by Malinda Lo
All of this crossed her mind as she followed her mother up the stairs to the Lums’ living room. She wondered what Madame Chiang would think of the Lums. Their home was cluttered with Chinese furniture and paintings, but it was a pleasant sort of clutter, speaking to the family’s success. Lily and Shirley were already running back to the room Shirley shared with her sisters, and though Grace told them to be quiet, she knew they wouldn’t listen. Eddie was fussy, and he took some time to settle down for a much-needed nap. By the time Grace returned to the living room, Ruby had already had food brought up from the restaurant downstairs. On the dining table were platters of fried noodles, water spinach, and braised fish. Rosie, the oldest Lum daughter, carried in a stack of bowls, a dozen flat-bottomed spoons and a container of chopsticks, and Ruby brought a tureen of pork bone soup from the family’s small kitchen.
The dinner was casual and loud. Rice wine was poured, and the older men of the Lum family (the younger ones had enlisted in the army) started to talk very brashly about the war—how America would send airplanes and guns and soldiers and bombs, how the Japanese would be slaughtered as ruthlessly as they had slaughtered the Chinese.
Ruby and Grace shared a skeptical glance that turned into a smile, and then Ruby gestured for Grace to move with her to the sofa. One of the restaurant’s waiters had brought up a basket of steamed custard buns, and they each took one along with a cup of tea over to the quieter half of the living room, sitting near Grace’s mother.
“Do you think they’re right?” Grace asked, eyeing the men. “Will America really send all that aid to China?”
Ruby shrugged. “Who can tell? The president has said he would, but so far America has not lived up to its promises.”
“If anyone can persuade President Roosevelt to help China, Madame Chiang can,” Grace said. “Have you seen the way the newspapers cover her? They love her.”
“They love the woman she presents to them.”
“You think she’s putting on a false front?”
Ruby shook her head. “Not false. Practiced. Prepared. She’s so American—that’s why they love her.”
“They love her because she’s beautiful,” Grace’s mother said.
The men burst into laughter over some joke that Grace didn’t hear; it was jarring in the wake of her mother’s statement. Grace said, “She’s intelligent too.”
“Of course she is,” Ruby said. “She’s intelligent enough to make sure she’s beautiful. Oh, I know you like her, Grace. I like her too. But she’s still a woman. Can she really persuade all those Caucasian men to help China? They might love her, but I’m not so sure they love China.”
“They love it more than Japan,” Grace pointed out. Out of the corner of her eye she glimpsed Lily running into the living room, and she called out, “Lily! No running!”
Lily slowed down, but then Shirley grabbed her hand and tugged her toward the windows at the front of the living room. The curtains were still drawn back, and the red-and-white neon of the Eastern Pearl’s sign glowed through the glass. Shirley dragged a low ottoman over to the window and climbed on top of it. Lily followed, and Grace was about to warn her daughter to be careful when she realized what they were doing. Standing on the ottoman, the windowsill was at the girls’ waist level, and they leaned against it as if it were a balcony. They each clutched a white restaurant napkin in their right hands and waved them at the dark street below.
PART V
Lush Life
December 1954—January 1955
30
Kath was alone when Lily met her on their designated corner the night of December thirtieth. “Jean’s not coming,” Kath said as soon as she saw Lily. “She’s saving up for tomorrow night. It’s going to be a big show apparently.”
“I’m sorry you won’t get to see that,” Lily said, though she felt a twinge of relief at Jean’s absence.
“It’s all right,” Kath said. “I’d rather go tonight.”
Lily wondered if that meant Kath would rather be here with her than with Jean, and she felt a brief flush of excitement. She fumbled with her scarf, re-wrapping it around her neck. The night was foggy and downright cold, and gusts of wind kept tugging the scarf loose.
“How was your Christmas?” Kath asked as they started walking toward the club.
“I got a handbag,” Lily said. She hadn’t intended to sound so glum, but the glumness was unintentionally funny, and both she and Kath broke into laughter.
“You didn’t want one?” Kath asked.
“I guess I didn’t,” Lily said. “What did you get?”
They discussed Christmas for a little while longer, and then they had to stop talking as they crossed Broadway, taking care to avoid a clump of men going in the opposite direction. When they arrived on the other side, Lily said, “I’ve been thinking how strange it is that I never used to do this—and now it seems almost normal.” She paused. “Not exactly normal, but you know what I mean?”
“I know.”
“Isn’t it strange that nobody in our regular lives knows about it? That they think we’re at home asleep?”
“Well, you don’t want them to know, do you?”
“No,” Lily said quickly. Of course she didn’t want anyone in her regular life to know. The very thought of it was horrifying. No, it was better to do this in secret.
At the club, there was a short line waiting outside. Mickey was working again, but she didn’t recognize Lily at first, so she had to unwind her scarf and say, “I’ve been here before.”
Behind her a woman said, “Is that you, Lily?”
She turned around in surprise, and a petite woman in a belted raincoat came forward and said, “It’s me, Claire. Remember me?”
