My Vietnamese Secretary Pt. 02

"No sir, not surprised. Actually, pleasantly surprised. I thought you would not come, or maybe you would come late", she said, smiling beautifully, gleaming small white teeth against luscious wet lips. I realised that I was the last one to know about this evening; it was a typical office party which had been organized without my knowledge. I did not mind; in fact I loved the idea.

I asked for, and got within a minute, a double Jack on the rocks. I took two sips and was ready for the next. The office staff began to arrive just as my next drink came. I picked it up from the server's tray and turned to welcome each of my colleagues. Within ten minutes, there were 140 people at the Top of Hanoi; music moved from soft jazz to V-pop; lights went from dim to moonlight; and it seemed the night was young.

I retired to a corner of the rooftop as the tempo picked up, and sat back to take in the scenery. Over the parapet, I saw the expanse of the city below, haphazardly lit up in gleaming neons and red tail-lights of cars going home, tall buildings in the new commercial district. Not very distant, the darkness of Westlake marked a shadowy contrast to the interior lights of the houses and the street lamps that dotted the shore. On the rooftop itself, the mix was of youthful joy & cheerfulness of junior staff on the one hand, and controlled jollity & elan of the senior management personnel.

I watched the young men and women eat, drink, talk, and a couple dance; their voices made a happy buzz that filtered through the music. The DJ merrily twirled his way through local pop artists like Tommy Ngo, Hoai Lam, My Tam and Luu Quang Minh. A couple of my senior managers came over and soon there were four of us inevitably discussing a variety of topics ranging from our corporate strategy to local government politics.

After they had gone through a few rounds of drinks, the discussions moved on to social life and more personal discussions. When there were no women around, the men talked about the city's sex life and the seamier side of Hanoi's social fabric. By 10 o'clock, people started drifting away, some considerably inebriated. Half an hour later, there were about 20 of us still on the rooftop and I was nursing my third drink, getting ready to leave myself.

"Do you mind if I join you?", I heard a lady say while I had my nose inside the tumbler as I sipped the last of the bourbon. I straightened my head and saw Nguyet standing in front of me, elegantly clothed in a black dress that sheathed her body. She had a stole over her shoulders, protecting her from the night chill. I stood up and said "Of course, where have you been all evening?". I waited for her to sit before ensconcing myself back in the comfort of my armchair.

"Did you get here late?", I continued.

"No. I went home from the office but got here by about 8. I didn't see you initially and presumed that you would come in later. And then when I did spot you, there were many people around so I thought I'd mix with the others." Nguyet smiled gently as she spoke, her small oriental eyes twinkling. She had a glass of what looked like red wine, half empty.

"I'm going to get another drink. Would you like another glass of wine?" I asked as I stood up to go to the bar counter. In fact I had no intention of having another drink but now looked forward to the idea of spending some time outside the office with Nguyet. She looked down at her glass, seemed to take a while thinking about her response, then looked up at me and said "Yes. OK".

I got back with a glass in each hand, placed the wine in front of her on the table and sat back in the comfort of the armchair with my Jack Daniel. I noticed she had finished her earlier drink and, in fact, someone had already removed the stemmed glass. I smiled at her, raised my tumbler and clinked it gently against the bowl of her goblet, and took a sip. "You didn't really have to go to the bar, someone would have brought the drinks", she said.

"If a waiter had come, you wouldn't have agreed to another drink", I replied.

She looked up at me and just stared for about twenty seconds; I wasn't sure if I'd upset her in any way. "How can you read me so well?"

I didn't respond to that; just looked into her bespectacled eyes and waited till she continued. "You are right. I feel drunk after 2 drinks" she giggled. "I normally don't have more than one glass if I go out."

"OK. So why don't you come home some time?" I asked, more in jest than anything else.

"Are you sure?" I was taken aback with that response. I knew I was beginning to flirt with her. She was looking so completely different from what she looked like at the office everyday. Or more accurately, I was seeing her in a completely different light. In the suffused ambience of the dark corner where we sat, I watched as she took another delicate sip of her wine. Her short black hair neatly framed her oval shaped face, curling inwards as it bobbed around her shoulders. Her rimless glasses had pin-pricks of light as they reflected a candle on the table between us.

