Sandy supplied ammunition and weapons to his battalion four or five days a week but was generally back at the base for two days at a time. He would hitch a ride or borrow someone’s motorbike and ride into Saigon to the bar.
Mai loved the way his face lit up when he spotted her at the Stardust. She would excuse herself and make her way to him. They’d hug, and she would invite him to join her at whatever table she was hosting. Within a few weeks it was clear to the other bar girls that Mai and Sandy were a couple, and they left the two alone.
When a steady stream of GIs poured in, which happened most nights, Mai would invite one or two other bar girls to join her until she was confident the new soldiers were in good hands. Then she and Sandy would slip away to a smaller table. When Cô Thạc, now Madame Thạc, occasionally tapped her on the shoulder, annoyed she was spending too much time with one customer, Mai would leave him for ten minutes, but she always found a way to return.
Mai made it her business to observe his expressions, mannerisms, and mood. She knew when he was tired, worried, or happy. Although her English wasn’t perfect, she could tell when he was holding back and when he wanted to talk. Madame Thạc had said the best bar girls always knew their customer’s mood and adjusted their behavior accordingly. But Sandy wasn’t just a customer. Over the past month he had become her boyfriend, and—if she was lucky—perhaps one day he would be her fiancé. The girls had explained to her that he was an officer. More important than most of the soldiers who came into the Stardust. He could get her extras, like stockings, makeup, even jewelry from the PX on the base. But Mai didn’t care about the swag of war. She wanted him. She wouldn’t bother him with little things.
Gazing into his face one night at the bar, she sensed something wasn’t right. “You okay, honey?”
He tossed back a scotch, asked for another.
She brought it to him. “What wrong?”
He threw back half of the second scotch. His eyes watered. Then he sighed. “I don’t know, Mai. I don’t know why we’re here. I don’t know who or what we’re supposed to be fighting.”
“Why?”
“I delivered ammo to Freddy’s platoon, then drove to another in the same battery. It was about a three-hour drive. When I got to their camp, it was almost dark. A couple of squads had just come back from the field.” He took another sip of his scotch. “Mai, they were really high.”
She’d heard stories about GIs and drugs. Marijuana had always been an issue. She could smell it drifting out of dark alleys when she finished her shift.
“You are boss, right? You make them stop.”
He smiled wistfully. “I’m a lieutenant. Not so high up. And I wouldn’t know how. I think it’s a lost cause.”
Mai thought about it. The soldiers seemed to be drinking more at the Stardust as well. The brittle attitude that had briefly lifted in the spring was back and stronger now, tinged with a black edge of despair. It had touched most of the GIs. Including Sandy.
“Why this happen?”
“It’s a lot of things,” Sandy said. “Some of the guys were upset when Bobby Kennedy was shot.” He looked at her. “You know, the brother of President Kennedy?”
Mai nodded.
“Well, he was running for president and was against the war. He could have stopped all this.” He waved a hand. “Now there is no one. Except McCarthy. And he won’t win.”
He went on. “And they just replaced the general who commanded the war for the past four years. Westmoreland.”
“Yes, I know name.”
“Here’s the thing. He told everyone we were winning. Seeing ‘the light at the end of the tunnel.’ We thought the war was nearly over.” He tossed back more scotch. “Then there was Tết. After that he asked for 200,000 more troops. Two hundred thousand. He was a fucking liar. Made all those empty promises.”
“I get drinks.” Mai rose and went to the bar, thinking about Sandy’s mood. He could sink into depression quickly. She felt responsible, that it was her job to cheer him up. But how? She brought the drinks to the table.
“In fact, this year more soldiers died in Vietnam than any other year of the war. And it’s only fucking July. And you wonder why we all get drunk or high?”
Mai was quiet for a moment. “What about you?” she asked, half-afraid to hear his answer.
“Drugs aren’t my scene. I’m just gonna keep my head down and get out of this shithole at the end of my tour. But . . .” His voice trailed off. “It’s bad. Guys use when they’re out in the field, not just at camp.”
Mai tried not to think about his comment about the “shithole” that was Vietnam. “They are high when they fight?”
He nodded. “It’s not just passing a joint back and forth, either. Some are scoring hashish, or horse—that’s heroin—and ganja on the black market. Psychedelic shit, too, LSD, mescaline, and psilocybin.”
Mai was quiet. She had no idea what these drugs were. Or did.
“It gets worse,” he went on. “There are pills, too. Officers have started to dole out uppers to the infantry.”
“What?”
“The higher-ups say it improves performance and boosts endurance on the battlefield. Then they give the guys downers for anxiety. The brass are sure they work. But they’re turning guys into addicts.” He shrugged. “I’m beginning to think those pills may be partly to blame for the atrocities—you know—the massacres. I wasn’t here but I heard about that guy Calley. Supposedly his men were pretty strung out with all of that shit.” Then, as if he’d just realized what he said, he sat up straight. “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, Mai.”
Mai didn’t know how to react. Sandy was the only person, besides Hạnh, who knew about the massacre of her family. She hadn’t meant to tell him; it slipped out one night when they were talking about families. But she’d trusted him to keep the confidence. Indeed, she trusted him implicitly. But to think her family was killed by some drug-induced GI frenzy belittled her loss and the lives of her family. Her eyes filled. She choked back tears. He covered her free hand with his.
When they rode back to the boardinghouse on her Vespa that night, he climbed off and gave her a gentle kiss. This time, though, Mai felt an urgency for more. She wanted to get as close as possible to him. To climb inside him if she could. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him long and deeply. The faint scent of motor oil along with mint gum and cigarettes wafted off his clothes. He responded and tightened his hold. When they broke apart, she had to catch her breath. She gazed into his eyes, saw the question in them.
He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it. She eyed the fourth floor. It was dark. Hạnh was still at the Stardust. She looked back at him. Her dream was to go to America with Sandy. To marry him. The other girls had told her not to pressure him. And she had not. She hadn’t even asked him to bring her little gifts. But tonight she couldn’t help herself. “I would like to go to U.S.”
“I would like to see you there.”
Was that an invitation? Or just a casual comment? She didn’t know. And not knowing was the answer to the question in his eyes. At least tonight.
“Good night, Sandy.” She squeezed his hand.