Chapter 23

That night, another couple also went out to eat.

Not the kind of wandering the street, squeezed among the crowd, eating a hot bowl of hu tieu in a lit-up sidewalk shop. Not the cold of river wind or the sound of vehicles running over a bridge. This was a different evening. Cleaner. More expensive. With the smell of perfume, the smell of car-seat leather, cold air conditioning, and the soft yellow light of a restaurant.

Van sat in Khang’s car.

A new-model Santa Fe. Not the kind of car that made people gasp because it was too luxurious, but enough to give the look of a successful man, a man who knew how to make money, knew how to take care of his own life. The car interior was clean, lightly fragrant, with a few small things arranged neatly on the dashboard. Music played just loud enough to hear. The closed, cool space made the street noise outside seem far away.

Khang held the steering wheel with one hand. His other hand rested lightly on the gearshift. On his wrist was a watch, bright-faced, the metal band fitting close. His Boss T-shirt fit his still-firm body. Flat dress pants, an LV belt, shiny leather shoes. Everything on Khang seemed arranged to tell the person opposite him that he was no longer that old schoolboy from years ago.

Van sat beside him, glancing over now and then.

In her imagination, Khang had already become a solid man. But in real life, he was more attractive than that. Not only handsome. It was the attraction of someone who knew where he was, knew what he had, knew how to create both safety and desire for the woman beside him.

That was what Tung did not have.

Or more exactly, maybe Tung had never thought he needed to have it.

The car stopped in front of Moo restaurant.

Khang got out first, went around to the other side, and opened the door for Van. The gesture was not rushed, not showy. He held out his hand to help her down. His palm only touched Van’s hand very lightly, polite enough, warm enough, enough to make her realize she was being treated like a woman worth cherishing.

“Careful.”

Khang said it softly.

Van stepped down, the hem of her white dress moving lightly around her thighs. She felt his eyes pass over her very clearly. Not rude. Not crude. But he did look. And that look pleased her.

Khang walked beside her into the restaurant. When he opened the door for her, he leaned slightly, close enough that Van felt his breath brush across her hair. Khang inhaled a little, very discreetly, as if he had accidentally caught the scent from her hair.

“What perfume are you using?”

Van turned to him and smiled faintly.

“Why?”

“It smells good.”

Only a few words.

But a man who knew how to praise did not need to say much.

The table had been reserved. The staff led them to a fairly nice corner, not too noisy, private enough to talk but still able to see the restaurant space. Yellow light fell over the tabletop, over the glasses, over the shining knives and forks. Khang pulled out the chair for Van. She sat down, and inside her came a pleasant feeling she had not had in a long time.

The feeling that she had been chosen.

Prepared for.

Waited for.

Khang ordered quite naturally. He asked Van how done she liked her beef, whether she had any allergies, whether she wanted salad first. Then he ordered a bottle of red wine, his voice calm, not showing off, but enough to show he was used to places like this.

Van looked at him.

“You know quite a lot, don’t you?”

Khang smiled.

“A little. Beef goes with red wine. Otherwise it wastes the dish.”

Van smiled too.

But right then, she suddenly thought of Tung.

Tung did not drink wine. Almost never. He did not know how to talk about red wine, and he did not know how to explain why this dish should be eaten with that one. But Tung was the one who had first taken her and their child to this restaurant.

Back then, the three of them had stepped in here with the awkwardness of country people coming up to the city. Tung wore a dress shirt tucked into his pants, his hair combed a little too carefully, his shoes not polished evenly. And Van back then had not yet learned how to act rich. She did not know how to sit prettily, did not know how to order naturally, did not know how to hold a glass, did not know how to tell whether a staff member’s look was polite or contemptuous.

She only trotted along after Tung.

Tung held the menu for a long time, looked at the prices a little, then still ordered the dishes she liked. When the server asked how done the beef should be, he paused a little, then turned to ask Van. At the time she had found Tung funny, but she had also thought he was capable. At least in her eyes back then, Tung was the man who could take his wife and child to bright, beautiful places, could pay, could indulge her, could make her feel she was moving upward.

