Chapter 10
After a moment of silent drinking, the large shadow left the women for the WC. Hà watched him disappear into a bamboo curtain, so she turned to the redhead,
“Is that your future husband?”
“What? No, honey, no!” Bé twisted her face in a mix of shock and laughter. She called for another round of whiskey and coke; Hà signaled with two fingers that she wanted the same. “No, no, no. He…. is my bodyguard.”
“Your bodyguard. Huh?” The Viet girl was a wide-eyed doe, even though she knew delegates having protection should be so strange. Still, the lax air around the red girl must have made her forget.
“It’s pretty annoying, I know. My dad insists, though.”
“Is your dad here to?”
“If you mean Vietnam, yes. If you mean here, at this bar - well, I think he’s a bit old for all this.”
“I feel like I’m too old for all this,” Hà muttered as she thanked the waiter for the drinks.
“Are you enjoying yourself though?”
“I never knew I liked whiskey so much.”
“Great, because I’m not too much in a hurry to go back to my hotel, you know?”
“I understand.”
“Really hope I’m not keeping you too late,” Bé glimpsed at the clock. It was 11.
“No, I’m in no hurry either,” Hà reassured, but trailed off as she thought about whether or not her daughter had school tomorrow. Did she, though? Meanwhile, Bé beamed slyly and leaned in under Hà to catch her eyes,
“It’s so chilly tonight. Won’t your husband feel cold, though?”
“We don’t sleep together.”
“Oh OK, but will he be mad, though?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Hà smiled and rolled her eyes.
“I would hate for you to get into trouble,” Bé circled a long painted nail around her friend’s knuckles, clinking against the wedding ring every now and then.
“He’s not my dad. If he wanted to know where I am and what I’m doing, he should hire a bodyguard,” Hà made Bé laugh a mess into her glass, mid gulp.
“Alright, I get you. My dad, he’s not that bad, I promise. Damn good for a stepdad, too. He got me into acting, you know. Well, I mean theatre first, but then it’s a short way to TV. He’s a kind of producer, I guess? Hard to explain. So I guess there are certain benefits.”
“Producer? So like paying people to make movies?”
“Usually, but in his case, it’s a bit more than that.”
“I would love to see your movies.”
“I’ll let you know when my next is coming. But hey, let’s talk about something else. I don’t like talking about dad or work too much,” Bé stood up just as abruptly as she put an end to that line of thought. She extended a hand to Hà. “Come on, let’s bail my bodyguard. It’s feeling pretty stuffy with him around,” Bé invited, but some of the vernaculars escaped her friend.
Hà heard the urgency in Bé’s tone, so she took Bé’s hand with only a fuzzy understanding of why or where. And so, they went. They jogged up several flights of carpeted stairs to the spacious balcony on the third floor, drinks spilling and sweating precipitation in hands. The American girl tittered in excitement. At that moment, she seemed unmistakably young to Hà. Almost contagiously, the Viet girl had felt her youth apparent that night, also, for womanhood seemed distant when she was getting sucked into fun. They were very much two “girls”.
They looked around for an inconspicuous spot, but found all the chairs to be occupied. However, there were these huge porcelain planters guarding the door with lush umbrella palm trees, which provided ample shade from the street light. So Bé took Hà’s hand and led her to a spot behind one of these static gatekeepers. They sat against the dark wall and cold tile floor; the balcony gave the pair an impressive view of the giant white hotel and its courtyard, right across from the street. Hà’s colorful windbreaker made for a particularly poor camouflage, so she rushed to take it off. The duo turned their head to watch each other giggle-pant. Hà allowed herself another tiny sip, and Bé bit down on her lip, shallow breaths.
...
