by Day, P. J.
I smiled, knowing full well that there were more pressing matters at hand than listening to Ted’s whining.
“Yes, I know it’s a crappy flight, but we really don’t have time to bitch; we need to get to our hotel room before sunrise, so we need to find a cab.”
“Sorry, man. I am not a morning person, as you can tell.”
As we exited the airport, there was a line of green Prius cabs ready to pick up another round of weary travelers. We handed our luggage to the cabbie who was in his late fifties, head completely shaved, and with a somewhat merry demeanor, despite working the early morning shift.
“Where to?” asked the cab driver with a slight accent, as he put the last bag into the trunk.
“The Peninsula Hotel,” both of us answered at the same time.
“That is real nice hotel. Good time to come into Hong Kong, no traffic, we get there in 15 minutes.”
We all entered the taxi. I turned to the cabbie as I put on my seatbelt, “If you get us there in ten, I’ll give you something extra.”
The cab driver winked and nodded enthusiastically.
The cab had a pleasant smell. As clichéd as it was, the green tea aroma that emanated from the air freshener helped me eliminate the stench of a compressed cabin full of unwashed humans that filled my nostrils for the past 15 hours.
On the cab’s dashboard, there was a black and white photo of a young girl. There was a brochure rack in front of us in the backseat. Typical fare, city guides to restaurants, entertainment, and hotels.
“So, where you guys from?” asked the cabbie in his energetic morning tone.
“From Los Angeles,” replied Ted.
I briefly looked into the rearview mirror and saw our cab driver’s eyes light up.
“I have family in L.A. Do you know where Puente Hills is?”
“No, never been there. Never had a reason to head that way,” I said.
Ted interjected, “There is a speedway there, where you can race go-karts, you can take a date there and drink and drive without worrying about getting pulled over... if you’re into that sort of thing.”
“My niece lives in Puente Hills. She sent me a picture of her family racing. Puente Hills looks very fun,” said the cab driver.
“Well, it’s Puente Hills. Not much to do there other than that track. You can visit the family for a short visit, have dinner at the T.G.I. Friday’s, but there are plenty of other places you can go where you would have a much better time around L.A.,” stated Ted, as he replaced the SIM card in his smartphone.
The amazing Hong Kong cityscape created a luminous glow onto the harbor. This was my first time seeing this first-rate city in person. It was amazing how many skyscrapers could fit onto one tiny peninsula.
Hong Kong—which is considered a special administrative region of China, and not its own country as Ted adamantly kept telling me in the lobby at LAX—has set the tone for China’s economic growth over the past 15 years. It was no coincidence that when the British handed over this territory to the Chinese, China’s ascendancy to superpower status truly began. You could see this realization on our cab driver’s face. You could hear the optimism in his voice with every word that was expressed. There is an underlying subtext of prosperity that filters through the voices of Hong Kong’s regular Joes, and you could sense it even on the plane over here. The people of Hong Kong are on the cusp of feeling what many in civilizations’ past have felt—the feeling of belonging to a country which is striving to be the number one economic, cultural, and sociological force in the world. It is something that we Americans have felt for a good 60 years, the Romans felt for 500 years, the British for a good 300 years, and various other empiric endeavors of civilizations past have felt. I was very humbled and excited to experience it once again.
I experienced this same feeling with the Americans firsthand right after World War I. I remember reading the papers and seeing Woodrow Wilson touring Europe as the arbiter of peace and being treated like a rock star once he arrived in Europe as a beacon of hope for a war-torn continent.
His strategies and agenda were seen throughout the world as uniquely American and evidence that the U.S. was now ready to influence the world in economics and foreign policy with its unique new world approach. As many Americans opened up their newspapers every morning and read the headlines, they couldn’t believe that, for the first time in their nation’s history, their president was the one delegating how Europe’s fate was going to be shaped, instead of Europe setting the tone for America’s destiny and future.
Hong Kong and China didn’t have this overt realization as of yet. Hong Kong governs itself and holds its own set of personal liberties and serves as a model for China as a whole. It’s a laboratory rather than a sphere of influence for the world, and China, despite its tremendous economic growth, isn’t unanimously respected as a model for Western democracy. But its influence is growing faster than any other nation due to its economic engine fueled by the world’s largest population. No need for a Woodrow Wilson when you can mass produce Wilson basketballs for half the cost of your closest competitor on the world stage.
As I pondered my existence in a time of pivotal transition, I couldn’t keep my eyes off of the photograph on the cab driver’s dash. The young girl had very striking features and the photo looked quite aged and ate away at my inner curiosity.
“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, is that a picture of your daughter on your dash?”
“Yes... yes, it is,” replied the cab driver.
“She is very pretty; you are very lucky,” I said.
“Well, she is no longer with our family,” responded the cab driver in a somber tone.
I had an inkling that she had passed, but something inside of me needed to know the backstory of the girl.
“I am sorry to hear that. I didn’t know; I am sorry for your loss,” I said, as I covered my mouth with my hand.
“It’s not what you think. We gave her up for adoption ten years ago when we still lived in China. Times were very hard,” said the cab driver. His eyes began to well up.
