by Mingmei Yip
We continued to talk more about paintings, Oriental philosophies, the art world, the art scene in New York. Not only was I surprised that Professor Fulton’s daughter and I had so many interests in common, I was also impressed she knew about Chinese philosophy. Our conversation carried on until we noticed that the museum was about to close.
Outside, Lisa and I said good-bye. Then, after she had walked a few steps, she suddenly turned and came back to me-to invite me out again tomorrow night.
I didn’t know whether to accept or not, though I was tempted. Not only by her beauty and cordiality, but also by an urge for revenge on Professor Fulton-he didn’t give a damn about me, but his daughter did!
“I’d like to, but Michael may want to do something with me tomorrow night.”
She smiled mischievously. “Oh, forget Michael for a moment. He’s too serious and busy. Let’s have some fun together for one night!”
“All right then, but let me ask him first.”
As she started to walk away, I noticed her limp again. That startled me. Such a beautiful woman-how could this have happened? I realized that because she was conscious of her limp, she deliberately walked with an overly dignified bearing. Her pride made me sad. The limp was not very obvious, but, like a grain of sand in the eye-however small-it hurts. Or, like a crack on an otherwise immaculate antique vase-however thin-it mars. Then I thought of Dai Nam and her scar and felt sympathy swell up inside.
Back home, I couldn’t sleep, being too excited by the afternoon’s encounter. I decided to read in the living room and wait for Michael; it was not until nine-thirty in the evening when I heard the lock click.
I dashed to kiss Michael as he closed the door behind him. “Michael, you want me to fix you something to eat?”
“No thanks.” Michael looked exhausted. “I’m too tired. Let’s just go to bed.”
Although I knew he was too tired to listen, I still couldn’t help blurting out the news about my meeting with Lisa.
Now he looked completely awake. “Meng Ning, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see her.”
“But why?”
“Just stay away from her, OK?”
I was surprised; Michael had never talked to me like this before.
“But I had a good time. I think we may become good friends.”
“Friends?” Michael widened his eyes. “She’s more trouble than you realize. I just don’t want you to get-”
“But I find her very interesting and intelligent, let alone beautiful.”
“Meng Ning, she fools a lot of people.” Now Michael looked at me with concern. “You’re a very sweet and innocent person. I just don’t want you to be-”
“To be what?”
“Please just take my word for this.”
“Michael! She’s your professor’s daughter, and I’m sure you know her well…”
“Yes, only too well.”
“What do you mean?”
“Can’t we just drop this now?” Then he pulled me into his arms and started to kiss me.
The next day, when I woke up, Michael had already gone to work. When I turned on the bedside lamp, I found his message.
Dear Meng Ning,
Tonight I have to work late again and probably won’t be home till midnight. Sorry about this. It’s completely unexpected-there is an emergency patient with a very complicated case. You can get takeout or go out and have fun. Last night you made me the happiest man in the world.
Love,
Michael
When I was wondering if I should contact Lisa, the phone rang and Lisa’s voice floated from the other end of the line. She said tonight she would like to invite me to a new experience-but she wouldn’t say what.
“Just meet me downtown, between Spring and Twenty-third Street, in front of the only green building.”
Before I could agree-or disagree-she had already hung up.
Lisa looked as tall and striking as she had at the museum. Again, she had dressed all in black-high-heeled ankle boots, loose silk pants, tight top. But this time the Pollock scarf was black and silver, and wandered down her neck to her supple waist. Under the twilight, her bronze hair hung loosely like crawling vines.
“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” I said, feeling the pull of her aura.
“Oh, not at all. I’ve been watching people go in and out. Interesting.”
She stood almost a head taller than I, so when she looked down at me, her eyes seemed half closed. This reminded me of Guan Yin-head lowered and eyes half closed to manifest modesty and compassion.
“Meng Ning, let’s go now. I’ll take you to a bar.”
“A bar? I don’t think Michael would like the idea.”
“Forgive my bluntness, but I think Michael has too much influence over you. You’re an independent woman, not his little sister.”