The cloudy sky made a cotton ceiling that diffused the street light. Starlessly, it glowed the amber of sodium vapor. They sat there snugly in the waving shadows and chatted away merrily. Hà was well-drunk at this point, the monsoon wind seemed to push her world slightly to one side. Bé told her about that one time in 11th grade where she twisted and ankle and couldn’t perform in the school production. She was training up so hard for it too, lamented the girl as she ruffled her massive auburn tresses. Hà watched her from this angle closely, brows coming together, then spurted,
“Bé ơi, why don’t you look white?” Bé wordlessly responded to the inquiry with a grin. Hà facepalmed, “Oh god I’m so sorry. I’m so drunk! Ignore me, please.”
“It’s OK. What do you mean though?”
“It’s nothing.”
“No, tell me.”
“Well, it’s the eyes, the way your mouth looks. I mean, you do look Western, it’s just -” Hà couldn’t let herself feed into this embarrassment much longer.
“That’s because I’m half,” Bé’s inflected as if she was in a musical. The smoky quality of her voice made Hà imagine that the lights ought to be dimming when Bé appears on stage. “Part Japanese. Only some of this (holding out a lock of her hair) is natural. The rest is a dye job. I’m mostly Dutch and English, though. So, super white.”
“That’s so interesting.”
“Maybe, but everywhere I go, I look weird. I stand out too much in Japan, and I’m too ethnic compared to my American friends. And believe me when I say that I live in the whitest place in the US.”
“What’s wrong with being ethnic?” Hà asked pointedly.
“It’s not wrong, it’s just - I mean, hmm,” the redhead saw the rabbit hole and did not enter.
“I think you look good, anyways,” Hà picked the conversation up again and resisted throwing in the word “very” or “extremely” to the mix. Her fingers weaved and twiddled. She could smell the sweet scent of alcohol in her breath, every exhalation. Something was stuck in her chest, something heavy.
“Thanks hon, you too. You look kinda like, uh, Rachel. You know, from Friends?” Bé asked. Hà only shook her head. “Oh, OK, well you have her hair, but shorter. That, and her jawline,” Bé’s thumb and index finger demonstrated a “V” on Hà’s face. She held it like that for a while, eyes twinkling, before letting go. Hà snapped out of it and looked away.
“Why do you do this to me?”
“W-what do you mean?” the American girl was visibly taken aback.
“I mean, why did you take me here? Why aren’t you sitting with your friends?”
“Don’t you like it here?”
“Yes, a lot. But it doesn’t make any sense,” Hà struggled to find the right words.
“Well, if you’re having fun, then what else needs to make sense?”
“What else? OK, for example why me?” Hà had never known herself to be so confrontational.
“Why you? Why anyone? Maybe it’s because I saw you on stage this morning and thought you were fantastic, OK? Maybe it’s because I can talk to you and not have to kiss your a- I mean, have to impress you. Maybe it’s because those people aren’t really my friends, but instead my dad’s friends. Hell, I like Joel enough, but he’s awful with beer. All the uptight women are just sizing me up for my age (and the fact that I’m my dad’s daughter). And the guys just wanna get in my damn pants. So excuse me.”
They sat there watching the tension congeal before their very eyes. The other customers pretended that Bé’s rant didn’t happen. Hà mentally tried to reverse the flow of time, all the while attempting to swallow that giant knot in her throat, but she only succeeded with welling her eyes up. Her heart was spastic. Its rhythm spiked, and then flatlined when Hà felt Bé nuzzling into her shoulder, and the red, cascading waterfall flowed across the Viet girl’s face. It had smelled rosy that night.
“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Can you forgive me?” Bé spoke out from between her locks.
“I made you mad.”
“No, It’s not you. I was already pretty pissed with the whole thing,” Bé pointed her thumb downstairs. “Don’t get me wrong, I love this country. But I’m not exactly here as a tourist. It’s just tight schedules and tighter assholes. This whole trip was my dad’s idea. He expects me to be a pretty face, smiling to people, tagging along with politicians, entertaining his friends. ‘It’s the show biz,’ he said. Now I’m miles away from homes and stuck with strangers.”
“Stuck? I’m not keeping you,” Hà deadpanned.
