Page 101 of Cry Havoc
“That will do for now. I won’t press you.”
She reached into her purse, pulled out a pack of Virginia Slims, and smoothly extracted a long, thin cigarette. Tom leaned across the table, offering the flame of his Zippo. She lit her cigarette. Tom did the same with his Marlboro.
“So, are you a Tom, or a Thomas?”
“My dad goes by Thomas, so I went with Tom.”
“Not ‘Tommy’?”
“Not since grade school.”
“Are you a ‘junior’?”
“I’m the third.”
“Very regal. And will your son be the fourth?”
“I think that’s getting to be a little much.”
She laughed. “What about a middle name, Tom, short for Thomas, Reece?”
“Sullivan.”
“Where does that come from?”
“Family name. How about you? What’s it like to be stepping into your father’s shoes?”
“You mean, what is it like for a woman to be taking over a multinational import/export business?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s all I know. I guess you could say I was born into it. And you? Were you born to do what you are doing up north?”
“You could say that. My father was in World War Two. Just doing my duty.”
“I see. Saving the poor Vietnamese from the communists?”
“I don’t really know. It feels like we are doing more harm than good.”
“It certainly seems so.”
“If South Vietnam falls, wouldn’t it be hard to leave everything you have built here?”
“My father taught me to be pragmatic. Moving all operations to Thailand would simply be a matter of adaptation.”
“Do you like it?”
“Thailand?”
“Your work.”
“That’s a very American question, but yes, it’s fulfilling.”
“Does it leave much time for a social life?”
“Are you asking me if I have a boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
