by Lucy Tan
“What’s the song saying?” she asked Little Cao.
He stopped singing long enough to shake his head and say, “Not a clue!”
After that, her thoughts started to get a little slippery. She remembered the men getting more comfortable with her, calling her mei. They seemed to like the novelty of having a woman around and took the opportunity to make spectacles of themselves and one another. Mei, see this scar right here? Ask him how he got that. Go ahead, ask him!
Later, they sat four to a cab. How these drivers roared with laughter when there was someone else hired to drive! They cheered as they piled in, jostled and smacked one another playfully on the cheeks. They haggled for cigarettes with street vendors through the open windows of the car, stopped for sustenance at a FamilyMart, and, during a moment of extreme exuberance, lobbed a half-eaten tea egg at an apartment building.
The third venue was a lounge called Baby Gold. It was hosting a costume party, but Sunny couldn’t get a feel for the theme of the costumes. Women walked by in slashed leather and wigs. Men had on wide-brimmed hats and shirts open at the collar. Cigarette smoke filled the air, and at first Sunny didn’t notice the decor. But after they were seated, she saw that the lounge was designed to look like a million decks of cards had exploded inside it. Embedded in the translucent floor were cards scattered faceup to achieve a dizzying effect. The bar’s countertop displayed the majestic queen of hearts, flanked on either side by a jack of diamonds. Above the crowd stood performers in stilts, and in the middle of the dance floor was a ten-foot-high martini glass filled with hard candies wrapped in cellophane. Standing—well, half dancing and half stomping—around inside the glass was a very small man. A very, very small man, dressed in leather to match the women’s outfits.
“I can’t imagine Taitai and Boss Zhen here,” Sunny said to Little Cao. They watched the little man unwrap a lollipop and stick it into his mouth.
“Well, not here, exactly. This place…you wouldn’t bring a client here.”
Sunny realized what the main difference was between this place and the other two. The clientele was almost entirely Chinese.
“That’s right,” Little Cao said. “We’re away from all the hotel bars now. New establishments trying to rise up, make a name for themselves. When we go out, it’s important to end the night somewhere like this. Spend our own money in a place that’s never heard the name Medora Group. That way we don’t forget what it means to really be Shanghainese, right? That this is ours. It was ours long before those foreign bastards got here.” He was a cheery drunk, his eyes sparkling. “Anyways, we’ll get a call from those Expo guys any minute. Time to go soon. But I just wanted to show you what Shanghai is like outside of those luxury high-rises. Thought you’d want to see it.”
He sat back in his seat to give Sunny a wider view of the room. A peal of laughter came from the table next to theirs, where two couples were playing liar’s dice. Sunny was surprised to see the game set up here, in this fancy club. An unexpected reminder of home. She noticed then that there was a stack of leather playing cups and dice at their own table too.
“This place is my favorite so far,” Sunny said to Little Cao.
“Shi ma? Mine too.”
“How are your bluffing skills?” Sunny nodded toward the playing cups and the five dice sitting in a row on a tray, waiting to be thrown.
“Not bad.” Little Cao winked. “When there’s money involved.”
“I’ll take that bet,” Sunny said.
An hour later, after Sunny had relieved three drivers of all the cash in their pockets, she wandered out onto the smoking deck, looking for a breeze. Here, a few blocks west of the Bund, Lanson Suites was barely noticeable, its thin neon-yellow lighting outshone by larger digital displays facing the river. Sunny had sobered enough to feel a gentle throbbing sensation at the back of her head. She picked up an abandoned glass left at the edge of a table, swirled the last drops of liquid around its bottom, and set it down again. Then she looked out toward Pudong, thinking how expansive the city always seemed, especially tonight.
A man was staring at her. He was leaning up against the same railing as she, a thin crop of hair circling a shiny bald spot. Li Jun! He must have been standing there all along. When he saw that she had seen him, he smiled and came toward her.
“Shi ni a,” she said. It’s you.
“Shi de.” He must have had a few himself, because his movements were no longer as jolty and unsure as they had been on their first date. He didn’t show any memory of their uncomfortable parting. He just looked genuinely happy to see her.
“Hai hao ba? I never would have expected to see you here. Do you go out a lot?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “This is my first time, really. In Shanghai, I mean.”
“I don’t either. One of my friends invited us out to celebrate a new job…” He waved his hand behind him to indicate a general affiliation with the club-goers inside. “Ah, are you with…anyone?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I mean, yes. Just some friends from work.”
Li Jun took this as an invitation to step closer.
“From Lanson Suites,” he said.
“That’s right.”
His eyes moved across her face. “You know, I thought about what you said at dinner. I think you’re right about my shop—the rent on Hengshan Lu might not be worth it. There are new developments cropping up in Tang Zhen and plenty of expat families moving in. They don’t know how to use the Chinese net yet, and the English-speaking ones can’t navigate Chinese sites anyway, so the business prospects for me might be better. I’m not ready to give up the Hengshan store, but rent out in Tang Zhen isn’t too bad. I think I might start another branch over there, just to see how it does.”
He caught himself rambling and held his fist up to his mouth, cleared his throat.
