M. Forsythe - While Rome Was Sleeping

Afterward she was languishing on the bed as Brad poured scotch into two glasses and handed one to her. He clinked his to hers and said “I toast you, Lia, no one can cook like you.” He drained the glass and said, “Get dressed we’re going to take a little drive, I want to talk with you privately. Let’s have another for the road,” He poured more of the amber liquid into her glass and then his. He watched her as she dressed.

She brushed her hair and touched lipstick to her mouth, but not before she kissed Brad long and sensuously. Where are we going, Baby?” she asked.

“Just for a drive… you’ll be safe—we won’t take many chances,” Brad laughed casually.

They were in the car on the road that led to Bien Hoa. The rains had stopped and the road had dried enough so clods of the red dirt whumped under the car as they sped along. Brad was feeling the liquor as was Lia.

Turning to her he said calmly, “I’m leaving tomorrow for the States and this has to end before I go. I know that you’re a goddamned spy and you’ve been playing games with the Soviet KGB. I know that every time you take your little trips to Paris, you’ve been handing over information to the Russians. You have played Perkins like a fiddle but you haven’t fooled everybody.”

“Everybody?” she countered. “Who is everybody? Does that mean that yo u know everything Kelshaw does? Did he tell you about the big time defector?”

“Defector? What are you talking about?” Brad pressed.

“I hear lots of things… do you? Why don’t you ask George Kelshaw? Aren’t you on the top secret inner circle with Georgie? Even Phillip Durkan knows more than you,” she goaded. “What do you think Kelshaw would do if he knew you had given me the information on the POW’s that got back to the VC? So you found out that I have some powerful friends in Moscow— so what?”

Lia moved closer, “If you knew, why didn’t you do something to stop me, Baby?” she whispered huskily. “You and I both know why, don’t we?” she said as her hand caressed his thigh. “I told you before that it isn’t going to end unless I want it to and I don’t! Get used to it, Colonel Baby, I’ll be waiting when you get back… taking care of Paul Thayer was my pleasure,” She laughed.

“Brad had stopped the car. She saw the gun in his hand and began pleading. “No, Baby, no! You don’t want to do this. I won’t bother you more… please, please don’t.”

“Get out of the car,” he demanded angrily, “Now! I’ll be doing my country a favor. Go on get out!” She shook her head defiantly. Not waiting, he fired… the bullet entered her left side and her eyes widened in horror. She slumped as Brad reached across and opened the door and pushed her out. Getting out he walked around the car to where she lay on the ground; standing over her he muttered, “We could have ended this another way, but you wouldn’t listen, you stupid…” He fired again and prodded her body with the toe of his boot.

Lia lay crumpled in the red dirt at the side of the road. He fired once more saying, “That one was for Paul,” then Brad calmly returned to Saigon. He needed a shower and good night’s sleep before leaving with Paul’s body the next day.

It was after 10:00 PM when Brad drove into his driveway in Alexandria. He couldn’t put Olivia off any longer. “Maybe she’s gone to bed,” he said to himself.

Opening the front door he saw a light from a door ajar in the den.

“Is that you, Brad?” she called out.

“Yes Olivia, dear,” he said opening the door. He saw a small fire burning in the fireplace. Olivia was seated in a comfortable leather chair close to the fire. Her hair was loose like she worn it when they first met. He thought how really lovely she was. “You waited up… I’m sorry to be so late, but it was unavoidable.

“She nodded understanding, then said, “Sit down, Brad. Would you like a drink? I’m going to have one.”

Brad was surprised, his wife rarely decided to imbibe alone. He quickly moved across the room to a small bar saying, “Stay seated, I’ll fix us one; what would you like?”

“Bourbon and soda will be fine for me,” she said softly.

Brad prepared the drinks and handing her one he said lightly, “All right, my dear, you have some questions. I’ll be glad to clear up anything that I can, to ease your mind.” Brad took a long drink and waited.

She smiled, “Thank you, Brad. I want you to tell me about the letter from Paul that Charlene received and then I want you tell me about George Kelshaw. Most of all I want to know why you felt you had to lie to me.”

Brad was ready with his reply, “The problem Charlene called me about was a letter from Paul, but it was a letter written about a year after the car bomb that we assumed killed Paul in Saigon.

“At first I didn’t believe it could have been authentic and I didn’t want to upset you, but I have since have found out that it is. It was not Paul that was killed; he died on a black mission and no one knew.”

Olivia gasped, shocked to hear about Paul. “Wha-what about George Kelshaw?” she stammered. “Charlene told me he had been murdered in Seattle.”

Brad was rapidly thinking on his feet. “George Kelshaw apparently got to Seattle on a freighter from Southeast Asia. He was attacked and killed before anyone could speak with him. The Seattle Police Department ruled it as a robbery/homicide by persons unknown. Kelshaw was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Why did you lie and tell Charlene and me that you didn’t know George Kelshaw?”

“What did Charlene tell you?” Brad sounded annoyed.

“Never mind, Brad… I’m asking you,” she said with forced patience.

“I did know George Kelshaw, but it was unbelievable that he could be alive after all this time. The last I knew he’d been taken prisoner in Laos and we never heard more about him. When the war was over and the POWs were returned and his name wasn’t on any list, we all assumed that he was dead.

“So you see my dear, I did not lie to you. The whole story was so surrealistic that—well, Olivia you know that I am a logical, rational man. It took some serious thinking and investigating to conclude that the letter that Charlene received was genuine. We now know that it was; someone else was killed in the car.

“Now shall we go to bed—I’m very tired.”

“Thank you, Brad for your very thoroughly logical explanation… yes, it is late. I have only one more question, and then we can go to bed. Brad, who is Lia?”

Brad was stunned; he blanched, stammering, “Lia… what are you talking about, Olivia?” His mind was reeling. What could she know?

“I’m talking about the woman that you were sleeping with in Saigon. Don’t deny it, Brad, I have my sources of information. Washington and the Army are small communities and people talk; you were not exactly invisible, people know us.”

“Did Charlene Thayer tell you?”

“No, Brad, she didn’t. Does Charlene even know? Did Paul know?”

Brad sunk into a chair, shaking his head, “Paul knew. When he found out, we quarreled; he didn’t want you to get hurt. I didn’t think he told Charlene. I told him it was over,” Brad paused, “Why didn’t you say something?” he asked wearily rubbing his forehead.

“Because I loved you and I had decided to let it go as a casualty of war. Our time together in Hawaii was such a special healing time and I loved you enough to forgive you almost anything. But you’ve lied to me and after listening to your very logical explanation about Paul’s death and George Kelshaw, I realize I don’t know you anymore, Brad. I have forgiven you, but how can I trust you?”