by Lillian Li
“We can’t have a proper business meeting without a toast.” She filled each cup. “Gan bei.”
“Gan bei.” Jimmy pushed his cup across the table with his finger to clink against hers, then knocked the liquor back. The taste filled his mouth with sour saliva. It reminded him of stealing too many shots from his father’s basement bar. When he slammed his cup down on the table, he saw Janine taking small, finicky sips from hers.
“Are you fucking serious?” he said, suddenly remembering that he was already a little drunk.
“I don’t do shots,” she said.
He poured another cup and swallowed it. Heat crept up from the collar of his shirt. Soon, his eyes would be bloodshot. Janine did not say anything when he started laughing. She gripped her cup with both hands like a baseball pitcher.
“You’re a fraud,” he said. He turned the cup upside down and put it over his thumb like a hat.
“Jimmy.” She sighed out his name. “What are you talking about?”
“You said Pang was a middleman,” he said. “But he’s your fucking boss.”
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Pang is hardly my boss.”
“He owns you.”
Janine sat up straighter. “I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Just admit it,” Jimmy insisted. “I know how he works. He controls your client list and he probably takes a cut of every sale you make.”
Janine’s jaw shifted back and forth.
“How much does he take from you?” He wanted to nail her to her seat. “Ten percent? Twenty?”
Janine pushed away from the table and Jimmy took a breath to steady himself. He didn’t want to lose her entirely.
His father’s secret slipped out of him so easily, it was hardly a betrayal: “The Duck House has owed him a kickback every year it’s been open.”
Janine leaned her elbows on the table. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
Jimmy was laughing again. “Haven’t you been listening?”
“So he set up the same deal with the Glory,” Janine said. “Is that why you fired him?”
“I fired him,” Jimmy said, watching her carefully, “because he was planning to burn down the Duck House.”
Janine’s face twitched with too mild a surprise.
“You knew!” He stabbed his finger at her. The cup fell off his thumb and clattered against the table. Janine moved to plug up the baijiu, but Jimmy put his hand around the bottle. “I guess Pang tells his little girlfriend everything.”
“Don’t be disgusting.” She crossed her arms and leaned back. “Did you think I just drove you around gesturing at buildings? I saw your finances.” She gripped her body tighter. “I know what Pang’s capable of.” The high slope of her cheekbones caught the kitchen light, throwing her eyes into shadow. Behind her hooded lids, he saw arrogance.
“People like you are the worst kind of people,” he said. The liquor was eating through his thoughts like acid. “You pretend you’re better than everyone else, but you’re a leech. Stop trying to hide! It’s not flattering.”
“What’s not flattering is a man with two businesses and a mansion in Potomac acting like he’s the victim.” She took a sip from her cup. “People like me? You saw this house and this neighborhood and you think I lied to you.”
Though Jimmy’s throat was tight from shouting, the tension in his body dipped. Had he managed to wound Janine? Had he wanted to? He slumped over in his seat. “Why should I trust you?”
Janine stood up, took his empty cup and hers, and placed them in her sink.
“My ex-husband is the reason Pang is in my life.” She turned on the water and rinsed out the cups. When she faced him again, her shirt was wet from where she’d pressed against the sink’s edge. “He liked gambling, among other things. Pang helped him get what he wanted.”
“I forgot about your ex,” Jimmy said. The kitchen was small enough that Janine didn’t have to raise her voice, but there was another reason she was speaking softly. On the counter, a small race car peeked out from behind the fruit bowl.
“Easy enough to,” she said. “He’s back in Shanghai. Pang had him deported, and he can’t step foot back into the States.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He left his Mercedes.”
Jimmy started to laugh again.
“Pang got me started in real estate. He’s kept my client list full. But my son cried for months. I’ve been doing everything I can to stand on my own.”
