T. Parker - Little Saigon

You re Chuck Frye, aren’t you? I saw you in some contests...

Maybe she thinks it’s funny.

Maybe she saw it, thought I was cute, cut it out.

Maybe it’s Jim’s, not hers.

The hospital operator gave him visitors’ hours. He hung up.

He was curious. He picked up Cristobel’s address book and turned to F. No Frye. Nothing under C. He tried Z instead. There it was, CF, followed by his number. His address was under it.

She was still sleeping. Dunce regarded him blankly.

Does she have the MegaShop number too?

Under the Ms was no MegaShop number, but a regulation business card that said Mai Ngo Thanh Tong — Saigon Plaza.

He closed the book.

Cristobel was still asleep. He went in, pulled the pillow out from under her head and stood there. “What’s that picture of me doing on your fridge?”

She swam back from dreamland. “Picture?”

“The ape deal. And how come you’ve got my number in your book? We just met on Monday morning, didn’t we? A coincidence, right? Accident.”

She frowned, backed against the head stand, pulled the bedspread over her. “Jesus, Chuck.”

“Jesus, nothing. What gives?”

She looked at him hard, then down at the bed. When she looked back up, he could see the anger in her face. “You fuck me once, you think you own me?”

“I don’t want to own you. I want to know what you’re doing with my stats when we met three days ago.”

She shook her head, a bitter smile forming at the corners of her mouth. “Why don’t you just leave?”

“Not until I get some answers from you.”

“Wanna hit me? Maybe I’ll talk faster.”

“No chance of that.”

“What do you think, Chuck? That I wanted to seduce you? That I had it all planned ahead of time? Where to find you? What your number is? Where to find your house so I can bring flowers and a card?”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I just did.”

She looked down again, bit her lip. Frye watched a tear roll down her face. She wiped it away with the sheet. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“For what?”

“For this.” She looked at him, then out the window. She swallowed hard. “Well, that’s it. You can go now.”

“I’m listening.”

“What do you want? A confession?”

“Sure.”

“You’re an arrogant bastard, aren’t you?”

“I never looked at it that way. I just want to know what’s going on. And what about that Saigon Plaza number?”

“Okay, you deserve that much. I... I did plan it. I wanted it. I’ve had that picture for months. I got your number and kept it in my book for a long time. I made it a point to be at Rockpile that morning. It wasn’t the first time I was there.” She wiped her face again. “I’d seen you there a hundred times. I watched you from my window first, then I got a pair of binoculars. You were a man, but you were far away and I could see you when I wanted. I could control you. You couldn’t get too close. And believe me, that’s a nice option after being... put upon. I could see you and have the distance, too.” Cristobel sighed and looked at him. He couldn’t quite believe this was happening. “Look in the closet, Chuck.”

Frye slid open the door. A brand new MegaBoard rested inside, never used. The price tag was still on it. “I was hoping you’d be there when I went in. I did see you there a few times. Guess you didn’t notice. Those rolled-up things down by my shoes — they’re posters of you. And that Saigon Plaza number, that’s the fabric store where I buy my silk.”

“Oh.” Frye felt as stupid now as he’d ever felt in his life.

“I actually couldn’t wait for some excuse to come over to your house. I had it pictured as being sinful and full of... I don’t know. I heard it was a cave. When I moved to this place after the... after what happened, I started hearing about you. I saw you in a contest down at Brooks. I knew you were married so I didn’t do anything. I cut out the picture of you because — it was a picture of you.” She sobbed, looking away. “I thought I’d taken everything down. I forgot that Mystery Maid thing. I’m just a stupid fucking little girl. You can go now, Chuck. I just wanted you, and now I guess I’ve had you. Once isn’t quite enough, but it was still pretty sweet, wasn’t it?”

Frye sat on the bed. Then he rolled over and took her in his arms. She was crying now, and he could feel the warm tears running down his neck. “I’m awful sorry.”

“Go, please.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“So am I, Chuck. I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“Can we forget about this?”

“I’ll try, if you will.”

“Jesus. You saved my life. What I’d really like is to make love to you now.”

She moved closer to him and touched his face with her hands. “Yes, please.”

Two federal marshals were standing outside Tuy Nha’s hospital room as Frye walked up. One checked his name off a list while the other studied his driver’s license as if it were a rare manuscript. They rummaged through the gifts he’d brought.

Frye found Nha staring out a window, past a cart piled with flowers and cards. The room was small and white, and the smell of carnations floated on a clinical underlayer of hospital air. A television was suspended on the wall across from her bed. The picture on the screen was a soap opera; the sound was off.

She lay, propped with pillows, a blank notepad on her lap, a pen in her hand. She turned a face so pale and drained of life to Frye he wondered if she were dying. “Chuck,” she said in a whisper.

He kissed her cheek, sat, and took her weightless hand in his. “Nha.”

“It was very strange, Chuck. My thoughts came through my fingers, and I wrote your name. Then, your name came into my mouth and I spoke again. It hurt.”

“I’m honored you asked for me.”

A smile suggested itself, mostly in her eyes. “When I look out at night and see the stars, I think of him. Did you ever think how far away they are, the stars?”

“We’re all in the same sky, Nha.”

“So far to get there.”

“There’s no hurry. Here.” Frye gave her the package he’d hastily wrapped in the cave-house.

Nha’s fingers picked at the thing, failed. Frye opened it for her, placing the box beside her. She pulled out a silver wave necklace, taking the pendant in her palm and letting the chain dangle through her frail fingers. “It has magical powers,” he said.

“Really?”

“No. I just thought you’d like it. I designed it. They were popular a few years back, when I was. The first one I ever made I sent to my brother when he was in Vietnam. It was supposed to protect him and remind him of home.”

“Did it?”

“He gave it away, to tell the truth.”

She smiled. He helped her put it on. She fiddled with it, smoothing her hospital smock to give it a good place to lie. “Do you think it’s possible to do a brain transplant, Chuck? I’m sure it is dangerous but I would volunteer. Think, Chuck. Not a single memory. I would choose the brain of... let’s see... a cow. Dull and warm and concerned with grass and calves.”

“I’d like you better if you stayed a woman.”

“But think, to be empty. Where your past is only an hour long, and your future is a concept you are ignorant of. Will you ask Dr. Levin if he’ll make me a cow?”

Frye smiled at her, inwardly shocked at the deadness in her eyes, the way she moved so slowly, the way her body seemed to withdraw from its spirit as he watched. “No, Nha. He’s going to leave you a person. If you were a cow, the necklace wouldn’t fit.”

“I can always rely on you for logic, Chuck.”