Manila, Philippines. September, 1957. This is the same dinner party as seen in #14, following the group photo, after which I was turned loose on the guests. I wasn’t wise to everything going on, but I wasn’t deaf, either. If someone said, “Have you met so-and-so’s querida?”, I would soon receive instructions not to repeat the conversation, otherwise I absolutely would.
Guaranteed, I’d ask what a ‘querida’ was. Then I’d ask what a ‘mistress’ was. It was quite the education.
Long before I knew what CIA stood for, I knew who some of the officers were. We’d see them on the golf course, and Dad would sometimes remind me not to let on that I knew.
I’m pretty sure everyone knew.
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