“Haha, no, that’s exactly why I’m here, and why you’re here. You’re not a stranger to me. Like, it’s almost better that you don’t know too much about me. That way, I don’t have to, you know, act. For once,” Bé was still nuzzled into her friend. “When I say it, it sounds so fucking corny. ‘I’m an actress, but I haaaate acting.’ Like, damn, when did I get so bad at this?”
“It sounds like a something from a novel.”
“That’s why it’s so damn corny.”
“I think I get it, though,” Hà surprised herself by resting her cheek on Bé’s head. “You like TV, I mean - being on TV. But when it’s done, you want to be yourself again, right?”
“I swear to god, being a native speaker doesn’t help me much with how well I say things,” the redhead muttered, then laughed. “You spoke my mind, hon. Things are so jumbled up in here (tapping her temple), you know? Like most of the time, I’m just doing what I feel like. Even with acting. I just ‘become’, and it’s the easiest thing in the world. But in front of those guys? Even Joel! Then, I really, really have to ‘act’, in the most traditional sense of the word. I’m myself in front of the camera. But I can’t be myself in front of those people.”
“You’re lucky, though. When I go to work, I leave myself at home.”
“Yeah, I forgot whom you worked for. Tsk, look at me going on about my perfect life. I should be thankful. A lot of people, young actors, would kill to have the things I have, you know.”
“I wouldn’t. Not even for free,” they sniggered at Hà’s comment.
“Yeah I guess it’s not for everyone.”
“I’m too shy to act.”
“Liar,” Bé scoffed.
“No really! This morning, I was sweating, bad! I thought about quitting, just, everything.”
“No way, you were so confident.”
“That was me ‘acting’. My “confidence” is not the same as yours. The way you talk, it’s so - what’s the word? Oh, assertive. It’s ‘I’ this and ‘want’ that. I’m not used to it. For me, I can do my job, and I can get people to do things for me. But there are so many things I have to watch out for. I hope I make sense.”
“Hmm, I see your point. I think part of it was because I was brought up that way. My real father, the one before this one, was like that. Nobody ever needed to guess or imagine what he was thinking. He would just come up to you and say it to your face. It made his life easy, but others didn’t like it too much. Mom wasn’t a fan.”
“I thought that Americans were just like that.”
“Sure, but mom was more Japanese than American, so that’s that. I swear, she flipped out when I brought home my current fiancé for the first time.”
“Your what?”
“My ‘future husband’, honey. Joel. Oh my god, I realized that I’ve been talking about Joel without tell you who the hell I was talking about,” Bé hid her face in her knees, letting out an exasperated groan. “I’m so sorry, hon. I’m such a ditz. Do I talk about myself too much?”
“No, it’s OK. I like listening to you. Things are very different for you. I just thought that ‘Joel’ was the short guy that you’ve been talking to,” Hà rubbed her friend’s shoulder with reassurance.
“Who? Aw, Henry? No, he’s my dad’s colleague. Another big-shot producer, working on some damn war movie, here to do some location scouting. The rates in Thailand has been too high as of late, so that’s why he’s trying to move production here. Mainly, once the editing is over, people won’t be able to tell which country it is; that’s the trick. Hell, even without editing, most of these Hollywood types can’t tell Vietnam from any other tropical country. I’ll admit, even I can’t.”
“Well Vietnam is similar to Thailand, in many ways,” Hà decided not to push the comparison, as she recalled more and more differences. “To be fair, most Westerners look the same to me.”
“Does that include me?”
“No, you’re the weird-looking one.”
“Aw, that’s sweet of you,” Bé pinched the Viet girl’s cheek, sneering. Hà didn’t turn away like last time, though, even with the anxious knot returning to her throat. Clearing her throat and the head, Hà changed the subject,
“Is it good living Hollywood?”
“Hà, I told you, I live in America’s Whitest Place. And I’ll never step foot on Hollywood.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, I’ll keep myself from going into a rant. But needless to say, if I can’t put up with these guys on a trip, what makes you think I’m going to last in their town?”