I felt immediately relieved, but still felt awful for the cab driver’s loss.
“Have you gotten in touch with her since?” asked Ted.
“No, I haven’t seen her or talked to her since we gave her up to the adoption agency.”
“Do you know who adopted her?” I asked.
“It was an American family.”
“Do you know who or where in America?” I asked.
“I don’t know. A week after we gave her up, the agency was shut down and taken over by the government. Please, can you take this picture and put it on the internet. Can you help find her? I will give a free ride,” said the cab driver, grabbing the picture off of his dash and handing it to me.
Initially, I felt like giving it back to him. I was in no position to help. I didn’t want to expose myself to a potentially overreaching situation that could possibly put my identity out in the open, but I had the definitive urge to help.
“Please take it... my contact information is on the back of the picture. I have always wanted to do this, but I never trusted the right people to do it,” said the cab driver as he put the picture into the palm of my hand.
I put it in my laptop bag. I inserted it into one of the small pockets designed to hold a small computer mouse.
“I am honored to help you. I will do my best,” I said, smiling at the cab driver.
The taxi stopped in front of our hotel. Our friendly chauffeur helped us get the luggage out of the trunk.
“I hope your trip is a lucky one, and I can’t wait to go to the U.S. one of these days,” he told us.
“Don’t spend too much time in Puente Hills if you happen to make it to L.A. It’s extremely boring. Just saving you some time, brother,” said Ted.
The cab driver handed Ted the last piece of luggage from the trunk. With a wink, he said, “There are many buffets down there. Doesn’t sound too boring; I love buffets.”
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I placed the fare and the tip into the cabbie’s hands and lightly held his wrist.
“Sir, I will do my best to find your daughter. I promise,” I said, shaking the cab driver’s hand; his eye contact with me was brimming with reassurance and trust.
The cab driver got into the Prius and merged into the suddenly hectic traffic that was beginning to fill the boulevard in front of the hotel.
The sun was beginning to rise just as we arrived at the Peninsula.
“We need to check in right away; no time for any sightseeing,” I told Ted.
“Yup. The last thing we need is for your face to look like a charred salamander when we meet up with our engineers tonight.”
“Salamander? Do I look like a salamander to you? I don’t get charred, Ted. My skin just begins to peel badly, and it burns like hell. I won’t get set on fire or anything; it’s just rather unpleasant.”
It’s true, though. I know Ted was joking, but we don’t melt or anything like that when we are hit with sunlight. Instead, my skin would look as if I walked out of the dermatologist’s office after having some hardcore microdermabrasion. What’s a microdermabrasion you ask? It’s basically deep tissue exfoliation. Your face gets lightly scraped with a mechanical tool of some type. This is why I exhibit such exquisite skin. Every time I get a little sunlight, voilà! New skin!
“I’m tired, Jack. I’m going straight to bed, and I have to get used to being on your schedule anyway, if we are going to make this work,” said Ted.
The Peninsula Hotel looked like your typical Manhattan five-star hotel, similar in architecture to the Plaza. It had green awnings draped over the windows, high-end boutique shops on its front corners. The doormen eagerly walked through the main hotel doors and rushed to help us with our bags.
“Company spares no expense, as always,” said Ted with a smile.
“Welcome to the Peninsula,” the concierge declared, as soon as we walked into the lobby.
“Let me assist you both and get you checked in right away. I am sure you have had a long flight and wish to rest immediately.”
As we walked in tandem, I felt it was a good time to ask the concierge a question that had been gnawing at me since I boarded the flight.
“That would be great, but before you check us in, I have a question. How far is Guangzhou from here?” I asked.
“It is approximately 80 or so miles from the hotel.”
Ted and I immediately looked at each other with puzzled looks.
All three of us continued toward the empty hotel desk. It was too early in the morning for large crowds at the check-in line.
“Any further questions before we get you checked in?”
“Yes,” I said. “So, if we were to take a cab, how long would it take to get to Guangzhou on a busy workday?”
The concierge stopped mid-stride and faced Ted and me.
“Around an hour and a half... may I ask why would you stay here if you have business in Guangzhou? There are other nice hotels closer to your destination—would you like me to see if we can get you a transfer?”
Ted leaned in between the concierge and me. “No sir, it’s okay. There is probably a good reason for our stay here. If we need anything else, we will let you know.”
The concierge continued to walk as he led us to the front desk. Our luggage was waiting with the bellboy at the elevator. As the front desk clerk began to take down our information, Ted pulled me aside and leaned into my ear.
“What the hell is going on? Why hasn’t Rald been completely forthcoming about our visit? Eighty miles? Really? Is he expecting us to lose two hours of sleep just so we can make a commute to our clients?”
I couldn’t tell if Ted was agitated or tired; probably a little bit of both.
“Ted, I don’t know. There probably is a very good reason for all this. I mean, who knows? Rald probably has sent us an email clearing up some of the confusion about our trip. I’ll check my mail once we get to our rooms.”
I was just as bewildered as Ted, but I trusted Schnell and I trusted Rald. I was pretty sure there was a perfect explanation for the lack of details about our trip.
“You should check your email too. I am pretty sure all this will be cleared up before we go to bed.”
