The Misfortune Cookie: An Esther Diamond Novel

by Resnick, Laura

  Rather than answering, he said, “We were able to examine the corpse earlier. Nelli exhibited no peculiar reaction to it.”

  Watching John’s brother fuss over Benny’s body, I asked, “How did you get Nelli close enough to the coffin to—”

  “John has told his family and the Yees that Nelli is a therapy dog and that I brought her here to comfort those who have trouble expressing their grief. Since we are in America, this explanation was received without the incredulity it would produce in most societies.”

  I looked at Nelli. She drooled a little.

  “I gather she hasn’t noticed any demonic entities at this festive gathering?”

  “No,” said Max. “Have you noticed anyone suspicious in your perusal of the visitors?”

  “Well, there’s a gang member here. He knew Benny a long time, so he must have known how superstitious he was. But I think street gangs usually go in for something more direct than murder by cookie.”

  “Hmm.”

  John’s brother finished repairing the damage to Benny, then went to check on the Yee family.

  Realizing I was a little mussed after my tumble across the room, I patted my hair and straightened my clothing. Then I turned to Max to continue our conversation. I was about to suggest Mrs. Yee as a likely murder suspect when a woman said in an American accent, “Oh, my God, that was the best ever! I have to thank you.”

  I turned to find Susan Yee greeting me. A pretty woman with a short, chic haircut, she wore black slacks and a simple black silk blouse. She exchanged introductions with us, pointed out that Nelli was an impractical size for a therapy dog in Manhattan, and then said to me, “Jumping in the way you did, you saved my aunt from an aggravated assault charge.”

  “By happy coincidence, I also saved the other woman from a crushed skull.”

  “Oh, she deserved it. But I wouldn’t want to see my aunt go to prison over trash like that. And watching that disgusting woman go flying into the coffin that way, and then getting dragged out of here by John!” She laughed, then covered her mouth and looked around, apparently remembering she was at a wake. She leaned forward and said in a low but enthusiastic voice, “It was priceless!”

  “She seemed to be, um, close to your uncle,” I said.

  “Close? That’s one word for it, I suppose,” Susan said with a sneer. “But no one expected Aunt Grace to blow her top like that. We thought she didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know that her husband was, er, personally involved with that young woman?” Max asked.

  “Well, Aunt Grace certainly had her suspicions that there was someone. Especially since it’s happened before—Uncle Benny keeping a woman, I mean.” Susan seemed to be as indiscreet as she was harsh. Maybe she noticed the surprise in our expressions, since she said, “Yeah, I know, I know. Don’t speak ill of the dead, and all that. Especially not if you’re Chinese.”

  “Ah.” Max nodded. “Reverence for ancestors.”

  “And for elders,” she added with a courteous nod to him. “But in all honesty, my uncle was kind of a pr . . .” She hesitated, looking at Max, then said to me, “Uh, not a very nice man.”

  “That must have been hard on your aunt,” I said.

  “Well, I sure couldn’t be married to a guy like that,” she replied. “But you know the older generation. Benny was a good provider, gave Grace three sons, and didn’t ever come home drunk or violent. So she thought he was a good husband.”

  “Despite his infidelities?” I asked. If Susan was willing to gossip about her relatives, then I was certainly willing to encourage her.

  “That upset Aunt Grace, of course. She got really furious with him a few times—well, you’ve seen her temper. But she’s also got an old-fashioned ‘men will be men’ attitude, and she never threatened to divorce him for playing around.”

  I wondered how to ask tactfully, only a few feet away from Benny’s coffin, whether his wife had ever threatened to kill him for it.

  Susan said with a puzzled frown, “Anyhow, I know she suspected lately that Uncle Benny was having another affair, but I was sure she didn’t know who it was. In fact, just this morning, she was saying to my mother that maybe the family should try to help Benny’s secretary find another job. Man, did I have trouble keeping a straight face when I heard her say that.”

  “It didn’t occur to her that your uncle’s secretary might be his girlfriend?” I asked.

  “It sure didn’t seem like it. But then, Uncle Benny had a lot of practice at this sort of thing, so I guess he covered his tracks well. I can remember Grace telling my mother about how stupid and vulgar Benny said his secretary was, the ignorance and mistakes he put up with, all so he could earn merit by keeping this uneducated immigrant girl from turning to prostitution because she’d never find another decent job. Stuff like that.”

  I figured that if Mrs. Yee had really accepted that story from a serial adulterer, then she wasn’t the first woman who chose to believe whatever improbable fiction would help maintain stability in her marriage.

  Or, as an alternate explanation, maybe she just wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier.

  “So this morning, your aunt wanted to help the young woman?” Max mused. “Yet this evening, she attacked her when she showed up here.”

