger because I did not meet expectations? My mind twirled and turned as I left the room, descended the staircase and went out the front door. The tall, thin man had already pulled my motorbike around front and was waiting for me as I exited the building.

“Good evening, My Phuong. We will see you tomorrow.”

How did he already know that?
I pondered.

I nodded kindly at the man, got on the motorbike and rode off wondering what Hoa was doing and what was really going on. When I got home, I got something cold to drink and sat back in bed, waiting for Hoa and replaying the evening into my mind. I hadn’t expected to be home at 9:35.

I dozed off around midnight and finally heard Hoa enter the room around 4AM. I immediately jumped out of bed, and she told me all about the intimate evening she spent with some official. Then she asked what had happened with me. When I told her that I met with Mr. Duc for five minutes so he could ask me if I could teach him English, she refused to believe me. We drank and laughed at each other for the next two hours until we both finally fell asleep.

_________

The next evening, I arrived back at the guest house at nine PM, went to the large suite on the second floor, and talked to Mr. Duc in English for an hour. Then he sent me home. The same thing happened again on Monday and then Wednesday. Hoa couldn’t believe that I was merely giving him English lessons. In fact, she started using
English lessons
as a rather unique euphemism. When we would be walking together past a Karaoke shop, she would say ‘
I wonder if they are giving English lessons tonight?
’ or ‘
I had the best English lesson last night.’
I told her she could joke all she wanted but English was the only thing going on with Mr. Duc.

At work, Co Thu treated me strangely. She kept complimenting me on things like ‘
Oh, My Phuong, you gave that man an excellent cut today. Keep up the great work.’
It was like I could do no wrong.

Every second day or so, I would receive a phone call on my cell phone informing me of a lesson that evening, and so I would dress up in my best clothes and promptly show up to greet the city’s top official. Mr. Duc puzzled me. He showed me great kindness and respect. When we studied English, he never sat directly beside me but always on the loveseat opposite the sofa. He seemed genuinely interested in practicing his English, and I admired him for that. He was, as far as I knew, the only politician in the country that I did admire. He was the only man I had been alone with that did not make an advance on me. He never once indicated that he wanted me for anything other than English lessons. I knew that this was not true, but I relished the fact that he was restrained to the extreme.

On the second Saturday evening of our English lessons, I met him for the sixth time in nine days. I had been wearing two different
ao dais
that I kept alternating every time I saw him. That night, however, I wore a short, tight-fitting black dress. I think I wanted to get his attention. In some bizarre way, I wanted to know if he really intended our meetings for something else all along. As he sat down in his normal location, I once again sat opposite him on the sofa.

“Mr. Duc. I wonder if it might be helpful if I sit closer to you. Maybe we could read this book together, and I could help you with your pronunciation.”

I couldn’t believe how forward I was being. It felt like a game, and I had to admit I was starting to enjoy it.

“If you think that would be best.”

I got up out of my seat and went over and sat beside him. My thigh rubbed up against his leg as I sat down. I knew this was the end of the line. I could have been content to be Mr. Duc’s English teacher. I could have been content to sit opposite him, but it was eating me up. I’m sure he knew what it was doing to me. He treated me with respect, but I felt like his play-thing. I didn’t know how to have a relationship built on respect. I only knew how to have one kind of relationship, and I could not tolerate him manipulating me like this anymore. For wasn’t he manipulating me? Wasn’t he just waiting to move in for the kill? It was easier to just give in and get on with it.

“Mr. Duc. Maybe we do not have to do so much talking this evening.”

I reached out and felt his newly shaven face. Then I kissed him, and I became his.

I continued seeing Mr. Duc for “English lessons” three or four times a week over the next month. The tall skinny man always greeted me out front; Co Thu continued treating me with smiles and special compliments. Eventually I told Hoa that she was right about the English lessons. Over the course of that first month, I had grown quite fond of Mr. Duc. He treated me with kindness and dignity. He was gentle and soft-spoken; I always felt safe with him. He never warned me about keeping our secrecy or threatened me in anyway. I felt myself becoming loyal to him. It took me those four weeks to realize that I hadn’t reaped any financial benefits from my relationship with Mr. Duc. He never once offered me money, but I really didn’t care.

“Mr. Duc,” I asked one evening. “Why did you ask me to come give you English lessons?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Did you have intentions for more than just English?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you did. I’m just not sure why you reacted the way you did.”

“Well, in some ways you are right,” he said. “I have never been too aggressive in relationships. They either work out or they do not. Love either happens or it does not. It cannot be forced. Do you not agree?”

I contemplated my response. I only knew about two kinds of love between a man and a woman: the first being forced upon me and the second being when I forced myself onto someone else in order to get something in return. Mutual love never just happened in my life.

“When I met my wife, I was a faculty member at Thai Nguyen University. She was a young teacher just out of university. She attracted me right away – not just her looks – but also her intellect and her compassion for others. I think she liked me for my level-headedness and my rather easy going manner. I suppose I wasn’t too bad looking back then as well. And love just happened. I’ve been happily married to her for twenty years.”

I turned my head away slightly as he said this. I wondered how someone could be happily married yet carry on an affair.

“Then why do you come here with me?” I asked boldly.

“There is
com
and then there is
pho
. I’m sure you understand.”

I understood clearly. It was difference between a bowl of steamed rice and a bowl of noodle soup. The staple of every Vietnamese meal is
com
– steamed rice.
Com
is the bedrock – the foundation. Every family must have
com
. It is the substance you depend on for nourishment and sustenance.
Pho
is the Vietnamese beef noodle soup. You eat it at different times – perhaps late at night on the street, or early in the morning on the way to work. It is a quick tasty meal with exotic spices and a hint of chili. It’s the anti-
com
.
Pho
is the treat that you give yourself when the everyday rice has become a little bland, predictable or unimaginative. His wife was the
com
. I was Mr. Duc’s
pho
.

“But you know, you just don’t eat
pho
from any place,” he continued in his metaphor. “Some bowls may look attractive but taste salty, or bitter. Some
pho
places are not hygienic at all.
Pho
must be carefully selected and discretely enjoyed. But just because I enjoy
pho
, does not mean that
com
is not important to me. On the contrary, one could never live without rice, but one could conceivably live without
pho
.”

I understood the meaning all too well.

“So I must make myself not seem too bitter,” I said playfully.

“It is highly unlikely that you could ever be bitter. Besides, I like teachers, and you are helping me a lot with my English.”

Mr. Duc smiled, stood up and went over to a large wooden cabinet that stood behind the wooden desk.

“I want to show you something. Come here.”

I walked over to him as he opened the wardrobe doors revealing a large safe built into the wood. The safe door had two key holes like that of a safety deposit box. One key was already in one of the locks. Mr. Duc reached into his pocket and took out his key chain which had another one of the keys. He inserted it, turned the lock handle and the door creaked open.