Cocktails, Caviar and Diapers Read online

  “I don’t know, I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. You just have to keep your standards high. Even if no one else has any morals, you can have them. Am I right?” It’s easy for Lael to talk. She has an adoring husband and an uncomplicated view of life.

  “Seems to me that we expatriates get tempted pretty easily out here. The bosses have so much power, they get to be too important in our lives.”

  “Don’t they ever! If you remember that party I gave just before you had the baby. I lost all sense of proportion, buying roast beef on a tuna budget.” We both laugh ruefully at our antics for visiting firemen.

  “What a deal, Lael, being Overseas Manager out of the Home Office. Everyone kissing the ground in front of you. Sex gets to be more important than production. It’s medieval, the rights of the lord and so forth. I feel it too.” It’s exciting but I can’t say it.

  Lael senses my thoughts as usual. “Don’t give way when you go to Caracas. The Manager there has quite a reputation. The Romeo type. His wife goes home too often to see her family. He can carry on with no one the wiser. The Boss doesn’t care. He has a good time when he goes there too.”

  “Ugh. It’s all too corrupt for me.”

  “Don’t be so absolute, Andrée. If they do it, it’s none of your business. Just don’t lose your standards.” She looks a bit smug. I find men are tremendously attractive, she doesn’t care.

  We swing into the drive of the Caribe Hilton, our only diversion at the moment. I hear there will be several big hotels soon. The soft damp air stands still over fish ponds and small gardens. Over by the tennis courts is a cluster of flowered hats. Off we go! These at least are simple pleasures.

  Caracas, Venezuela

  Caracas is fun! The hills are dotted with country clubs and swimming pools, the flags of all nations wave at the Hotel Avila and the valley is thick with beautiful houses. Ours is the most unconventional block of cement I’ve ever lived in. We don’t have the furniture to fill it but it’s full of plants and sun and odd shadows. I love it.

  I’ve had the lead in the Theatre Group play, where I was dressed by Dior. I’ve started a fashion page in the local American paper, interviewed artists, met cousins and behind all the excitement and the Paris fashions is the sinister note of secret police, small safeguards in living that make it all the more exciting.

  I was a provincial ninny in Puerto, Rico. Still, the children are the same. I don’t think I want them to grow up in South America. The male is macho, the female, his echo and his pawn. Not for them.

  “Sean, what are you doing?” Parts of the baby carriage are strewn around the sisal rug, the wheel dismounted. What a baby! He lives a protected life, running up and down the shiny stone corridors with his brothers.

  The big patio is hung with orchids. I planted gardenia plants in the fish pond, as I didn’t want to worry about the children falling in. The smell pervades the house at night. Humming birds dart through the latticed roof. The house is safe, designed to keep intruders out. The twenty foot windows in the living room are made up of small panes of glass set in steel. No unwelcome intruder can slip through. Our house is a fortress. A coral snake did manage to slip through, and we killed it while Sean was trying to pick it up.

  Sean crawls over to me and gives me a hug, Eric runs over from his tricycle and pretends to hug him lovingly. We all fall in a heap together. Much kissing all around and they’re off again.

  There was last week’s dinner at the oldest house in Caracas—1542. I still think about it, wonder if I’ll ever be part of that world. I had no idea what to wear, what to do, what to say. I sat next to a famous Prince and when I told him that I’d danced with his grandson in New York, he turned his back. Too late, I realized that I was giving away his age.

  We ate at long tables under the trees, with one hundred goblets, plates, everything, in solid silver–Conquistador loot. The candles marched up and down the tables and everyone was talking French.

  Evans seemed at home. I felt all thumbs but eager to learn. Sitting at the end of the table, I thought of the beauty of the setting for a while but after no one had spoken to me for several courses, even my thoughts fell silent, my eyeballs felt heavy and sad.

  I was discovered at the end of the dinner by the hostess, a distant relation— “pariente![8]” I was a member of the family–shown around the ancient hacienda, suddenly made much of and accepted. Evans was delighted, he could use it for business. My cousins suddenly looked more amusing than the good, dull company wives and I decided to get to know them better …

  ***

  The phone rings and I answer it at the black enamel bar, next to the patio. I can watch the hummingbirds while I talk.

  “Andrée, this is Juan.” Juan, my tall and debonair distant cousin, a slight feeling of corruption in his eye, an unhealthy complexion and enormous charm. I had met him at the dinner, guess I didn’t do so badly after all.

  “My dear, I’d like you and your husband to come up to my house before we go to Carolina’s pool party. We can have a bit of champagne. Would you like that?”

  “Love it, I’d like to see your house and meet your wife.”

  “Well yes, my wife. She won’t be coming to the party. I think she’ll be visiting her mother who is not well.” Now I remember a sad little story about Juan marrying a rich girl with Indian blood for her money. She had been ostracized by the Spanish family and is rarely seen. I’ll be curious to meet her.

