A Southern Girl: A Novel

38

A Southern Girl 368 would bring us together for a flight home. In Mr. Quan’s room there is no answer. I go to his door, rapping firmly. No response. I’m at breakfast when he arrives, looking fit and chipper, smiling as he enters and greeting the hostess cordially. At the table, he declines a menu from an approaching waitress. “Would you mind,” he asks, “if I do not accompany you on your return?” “You’re staying here?” I ask. “For a time. I have to explore some business prospects.” I smile. “You were with a business prospect last evening?” He returns my smirk with a flicker of his eyebrows. “Saigon has changed but there is great opportunity here.” “What about your enterprise?” “Pham can take care of things for a time. Then, a decision.” “I think I can handle getting back. You’re sure about this?” “No. But by the standards here I have become a veddy wealthy man. Perhaps it is time to address . . . other matters.” “I understand. I can manage.” “I will speak to Pham by phone. Then, if you carry to him some written instructions, I will be grateful.” At the airport I thank him for all he has done. He in turn thanks me, by which I think I grasp the change in him over these past few days. I am in line to board when he waves his last farewell, already striding confidently toward the exit. Soon, he is indistinguishable among the throng waiting for taxis. j 38 i In Athens, Allie and I board a plane for New York. We talk for hours. Her time in Korea has changed her in some way I will need to come to terms with, but not today. While she “fell in love” with Hana’s children, the nurse told her all she knew about Allie’s first months of life. Hana repeated the account of her birth mother’s visits, trying to summon a physical description of a woman she met only briefly. In a lighter moment, Allie mentioned upper blepharoplasty surgery. “Very popular,” Hana Flow 369 conceded, “but still surgery. Did you know those scars you have almost kept you from being adopted? While you are here we will visit Faith Stockdale . She is retired now, but I want her to meet you. It is my way of telling her ‘I told you so.’” They talked of a reunion in Charleston. Upon our return, I stop at the Red Dragon as Mr. Quan had requested. Pham’s English is limited. He nods and smiles often, but we do not communicate easily. I give him his employer’s written instructions and stay long enough to impress upon him my availability to help should legal problems arise. Carter & Deas is unchanged. Within twelve hours of being back on U.S. soil I have a cluttered desk and calendar. Harris is glad to see me, asks the usual questions, and advises me of an appointment with Middleton tomorrow. “We both need to be there,” he insists. Cathcart has cut his fees again and a final negotiation session, with partners from the two firms sequestered at opposite ends of City Hall, has been arranged. “The city is enjoying this game,” Harris reports. “They’re using Cathcart as a bludgeon to get us cheap. If we’re not careful this contract won’t be worth winning.” The lawsuit Natalie has prepared will reopen Pandora’s box where the Arts Center is concerned. I have not told Harris, although I must before walking into tomorrow’s showdown at City Hall. Then, there is my unqualified disclaimer to the press, the legal equivalent of its political counterpart, “If nominated I will not run, if elected I will not serve.” My plate will be piled high with crow to be eaten over disavowal of legal action “now or ever.” Natalie has prepared well in my absence. On the afternoon of my return I stop by her office to read the seventeen page complaint. I close her door long enough for a welcoming kiss before we turn to business. The suit is skillfully drafted, naming both the St. Simeon and the city as defendants. Pursuant to my instructions in a phone call from Vietnam, she has not named the Board members in their individual capacities. “This is not a lay-down,” I say as I finish reading. Natalie looks up from the work on her desk. “Are you kidding? At best it’s twenty...