Back then, she had truly been happy.

But now, sitting in front of Khang, that memory suddenly became rustic and poor.

The Tung in her memory looked like a man wearing a suit that did not fit. Trying to step into a fancy life to make his wife happy, but from beginning to end still showing his clumsiness, his gentleness, the pitiful look of someone who did not belong there.

Khang was different.

Khang belonged to this table, this light, this bottle of wine, these stories about money.

And because of that, inside Van, Tung was placed lower. So low she almost did not want to look back.

The two of them talked about school days.

Khang mentioned a few old names, a few old stories. Things she thought she had forgotten, but when someone brought them up, Van still remembered. She remembered the schoolyard, remembered the afternoons when school let out, remembered herself back then, still young, still with many people looking after her, still believing the best men would surely gather around her if she was beautiful enough.

Khang said Van had been very popular back then.

“Every class had someone noticing you.”

“Liar.”

“Really. I just didn’t dare say it back then.”

Van tilted her head.

“Why didn’t you dare?”

“Back then I was poor. No confidence. And you were too pretty. You looked like someone whose turn would never come to me.”

That sentence made Van’s chest soften.

Every woman had a small box inside her heart, a place to keep old compliments. Some compliments seemed rotten already, but as soon as someone dusted them off, they shone like new again. Van took a sip of wine and felt the light astringency spread across the tip of her tongue, then drift down her throat, leaving a thin warmth.

Khang began talking about work.

Real estate. Finance. Market waves. Pieces of land bought at the right time, sold at the right time. Connections. Loans. Projects. Stories Van did not fully understand, but because she did not fully understand, she found Khang even more capable.

Sometimes men attract women not because they say things women understand, but because they say things that make women feel a larger world opening before them.

Khang said just enough. Not too boastful, not too modest. Now and then he stopped and asked Van:

“Is this boring to you?”

Van shook her head.

“No. It sounds interesting.”

In truth, there were parts she did not understand. But she liked the way Khang talked. Liked the way he sat leaning slightly toward her. Liked the way his eyes always returned to her after each long story. Liked the feeling that among stories about billions, projects, land, in the end she was still the thing he paid the most attention to.

The wine made Van’s face turn red.

Under the yellow light, her skin became softer, her lips glossier, her eyes wetter. Khang looked at her more. Van knew. She always knew when men were looking at her. It was almost an instinct. And tonight, that instinct was stroked again and again.

Khang clinked glasses with her.

“To meeting again.”

Van lifted her glass.

“To meeting again.”

The glass touched very softly.

The meal passed slowly and quickly. The beef was tender, the wine just enough, the conversation had no awkward empty space. Van laughed a lot. Sometimes she put a hand over her mouth, sometimes she lowered her head to avoid Khang’s eyes, sometimes she pretended to scold him for talking too much. All those gestures were natural, but there was also a part of them she was aware of. Van knew she was prettiest when she smiled a little shyly. Knew her neck was beautiful when she tilted it. Knew bare shoulders under the light could make men want to look longer.

And Khang really looked.

When the staff cleared the last dish, Khang leaned back in his chair and let out a very light breath.

“What a pity.”

Van asked:

“Why a pity?”

Khang looked at her, his eyes softening.

“Time went too fast. The meal is already over.”

Van laughed.

She liked that sentence.

She liked the regretful look a man gave her. Liked the feeling that she was an evening not ready to end. A good dish not yet willing to be finished. A dream just touched and already afraid of waking.

Khang paid. He did not let Van look at the bill too long, and he did not make a show of it. He only signed, put away his wallet, then stood and pulled out her chair.

On the way back, the car was quieter than on the way there.

Wine made people quiet easily. Not because there was nothing left to say, but because some things began speaking with the body. A glance. A breath. A pause.

Khang drove slowly. From time to time he turned to look at Van. Each time, Van pretended not to know. She looked out the window, at the streaks of light drawn along the road, the shops still open, the couples on motorbikes stopped at red lights.