I didn’t know what to say to this, so I muttered, “But I neither smoke nor drink.”
“Then you can watch me. Come on, let’s go!” she said, then half pushed me inside the building. “It’s in the penthouse.” Lisa motioned me to the elevator.
As I followed her into the elevator, someone hollered behind, “Please wait!” We turned and saw a man dragging a little boy and hastening toward us.
Lisa held open the elevator door.
“Thank you,” the man said when the two plunged in.
There were a few moments of silence while we all meditated on the numbers blinking above. A moment later, Lisa suddenly stooped down to tousle the boy’s blond mane. “Oh, darling, you’re so beautiful. How old are you?”
The kid didn’t respond. He glowered at the friendly and beautiful creature whose face was now almost touching his. But my friend didn’t give up. She kept mussing his hair, caressing his cheeks, and flashing her porcelain teeth.
“You’re so cute, honey. Tell me your name.” She tilted her head, raised her voice, and stretched a Minnie Mouse smile.
The kid stuck out his tongue. “You dumb cookoo head!”
Lisa looked shocked, then annoyed; her face flushed a deep crimson. The man looked stunned. I was amused.
“Jason! That’s very rude! Say sorry to the nice lady.”
“No!” The boy hid his face behind the man’s back.
The man got down on his knees. “Jason, be a good boy. Will you say sorry to the lady?”
Jason shook his head violently, then buried his face deeper into the man.
“I’m sorry.” The man looked up at us. “My son never behaves like this; he must be really tired.”
Right then, the elevator arrived at the fourteenth floor and the boy’s father led him out. When the door was closing, the boy pulled up his head and made a face toward Lisa. “You dumb cookoo limp!” he said, and was slapped by his father behind the closing doors.
I peeked at my friend. Her face was twitching with anger, and that suppressed my urge to ask what a “dumb cookoo limp/head” is.
“That kid’s a total brat. His father should have smacked his head against the wall and shattered his skull!” Lisa spat.
That was quite a violent curse toward a small boy.
Soon we arrived at a door decorated with a huge reptile. Then we passed through a glass door enameled with big red letters: THE WINKING LIZARD. We entered a room filled with smoke, the odor of spilled beer, and shouted conversations. Loud jazz made me itch all over as if my whole body were crawling with squirming lizards. I looked around in the dim light. The décor was minimalist and monochromatic, with leather, steel, and glass furniture. Men wore ponytails and earrings while women had shaved heads with lips and brows pierced by small silver rings. The hurrying waitresses all wore black leather. Suddenly I felt very self-conscious. My hair was long and my dress floral, with lace around the lapel. I must have looked like someone who had just walked out of an all-girls school!
A very tall waitress led us to a corner table in the rear of the bar. I wouldn’t say she was beautiful, but she was definitely striking,
with her white-chalked face and crimson lips. Her eyelashes fluttered over her blue-shadowed eyelids. Above the leather miniskirt a Bruce Lee-style top exposed muscular arms.
Once seated, Lisa ordered a martini on the rocks and when Muscular asked me what I wanted, I said, “Regular Coca-Cola.”
My friend chuckled. “Oh, Meng Ning, forget the regular. I’ll order you something more sophisticated.” Then she turned to Muscular to reveal an expanse of porcelain teeth. “Give her a Cuba libre, light on the Coke and heavy on the rum, please.” She winked at the waitress.
In almost no time, Muscular came back with our drinks and a bowl of nuts. When she walked away, I saw she had muscular calves covered with veins like a brood of baby snakes. “Coolie’s calves,” the Chinese would call these. Then I soon noticed that most of the waitresses here were tall, athletic, and had coolie’s calves.
Lisa clinked her glass with mine. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I echoed. The drink scorched my throat; I grimaced.
“You like it?” Lisa smiled prettily.
“It’s…interesting.” I hadn’t really lied. Since it tasted like kitten’s urine mixed with spicy chili oil.
She asked, “You like this place?”