Lily shook Claire’s hand, and then Claire shook Kath’s hand too. Claire was with Paula again—Lily remembered her—and the four of them went into the club together, finding a table on the left side of the stage room near the back.
This time, a waitress in a black cocktail dress with a little white apron tied around her waist moved between the tables, taking orders and delivering trays of drinks. “Hello, girls, we have champagne on special tonight,” she said when she arrived at their table.
“Let’s have a round for all of us,” Paula said. “It’s on me.”
It took several minutes for the waitress to return, and while they waited, they talked about the upcoming show: whether Tommy would do any new numbers, and whether she should retire any of her standards.
“She’s been here for a while—at the Telegraph Club, I mean,” Claire said. “Several months at least.”
“I’m surprised Joyce has kept her on for so long,” Paula said.
“She must be bringing in the business,” Claire said. “How many times have we been here? Half a dozen at least?”
“Who’s Joyce?” Kath asked.
“Joyce Morgan. The owner,” Paula said. “She’s usually behind the bar.”
“Where was Tommy before?” Kath asked.
“The Paper Doll, maybe?” Claire said. “I never saw her there.”
“She used to park cars for a living,” Paula said. “Over at that parking lot by Columbus.”
“Can you imagine?” Claire said, laughing. “Having your car parked by the likes of Tommy Andrews.”
“I don’t think she was going by Tommy Andrews back then,” Paula said.
The waitress returned, carrying four coupes of champagne on a small round tray.
“Happy early New Year,” Paula said, and they all raised their glasses and carefully clinked them together to avoid spilling the liquid.
Lily took a tentative sip. It was sour and a little flat.
Paula grimaced. “I don’t think this is French, but it’ll get the job done.”
Claire said, “Oh, Paula!”
The pianist came out then, and the spotlight snap
ped on, and they all fell silent as they waited for the show to begin. Lily drank her cheap champagne too quickly, and by the time Tommy Andrews stepped onstage, she was light-headed and a little too warm, as if summer had bloomed inside the club and wrapped her in its lazy heat. She didn’t mind at all.
* * *
—
At the break, Claire and Paula went up to the bathroom, and when they returned, they had Lana Jackson in tow. Lana had been drinking a martini, and when the waitress returned to take new orders, Lana greeted her by name—“How’s your night going, Betty?”—and asked for another. Paula and Claire ordered martinis too, and Lana suggested that Betty simply bring a pitcher for the table.
Kath said, “I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”
“What about you, miss?” Betty asked Lily.
“Just a beer, thanks.”
“You don’t look like a beer drinker,” Lana said, lighting a cigarette. “You sure you don’t want a martini?”
“I’ve never had one.”
Lana’s darkly penciled eyebrows lifted, and she smiled at Lily before she looked at Betty. “The China doll will have a martini too.”
Lily wasn’t sure if she should feel flattered or insulted.
Lana offered her silver cigarette case around the table, and Claire said, “I’ll take one. Did you hear about Ruth Schmidt?”
“Ruthie from San Mateo?” Lana said.
“Yes. Have you heard?”
“No, what happened?”
Claire leaned into the lighter that Paula held out for her, inhaling quickly. “She told me some G-men asked her to be an informant.”
Lily—and everyone else—stared at Claire in surprise.
“An informant!” Lana exclaimed. “I thought she was working over at the shipyard.”
“Yes, as a typist. But apparently the feds think her new boyfriend is a pinko.”
Lana’s eyebrows rose again. “Really? You mean little Marty Coleman? The car salesman?”
Claire laughed. “The shoe salesman. Yes. The feds think he’s involved in a Communist organization, and they want her to spy on him for them. I told her she should throw him over for a real woman.”
The word Communist was jarring to Lily, as if someone had thrown a rock through a glass window, but the women at the table continued talking and smoking as if nothing had happened.
“I thought they were done with that kind of snooping now that McCarthy’s out,” Paula said.
“Apparently not,” Lana said.
Claire blew out a stream of smoke impatiently. “You’d think they would avoid asking Ruthie to be an informant, given her past association with homosexuals.” She said the word homosexuals sarcastically, as if it were a joke, but the word still sounded obscene to Lily.
“Do you really think the feds know?” Lana asked doubtfully.
“Oh, they know all right,” Claire said. “She said I should be on the lookout in case they came to interview me, because they told her they knew about us.”
“You didn’t tell me that,” Paula said, startled.
“It doesn’t matter,” Claire said casually, but there was a tension in the way she brought the cigarette to her mouth and drew on it, deeply. “I’m a nobody. I work in a dentist’s office. No Russians could possibly be interested in anything I do.”
Lily was increasingly bewildered by the conversation. These women were talking as if it were all a good joke, and yet there was an undercurrent to their tone that suggested something darker. She wanted to ask for more details, but she didn’t think she had the right. She barely knew Claire; she barely knew any of these women. She glanced at Kath, who had a slightly puzzled expression on her face as if she didn’t really understand either.
The waitress returned with their drinks, and Lana scooted her chair out of the way so that Betty could set down the pitcher of martinis, four cocktail glasses, and a beer. “It’s on the house,” Betty said.
