CHAPTER 36




Much to her amazement, Vanessa was able to convince Jason to spend a few days in L.A., but having met her family already, and come to know them fairly well, he had nothing to fear from them, and he was curious to see the place he had maligned for so long. He only agreed to stay for two days, and Valerie saw to it that he had a wonderful time. She took him everywhere, to every studio, every party, every “in” restaurant, every set. Vanessa had never seen as much of Hollywood in her life as she did in those two days.

Faye and Ward were already back at work on the packaging of a new film, and Anne disappeared into her own life. Lionel flew back to Vietnam, via Hawaii and Guam. And after two days, Jason and Vanessa flew back to New York, and everyone picked up the threads of their real lives again.

Vanessa went back to Barnard for her sophomore year, and Greg to Alabama for what should have been his senior year. But it didn't last long. As soon as he returned he knew he was off the team, and after staying drunk for a week to recover from the blow, he missed two important make-up exams he had left over from the previous term. And by October 15, he'd been called in to see the dean. He was being “invited to leave.” They were sorry to see it happen to such a fine boy. They suggested he go home and think about it for the rest of the school year, and if he was ready to settle down after that, they would be happy to see him come back. But six weeks after that, after coming home with his tail between his legs, and seeing the heartbreak in Ward's eyes, the army had a different invitation for him. He was being drafted, which was a sure invitation to Vietnam.

He sat home, all one afternoon, stupefied, and was still sitting there when Anne came home. She came home later and later now, always going home after school with Gail to do homework at her house, and then Bill would drive her home when he got in from work. It gave them a few minutes alone, and was a routine she counted on. Generally, when she came back to the Thayer house at night, there was no one there except the maid anyway. But since Greg had come home, things had changed a bit.

She let herself in with her key, and saw him sitting there looking as though someone had died. She stopped and stared at him. She was tall and beautiful and grown up now, but he didn't notice that. He simply looked at her unseeingly.

“What happened to you?” She had never been close to him, but she was sorry he'd been kicked out of school. She knew how much the football team meant to him, and he'd been depressed ever since he got back, but he looked worse today, and something major had to be wrong.

He raised frightened eyes to her. “I got my draft notice today.”

“Oh no …” She sat down across from him, realizing instantly what it meant. It was bad enough having Li there. And they were still sitting there, talking about it, when Ward and Faye walked in. It was early for them and they were in a good mood. Things were going well and the cast was taking shape beautifully. But Ward stopped and looked at them as soon as he walked in the door. He could see instantly on Greg's face that something was wrong and he was afraid that it was Lionel.

“Bad news?” He said the words as fast as he could, so they could answer him just as fast.

Greg nodded his head. “Yeah.” He handed the notice to him wordlessly, and reading it, Ward sank into a chair, and a moment later handed it to Faye. All they wanted was for Lionel to end his tour there, and now they would have Greg to worry about too. It didn't seem fair to have both of them there.

Faye looked at Ward. “Isn't there some kind of law against that?” Ward shook his head and looked back at Greg. It said he had to report in three days. They certainly weren't wasting any time, and it was already December 1. He thought of Canada again. But it seemed wrong with Lionel there. As though Vietnam were good enough for him to risk his life, but not for Greg. It was clear that he had to go.

He reported to Fort Ord just as the paper said, on December 4, and was sent to Fort Benning, Georgia, for basic training for six weeks. They didn't even let him come home for Christmas Eve, and it was a bleak holiday this year. Val had gone to Mexico with a group of friends, Vanessa had gone to New Hampshire with Jason finally, Greg was in basic training, Lionel in Vietnam, and Anne straining to run out the door. She had made the same arrangement with Bill this year, and in a few weeks she would turn seventeen, only one more year to go, they told each other constantly.

Greg was shipped out on January 28, and sent straight to Saigon, and from there he went to Bien Hoa Air Base north of Saigon. He didn't even have a chance to touch base with Lionel, who had only three more weeks to serve there. He was being sent to Germany after that, and he could hardly wait. He'd had enough of that stinking war to last a lifetime—if he survived. Too damn many men he knew were killed the day before they went home. He was holding his breath until the plane touched down in Los Angeles and not before. But he also knew that Greg was in Vietnam, and he tried several times to contact him, to no avail. His CO. had lost no time at all sending all the fresh recruits to combat areas the day they arrived at Bien Hoa. It was a hell of a welcome to Vietnam.

