Moondogs - Alexander Yates [38]
His response came quick—she doubted even Leila could compose a text that fast. Back & lonely. Can I c u 2nite?
She tilted the phone slightly so that the screen faced the window. Tonight is bad. Dinner with my husband.
He wrote back: Where at? Ill met U. We can tell him 2gethr.
Don’t ever joke about that.
Sorry. Caried away. Miss you a lot. There was a pause before the next message came in. He kno vac8on off?
Not yet, she texted. Then, as always, she deleted all his messages. She also shut the phone off, just in case he got cute and tried to call at dinner. Joseph was staring by now, and she grunted: “It never ends,” replacing the phone in her purse.
“It will soon.” He cupped her cheek in his hand. “Just a few days, now.”
Traffic was heavy as usual and the drivers passed time by chuckling to one another over the CB. They used callsigns like Iceman and Rocket and discussed weekend plans. One of them observed that Monique was looking very fine today and another argued the she didn’t look so fine as she did yesterday. The first driver called the second driver dickless and said he wouldn’t know what to do with her in a dark room. Tagalog fluency was rare among the American staff, and Monique often thought of how surprised they’d be if she chimed in. But the pleasure of revealing herself would be short-lived, while the pleasure of going undiscovered was deep and lasting.
They drove south on Roxas, leaving the seaside promenade behind for grassy plains of reclaimed land. Palm trees dotted the median, draped here and there with sooty yellow flags commemorating the death anniversary of the oppositionist, Ninoy Aquino. By August they’d be replaced with new, cleaner flags, and Aquino would be another year dead. Shirtless men lay on their backs in slim shadows cast by the narrow trees. Their bare feet, a shade lighter than their dark shins, jutted out a few inches over the curb. Motorcycles passed by close, and Monique winced.
The shuttle came to a stoplight and Jeff turned to face the backseat. “So! Saw that cake in your office today. Your crew give the bossman a good sendoff?”
Monique bit her bottom lip and shook her head slightly. Joseph, who’d been gazing out the window, perked up. “Chuck’s gone? I didn’t know he was taking home-leave at the same time as us.”
“He’s not.” Jeff paused. “They sent him to Kabul.” He turned back to Monique. “You feel ready for the next few weeks?”
“We can’t wait,” Joseph said. “We’re heading out next Friday. Are you going anywhere interesting this summer, Jeffrey?”
Jeff looked from Monique to Joseph to Monique. “No. I’ll be here. Our office is plenty busy with all the new folks coming in.” His eyes went hard and he turned around in the front seat.
“That’s a shame …” Joseph trailed off, staring at the back of Jeff’s head. He turned to Monique, who met his gaze. Their silence was broken by a tapping sound; a little girl knuckling the windows. She looked a few years younger than Leila had been when they adopted her, but who knew. With lousy nutrition she could have been older. The girl held up a tattered string of sampaguita flowers. Joseph lowered his power window and told Monique to ask how much they cost.
“Don’t do that,” Jeff said from up front. He leaned over the driver and began to roll Joseph’s window back up from the master control on the captain’s chair. Joseph held his button down and the window stalemated halfway. He fumbled in his pockets for money. He passed a badly ripped twenty-peso note to the girl in exchange for the sampaguitas. The flowers fell apart when he laid them on his lap. He released the button and his window shot closed. The girl stayed where she was and kept tapping on the glass, now begging without pretense. She was joined by other girls. And boys. And men. All squatters living in the median. The light changed but the shuttle couldn’t move because it was surrounded. Women leaned across the hood hawking washcloths. Their hands left smudges on the metal and glass.
“You see that?” Jeff