“That’s great,” Sunny said. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. I mean it. Thank you. I don’t think I would have ever thought about the problem that way. That I should aim for a different kind of customer, that is.”
“Sometimes it’s easier for an outsider to see a problem for what it is.”
“It’s strange how fast these plans have grown since the idea took root. I’ve already lined up some places to check out.”
Relaxed now, he was smiling. For a moment, Sunny couldn’t believe it was the same man. Tonight, when they were no longer evaluating each other as candidly as they had the previous night, he was sparking her imagination.
“Listen,” Li Jun said, “I’m glad to have run into you. I thought I might not see you again. I wanted to tell you: I was too forward last night. It was too soon. There should be romance, right? We could take it slow.” When he saw her hesitation, he shook his head. “That’s okay! I don’t mean—I just mean maybe we could be friends. And then we can see where it goes. You know, I have a strong feeling about you. I think you’re a very capable woman.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Wah, I’m talking too much. Don’t listen to me. I’ve had some drinks. Can I buy you another one? Let’s just see each other again. No pressure.”
Sunny laughed. “Yes,” she said. “Let’s be friends.” She held her hand out to him, and when he took it, he didn’t let go. Something about the night, or the alcohol, made her curious enough to take another step into this unfamiliar territory.
“Did I tell you that I used to be married?” Sunny asked.
“No, but Rose did.” Sunny wondered what else Rose had said when she described her. I know a woman. She’s in her thirties, married once, no children. Strong build, no great beauty, but honest and hardworking. What kind of man would Li Jun have been to want to meet her? Maybe—just maybe—a man meant for her.
“I was married to my first husband before I was ready,” Sunny continued. “Something about our conversation last night reminded me of that feeling. Of being forced into…an arrangement I’m not ready for.”
Li Jun nodded.
“I understand completely.”
“So, yes, you’re right. You asked me for an answer too soon. But I also refused you too soon.”
At this, he looked up, a hint of hope in his eyes.
“What about dinner?” he asked. “Just as friends.”
Sunny smiled. “All right.”
“Next week, I have some business over by where you work. Lanson Suites, right? Afterward, I’ll wait for you to get off. We can eat at one of those nice hotels. Like the Shangri-La!” He laughed at himself and shook his head again. “Okay, maybe not the Shangri-La. I don’t want you to get the impression that I am wealthy. But maybe someplace along the water?” He had begun to perspire, but she was laughing, and Sunny thought, This could be okay, maybe even good. She drew her phone from her pocket.
“Here,” she said. “I don’t think we’ve exchanged numbers.”
Her own voice sounded off to her. Soft, even flirtatious. Was she capable of flirtation? Apparently. It made some sense, what Little Cao had said about her working here without living here and leaving half her heart at home. If it was difficult to take the leap to pursue a career opportunity, it was even harder to do it for love. Who knew how many ways she was saying no to possibilities of love without knowing it? It felt right to act out of character tonight, to agree to Li Jun the way she had agreed to come out with Little Cao.
As if conjured by Sunny’s thoughts, the Zhens’ driver opened the door to the smoking deck and stepped outside. He appeared to be searching for her, and once he caught sight of her standing with Li Jun, his eyebrows shot up. He backed away, knees lifted high in an exaggerated gesture of retreat. She couldn’t help but laugh, and Li Jun turned around to spot Little Cao just before he disappeared.
“I think that’s my cue to go,” Sunny said.
Li Jun nodded. “Next week, then. I’m going to text you to remind you.”
“I’ll remember.”
After Sunny stepped through the doors and into the club, she turned around for one last look at Li Jun and saw him facing the water again, elbows out, torso leaning forward. She felt at peace, watching him. It was a little like the way she felt when she finished cleaning a room—like she had done some small good, made things, if not better, at least more manageable for the moment.
21
“Qiang?”
“I’m here.”
Lina sat cross-legged on the floor and leaned against the metal door. She felt curiously removed from the situation. The sensation of being trapped had turned itself inside out, and now there was a freedom that came from not being able to see the confines of the room or exactly where Qiang was sitting.
“How long has it been?”
“Thirty-eight minutes.”
Although the air-conditioning had been turned off, the floor was cool, and Lina felt chilled. She pulled her knees up to her chin and wrapped her arms around her legs.
“It seems like yesterday we were teenagers sitting by the lake like this with nothing to do,” Qiang said.
Lina stiffened. “We’re not teenagers anymore.”
“Well, I know that.”
She drummed her head back against the door, lightly at first, and then audibly. It was easier to be flippant with him than angry at herself. She was the one who had forgotten they weren’t teenagers. What was she doing, paying off a guard to sneak them into a place like this?
The UK pavilion had four possible exits. Aside from the one in the Seed Cathedral, there was the side door through which they had come, a door off the VIP room, and the back door, which led to the exit ramp. All four were locked. After trying each one and the main entrance twice, Lina had released a string of southern swearwords that she hadn’t known were still in her vocabulary. Qiang, however, had taken it all as a matter of course. He’d inspected the main door’s lock and hinges one last time, given a confused and impressed Eh when they’d proved resistant to his manipulations, and finally settled down on the ground to await rescue.