“Hmmm…I can’t tell yet; it’s strange.” My gaze fell on another brood of “snakes.” “Lisa, have you noticed the waitresses here are all very tall and muscular?”
She patted my shoulder. “You’re so innocent.” She leaned close to me and whispered, “They’re all men.”
“Are you kidding?”
“Shhh…not too loud. Of course not.”
“With makeup, earrings, miniskirts, and even lace tops?” My voice adamantly remained in the high register.
“They’re transvestites… Meng Ning, please lower your voice.”
“You mean they’re men with breasts?”
“Shhh…some are, but they’re mostly men who like to dress like women.”
“So they’re gay?”
“Meng Ning, would you please lower your voice?” Lisa squeezed my elbow.
Right then, our “waitress” came back to ask whether we wanted anything more. As I was thinking, I noticed her nails were long, tapered, and painted crimson. I tried to look at her neck to see whether she had an Adam’s apple. But no luck. She was wearing a spiked leather choker.
Her husky, high-pitched voice slithered its way into my ears. “Honey, anything more I can get you?”
“Hmm…” I didn’t want anything else; I only wanted to study “her.”
She flashed a derisive grin that emphasized her bloodred, full lips, her long-lashed eyes ping-ponging between Lisa and me. “Let me help you. Hmm…what about some dessert? We have cheesecake, Sacher torte, tiramisu…” She kissed her fingers and made aloud smack; the gloss of her fingernails gave out a few sparks in the faint light. “So, sweetie”-she turned to me-“what d’you want?”
“Hmm…” I looked at Lisa, then back at the “waitress,” speechless.
She knelt down, put her elbow on our table, then rested her chin on her hand. She blinked several times as if her eyes were really itchy now. Anxiously, I half expected her lashes to drop into my Cuba libre.
“So, my China doll?” She winked at Lisa, then stared at me. “You want a minute? I can wait.”
Finally Lisa came to my rescue. “Give her a chocolate mousse, please.”
“Gotcha.” She wagged a finger at Lisa and chuckled flirtatiously. Her silver hippie earrings trembled like virgin breasts savagely squeezed.
She pushed herself up, and her leather-wrapped, narrow bottom wriggled away. I noticed a few holes, big and small, in her fishnet stockings.
I felt an army of ants crawling up my spine. “Lisa, you don’t find this place…weird?”
“Oh, no, I’m an artist, Meng Ning. Nothing surprises me.”
“Even men with breasts who wear dresses and flirt with you?”
“If you look at a thing as it is, it just is. “
“You like men dressed up like women?”
She squinted at me with a curious expression. “I thought I’d expand your horizons. You know, Michael won’t bring you to a place like this. He’s too serious-and too protective of you. I know him well. Sorry, Meng Ning. If you don’t like it here, I can take you somewhere else.”
“No, Lisa. I also like expanding my horizons.” It surprised me that suddenly my voice sounded so loud and vehement.
After more drinks and more talk, I began to feel at ease and got into the rhythm of the bar. Waitresses floated between tables like fish in water; men drank, smoked, cracked jokes, turned heads at passing buttocks, and threw glances at us.
Under the warm light of our table’s gilt brass lamp, Lisa’s skin took on a golden sheen, looking almost translucent. I felt her body emit waves of energy toward me. During our conversations, her eyes sometimes focused intently on me and sometimes far in the distance-darting between men in tight jeans, bomber jackets, and cowboy boots. Judging from the few wrinkles making their debut around her eyes, she was like a flower at its ripest moment of perfection, which was also perilously close to wilting.
Lisa turned back to look at me. “You know, Meng Ning, I’m actually part Chinese. My grandfather was a missionary and met my grandmother in Shanghai. My mother spent her childhood there.”
Now Lisa’s eyes were unreadable, like a cat’s. “I never lived in China, but Mom used to tell me strange tales about her life there.”
“Tell me her tales.”
She made a face. “OK, but don’t blame me if they’re too weird.”
“Go ahead.” I took a big gulp of my Cuba libre.