Jimmy grabbed the salt and pepper shakers at the end of the table. They were two porcelain pigs, joined at the lips by a magnet. He pried them apart and let them clunk back together. He’d been right about Pang taking a cut from Janine. He smacked his lips lightly with satisfaction and put the shakers down. He liked that Janine had opened up to him. But hadn’t her little speech sounded too much like the sob stories Johnny ate up? Jimmy couldn’t let himself be distracted by her tricks. If they were tricks.
“I’m tired of talking.” He rested his arms on the table and nestled his head, hot and sweaty, into them. The desire to trust her beckoned to him, like sleep in the middle of a snowdrift. “You talk me into circles.”
She walked to his side and bent down, crouching on the balls of her feet.
“I’m sorry you’re scared,” she said. “But you’re going to find the money without Pang. I saw your potential. I saw you doing great things.”
Her confidence pissed him off. That air of entitlement was pure performance. She didn’t have anything besides her cleverness. When she started to rise, Jimmy grabbed her by the arm. Without hesitation, she pinched the fingers of his left hand together, twisted sharply, and stood up.
“There’s no point in talking when you’re in this state,” she said. “You should go home.”
Mouth tight, Jimmy curled his fingers gently and rubbed them with his thumb. The clock on the oven told him he’d been there for less than half an hour. The drive over had taken longer. He couldn’t leave without a plan. He had no idea what to do, besides set the restaurant on fire himself. Why did Janine think he could find the money? Was she trying to get him out of her house without a fight? Or had she overestimated his abilities? She thought he had a mansion in Potomac. But it wasn’t his; it was his mother’s.
“What if I sell the mansion?” he blurted out. The solution was so obvious it was as if Janine had planted it in his head.
“If you could sell the mansion, why did Pang need to burn down the Duck House in the first place?” Her tone couldn’t disguise the curiosity in her face.
“Burning down a restaurant would be easier.” Jimmy pinched his nose. “Look, the house is technically my mother’s. And she’ll fight me, but she’s getting older, and she hasn’t been the same since Dad died. I can get the house.” He found that he was mimicking Janine’s brisk tone, the one that had convinced him she knew what she was talking about.
“When do you want me to start looking for buyers?” She tilted her chin up, daring him to refuse.
Jimmy thought that for once he might see her face clearly. Not a centimeter of her twitched or changed; not even the vein in her forehead seemed to pulse. But he could not discern if she was beautiful. He knew her too well. Her face had taken on the blurring soft glow of a faded photograph, well worn by thumbs.
“Let’s go, then.” He pushed himself to his feet.
“Go where?” She began playing with her sleek necklace, the pearls no doubt warm from her skin’s heat. “I can’t leave Eddie.”
“The boy is almost seven.” Jimmy nabbed her heels from under the oven. The inside leather was moist to the touch. “He can spend an hour alone.”
Janine followed him to the front door, her body magnetized to his. Did she like seeing him this full of steam?
“I have to move fast. I need to know you’re on my side.” He put her heels down on the floral doormat. She watched him struggle to balance while he wrestled on his shoes.
“Last chance.�
� He willed her to bend to him. “Think—with this sale, you’ll be free of him. We both will.”
“Just—” She looked up the stairs. Jimmy looked up as well, relieved not to see her son clinging to the railing. If he never saw the kid, he might as well not exist. “Just let me call my neighbor. I know she’s still up and she owes me.”
Jimmy pumped his fist behind his back. “I’ll be waiting in my car.”
“No way.” Janine reached into a ceramic bowl next to the staircase. She tossed him a set of keys. She couldn’t quite keep the excitement out of her voice. “I’m driving us. You need to sober up.”
Hadn’t she wanted him to drive himself home? He shuffled out the door and dropped down on the cement stairs to fix his shoes. He had no plan to convince his mother to sell her house, but he didn’t need one. All he had to do was get Janine on the hook. She was an ambitious little weasel, and figuring this out about her had opened a secret window into her head. If he couldn’t come up with a way to sell the mansion, she would. As long as he got her to tour the place, she would do everything in her power to get the listing. He almost hoped for a struggle from his mother. The longer the ordeal, the more time he had left with Janine.