And he stayed there for exactly two weeks. On February 13 the Army I Corps staged several actions and rocket attacks against the Vietcong, destroying two villages, and taking prisoners for several nights. Greg had his first taste of blood and death and victory. The best friend he'd made in basic was shot in the gut, but the doctors said he'd be all right. The only good thing about it was that he'd be going home. Dozens of other boys died, seven disappeared, which frightened everyone, and Greg himself had the opportunity to shoot two old women and a dog, which he found both frightening and exhilarating, like running across the goal line with the ball in your arms. And then at 5 A.M., with the jungle rustling to life, and birds hooting and cackling all around, Greg was sent ahead with a party of other men, and he stepped on a mine. There wasn't even a body to reclaim after that. He disappeared in a cloud of blood as his buddies watched and most of them were wearing him as they headed back to camp. They staggered in, two of them badly maimed, all of them in shock. And the news reached Lionel later that day. He sat staring blankly at the words on the paper someone had handed him. Regret. Gregory Ward Thayer stepped on a mine today. Killed in action. And then only the name of the CO. A ripple went down his spine, as it had as he looked down at John's face outside their charred apartment as the fire trucks arrived. He had never loved Greg as he'd loved John. He would never love anyone like that again. But he and Greg were brothers, and now suddenly he was gone. He thought of his father's pain too when he would hear the news, and suddenly a shaft of agony pierced through him.

“Sonofabitch.” He screamed the words outside his hotel, and then he leaned against the wall and cried, until someone came and peeled him away. He was a good guy, even though people knew what he was. But he didn't bother anyone. And they felt sorry for him now. They all knew his brother had been killed that day. Someone had seen the telegram from the front lines, and news traveled fast in Saigon. Everyone knew everything that was happening. And two boys sat up all night with Lionel, watching him drink and cry. And the next morning, they put him on the plane. He had survived a year in Vietnam, made more than four hundred short films to show in the States, many of them on the news all over the world. And his brother had only lived nineteen days. It wasn't fair, but nothing about the place was, not the rats or the disease or the wounded children screaming everywhere.

Lionel stepped off the plane in L.A., looking shell-shocked. He would never see his brother again. He had a three-week leave before going to Germany, and someone drove him home, he remembered later on. He felt the way he had when John had died, and that was only two years before … twenty-six months in fact … and he had the same terrible numb feeling now.

He rang the doorbell because he no longer had a key, and his father stood there staring at him. They had gotten the news the night before. And everyone was there, except Vanessa, who was flying home that afternoon.

There would be no burial, because they weren't sending him home. There was nothing to send, except their fucking telegrams. And Lionel stood staring at Ward, as the older man let out a groan of agony, and the two men fell into each other's arms, partly out of relief that Lionel was still alive, and the grief that Greg was gone. Eventually, Ward led him inside, and together they cried for a long time. Lionel held him in his arms like a little child, as Ward keened for the boy he'd loved so much, the boy he'd pinned all his hopes on, their football star. And now he was gone. And there was nothing to send home. Nothing at all. They had only their memories.

They moved like wooden people for the next few days. Lionel was vaguely aware that Van was there, Val was staying with them, Anne … but no Greg … there would never be a Greg again. There were only four of them now.

They had a memorial service for him, at First Presbyterian Church of Hollywood. And all his high school teachers came. Ward sat thinking bitterly that if those bastards in Alabama had let him stay on the team, or at least kept him in school, he would still be alive. But hating them didn't help anything. It was Greg's own fault for flunking out. But whose fault was it that he'd been killed? It had to be someone's fault, didn't it? The minister's voice droned on, saying his name, and none of it seemed real. And afterwards, they all stood outside, shaking people's hands. It was hard to believe that Greg was gone, that they would never see him again. And Ward glanced at Lionel a thousand times, as though to be sure that he was still there. And the girls were too. But it would never be the same again. One of them was gone. For eternity.