Chapter Eighteen: July 1st, 1968

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Lorelei's point of view:

That week flew by faster than I thought it would. Now that the day of the first of July had arrived, I found myself terrified. The ride to Saigon was especially scary, since we didn't know if we would end up ambushed by the groups we were fighting. Luckily, this wasn't the case and we arrived in Hanoi the night of July first. This was also the day the Phoenix Program was put into legitimacy. The CIA spared no time when it came to getting the job done, ixt would seem.

"Alright, Komer says we're going to get you ready in the hotel room. He has a gown supplies for you. After that, you will leave the hotel without us and an armed escort will drive you to the club. There you will perform and draw this Captain Blackheart to you," my mother said to me as we walked into the hotel. It was a very luxurious one, one that reminded me of Washington. It was a breathe of fresh air to be back in the life I was used to. One thing that came with being in the family I was in was we stayed in hotels quite a lot. It was not necessarily for the night, but there were parties amongst the high ranking army officials that we always had to attend because my father never went anywhere without us.

"Alright. I'll just pretend that I'm not terrified and we should be golden," I replied. She laughed and shook her head. My mother took my hand in hers as we approached the check-in desk. The clerk showed us to our rooms; and I was happy to finally be in a quiet place.

"Everything will be fine, I promise. You are too smart to fail. Here is your dress. Put it on and I'll do your hair when you're done," my mother said to me as she handed me the clothing bag. Inside was a beautifully golden dress that sparkled even in the light of the hotel, which was a little too dim to be glittering.

I went into the bathroom and placed the dress on my body. It was sleeveless, a straight neckline with a small, sewed tear in the middle of it that showed a little of my chest. The bottom was a mermaid hem, all of it sparkling in gold. It was hard to put on but I managed and eventually found as much comfort as I could in a dress like this. I left the bathroom and walked in to show my mother, she smiled bright when I entered.

"You look stunning. Come here, we'll do your hair to finish it up. We're right on time," she said. I nodded and sat down on the bed as she climbed on behind me. She began to tease and tamper with my hair, and within an hour and a half she had it in big curls, the top of my hair parted to the side, one of them having more hair than the other on it. The side that had more hair made it so some of my right eye was covered with the higher bits of the do.

"Picture perfect! This mission will solve itself with the ways of you," she exclaimed happily after my hair was complete. I smiled at her and she handed me the little clutch that came with the dress. "Now, you remember all that they've told you?" She asked me after a while. I nodded.

"I'm Cassandra Panzavecchia, an Italian born performer singing at the Nóng sốt Club as a second job while working on my opera performances. I'm twenty two years old, born January second of 1946. I have one brother but I haven't seen him since I moved from Florence when I was seventeen. The rest is up to me to decide," I explained. This was the back story of the woman I was to be playing. Having to use the Italian accent all the time would be the worst of the job, the story was no problem.

"That's a good girl. Now, I love you and I have all my faith in you. You'll do so wonderful you won't even know what to do with yourself," she said to me. I nodded and took a breathe, trying to be as relaxed as I could right now. I was really anticipated for the events to come, and even though the embrace of my mother always helped me with its nurturing aura, nothing seemed to put my mind at ease right now.

"I'm scared, mommy," I said. My mother nodded and gave a tight smile. She kissed my forehead and hugged me right, trying to sweep my worries away with her affection. Oh, how I wished it would work.

1968Unde poveștirile trăiesc. Descoperă acum