But she knew very clearly he was looking at her.

And because she knew, she felt her body heat up even more.

When the car drove into the apartment basement garage, Van did not get out right away.

The space inside the car suddenly grew smaller. The underground parking area was rather empty. Cold white light fell on the car windows, on Khang’s face, on Van’s hands as she unfastened her seat belt.

“Click.”

The seat belt popped loose.

Van was just about to open the door when Khang leaned over.

Not too hard, but fast enough to make her pause.

“Van.”

His voice was lower than usual.

Van turned toward him.

The distance between them was very close. Close enough that she smelled the faint men’s cologne on his collar, the red wine still lingering in his breath. Khang looked at her. That gaze no longer had the politeness it had at the restaurant. It was still restrained, but under that restraint was clear desire.

“Can you give me one memory?”

Van did not answer.

In truth, she did not want to answer right away.

There were moments when people knew they were about to do wrong, but still wanted to stretch out the second right before the wrong. Because in that second, everything could still be called by prettier names: a memory, an old stir of feeling, a little drunkenness, a weak minute.

Khang touched her chin lightly.

“Just a little.”

Van looked at him.

She saw only Khang in front of her.

The handsome, successful, gallant man. The one who once had not dared say he liked her because he thought she was too far away. The one now sitting in a cool car, wearing expensive clothes, looking at her as if she were still the prettiest girl from those years.

Van said nothing.

That silence was like permission.

Khang bent down and kissed her.

At first the kiss was only a light touch. A soft, testing touch, as if it still kept the last bit of politeness. But very quickly, it deepened. Khang’s arm went around her and pulled Van closer. Her back left the seat, her body leaning toward him. The smell of red wine, perfume, hair, and breath mixed together in the cramped space of the car.

Van closed her eyes lightly.

She felt Khang’s lips, warm, confident, not clumsy. The way he kissed was like the way he ordered wine, ordered food, opened the car door, talked about money: knowing what he wanted, and knowing how to make someone else soften in his hands.

One of his hands rested on her waist.

Not rough.

But firm.

Van trembled lightly.

That trembling was not from fear. It was like an old door inside her being opened after many years closed tight. Inside were laughter, restaurant lights, the white dress, compliments, a man’s regret, a younger Van sitting somewhere, smiling because at last she was still desired.

Khang moved his lips away from hers a little.

His forehead was almost touching hers.

“I’ve wanted to do that since school.”

Van opened her eyes.

That sentence made her soften completely.

Not because it was good. Because it struck exactly what she wanted to believe: that her beauty had not only been discovered tonight, but had existed for a long time, had once made a man remember her forever.

She smiled very softly.

“Liar.”

“Truth.”

Khang kissed her again.

Van no longer sat still.

She lifted her hand on her own, wrapped it around the back of Khang’s neck, and pulled him hard against her. The kiss that had begun with hesitation immediately flared up. Their tongues wrapped around each other in a dirty way, wet smacking sounds mixing with heavy breathing in the cramped space of the Santa Fe. Van moaned softly in her throat, the sound small but full of hunger, as if all the years of holding back had just been torn open.

She kissed harder, licking Khang’s lower lip, then pushing her tongue deep into his mouth on her own, wrapping around his tongue greedily. Khang was surprised for one second, but quickly answered with no less force. His hand slid behind Van’s back, found the zipper of her dress, and pulled it with extreme ease, as if he had done the same motion hundreds of times with dozens of other women.

“Rrrt...”

The zipper sounded neat and quick. The thin white dress slipped down at once, sliding past her shoulders, past her waist, revealing two round, full, snow-white breasts with no bra on. Her pink nipples were already hard from arousal and the cold air from the AC.

Khang could not hold back anymore.

He lowered his head at once, his mouth taking one of Van’s breasts greedily. He sucked hard, wet smacking sounds coming again and again. His tongue circled her nipple, sucked hard, then shifted to the other side, both hands kneading her full breasts roughly but with skill. Van tilted her head back, both hands gripping Khang’s hair, pressing his head closer to her chest.