Even though the Viet Cong had been driven back from Saigon during the Mini-Tết of May, they tried again at the end of the month. In a new series of attacks, Cholon again faced the brunt of the fighting. A week later an American rocket misfired and killed Saigon’s chief of police and five others. Mai worried about Chị Tâm, who, as far as she knew, was still at the Cholon refugee camp. Had she been caught in the crossfire? She considered going to the Saigon Café to make sure her sister was uninjured.
But she knew Chị Tâm would disapprove of her newfound affluence and how she’d come by it. Her sister clung to rigid values, values handed down by generations of villagers. But their village was gone, and they were in the middle of a war. Mai was just trying to cope. To survive. And that meant change. Doing things she’d never imagined before. She was meeting that challenge.
But Chị Tâm? Yes, she had made sure they survived the massacre and started them off on their journey to Saigon, but they had opposite approaches to life. Chị Tâm was a thinker; careful, methodical. Mai was all action; she would deal with the consequences later. She couldn’t listen to Chị Tâm’s lectures and rigid attitude. She never went to the Saigon Café.
During monsoon season, when powerful rainstorms pummeled the city, people in Saigon ignored the deluges. They went about their business, as if rain sheeting sideways was but a trifling matter and their schedules were too important to permit nature to interfere.
It was the same with the war, Mai discovered. Most Saigon natives paid little attention to the war unless they were directly involved with the military or artillery destroyed their homes. The attacks from the NVA and Viet Cong were considered nuisances, but nothing to change one’s life over. But Mai had lost everything because of the war. She would never adopt such a cavalier attitude. She knew how quickly life could be destroyed, including her new life in Saigon. She was determined never to lose everything again. She just had to figure out how.
The Stardust packed in GIs every night, sometimes to an overflow crowd. Tables and booths turned over about three times an evening, which meant that Mai could make even more than she’d made last month. Hạnh thought it was due to the weather.
“Americans can’t tolerate heat and humidity like we can,” she said. “And we’re one of the only bars with air-conditioning.”
Mai shook her head. “It’s because there are more Americans here. I overheard an officer say almost 500,000 soldiers are in Vietnam. Many more came because of Tết. Haven’t you noticed? You can’t go anywhere in Saigon without bumping into a uniform.”
Hạnh thought about it. “I’m just glad they come here.”
“I’m sure Chú Thạc and Cô Thạc feel the same way.”
They were giggling when Cô Thạc herself approached. Both girls lost their smiles.
Cô Thạc didn’t seem to notice. “I have made an important decision,” she announced.
“What is it, Cô Thạc?” Mai swallowed. Had she done something wrong? Was her boss going to fire her?
“I want you to call me Madame Thạc from now on.”
The girls stared at her. “Why?” Hạnh asked.
“We have big crowds now. Lots of Americans. ‘Madame’ is more elegant than ‘Aunt.’” She smiled in a patronizing manner. “The Stardust should be the most sophisticated, most popular bar in Saigon.” She paused. “So you tell the other girls. No more Cô Thạc. Madame Thạc is more suitable. The GIs will approve.”
After Cô Thạc walked away, Mai and Hạnh exchanged glances and giggled again. There was never a dull minute at the Stardust. Still, Mai noticed that the mood inside the Stardust wasn’t always cheerful and happy. Sometimes the bar thrummed with the subtle vibration of discontent. Drinking and jokes and flirting aside, she sensed an undertone of anger and despair. Most of the soldiers, barely older than Mai, were boys who found themselves thousands of miles away from home fighting in a country they’d never heard of.
Some of the GIs told Mai and the others their president, weakened by American opposition to the war, was throwing bodies into Vietnam as a last stand. Others thought the Communist threat was overblown. But most said they didn’t know why they were here or what they were fighting for.
One night in June she was at a table with Châu, another bar girl, and three GIs. One was Lenny, whom she’d met the first night she worked at the Stardust. The other two were new to her: Dave from Texas and Freddy from Alabama. She’d been practicing her English with the GIs and Hạnh every day, and it was smoother, more colloquial. But the men’s drawls and twangs were so thick she had trouble understanding them.
After a gloomy conversation between the men about “Charlie,” the slang name the Americans called the Viet Cong, and what the gooks were doing devolved into silence, Mai changed the subject to something lighter. “I think to buy motorbike, but I know not much about. Do you?”
“Whatcha wanna know, babe?” Freddy said.
He wasn’t bad-looking for an American, Mai thought. Tall, lanky, pleasant face. A striped shirt and khaki pants. The only drawback was his greasy black hair.
“I need know if price is—how you say—okay.”
Freddy looked quizzical. Lenny cut in. “You mean if the price is worth it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She favored him with a smile. “I don’t want big bike. Little. Like me.” She giggled.
Dave took a long pull on his beer. “Hey. The looie who shipped in a month ago says he has a Harley at home. What’s his name?”
“First Lieutenant Bowden?” Freddy said. “The one who’s in charge of weapons, armaments, and maintenance?”
Lenny nodded. “Right. Sandy or something. From Chicago.”
Mai looked blankly from one GI to the other. “What is Harley?”
Dave launched into a long explanation of a Harley-Davidson, its size and power.
Mai shook her head. Between his drawl and the words he was throwing around, she was lost. She flipped up her hands. “Sorry.”
Freddy grinned. “I’ll show you.” He curled his fingers, wrapped them around an imaginary handlebar, and pretended to shift gears. At the same time he growled, “Vroom-vroom!”
Mai made sure to chuckle. So did everyone else. “So Sandy know this”—she curled her fingers as Freddy had—“this ‘vroom-vroom’?”
“Yeah, babe. Sandy knows vroom-vroom.”
Mai got them another round of drinks.