He rose from the stoop. The neighborhood now looked friendly, scattered fireflies blinking against the black night. He raised Janine’s keys over his head and unlocked the Mercedes, relishing the sound of the front doors, then the back, clicking open. First her house, and now her car.
*
“So what do you think?” Jimmy whispered. He flipped on every switch he passed. The mansion blazed with light. His mother was in the house but sleeping, cocooned in the labyrinthine basement. Jimmy reassured Janine that ever since his mother had broken her leg a year ago, she took a sedative twice a day, once for her afternoon nap and once at night. A few weeks ago she’d slept through an entire construction crew tearing down the house next door; her dose was that strong. Janine did not look convinced, and she startled when his phone rang, her stilettos sounding out sharply against the marble tiles. Jimmy silenced his cell phone through his pocket. Janine slipped out of her heels.
“You grew up in this place?” She marveled at the sky-high ceiling that the open foyer offered up. A chandelier the size of a small child dangled at the center. By the spiral staircase, a large china urn overflowed with plastic cherry blossoms. “No wonder you act like such a spoiled brat sometimes.”
He knew she was teasing, but he couldn’t help saying, “We moved here when I was almost in high school. Even after we unpacked, most of the rooms stayed empty.”
“Can I see the rest of the house?”
He hooked her by the elbow. “Follow me.”
They finished the first story of the house quickly. Janine was too nervous to do more than peek her head into a room before moving on to the next. She skipped the library altogether, the entrance to the basement too close for comfort. But by the time he followed her up the stairs, she began to relax.
“This staircase is beautiful,” she said. Her fingers traced the wood railing. “A bit dusty, though.” She laughed and brushed off her hand.
She began trotting up the stairs, her stockinged feet whispering against the wood. Her behind twitched with every step. He could have planted his face right into the heart of her ass. Too soon, they reached the top. He showed her the master bedroom, with its adjoining office space; his brother’s old room, untouched since Johnny had left for college; and his own bedroom.
“They turned this into an office?” Janine said, when he turned on the light. They stared at the boxes and crates filling out the corners of the room.
“More like a storage unit,” he said, hovering at the door. He hadn’t been in his bedroom since his father had died.
When Jimmy had lived in the house, his bedroom was where he’d spent most of his free time. After years of sharing with Johnny, he’d been overwhelmed, at first, to have his own room. But soon this bedroom became his refuge from the house around it. The mansion’s largeness, the dark woods outside, the empty hallways filled only by his father’s explosive sneezes: The new house had been too grand to ever be comfortable.
Now Jimmy—or, rather, his ex-wife—had a house in Fairwood, a neighborhood that was the clone of his parents’, right down to the stone fountains and massive gates. Directing Janine into Belle Terre, he’d felt none of the awe he remembered from his adolescence. While she’d cooed over the spread of land and the hedge of oak trees that guided them down the winding community road, he’d sat back and enjoyed her eagerness.
Then to see his room filled with boxes and cabinets. He hadn’t realized how deeply he’d craved a return to its security. He took a step back, and the floorboards creaked. Janine looked over her shoulder, and Jimmy quickly shifted forward again. He forced himself to walk farther into the room and didn’t stop until he’d reached the wide windows. The curtains and sheer linings were the only familiar items left from his past. He ran his hand along a gauzy panel, wishing he could wrap himself tight inside the fabric as he used to do when he was bored, or lonely, or afraid of his boredom and loneliness. From inside this opaque cocoon, the world outside his window had softened. He would smell the staticky odor of the panel, the dust that spun out from all his twisting, and he would grow calmer, until he unwound himself and returned to whatever homework or video game he’d paused. Now he could only wrap his hand in the milky fabric. The chandelier light threaded the white with unexpected glints of color.
“Are you okay?” Janine was at his shoulder, her hand covering his wrapped one.