  I said, “I guess all that weeping over the casket gave the game away, and Aunt Grace realized the woman was more than just a grateful employee.”

  “Maybe,” Susan said with a shrug. “Or maybe someone blabbed. Half of Chinatown knew what Uncle Benny was up to. He kept Aunt Grace in the dark, but he wasn’t discreet.”

  “Telling her about the affair now would so unkind, though,” I said. “She’s a new widow, after all.”

  “Even so,” said Susan, “people gossip.”

  “How true,” Max said gravely.

  “Anyhow, Esther, you flinging that awful woman into the coffin like that—it was the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Susan said with a grin.

  “Well, the year’s only a few days old,” I said modestly.

  “Your year,” she said. “But ours is nearly over.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. “That’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

  She nodded. “Two weeks.”

  The traditional Chinese calendar is lunar, like the Jewish calendar, and none of the annual milestones coincide with the Gregorian solar calendar that’s used throughout the West. Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, usually occurs in September, but occasionally it falls in October. The Chinese New Year is sometimes celebrated in January, sometimes in February.

  So as Susan had just noted, in the Chinese calendar, the old year was in its final days now.

  The Lunar New Year is always a big event in Chinatown. It kicks off with the firecracker festival, in which impressively costumed lion dancers roam the streets, accompanied by musicians. They go from shop to shop throughout the neighborhood, dancing outside the doorways (and sometimes going inside) to demand “lucky money” in red envelopes for the New Year. They’re also fed big heads of cabbage, which they “chew” up and “spit” out at the gathered crowd, to share the good luck and abundance that the green vegetables represent. If you don’t mind getting cabbage and firecracker confetti in your hair, it’s a fun day out. The famous Dragon Parade, which is usually on television, wends its way through Chinatown a week later.

  Given what a bust the recent New Year had been for me, starting off jobless and in jail, maybe I’d aim for the Chinese New Year as my chance to start over, shed bad habits, and get a certain man out of my system.

  “So how did you two know Uncle Benny?” Susan asked us. “If you’re two of his dearest friends, then, boy, am I embarrassed. But, no, I guess I’d have seen you around before now, if you were close to him. Did you do business with him or something? I know he did business with a lot of people,” she added, looking around at the dense
crowd.

  Max and I exchanged a glance, realizing at the same moment that we hadn’t prepared an explanation for our presence at this wake. Susan had just handed us a good reason for being here, but I wondered what sort of business we should say we had done with Benny.

  Then inspiration struck me. “I’m an actress. Benny told me he was backing a film and there might be a part in it for me.”

  “Seriously?” Susan rolled her eyes. “Oh, no.”

  People in New York often react that way to meeting actors, so I ignored it. “He said there’s a female Caucasian character, about my age, in the story. I guess the actress who originally had the role recently broke her leg?” I hoped I was right in thinking that had happened before Benny died, rather than after.

  “Believe me, Esther, you don’t want any part of my brother’s piece-of-crap film.”

  “All the same,” I said, “I’d like to talk to him and see—”

  “Forget it. If you’re serious about having an acting career—”

  “I have an acting career,” I said defensively.

  “—then working on this film would be a complete waste of your time.”

  Some distance behind her, I could see John now. He had returned from evicting Benny’s mistress and was mingling with the Yees. He checked on Mrs. Yee, who grimaced a little as they spoke but didn’t seem to need emergency medical care. Then he zeroed in on Ted, who was still sitting apart from the others and looking like he wished he was somewhere else.

  Susan continued, “Anyhow, now that Uncle Benny’s dead, there won’t be a film. Benny was Ted’s only backer. And my cousins didn’t approve of the investment, so my aunt won’t continue throwing good money after bad.”

  “Because her kids will tell her not to?”

  “That’s right.”

  I tried to picture what it would be like to have a mother who did what I told her, but my imagination just wouldn’t stretch that far.

  “Esther,” said Max, “I think John is trying to get our attention.”

  “You know John Chen?” Susan asked in surprise, looking over her shoulder at him.

  “We have a friend in common with him,” I said.

  “Is that how you met Uncle Benny?” she asked. “Through John?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” I said. “You’re right, Max. John’s waving at us. Let’s go see what he wants. Please excuse us, Susan.”

  “And please accept our heartfelt condolences on your bereavement, Miss Yee,” Max added. “Come, Nelli.”

  8

  Face

  Social credit; crucial to reputation and status, for oneself and one’s family.

  When Max and I reached John’s side, I smiled gratefully at him, since he obviously intended to introduce us to Ted. I was even more pleased to discover that John had already broken the ice for me.

  “So John says you’re, like, an actress?” said Ted. “And you’re interested in reading for my film?”

  “That’s right.” I nodded eagerly.

  “So, like, have you done any acting?”