“Tell me about the funeral,” Qiang suddenly said, breaking the silence. “What was it like?”
Maybe it was the darkness of the cathedral that did it, but scenes from the week following their parents’ deaths came to Lina more vividly than they ever had before. The experience had been dreamlike, in the way that terrible things in dreams don’t seem so terrible, and trivial, normal events can seem worse than they should. Lina remembered booking flights and packing both hers and Wei’s clothing with the calm, purposeful air of someone going on a business trip. The plane ride hadn’t been easy with a fourteen-month-old, but perhaps she should have been grateful for the challenge and distraction of keeping Karen quiet, fed, and asleep. It wasn’t until they landed in Shanghai for a transfer flight that Lina felt the panic start to set in. There were people pushing to get off the plane, loudspeakers announcing flight-change information, a legless man on a rolling wooden platform pushing himself down the aisles of the gate as he begged for coins, the frightening set of Wei’s jaw, and the crying child in her arms. She couldn’t handle it—she had thrust Karen at Wei and gone on a long walk around the airport by herself, trying to breathe right again.
The next day, Wei had arranged for someone to watch the baby while they attended the service alone. Not having Karen in her arms somehow left Lina feeling even more bereft and she’d sobbed through the entire ceremony, making a spectacle of herself in front of hundreds of people she didn’t know. She didn’t remember the procession at all, just the stiffness of Wei’s suit jacket, into which she’d kept her face pressed, inhaling the scent of public transport, shoe polish, and sweat. Afterward, she and Wei were led to the crematorium and storage facility where their parents’ ashes were kept. The building didn’t look so different from the school where Lina worked. It had been recently built and still smelled of paint varnish. The interior felt commercial, impersonal. The hallways echoed beneath their feet. The cremation urns were stored in little square lockers, rows of which stretched from floor to ceiling. Each locker had a name, a birth and death date, and a small photograph of the deceased attached to the locker door. They’d looked for his parents first, and then hers, and found that although their forms had been processed at the same time, the two couples’ urns were located in different aisles. Out of all the terrible things, that one felt like the final kick in the gut.
“It was what you would expect,” Lina said. “There were a lot of people there. The whole silk factory showed up, seemed like. And some of your dad’s friends from Yunnan had heard. They came up.”
She could hear the rustling fabric of his jeans as he got more comfortable.
“I heard too, at the time. I wanted to come down but I couldn’t.”
Couldn’t—or wouldn’t? He would have been gone ten years by then. He had kept tabs on them for that long without ever seeing them.
“They were your parents,” she said.
“You don’t understand. That was ’99. I was wanted.”
“Ha!” The single syllable echoed along the floors of the cathedral. “It’s not like you haven’t escaped the law before.”
“No,” Qiang said. “Not the law, Lina. I was wanted by other gangs. Tian a, if it had been a matter of just turning myself in…”
Lina and Wei had spent most of that funeral trip in the tea lounge of the hotel, Wei trying to stay on top of his work and Lina staring out the window at the minimal foot traffic. They had chosen a hotel halfway between their hometown and the city center. After dark, they’d taken walks in the direction of the village until the number of street lamps along the roads started to diminish. Then they turned around and walked back. Neither of them brought up the fact that Qiang wasn’t there. Lina was so overcome with grief that she remembered it only as a shadow of a thought, but
Wei must have felt differently. His own brother, after all. She should have asked Wei about it. Why hadn’t she taken care of him in the ways that he had taken care of her?
“By that point, I’d made such a name for myself gambling that half the gangs in Beijing wanted me dead and the other half wanted me playing for their tables. Brother Gao hired three guys just to protect me, you understand? Cloudy and I, we never slept without people we knew outside our door. If they’d found out anything about my family, that would have made it too easy for them. I would have been putting you in danger. I knew you and Wei would be going back to America after the funeral, but I couldn’t risk it.”
She hated that the mention of him and Cloudy together stung. Lina wondered what the woman looked like now—if she still seemed so stylish and bold, or if being part of hei shehui had made her less resilient. And what would Lina be like now if things had worked out the way she’d wanted them to when she was twenty-two?
“The last time we spoke, when you came to my house that night, you said that if I was to go with you I’d be safe. That wouldn’t have been true, would it?”
Qiang sighed. “I don’t know, Lina. I don’t know what choices I might have made if you had been with me. My whole life would be different, wouldn’t it? I didn’t lie to you about the fighting—I never fought. I never wanted to and Brother Gao wouldn’t have let me anyway. I made too much money to be risked.”
She pictured Qiang and Cloudy huddled up in a casino suite, a passel of hotel shopping bags cluttered around the foot of their bed and three men with concealed weapons strolling around outside their door.
“So that’s what you’ve been doing all these years? Playing for money?”
“No. Once we had enough money, there were other operational things we could do. There was a group of guys working for us whose job it was to settle disputes between other black-society operations. So our business was mostly managing them. We ran gambling dens because by then we had enough money to pay off cops. Brother Gao, he eventually went off and did his own thing—drug trafficking, prostitution. Me and Cloudy and Jian Hua, though—we never got into anything like that. For a while, we just laid low. But it takes some time for your name to fall off the radar.”