Cripple Creek
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The chandeliers were dripping with crystals that reflected sparkles all over the groaning board of the massive dining room table sitting on a huge Oriental carpet in the Kuomintang government of China’s embassy in Kalomara, the diplomatic section of Washington, D.C. The room was permeated with the sound of the lilting laughter of the most expensively gowned, bejeweled, and coifed grand dames of the nation’s capital, taking the edge off the guffaws and boisterous self-important statements of some of the most powerful government leaders and diplomats who could be gathered between Paris and Tokyo.
Anyone who was looking down on this demonstration of conspicuous consumption and excess would not, in their wildest imagination, have guessed the purpose of this gathering. It had been arranged by the Chinese leader’s personal emissaries, the Kuomintang foreign minister, T. V. Soong, and his delicate yet steely celebrated sister, May-ling, better known to the world as Madame Chiang Kai-shek, wife of the ruler of China. All of this ultraexpensive wining and dining was being done to convince the United States to make good on its promises to underwrite the relief of the starving Chinese people, who were already in a deadly two-pronged war with the invading Japanese and the inside-the-tent Chinese communists. Thus far the Chinese were taking the brunt of the actual warfare unleashed by the combined Axis powers, and they were campaigning heavily to convince their allied governments that, if these forces weren’t stopped in China, the fighting would soon flare across the world.
Ada Walker, the newly popular bride of the new U.S. ambassador-designate to Malaya, Stanfield Walker, was seated between Seni Promoj, the Thai ambassador to the United States, and a Thai prince in his own right, and the congressman from her own state, who had been invited because he sat on the powerful House Foreign Relations Committee, and thus would be either an ally of or barrier to T. V Soong’s plans. The Walkers were there as much because Ada had taken the capitol city by storm with her forthright western manner and her brilliant table conversation as because her husband was about to take a diplomatic post in East Asia. It hadn’t hurt either that she knew all of the leading writers and artists in the country and was an artist of national fame herself—not to mention that, at fifty, she was one of the most beautiful and intriguing women in the city.
Throughout the meal, Ada, somewhat nonplused by the seating arrangement, had focused her attention on Seni Promoj, to her left, who had proved to be a delightful conversationalist and someone who Ada had immediately warmed to, as he obviously had done to her as well. This had fit perfectly with the dinner partner on the congressman’s right, the exotic and alluring May-ling Soong, because her assignment for the evening was to seduce Congressman Peter Fair. Stanfield Walker and the congressman’s wife were seated across from Ada and Peter, but the table was much too wide and the conversations around them much too loud for any discussion in that direction. This was just as well for Ada, because as hard as it was to be seated next to her oh-so-recent and long-standing lover, who had abandoned her to pursue his political ambitions, it would have been excruciating to have to chit chat with his wife. Ada and Peter’s wife had never met, but Ada knew much of the woman and there wasn’t anything about her that Ada could find to like. Ada briefly pitied her husband, who had to converse with the woman tonight, but Stanfield was a trained diplomat, and Ada reasoned that he would be able to cope.
Madame Chiang was using her most powerful wiles on the young congressman from Colorado. The intelligence on this man that the highly sophisticated Chinese intelligence had been able to dig up and pass on to T. V. Soong was that the man was a notorious skirt chaser, that he couldn’t keep his cock in his pants for very long. Madame Chiang had no intention of letting the man bed her, but she knew how to enflame a man to do her will. There were many who said she controlled all of China with her beauty and her woman’s technique—neither one of which would have gotten her far in the staid Methodist women’s seminary she had attended in America’s South.
She spent much of the meal using this technique on the congressman, and eventually to letting her hand do her talking for her under the tablecloth. She was sure that she would have no difficulty luring Fair into private discussions with T. V. Soong—and into a compromising position, if that was necessary—whenever her brother considered that would aid the Chinese cause in Washington. And she was enflaming Peter Fair all right, but not exactly with the results she had intended.
As the meal was concluded and the guests were rising to reform either in the lounge to listen to the usual string quartet that had been brought in to entertain them or to various smaller meeting rooms in the building to plan or cajole or be cajoled concerning the various crises affecting their respective nations, Peter rose, took the hand of his dinner partner on his left who had said barely a word to him, and whispered in her ear. He did not let go of her hand until she had acceded to his request.
They met at one of the French doors to the walled garden in the glass conservatory that ran across the garden façade of the embassy building, the former town house of a nineteenth-century robber baron.
‘I only came here, Pete, so that there wouldn’t be a scene in the dining room. We have nothing to say to each other.’
‘Oh, I think we do,’ Pete said. ‘You know I didn’t want to leave off with you. I was forced to. I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t.’
‘And is being here so very important?’ Ada said.
‘Yes it is. You know it is. That’s why you are here too, isn’t it?’