I continued to soak her in: the stole still draped over her shoulders but she wasn't clutching the ends in one fist at the centre of her chest as she had done earlier. I looked at the black cocktail dress she wore, discerning the off the shoulder outline beneath the stole, contouring the curvature of her torso, and then the almost pencil like sheath as it covered her thighs and knees that were crossed.

"Yes, I'm sure", I finally replied. "Why don't you come home and maybe you won't be worried about having a second drink". I didn't smile, I was absolutely serious in my response.

"Maybe. But now I have to go home to my children" she smiled. She had crooked teeth but they gleamed a snow white radiance and her eyes shone.

So she was married and she had children, I thought. Damn! The whole idea of having her home didn't sound quite as appealing any more. She interrupted my thoughts with "It was nice spending time with you here, Hjjer. I would like to do it again. I'm sorry we could not have more than just a few minutes. But see what you made me do, I finished the second glass of wine and you are still holding your glass. I better leave now."

"Wait!" I said, as I gulped down my drink. "I'm leaving too so we can go down together." I was concerned about what she had said regarding getting drunk after two glasses of wine. I stood up as she rose from her chair and was on the verge of assisting her by taking her hand when I realised where we were. I had been lost in a little world of my own, something I often do, having screened out everything and everyone else from my brain.

We walked down the ramp to the floor below from where we took the elevator. We entered an empty lift and I struggled to keep my hands to myself. Our eyes met in the mirrors and we just stared at one another; there was no jocularity, just a serious unfathomable tension that seemed to have arisen. I wasn't quite sure what was playing in mind, and I had absolutely no idea about what she was thinking. But there was a kinetic tension of sorts.

Somewhere around the 50th floor, the elevator stopped to let in a Japanese couple who then got off on the 36th, presumably the dim sum restaurant (I forget what its called, but it's a branch of the famous three Michelin star Hong Kong hole in the wall). She had moved closer to me when the hotel guests entered and now, after they'd exited, the back of our hands still grazed against one another as we descended to the ground floor. I stuck a finger out and tried to encircle one of ours but the high speed lift didn't cooperate.

As the doors slid open, I offered to drop her home but she insisted on taking a taxi. I asked again as we reached the doorman whom she addressed in Vietnamese, but she still refused.

As a cab pulled up, she didn't look at me but instead, took my hand in her little fist and squeezed it for a second; then she wished me good-night as she stepped into the vehicle. When the concierge shut the door, she looked out through the window and waived her hand; that was it. I called my driver on the cellphone and headed back to my lonely lake shore apartment.

The following week I was in Singapore for a couple of days and stopped over in Saigon on the way back to Hanoi. I got back Friday evening with another weekend of nothing to look forward to. The apartment was welcoming, in its lonely beauty and the view brought an element of happiness as I stepped in. After a quick shower, I changed into a clean pair of jeans and some warm clothing, made myself a drink and took it out to the balcony.

It was almost 7 o'clock and I decided to make some office calls when I realized that wisps of memory were begin to intrude. It had been many months now but sitting on that wooden chair, visions of my night outside with Diep kept coming in flashes. I called each of the senior managers and spent some time debriefing them on my trip and getting a download form them. I kept Nguyet for last and with some hesitation found her number on my iPhone. But then decided that I couldn't let anything personal get in the way of our professional relationship.

"Hi, Hjjer. Did you have a good trip? How are you?" she asked as soon as she answered the call.

"Good, Nguyet. Useful round of discussions everywhere. I'll brief you all at the Monday meeting. How're things with you? All good at the office?"

She replied in some detail but I found that somewhere between her monologue and our ensuing conversation, my mind drifted. I was picturing her a week ago at the rooftop bar during our impromptu (or so I thought) office party. Black cocktail dress, slight swell of well rounded and form breasts, smooth legs tapering to her ankles, holding hands...

What was I thinking. I needed to get my head straight back on again. This was an official discussion. Or was it? Why had I kept her for last; after debriefing all the others? I knew what I wanted. Even though my thoughts at this moment were as demure as just holding hands.

"How's your weekend going?" I suddenly interjected.