“One time her parents took her to a zoo where she saw a man talking to a flower-”
“That’s not very strange-”
“Meng Ning, there’re more to the story; would you let me finish?” Lisa feigned annoyance, then continued. “The man was a street performer. He told the audience that every day he had to feed and wash the flower like a person. Just when he was about to demonstrate how, the flower opened up to reveal a pretty girl’s head-”
“Oh.”
“While everyone was exclaiming in wonder, the man stuck a lighted cigarette in her mouth. The girl’s head started to smoke, blowing out clouds of smoke in circles, triangles, squares, even a heart. After that, she went on to perform other tricks, like singing, eating, and making funny faces. Of course everybody tried to look and see whether she was hiding her body somewhere. But all they could see under her head was a stem.”
Mesmerized, I asked, “Is this true?”
She shrugged. “So I was told by my mother.”
“What other things did she tell you?”
“She also saw a baby’s head with a dog’s body. It could perform all kinds of tricks, like somersaulting, walking on two legs, chasing his own tail-”
“Oh, no! Lisa, your mother must have made this up.”
“No, she didn’t. But…it’s a horrible story.”
“What is it? Tell me.”
“The dog was skinned alive and right afterwards, its skin was wrapped onto the newborn baby until the two grew together.”
“Yuck, that’s really sick…”
“I told you it was horrible.”
“These stories are true?”
“What do you think?” She winked.
A pause before we both burst out laughing.
A long silence fell between us, then Lisa took out a pack of cigarettes, shook one out, tapped it on the pack, and handed it to me.
“No, Lisa, I don’t smoke.”
“Have you ever?”
“No.”
“It doesn’t hurt to try.”
“No thanks.”
“All right then.” She lit the cigarette, slid it between her lips with a slick movement of her hand, then took a deep drag. She released a mouthful of smoke, her lips still in the shape of a perfect O-or a chicken’s ass, as my mother would say; or a Zen circle, as Yi Kong would.
&nb
sp; My eyes were smarting from the smoke.
Lisa asked, “So Michael is your boyfriend?”
The question took me by surprise. I carefully sipped my rum-soaked Coke, lowered my voice, and changed to a whispery tone, as if I were about to reveal the deepest secret. “Fiancé.”
She didn’t say anything, but kept squinting at me and blowing more clouds of smoke. “How did you meet?”
I sipped more of my rum and Coke, and before I’d decided what to say, began blurting out everything: how Michael and I had met in the Fragrant Spirit Temple; how he’d saved my life in the fire; my fall into the well when I was thirteen; my earlier contempt for men as well as my aspiration to be a nun; my friendship with Yi Kong and Dai Nam.
After I’d told her about myself, it seemed a new intimacy of sorts existed between us.
Lisa listened with a fascinated expression. “Incredible,” she said at last, raising her eyes to the ceiling and releasing a long, slow stream of smoke, then dropping her head and looking me in the eyes. “You called men ‘stupid piece of meat,’ ‘monk head,’ ‘four-eyed monster,’ ‘stinking testosterone,’ ‘walking garbage’? I love that!”
As if pulled by some magnetic force, I found myself shifting closer to her. She asked our “waitress” for another round of drinks.
Delicately she sipped her fresh martini, leaving a ring of her silvery lipstick on the glass. “Michael must be very fond of you.”
I nodded.
“Wonderful,” Lisa said, then she took a deep gulp of her drink and soundlessly laid down her glass. Next she picked up a few nuts and popped them into her mouth, chewing noisily with lips closed.
Suddenly the warmth in her eyes was gone and her voice was cold. “So when are you getting married?”
“He wants to soon, but I’m not sure I want it so quickly.”
“So you’re still not sure whether you want to marry him?”
“Not that-I love Michael. But I’ve spent most of my life hanging around nuns, so theirs is the world I’m comfortable in. Also, when you’re told over and over for fifteen years how human passion is illusory and how men are untrustworthy, it’s confusing. And I’m even more confused since I don’t feel that way with Michael. He seems as centered as a rock, and never bothered-”