He was dead wrong. But Ada knew she couldn’t say that she had discovered that someone she’d been bedding at the same time she was involved with Pete was screwing her son as well as her and she was here on an impulsive rebound. No, she couldn’t admit to that. So, she remained silent.
Fair took this as capitulation. ‘Come with me into the garden, Ada.’
She didn’t respond.
‘Now.’
‘No, we can’t, Pete,’ Ada said. ‘It’s over. Finished. I’m married again now. I have responsibilities. We leave for Kuala Lumpur soon. I’ve begun a new life—left the old one behind. That includes you.’
‘Who’s fucking you now, Ada?’ Pete had come a long way from the subservient driver who had transported Ada from Indiana to Colorado nearly twenty years earlier. ‘I said, who’s doing you now, Ada? I know your character. I know you must have a lover. And I know your new husband is a complete dud in that department. Everyone knows that.’
‘I won’t stand here and listen to this,’ Ada hissed. ‘I’m going back to my husband. Or perhaps I should go back and sit by your wife and get to know her better. She seems to be the one wearing the pants in your family. The pants her daddy bought you.’
Peter turned beet red and it looked, for a second, like he was going to strike her. But instead, he took her wrist in a strong grip, opened the French door with the other hand, and propelled her out onto the stone patio of the garden. He dragged her over into the bushes and against the blank side wall of a pool house, and trapped her there with his body.
‘If no one is giving it to you, then, Ada, you must be ripe for it. How long has it been? Since before your wedding day?’
‘No, don’t,’ Ada whispered hoarsely. But it had, in fact, been since before her wedding day. And Peter knew her so well, so intimately, and had known her for so long—and so satisfyingly.
He had his mouth on hers and his hands running all over her body. And although she tried not to respond to his kisses, she just couldn’t resist and was soon giving as much as she was getting. He took her hand and moved it to his crotch and showed her that Ma
y-ling Soong had enflamed him well. He was already ready for Ada.
She was moaning as he pushed the front of her gown up above her waist and stripped off her panties, and she cried out in ecstasy as he entered her strongly and began to work her in those old familiar ways. He grabbed her butt cheeks and spread them with his hands and moved her up and down on his pole, with increasing speed and urgency. And she gasped and groaned and moaned for him and held on to him for dear life.
They met frequently, always in a different place and as unobtrusively as possible, in those final months that Ada and Stanfield were preparing to take up their post on the other side of the world. As the time of parting came closer, their passion exploded, and the only real regret Ada could think of in seeing the American shore slip away behind her was why Peter had been there to get her lustful juices flowing again—and how she was going to live without him when she had lost him for the second time.
T. V. Soong’s dinner was all for naught. The Americans continued promising support and putting off delivering. The country was divided, and prominent isolationists like the husband of Ada’s literary friend, Estelle Hopewell, were responsible for their full share of America’s pretending to itself that the world wasn’t sinking into what it was already well on its way to do. At least May-ling Soong’s failure to get Congressman Peter Fair’s attention had done no damage to the cause. He came out as a strong advocate of giving the Kuomintang everything it needed to expel the Japanese and purge the communists within China.
When Ada and Stanfield Walker departed for their ambassadorial posting in Malaya in the summer of 1935, Dan Raven was the only family member at the pier in New York to see them off in person, although the Thai ambassador, Seni Promoj, had become so taken with Ada that he was on hand as well, bearing a farewell bouquet of long-stemmed yellow roses, noting that yellow was the royal color of his country and that Ada was his queen. Ada and Martha had exchanged warm and tender letters, but only a terse good-bye telegram went to Hugh.
Soon after attending Ada’s wedding the previous December, Hugh himself had wed, and Ada hadn’t found out about it until well after the fact. He had been smitten with the daughter of a Hollywood leading man when that family had come to stay at the ranch and had married the daughter with almost no courtship time. Ada wondered if his marriage was a reaction to her own impulsive change in direction. She hadn’t mentioned having seen the photograph of her son with her lover and all that it signified. She didn’t give this marriage a ghost of a chance, not just because of Hugh’s confused orientation but also because she couldn’t see the pampered daughter of a Hollywood actor taking on the life of a rancher wife in a remote Colorado valley for any length of time. In any event, she had taken the wedding that he’d heard about only after the fact as a slap at her for having left the ranch so abruptly.
Nothing by way of a farewell went to Chicago, as George Vaughn had died of a sudden heart attack earlier that spring and Estelle Hopewell was off adventuring on safari in Africa with her husband. Ada and Peter Fair did have one last, farewell fuck in the back of his Buick in a turnoff from a deserted Virginia road near the Bull Run battlefield park, with Ada sitting facing away from him in his lap as, hands under her breasts, Peter had lifted her passage up and down on his engorged pole until both had flowed and lurched in orgasm.
William Hagen didn’t even know Ada was abroad until the following February when he received her terse and somewhat detached distantly posted Christmas card for 1935.
Charlize
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