"I'm still at the office Hjjer. But getting ready to leave soon. Nothing planned, really", she said.

Without thinking, I grabbed at the opening and replied in too much of a hurry, I think "So why don't you come over?"

There was complete silence from the other end. Had she forgotten our little mischievous conversation of the last weekend? I didn't dare disturb the silence, but found it extremely difficult to hold back. Instead, I just heard the soft sounds of her breathing over the phone, and prayed to the devil. Almost a minute passed before she whispered, or croaked, a gentle "Are you sure?"

I wasn't quite sure whether to brazen it out or be cool. I decided to be honest. "Yes, Nguyet, I'm sure. Just go down, get into a cab, and give them my street address. Its house number eight. The road simply hugs the lake shore after you branch off at the Sheraton. I showed it to you on the large map in the office, remember?" I stopped suddenly; I was talking too much out of nervousness.

"I know where your house is", she said into the phone. And then there was silence for another half minute before she said, almost blurted, "OK, I'll be there."

"In 30 minutes?" I asked.

"Give me 40."

After that I waited. I tidied up the living room although it was very neat already. I checked if my bar was properly stocked; made sure there was both red and white wine; wiped some glasses clean; kept track of the time. I checked my phone to see what time Nguyet and I had spoken. It was 8:30 now and we'd talked at 8 o'clock so I waited another 10 minutes before stepping out on to my balcony. There was no traffic and in the silence I heard the gentle waves lapping the shore of the lake across the lane in front of the house. Another 10 minutes went by and I stepped back into the apartment.

Two minutes later my cell phone rang. I picked it up and said "Hello?", having seen it was her.

"I can't find your house; I'm going back" I heard her breathe into my ear.

I panicked. "No! Wait. Where are you? What can you see?"

She named an four-storey residential apartment block 50 yards down the road and I told her that she was very close to my place. Stepping back out of the balcony I saw a green cab approaching so I asked her "Are you in a Mai Lin taxi?" When she responded in the affirmative, the cab was two houses down and I said "Tell him to stop, I can see your cab; its just in front of my apartment."

The cab stopped, she looked out of the window and saw me; with some relief I think. She paid the cabbie and got out of the car. Before I remembered that the entrance door had a security lock which required a passcode, she disappeared under the portico. I went into the apartment and hastily went to the entrance, thinking to rush down and open the door. There's only one apartment on each floor so I stepped out into the lift lobby and pressed the button. But then I saw that it was already on its way up; the security lock was obviously not locked!

The lift doors opened and there she was. I was beaming as she stepped out of the elevator and I ushered her into the apartment. She entered and immediately turned to the night view of the lake and said "Wow! Beautiful". She took her shoes off by the shoe-rack at the entrance and refused my offer of a pair of slippers. "I like the feel of cool wooden floor on my soles", she said.

I tried to sit her down on the couch but she slid the glass panels apart and stepped into the balcony. Barefoot, she stepped outside, leaned on the railings, and gazed at the lake. Somewhere amidst the buildings across on the other shore was her own apartment. She had shown me that on the map in the office.

I was already having a bourbon when she arrived. Now, almost ten minutes after she had entered, I asked her what she would like to drink. "Anything. Water. Or maybe some tea, if you have."

I didn't stop to think. Why? Water? Tea? "Why don't you have a glass of wine instead?"

She actually didn't hesitate. "OK. Fine."

"Red or White?" I asked.

"Red, please".

I finished the Jack I had started before she came and went to bar. I uncorked a bottle of Shiraz and poured out about seven ounces into a goblet and took it to Nguyet on the balcony. Going back to the bar, I made a Jack Daniels on ice and returned to the sofa. For a few minutes I sat there while she stood outside, glass in hand. Then she walked in and said, "I love the fresh air, can we leave the doors open?"

Of course I agreed and then she came in and sat on the couch, a three seater that was at a slight angle to where I sat on a single chair. We talked. I have absolutely no recollection what about but I assume it was work related. She sipped, I sipped. And before i knew it my drink was finished and she was saying "I need to go home soon."