“Just a little irritated.” He took comfort in the one emotion he had any control over. “She didn’t tell me she was remaking my bedroom.”
Janine’s hand squeezed his.
“Now,” he said, “I won’t feel half as bad for putting this house on the market.”
“This place will sell for three times what your parents paid.” Her other hand went back up to her pearls. “This community has the right amount of prestige and accessibility. Perfect for anyone with new money looking to trade up.”
“A nice commission for the real estate agent,” Jimmy said.
Janine smoothed back the hairs curling at her temple. “Not many agents would know where to find the right market,” she said.
With a quick swirl of his wrist, Jimmy bound Janine’s hand tightly against his with the sheer drape. Their palms pressed together through the layers of cloth. For a long moment, neither pulled away.
“You think I’m just going to hand this house over to you?” he said softly.
Janine slipped her captured hand free. She walked away to examine the room’s crown molding. “You aren’t going to make selling this house easy, are you?”
“What can I say?” He sneezed from the dust. “Money makes people unpredictable. ‘Just like women,’ my dad always said.”
“Everything is like women.” She blew a strand of her hair away from her face. “How clichéd. Like father, like son.”
Jimmy swung his leg back and kicked the nearest box of folders with the side of his foot. The impact made a hollow and resounding noise, like an echo, and Janine jumped a little. He kicked another box, then another, hard enough for the cardboard tops to pop off and settle crooked.
“Stop it!” she hissed.
“This fucking house is too quiet.” He knocked over a row of binders stacked on a metal cabinet. “It’s always been too quiet.”
“What are you doing? Your mother!”
“She’s not waking up.” He rapped the side of the cabinet with his knuckles. “You might as well join me, because I’m not stopping.”
“You’re making a huge mess.”
“This was already a huge mess,” he said. “You think because something is neatly filed away it’s not a huge fucking mess?”
She retreated to the doorway, one foot on either side of the threshold. Her toes curled and uncurled inside her sheer stockings, looking for a grip. Jimmy felt a sudden meanness overtake him.
“Let me wash your feet.”
“What are you talking about?” Her toes shrank back and did not uncurl.
“If you let me wash your feet, I’ll let you sell this house.” He leaned against the cabinet, elbow pressed into the dull edge.
“Why should I trust you?” She stood on her tiptoes, flexing her calves. For the first time, she looked unsteady on her toes.
“It’s a little risky,” he said. “But what do you lose?”
“You’ll have to sell it eventually,” she said slowly.
“My mother will find somewhere else to live,” he agreed. He’d heard her surrender, but if she needed him to let her play the game out, he was willing.
“Your brother might intervene.” She stretched herself taller, holding her hand out for balance.
“You’re a single working mother. He’ll consider it one of his charities.”
“You have a foot fetish?” She extended one pointed foot, forming a graceful curve. “Just take a picture.”
He came over and bent down, lifting the foot higher with a finger under her heel. The skin was rough beneath the sheer satin of her stocking. “I just want to see what it feels like to wash your feet.”
“You’re a sick boy.” Her voice didn’t sound teasing, but she lifted her foot up to his downturned face, as if she wanted him to kiss it.
“I saw my father do it once.”
“To your mother?”
Jimmy paused, remembering. “To his mother.”
Janine’s foot reached up and tapped his right cheek.
“It’s the only memory of this house that I kind of like.” He straightened. “Sometimes you just want to do something to see, okay?”
“This is strictly business.” She stepped back to let him through the doorway.
“I think you’ll enjoy it,” he said.
He brought her back into the master bedroom and through the double doors that opened into the bathroom. The counters were cluttered with pill bottles and opened packages of panty hose and skin cream. His mother had been obsessively neat while his father was alive but had clearly relaxed her strict routines since his death. Jimmy pushed past two walk-in closets that sat kitty-corner to each other. Janine seemed to gather strength from their size and expense. Through another set of double doors, they came upon the toilet, the shower, and the Jacuzzi bath.