I had met May Linh this very day. She was conversing with me, in the nude because she was interviewing for a job and that was what the job entailed. Aliens’ money had given me the opportunity to retire from a cruel world and, after giving most of my new found fortune to my loved ones, I only aspired to finish my life in my secluded house by the beach with three Asian women whose only job would be to be naked by my side.
It was a peculiar job, I knew, and I didn’t know if money would be enough to find the mates I was looking for.
May Linh, the fourth candidate, had already come farther than any other. She had showed up unannounced in the apart-hotel I had rented for the occasion in this capital city of a Southeastern Asian country. Once in, she quickly undressed, probably wondering if her body would be good enough for old Mr. Me, who was hiring. She had patiently showed it all to me and we were now chatting and eating on the terrace, her naked, me in my shorts. She was on my left, in a chair, so I could only steal a glance here and there
“How come your English is so good?” I asked. “And do you speak some French?”
“Oh no, I don’t speak French, I just know few words: ‘Bonjour’, ‘Aperitif’, ‘Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir”, that’s all,” she said smiling.
“But your English is very good,” I said.
“I’ve been told,” she said.
She got up, turned around so she could grab her chair to move it and, for an instant, there was her ass right in front of my eyes and my nose and my face. In fact she moved her chair as to sit right in front of me and to be more comfortable eating. She sat, took her chopsticks and picked food to her taste. I was looking at her breasts, yes hanging but hanging strong and straight and proud. She didn’t seem to notice nor to care anymore. I guess by now she was already used of my crazy stare.
We remained silent for a while. She was sipping her wine, the sky getting pretty dark. Then May Linh started.
“I was born up north, in a small mountainous village but into a good family, a bourgeois family you would say. I has private tutors, piano lessons, English lessons. My father owned land and, with my mother, tried to work it nice and profitable; our land was beautiful and we didn’t lack money. When I was born, my father planted a tree, a fig tree. He told me that tree came from a French island in the Caribbean, I even remember the name of it, “Guadaloupe”, isn’t it its name?”
“Yes,” I said. “Guadeloupe.” She smiled, and went on.
“I guess my father would have loved to plant many trees, probably from all over the place, but I am their only child. Father always tried to treat fairly his employees, mostly farmers tilling the land. I know he despised other plantations families who were treating their people badly so he was kind of happy, yes I can say happy, when the Party won. Fact is the whole family was enthusiastic and I myself became a good Party volunteer.
My father had to give away the land but he had been assured his farmers would benefit from this revolution. The family could keep a little house in the village but I couldn’t of course play the piano nor speak English anymore, too bourgeois. My father was a fool but a good man. He was very serious and sincere when he decided I should marry a young and promising apparatchik from the Party. My father really thought he was doing what was good for me. My mother too. She believed in women’s liberation. That’s the reason why she was agreeing to that union; indeed, wasn’t this young ambitious man from the Party advocating more freedom for all? I believed it too, so I married him. I’ve known no other man.”
There was a pause.
“Still,” I said, “your English is very good.”
“Yes,” said May Linh, and maybe for the first time since 10 am this morning I saw a real smile on her face. I even saw the teeth, irregular and sharp, and I looked at her nude body and, again, at her, smiling.
“Yes, I was told my English is good,” she repeated. “But I was lucky, I had a chance to travel.”
“Really,” I said. “Where?”
“I told you, my husband was an up and coming apparatchik. He too was from a small town up north but he was ambitious. In fact, in spite of my schooling, as soon as we were married, he forbid me from working. He said he had a status where I didn’t need to work. He didn’t ask what I thought about that. But he said that it was good for his career so I accepted that. That’s how we traveled. I went with him to China, to Russia, two or three times maybe – at least three times to China now that I remember – and to Japan, once. Then my husband was proud of my speaking English because it made him look good. For me, it was just occasions to speak it but that’s when I was told my English was good. Really I always liked the English language.”
She remained silent for a long while.
“So you went to Japan?” I said. “Did you like it?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You know, I went to Tokyo only once but I remember seeing those girls in the street. Me, I was coming from a backward country were morale was strict, still is, and I’d see those girls, I was as young as they were, and they had blue hair or red hair, weird clothes, a super mini skirt with workers’ boots, and make up, and those students girls in uniform and the country was so clean and ordained. I remember those girls with hair of all kinds of colors and an attitude, and they looked like warriors to me, modern and sexy warriors, but warriors. I envied them.”
“So what happened?” I asked. “Ambitious hubby didn’t make it after all?” I thought I was being funny.
“Oh, he made it,” she said, “he became quite powerful.”
I was at a loss. What was she then doing here, interviewing for a job, all in the nude, with old Mr. Me drooling?
I was about to ask, ding dong!
She was startled. That was a phone call she didn’t make. I told her: “It’s the florist, she comes to change the flowers.” I saw she didn’t know what to do for a minute so I told her: “Don’t move.” I went inside, got her scarf, her shawl rather, and she put it around her shoulders. Then I went to open the door. The florist understood right away this was not like the other days. I saw her sneak a glance out to the terrace and be briefly puzzled, but she then moved on about her job, put new compositions everywhere – I felt she spent a longer time in the bedroom today – and didn’t try to explain to me what she was doing and I was thankful for that. Soon the pretty florist was gone, if only because she knew of the storm coming, and I went back to the terrace.
I was about to sit down when I realized we were both out of drinks.
“Another glass of wine?” I asked.
“Yes, please,” she said, “thank you. And let me take this off,” she added.
She took off her scarf, she was nude and beautiful, and that’s when the sky exploded and rain came pouring like a deluge.
We ran inside, already all wet. I saw water dripping off her and I wanted to lick every drop of it. Each time I had a chance, I stole a glance at her ass, and at her dark triangle, and at her face, and at her hair, and at her tits. I couldn’t take it all at once and it was magic. I went to get the drinks while she set up the table inside. And, like magic, there was suddenly plenty more of beautiful food, fruits, and she was moving around me in the nude and, as naturally as she could I guess, she sat across the table from me, and said: “Let’s eat.” And drinks were ready too.
I took my chopsticks and was about to grab a bite when she said: “so, you like the florist?”
“Yes,” I said.
I figured that for what May Linh and I had to talk about today, I might as well be truthful from the get-go, otherwise there was no point. Anyway, she had already found me all fucked and drunk and hungover this morning and she was still here and she had fixed everything up.
What the fuck went wrong with the apparatchik motherfucker?