"OK", I said, "but why don't you have another glass of wine before you go? And then we can call a cab." Surprisingly, she finished the dregs in her glass and handed it to me. I rose from my chair, took our glasses and replenished them at the bar. After handing the wine to her, I sat back on my single piece of the sofa set and stared at her.

She was gazing outside again. There was silence in the house, except for the music playing on my computer. "Will you come and sit next to me?" I ventured, knowing it was a rather stupid thing to say.

"How can?" she said. "You're on a single chair and there's no place." She was now looking at me as she spoke. The lights were dim so I was unable to discern the look in her eyes, but her face was gleaming and a certain beauty shone out in the luminescence. Somewhere in my Machiavellian sub-consciousness, I suppose I knew what I was doing.

"In that case, can I come and sit next to you?" I retorted. She nodded her head slightly and continued to look out, her body slightly turned towards the sliding doors and the night outside.

I got up, taking my drink with me, and sat down next to her on the couch. Because she was turned to face the outside, I sat behind her. I raised my left hand and placed it briefly on the backrest that supported both of us. I felt her lean backwards ever so slightly and absorbed the warmth of her back against my chest. She was wearing a half sleeved jersey t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans with small tears at the knees. I was in my usual weekend denims and had a warm polo neck with full sleeves.

For a moment, we both stared out into the night, watching the lights across the lake reflecting on its waters. The doors were slid open and we heard an occasional motorbike stutter past, the conversation between rider and pillion rising to the balcony above. I leaned into her and pushed my face against her hair, a short thick cascade that bounced on her shoulders. Drawing in the pleasant fragrance of her shampoo or conditioner, I breathed in deep.

Removing my hand from the backrest, I took it to her face and let my fingers trace her jawline before lightly cupping her chin. My face was still in her hair as I moved it slowly from side to side, breathing in the aroma. Her skin was smooth; my fingertips slid along the side of her face, then over her jaw and down to her neck. I felt the slight protrusion of her larynx and then the indentation at the centre of her clavicle. Her collarbones rose from the flat of her shoulders and like a blind man, I traced the subtle contours of her neck and face.

The Youtube music on my PC suddenly turned into a Vietnamese advertisement and the volume went up a few decibels. Afraid that this would disturb the ambience, I prayed that Nguyet was into the throes of our making out and not get distracted. But she moved. She twisted her body so that she faced me and threw her arms around my neck, drawing me down till our lips met. I tasted the wine around the rim of her mouth as I pushed my tongue into hers. She drew me down harder and our teeth clashed as the passion overtook us.

A couple of minutes later, she took a breather and pulled away, but only by an inch. Her eyes were shut but her mouth was open, the soft tender lips glistening in the night light. Slowly, she moved her face towards mine and I felt the warm sweet breath wash over me. Then her lips gently brushed against mine. I had my arms around her, enveloping her around her chest; her arms were raised and her hands clasped behind my neck. Her lips roamed from one side of my mouth to the other for a few seconds before I felt the tip of her tongue trace a line along my lips.

I pushed out my tongue to meet hers and they dazzled like fencers clashing, slashing one another. I stoked her upper arm with my right hand, the left now useless as it was sandwiched between the sofa's backrest and our bodies. From her arm, I stroked up across her shoulder and on to her face. As I kissed this beautiful oriental woman, my palm was against her cheek, sensitive to every movement of her mouth and jaws. My consciousness was so heightened; it was like my entire body was rising towards an orgasm.

As she continued to kiss me deep and hard, her body seemed to squirm, or maybe just find a position that was more comfortable. But the growing eroticism of our coupling was making it difficult for both of us to think logically; or think at all, since animal instincts were taking over. I felt her hands disengage from behind my neck just before her hand clamped on my muscular arm. With another hand, she pushed up against my stomach and wormed it under my t-shirt till I felt it against my abdomen.

My breathing was a lot heavier than it had been a few minutes ago and I let my instincts take complete control of my brain. I placed my free hand under her chin and pushed my mouth hard against hers, spearing my tongue into the dark moist recesses, trying to reach her throat. I found my hand on her chest, the softness of one bra-encased breast pushing against my palm. I felt the heaviness of her heartbeat against my palm as I rubbed the swelling under her jersey top; my fingertips traced the outline of her plunge bra as it molded the contour.