YELLOW FEVER

“Evan will be out of the country for six weeks.” This announcement, made by our department head, detonated like a bomb at our actuarial staff meeting.
I looked across the broad mahogany conference table at Evan Scott Woodbury, a man of thirty. Put on the spot, he raised an eyebrow, winced restlessly in his padded chair, and creased his forehead. “Sorry about the workload, guys.” His voice was undemanding, and he bit his lip.
The two of us had shared an eight-by-eight cubicle for five years, tolerable because of his dry wit. I knew his apologetic look was feigned. He’d been stoked as hell about his trip to Thailand.
The staff surrounding him permitted themselves some withering stares, but no curses fell from their lips. All of us wanted to climb the corporate ladder, but there was little to be gained. Our annual reviews were ten months away. Promotions were in place. No one wanted his workload, except for me.
I had two ulterior motives and bounced my pen on my memo pad. “Evan and I worked together on the extended coverage project. I can jump in.”
“Fine, Kathleen, get with Evan. He’s leaving in two months.”
“Sure.” An unpleasant squeaky voice escaped my throat, one of too much enthusiasm, I knew. At my age of fifty-eight, I needed all the job security I could get, but there was another reason. Excitement tickled my insides. I didn’t think his trip to Thailand had a damn thing to do with elephant rides. I thought it had to do with Yellow Fever and had two months to learn more about this fascinating subject.
This handsome man of European extraction made an annual salary of seventy thousand and only dated Asian women. I’d never observed fetish behavior indicated by Internet sex addiction. I knew something about his family. His two sisters doted on him, but in his words, ‘They’re princesses. They expect their husbands to do everything from cooking to cleaning. Neither would consider starting a family unless a mortgage was in place on the right house.’
I do know his last girlfriend, a Filipino, didn’t work out. The woman had turned into a stalker. Once she showed up at our insurance company, and I wasn’t the only one who crossed the parking lot at the time. Her interrogations weren’t as pretty as she was. I hated to see him humiliated in public.
Over the next two months I spent as much time absorbing Evan’s projects as I did gathering statistics about the coupling of the Caucasian man and Asian woman. A Goldsea poll reported Asian females were attracted to Caucasian men because of their facial features, attitudes about women, physique, and cultural values of faithfulness in the marriage. The opposite was a mirror image, and I wanted to get Evan’s reaction.
He was straightening his desk, getting ready to head out.
“Evan, I read statistics about nearly everything that can be counted.”
“We’re analysts, Kath, numbers people.” He moved an accordion file folder from his desk to hers.
“How would you break down the reasons for Caucasian men finding Asian women’s cultural values attractive?” I hoped I wasn’t offending him. “In general terms, as opposed to Western women?”
“Asian women are more traditional. They value their husbands. They want children, have fun in small ways, and care about their home even if it’s a rental.” He smiled.
“Do you think you might meet a Thai woman on your trip?”
“Possibly, I have a myspace. I’ve been corresponding by email with a few women. I’ll ask them to dinner. If we hit it off, I’ll invite them on an elephant ride.”