  Is the little American girl growing up? I feel more than I used to, even if I don’t understand. Why does Evans go off at odd hours to play tennis? I feel he’s close to the Italian princess but I don’t want to seem jealous.

  What am I missing in this strange country? I feel strange undercurrents; the peasants, half dead from starvation and worms, brooding in the pampas[9] stretching into the heart of South America. Why is the army, rich and corrupt as it is, ready to crush anyone, anything at the slightest move. What are they afraid of? Why do the rich find it hard to stay and flee to Paris whenever they can? A peasant got a rifle the other day in the heart of Caracas and shot every moving person and animal before he was shot down himself. The wild Caribe Indian blood has left vestiges of unsmiling cruelty in the people. The Spanish conquerors were equally cruel. What a heritage!

  One corruption breeds another. The Spanish have their customs. At the company party several weeks ago, I invited members of my local family. Well, I can see that the Company wants local support and I’m proud of my family. The Boss came, the Big Boss above the little one we see all the time. He came down the stairs, very handsome, white haired and tall–and obviously rich. He noticed me, and I found his conversation delightful.

  Cousin Luisa came up to me so strangely. “You look beautiful tonight.” I looked down at my green chiffon blouse, very revealing.

  “Thank you, Luisa. I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

  “Oh, these official parties, one always does. They are so predictable. You must seduce the head of your husband’s company tonight. He is ready, look at him look at you.” I blushed. It gave me an odd awareness of myself as a desirable body. I felt swept into an ancient game of odalisque, mistress, lover, courtesan. All to accomplish a purpose: power. Was this what the Napoleonic Code had done to these women?

  “Oh, Luisa, I’m happily married, you know.”

  “That’s nice. Making love to get something for your husband is allowed. You are too beautiful not to understand this. You could get a great deal for him.” I felt like a clump of desirable bananas. She nodded towards Evans, leaning near an elegant woman. Was he playing this game with her too?

  The local manager comes up to me, his eyes gleaming behind his glasses. Him too? Should I have a flirtation with him? Surely Evans can manage his own life, I am not required to have an easy virtue. I only need to be entertaining. We laugh at their jokes, talk to the Big Boss and laugh some more, with champagne flowing. Certainly that’s all that’s needed.

  Strange country. No one seems to a
gree with my Puritan ethic. I feel as if I’d lost my moorings. I’m not admired for my ability to think and do. My body stirs underneath my clothes. I feel wild desires running through me, the next man that touches me, I’ll run off with him. Quick! Let it be Evans! …

  ***

  Luisa called today. “How is he?”

  “Fine, he went back to the United States.” I dropped the conversation and talked of other things. She has a game of men being seduced by women. Let her.

  “Boys, let’s go for a drive!” Jock and Eric run from their rooms behind the protective steel door. I must get out of here, get some movement going. There’s a heaviness in my legs. I feel weary. Did I eat any unwashed salad?

  We love my first real car. A black convertible! Like some F. Scott Fitzgerald character, I’ll race down the wide avenue into the heart of the city and my newspaper, with my beautiful children beside me.

  As we turn on to the autoroute, oh flaming youth, I see a policeman on a motorcycle. He signals me and my heart sinks. The boys and I squint in the sun, up at his Indian face with curving hooked nose. I innocently hand him my cedula with a ten peseta note tucked in it and a list of prominent Venezuelan friends on the side. We go prepared, we Americans. He hands back the cedula with a smile and the ten peseta note in his hand. I salute and go on, knees weak.

  The cedula. Evans is trying to find one of our friends who vanished two days ago. If he gets to him too late, he will have been sent to the prison in the interior, the one with the salt walls. He will be lost. Does perpetual living in danger destroy morals or make me more intelligent? Up to me, I suppose.

  The boys are delighted with our meeting. I wonder. The tall towers beckon at the center of town. The autoroute blazes white under the tropical sun. Small imprints of civilization: pools and cool patios, country clubs and green lawns. Hang on. If I got a horse and went far enough into the interior, I’d cross wild lands and enormous mountains and then the huge ranches of my family in Colombia. It was founded by predatory souls, Spanish conquistadors in whatever age they lived in. I feel like shaking off my artificial American civilization. The hot wind blows on the three of us. I look down on the two children, peach colored and radiant. Don’t be immature, Andrée. You must wait until they’re grown. I wish I’d been born a man!

  The cool plaza in the center of town envelops us in big trees and a splashing fountain. I feel the violence in the air, this is where revolutions start. A sudden un-American thought; peasants have always been a means to change. Did I pick this out of the air?

  The steady beat of the presses hums from the small newspaper office. Much as I would like to believe that I am part of the newspaper world, I’m not. I forfeited that when I left New York.

  Reassuring solidity of leaving off copy. My legs still feel heavy.

  “Let’s drive back through the old section, Mummy.” Jock and I love to explore.

  “We’d better put the top up, Jock. We don’t want to tempt people to throw things at us. It’s getting pretty hot, too.” Terribly hot. It takes all my strength to turn the steering wheel.