“I hope so, Jack. This is the first time I have ever been jerked around with an assignment. I just hope Rald emailed you back when you pressed him about the location of this place.”
The concierge completed our registration and handed us back our credit cards.
“Anything else I can do for you, gentleman?”
“No, we’re good. Do you have massages here?” asked Ted.
“Yes, we do. Just dial zero and ask for a massage, we’ll promptly send a masseuse up to your room. Would you want me to schedule one for you this morning?”
Ted looked at me and seemed as if he was waiting for me to approve a massage that I would have to somehow justify on our expense report. I looked away.
“No, I’m good; maybe later,” said Ted.
We got checked in and made our way into the elevator. Our rooms were on the fifth floor. Ted got the Jacuzzi suite and I opted for the room with the spectacular view of the harbor and the Kowloon.
“You know, I doubt you are going to put that hot tub to good use while we are on our trip, unless there is a monetary exchange of some type,” I told Ted with a smirk.
“I bet you a kick-ass buffet that I will legitimately put this hot tub to good use before our trip is done,” Ted replied, in a confident tone.
“Ahh! A buffet, well you know what kind of buffets I like. I’ll hold you to that. You better persevere, because I’ll make you solely responsible for my feeding on this trip, and you don’t want a grumpy vampire berating you on the flight home.”
The elevator doors opened. We both dragged ourselves out of the elevator car with our shirts untucked and looking like shit. The spry bellhop was behind us. I didn’t want to wait for the sunlight to hit the windows of the fifth-floor hall so I grabbed my bags, tipped the bellhop, and told him to help Ted with his bags and that I would be fine carrying my own.
“Set your alarm for 5:30 p.m. Remember, dinner is with our technicians at seven at the Lotus Grotto, not far from here. Don’t forget to check your emails and relay anything pertinent to me,” I told Ted, as I made an about face and walked toward my room.
“Aye, aye captain!” said Ted, his voice trailing off as he walked toward the opposite end of the hallway.
I scanned my card into the door slot. As I walked into my room, I immediately saw the skyline through my window. I could see the sun peeking out beyond the hills overseeing the skyscrapers. My face began to burn slightly. I could feel the blood vessels in my eyes beginning to burst, and a felt a slight chill go up my spine. Although quite painful, sunrises are a rare treat for me. I avoid them for obvious reasons; however, when presented with an excuse to witness one, like this particular moment, a little bit of pain isn’t that bad of a trade-off to witness such a spectacle after a long, dull, and monotonous journey.
I stared for just a few moments, maybe under a minute. Then I closed the drapes right away. I could live with the burning eyes and skin, but I also get severe headaches whenever I get exposed to sunlight for long periods of time. These are not regular headaches that can be cured with the typical analgesics; they are debilitating headaches that keep me from sleeping and functioning.
I turned around and stared at the room. The bed was a plush, king-sized model. A plasma screen adorned the wall and tied in nicely with the decor. I loved these rooms; they had two outlets for every three feet of wall space. I needed to plug in the laptop since I drained the hell out of it on the flight. I’d check my email once I woke up. Hopefully, Rald would send me a reply before I headed to dinner.
Chapter Eleven
“Good evening,” the concierge proclaimed loudly, as I answered the door with my eyes barely opened, hair pointing in different directions.
“We apologize fo
r not having Wi-Fi available for our guests this evening. I am making the rounds on this floor and making sure everyone is taken care of and informing everyone that everything should be back up shortly.”
That was nice of the hotel, I thought, but how the hell was I going to see if Rald responded to my email?
“Sir, I can’t check my email. It’s really important that I have access to my email; do you know when it’s coming back?” I asked, while looking back at my clock, making sure I had enough time to get ready and hoping Ted was already awake.
“At this moment, we don’t know exactly when our internet will be back on. So, we are providing you with complimentary coupons for free internet service at the internet cafe a few meters away from the hotel.”
He handed me the coupons which said, “Good for five hours at Bobo’s Internet Cafe.” I recalled seeing this place while riding in the cab on the way to the hotel. It was right next to a two-story buffet with neon lights. If I could get ready in 30 minutes and make sure that Ted did too, we could check our email and have enough time to meet our engineers at 7 p.m. for dinner.
“Anything else I can get for you, sir?” asked the concierge.
“No, that’s it. What can you do, right?”
I gave him a five-dollar tip and closed the door.
The clock said 5:53 p.m. Dinner was at 7:00 p.m. I put on my robe and ran down to Ted’s room. I wasn’t going to call because knowing Ted, if he was asleep, there was no way he was going to wake up to a ringing phone, especially if he popped another Lunesta before going to bed.
I pounded on his hotel room door.
“Ted are you awake?!” I exclaimed, with a slightly lower decibel than what many would be considered yelling. No answer. “Ted! Get up. It’s almost time for dinner!” Now I was in the same decibel that many would consider yelling.
A slight, minute, balding, British fellow with Buddy Holly glasses emerged from his room next door wearing white boxer shorts and a V-neck T-shirt.
“Is everything okay, sir?”
“Yes, everything is fine. I am just trying to wake up my friend; he’s a deep sleeper.”