“Right, sometimes I think all actors live in California and work for Hollywood. I know it’s not true, but that’s how it looks, a lot of times.”
“Hmm, you’re partly right. There are a lot of entertainment being made in the East Coast, too, but it’s a problem with visibility, or whether or not things are seen. I mean it is visible, but just not internationally. Heh, I’m one of the people trying to change that, so that ‘American films’ aren’t automatically ‘Hollywood’ to the international community, you know? I love film and TV work, but if I’m being honest, I enjoy myself much more with theatre. I’m not trying to squeeze my way into stuffy ol’ Hollywood. Instead, I’m trying my damn hardest to squeeze into stuffy ol’ Broadway,” they shared a chuckle. “But really, it’s New York that I want to be in. In fact, I’m looking for apartments there to bum around with some of my friends. My dad is pissed, but what can I do? I’m not going to be another Jackson for him, you know what I mean?”
“Uh huh,” Hà had the long and short of it, letting the obtuse reference slide.
Their drinks had watered down to nothing but caramel-colored tap water. A few guests got up and others replaced them. The night seemed to stretched on by sheer force of will, a wanting for it to not end. They talked about Bé’s vision for her career in drama, and the near-future life she would lead in The Big Apple. Slowly, At the end of it, Hà admitted,
“That sounds so nice. I’m being honest! I always imagine living in a big city, being independent, and doing whatever I want.”
“Aren’t you doing what you want?”
“I mean, it’s a nice enough job, but it’s not my field of interest. Also, Huế can be boring.”
“What’s your field of interest, then?”
“Let’s see, teaching English? I don’t know anymore.” Hà chuckled in a self-depreciative way. “At least that’s what I studied in university. That was a many years ago, and I’m not sure if I ever have the chance to get into education.”
“That’s kinda scary to me. I still have a few years before I’m finally done with higher ed,” reflected Bé, and Hà pondered,
“Most of the time, I’m just thinking of how to have the best life for my daughter. I had her early, so traveling isn’t easy. I would like to go into teaching or just go to New York or LA by myself, but how am I going to pay for her? I think that’s why I’m still here. Ah, that, and having a husband.”
“Wow, holy shit, I had no idea. Your daughter, how old is she?”
“She’s turning 6 this December.”
“And if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” Bé was stunned with shock and curiosity. The American girl scooted in front of Hà, attempting to get a better angle of her friend’s face.
“Isn’t it a bit late to be asking me this?” Hà gave a half-smile.
“No offense, it’s just, well, you look quite young to be this, uh, far ahead, I guess.”
“Do I look young for 38?” Hà’s big eyes were trained on Bé’s, challenging her to see who can open the widest. The redhead gaped at empty air, finding lost words. “I’m just kidding, Bé. Calm down! I’m 25.” Letting out a gust, Bé massaged the bridge of her nose and laughed a laugh that sounded more akin to a wail,
“Hà, I’m dying in here,” Bé took a moment to collect herself. “If I didn’t have to fly tomorrow, I would love to meet your daughter though. I love children, and I bet she is a lovely young lady just like her mother.”
“She can be very naughty though,” Hà channeled her inner kindergarten teacher, placing her hands akimbo, her smallish voice as stern as it can be.
“I was a handful when I was younger too.”
“You’re still a handful now.”
“Haha, oh shut up, thank god my mom wasn’t as snarky as you are,” Bé lifted her head and downed all of what was left of her whiskey and coke in one giant swig. Hà couldn’t help but notice how long the girl’s neck was, and how the liquid had made a gulp as it snaked down the redhead’s throat. She felt her own throat turning leather, so she also finished up her drink. The diluted mix only highlighted how quickly Hà was sobering up. She was awed at how much of physical constitution was actually psychological stubbornness. The street had been quiet for a while. From downstairs, an electronic Engelbert Humperdinck echoed, “tell me, quando, quando, quando?”. On this timeless and isolated island, Hà had looked around everywhere but the clock.
