Moondogs - Alexander Yates [15]
Out in the den the telephone rang. Shawn yelled that he would get it and appeared in the kitchen a moment later looking put out. He placed the cordless on the table and left again, tossing “It’s for Monique” over his shoulder.
She picked up the phone. The voice on the other end was familiar. “Are you as horny as I am right now?” he asked. “Or are you hornier?”
“Sure thing, Chuck. I’ve got it in my bag.” She stood and walked calmly through the den and into her bedroom.
“Chuck? That’s hot. Let’s incorporate that. Are you dressed for work yet?”
“No.” Monique closed the bedroom door. “Just socks.”
“You are very good to me.”
“I’ve got to go.”
“I need to see you before you leave. How does a king-size at the Dusit sound?”
“Can’t. Nowhere in Makati, the kids spend half their time there. Besides, you had your chance. I was at that goddamned bar for two hours last night.”
“I’m still in Davao. A friend of mine had an accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“He’ll be all right. I won’t be if I don’t see you.”
“I’ll try.”
“Hard?”
“Don’t call on this line anymore. Next time I’ll just hang up.”
“That’s what you said last time.”
Monique hung up. He always, always did this. Flowers delivered to the apartment with ambiguous notes. Singing telegrams, which apparently still existed in the Philippines. E-mails to her state.gov address with From Your Lover in the subject line. Joseph was none the wiser, thank God, but Monique thought that deep down he might be fostering a kind of proto-suspicion. Not in his heart of hearts, more in his ego of egos. As though he was righteously primed—ready to be the injured party. And in this case, he would be. Monique, for her part, threatened to break it off if her lover didn’t quit with the risky games. He called her bluff.
She washed her face, reapplied her makeup and collected her things. With briefcase in hand she left the bedroom. Leila was on the couch in the den, doing homework that should have been finished already. Shawn’s door was closed and from behind it Monique heard his humming air conditioner and the horrible chirping sound his gecko made at mealtimes. Joseph dozed in the kitchen while Amartina cleared the table. Monique shook him awake. “I’m heading out. Are you sure you don’t want to come to work? There’s a construction crew in the annex and Jeff needs all the escorts he can get. You probably have time if you get dressed right now.”
“I told you. That’s not work.”
She was running out of things to say to this. “It might keep you up. Give you a better chance of sleeping tonight.”
“I can keep myself up. I’ll pack.”
“All right.” She kissed him on the mouth.
“Just twelve more mornings.”
“I know.”
MONIQUE BYPASSED THE LOBBY and descended a concrete ramp to the loading dock. The boxy beige minivan was late, which would have been early yesterday. She put her weight into opening the heavy armored door, said good morning to everybody and climbed aboard. Jeff, the regional security officer, rode shotgun. He turned in his seat and glared at her, jabbing a thumb at his chest. Monique looked down and saw that her badge was dangling there for everybody to see. She pinched open her blouse and dropped the badge inside. Jeff grinned and gave her a thumbs-up. “No Joe today?”
“Nope.” Instead of giving the tired errands excuse, or the more legitimate packing excuse, she just let the word hang.
Traffic was worse than usual. McKinley Road, EDSA and Roxas Boulevard were all stop-and-go. She stared out the window as they passed boarded-up nightclubs, girly bars and the tall, sooty looking Department of Foreign Affairs. The bay was calm beyond the concrete promenade. The fishing boats looked almost beautiful as they trembled in early light. She could see the embassy up ahead—a big patch of green, conspicuous among pastel high-rises. When they got closer she made out high walls and an armored jeep with a roof-mounted machine-gun trained on the street. Beyond the walls was a stretch of wet grass,