“Thanks,” Lana said. “Say, what are you up to after the second act tonight? We’re having a little party up at our place. You want to join us?”
“I’m supposed to go out with Cheryl,” Betty said.
“Bring her.” Lana smiled archly. “Tommy loves Cheryl.”
Betty laughed and shook her head. “If by love you mean hate. No, but thanks, doll. I’ll tell Cheryl you said hello.”
“You do that,” Lana said, and then Betty had to leave to attend to another table.
Lana poured the martinis, then raised hers in a toast. “Cheers!” she said as she clinked her cocktail glass against Claire’s.
Lily did the same, holding hers carefully to avoid spilling the clear liquid. The drink smelled astringent, practically medicinal, and when she took a tiny sip, it was sharp on her tongue and a shock to swallow, like cold fire. She wasn’t sure if she liked it or not.
“You should come too, Claire,” Lana was saying. “All of you should come over after the show. It would be lovely to have some new faces around. I’m getting a little tired of Tommy’s friends.” She said the word friends dryly, sharing a knowing look with Claire.
Lily wondered what Lana meant. She wondered if the invitation to her party truly included her and Kath, and then she began to hope that it did.
31
After the second act, Tommy came through the crowded room with an entire bottle of the cheap champagne and pulled up an empty chair between Lana and Claire, who made room without being asked. Lily caught Claire looking around a little self-consciously, as if she knew others in the club were eyeing her proximity to Tommy and wondering who she was. Lana called Betty over to clear away the empty glasses and bring over fresh ones. As Tommy reached over to pour champagne, her cologne drifted toward Lily. The scent was heady, like being drunk on a leather sofa. It made Lily’s skin go warm.
Tommy sat back in her chair, lit a cigarette, and downed a coupe of champagne in one gulp. “That stuff’s terrible,” she groused. “I’ll have to tell Joyce not to serve it tomorrow night.”
“It’s on special,” Lana said in a bored tone of voice. “I think she’s trying to get rid of it.”
“So she’s pawning it off on me and my fans? Of course, gotta save the best for Miss Rita Rogers.” There was a jealous sting to her words, and Lily wondered who Rita Rogers was.
Kath leaned over to her and said, “I’m going up to the bathroom. Come with me?”
Lily didn’t want to leave the table now that Tommy had arrived, but there was a look in Kath’s eye that made her get up. When they reached the dim hallway that contained the stairs going up to the bathroom, Lily caught a glimpse of a woman slipping into the shadows beneath the stairs. She stared for a moment, confused. The woman’s body was moving in an unusual way—her shoulders were bent forward, her head dipping—and all of a sudden Lily realized the woman wasn’t alone. There was another woman with her beneath the stairs, the edges of her skirt visible around the other woman’s legs. They were pressed together, their heads close. Lily couldn’t see exactly what they were doing, but she had a good idea.
She hurried after Kath, who was already standing in the unusually short bathroom line. Kath must have noted her flushed face because she asked, “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she said, flustered.
Kath seemed a bit tense. “Do you want to go over to Lana’s with everyone?”
Lily tried to put the image of those two women out of her mind. “Do you think they really meant to invite us?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” Kath’s forehead furrowed as she glanced up the line and then back at Lily. “If we go, it’ll be late. When do you need to get home?”
Kath had never been concerned about getting home late before. Lily looked at her more closely, but couldn’t read the expression on her face. “Well, it’s already late,” Lily said. “Who’s going to notice if I’m a couple of hours later? But
what about you? Do you want to go?”
Kath’s shoulders hunched slightly. “Only if you do.”
“Well, yes. I don’t really want to go home. Do you?”
Kath seemed to be holding something back. “I guess not.”
Lily was about to ask what was wrong, but they had reached the bathroom door and it was Kath’s turn to go in, so Lily was left standing in the hallway. By the time they were both finished, the moment had passed, so Lily said nothing.
They went downstairs together, and at the bottom she looked behind her at the alcove beneath the stairs, but it was empty. Back at their table, Tommy and Lana and the others were all standing up and putting on their coats, getting ready to leave. Lana saw her and Kath, and said, “We’re walking up to Telegraph Hill. Are you coming along?”
Kath plucked their jackets from the backs of their empty chairs, handing Lily hers. “Sure, we’re coming. Thanks.”
They spilled out onto the sidewalk, a group of half a dozen. Lily kept close to Kath, and they followed the others up a side street that was cut with stairs it was so steep. When they started out from the club they had been talking gaily, laughing and joking, but as they proceeded through North Beach their voices grew hushed. Lily lost track of where they were going. All around them the neighborhood slumbered, a world removed from the noise and music of the nightclubs a few blocks away. They finally arrived on a flat block just below Coit Tower, which was lit up at the top of Telegraph Hill like a beacon. Someone took out a ring of keys, and Lily heard a crunch as a key turned in the lock of a three-story building. A light was switched on and spilled out, yellowish, onto the front stoop.
“Come on in!” Tommy called back, and they all crowded through the doorway, into the front hall, and through a second door on the right into a first-floor apartment.