  ‘What’s the matter, Mummy? You look all funny.”

  “I don’t know, honey. I think I must have worms.”

  If this is how the people in the country feel all the time, no wonder they don’t get anything done. Even thinking is too much for me. The hot blaze from the buildings hurts my eyes. My backbone feels as if it’s melting into the rear of the car. People walk slowly in the tropics, I know one reason now. It takes a great deal of concentration to move legs and arms when worms are eating away at your insides. I think I’ll go straight to the doctor and give us all a dose of medicine.

  ***

  “Evans, I can’t believe it, Evans. You’re not flying to Cuba tonight! We’re supposed to meet Juan and then go on to the party in the Country Club. Anyway, you could wait until tomorrow.”

  “Sorry, Andrée, I have to get the commercial completed in Spanish as soon as possible, we need it for the new T.V. promotion,” he replied. “I tell you what we can do, Sweetie. Why not meet me next week in Havana? I’ll call up your family there and tell them. We could stay with Jack and his new Cuban wife, see Varadero, fly to Mexico for a week. It would do you good. I haven’t seen much of you recently. The boys will be fine with the new French nurse.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to leave them?”

  “The political scene looks quiet. Reliable sources say all is quiet for now. Apparently there won’t be any trouble until election time. I hope we’ll be far away by then.”

  “Darn it, I wish you could stay. The trip sounds exciting. You’ll wire from Havana? Can I take you to the airport?”

  “No, I don’t want you down in that area after dark. Let’s not tempt fate. I’ll get a cab. It’s on the company.”

  He packs while I watch. He seems in high spirits. So much the better. I suppose living here is as confining for him as it is for me. I’d better telephone Juan before it’s too late.

  “Juan? I can’t come to the party tonight. Evans is going to Havana.”

  “Is he really? So is Elena. I’ll pick you up anyway and take you to the party. As we are cousins, no one will mind.”

  Why won’t his wife mind? Oh, well, I’m not doing anything wrong.

  “Oh, Evans,” I say, going back into the bedroom. “Elena is going to be on the plane tonight to Havana, too. Isn’t that a coincidence?”

  “Indeed. That should be pleasant. She’s rather dull, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t particularly like her, she’s terribly dreary to women but men like her. She’s much older than you anyway. You’ll be good company for her, you have a good time talking to her at parties.”

  His face looks a bit pale. I hope he doesn’t have worms, too. I think I’ll tell him about my troubles another time. He looks preoccupied.

  He starts to leave. “Goodbye, Andrée. Goodbye boys. You men take good care of yourselves.”

  The boys look up at him in admiration. They’re used to long business trips, often lasting a month. He is a touch of glamour for them. I would never dream of bothering him when the children are ill or hurt. A company wife overseas can’t bother her husband. The boss doesn’t like it. Disgusting. We’re a race apart no matter how you look at it.

  Evans and I need the vacation. I feel cross and he trembles as he leaves.

  ***

  I love Juan’s Mercedes. Don’t know much about cars but this is something beautiful. I feel so special.

  “Andrée,”, he says, as he hands me into the car, “why don’t we skip the party and have dinner in town?”

  “No, Juan, I’m expected there. What will everyone say?”

  “It will be one of those enormous parties by the pool. I’m sure you’ll be bored to death. There are no people your age. Come on, we’ll have a pleasant dinner, a bit of wine and then I’ll take you home.”

  He looks so neutral, an amusing dinner jacket to have dinner with, certainly would be more fun. Besides, I still have shyness attacks at big gatherings...

  ***

  Now he’s taking me home after an orange glow of a dinner with too much champagne. I barely remember where we went. It’s delicious to go to dinner with another man after so long. He’s really sweet. Not my type but sweet.

  The soft night of Caracas, so invigorating after the hot day. It’s hard to feel tired at this altitude but I’d better not ask him in. He seems very cozy.

  Ah, my house. There are two policeman in a car up the street. I wonder why?

  “Goodnight, Juan, thank you.” Whew! I’ve had a lot to drink, it doesn’t come out right.

  “Kiss me goodnight first.” He grabs me, oh! What champagne lets loose in my body! I shall never drink it again. Oh, marvelous to be kissing in such a way. Evans has gotten so cool recently. I can barely think. I feel damp and excited.

  Who is that tapping on the car window? The police!

  “Juan, let me go, there are the police. Please get out and talk to them,
I’ll try and get my dress together. This is dreadful.”

  Worse than dreadful. I’m trying to sober up, my knees are trembling with fear. Two times in one day. Someone must be after me!

  The police tell Juan they want keep our cedulas overnight.

  “My cedula? Why? They want to keep it overnight? Juan, I have to go to Cuba next week. How will I ever explain to Evans what happened if I can’t leave the country? What are we going to do?” We’re hissing and whispering like two conspirators in the car. I’m glad he can talk to them properly. He’s safe, as a native. Wouldn’t the boys in charge be happy to make something out of this in the press!