  I gave him a verbal rundown of my résumé, which included some TV roles—the best of which had been on The Dirty Thirty—as well as a long list of stage credits, including playing one of the two female leads in the Off-Broadway production of The Vampyre in autumn.

  “Whoa, that’s awesome,” said Ted. “You’re, like, a real actress.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m like.” Fudging a little, I added, “And I gather you need to cast someone quickly so you can continue production.”

  “Well, um . . .”

  First I’d get him to offer me the part. Then I’d get Thack to make sure I got paid as much as this production could afford. It was obviously non-union, so this would be a matter of finesse and negotiation.

  “I’m free tomorrow,” I said to Ted. “When can we meet?”

  “We’re burying my uncle tomorrow.”

  Feeling gauche, I said, “Oh, of course. I’m sorry. Maybe a day or two after th—”

  “No, no, tomorrow’s cool,” he said absently. “I’m just wondering how long this funeral thing will take.”

  John was right; Ted would apparently miss Benny’s money more than he’d miss Benny.

  “Mom?” Ted called. “Hey, Mom!”

  “Ted, this is a wake,” his mother admonished as she approached us. “We should keep our voices down.”

  “Oh, come on, Mom. Aunt Grace and that hooker from Benny’s office just went at it right in front of the coffin like—”

  “Ted, please,” said his mother with a long-suffering expression. “Your aunt or your cousins will hear you.”

  “By the way, Esther,” said Ted, “the way you jumped in there, walloped Aunt Grace, and threw that girl on the coffin—it was totally awesome!”

  “I didn’t wallop your aunt, I—”

  “How do you do? I am Lily Yee, Ted’s mother,” the older woman interrupted with a pleasant smile. She spoke English precisely, with a delicate Chinese accent. “I’m pleased to meet you.”

  I introduced myself, then said, “And this is my friend, Dr. Maximillian Zadok.”

  “How do you do, sir?”

  Rather than respond, Max stared mutely at Lily Yee, looking dumbstruck. His blue eyes were wide, his mouth hung open slightly, and he seemed unaware that I had just introduced the two of them.

  “Max?” I prodded.

  “Hmm? Oh!” He blinked. “Pardon me, madam. I am very pleased to make your acquaintance. I, uh . . . I . . .”

  He went back to staring at her. And I looked at both of them, wondering at Max’s reaction.

  Yes, Lily was a beautiful woman, elegantly dressed, with a gracious manner. I assumed she was at least in her mid-forties, since her daughter looked mid-twenties; and Lily might well be in her fifties, for all I knew. Good bone structure, good skin, and good grooming made her age hard to guess. She wore her black hair in a heavy bun at the nape of her neck, which complimented her traditional dress. Her style was very different from that of her modern American son and daughter, and it suited her well.

  Yet there was nothing about her to explain Max’s thunderstruck reaction to meeting her. His great age certainly didn’t prevent him from noticing—and sometimes reacting to—pretty women. But I’d never before seen a beautiful face rob him of the power of speech.

  So I looked at both of them, seeking some clue to Max’s odd behavior; but I just couldn’t see anything. Lily seemed a little perplexed by his manner, but not disconcerted, and her smiling courtesy remained unruffled.

  “So, Mom,” said Ted, oblivious to the way Max was staring at his mother, “what time will we be done with the funeral tomorrow? I want to meet Esther afterward.”

  “Oh, really? How nice!” Lily seemed to think he meant we were going on a date. Given her daughter’s reaction to my being an actress, I decided not to correct her. “You can certainly meet in the evening. Or late afternoon.”

  Max stirred himself enough to say, “Er, what is . . .”

  We all looked at him.

  Apparently unaware that he was interrupting, or even that there was anyone else in the room other than Lily Yee, he said to her, “May one ask your given name?”

  “You wish to know my Chinese name?” She smiled. “Of course. It is Xiaoling.”

  “Xiaoling,” Max repeated. “How lovely.”

  “My late husband called me that,” she added, gracefully imparting the information that she was a widow. “But to almost everyone else, ever since I came to America when I was young, I am Lily.”

  “Also a lovely name,” Max said. “Very fitting.”

  She smiled again.

  “So listen, Esther,” said Ted. “Like, here’s the thing . . .”

  “Yes?” I turned to give him my full attention while Max and Lily c
ontinued chatting quietly.

  “I think it’s cool that you want to read for my film, but you’re a different type than Mary.”

  “I’m versatile,” I assured him.

  “You heard her résumé,” John said to Ted. “That’s some range. She’d be great in Mary’s part.”

  I smiled at him.

  “Yeah, but Mary is, you know, a Betty,” said Ted, with a doubtful glance at me. “The actress in this role needs to be really hot.”

  “Esther’s really hot.” John added to me, “No disrespect intended.”

  “No problem.” I appreciated John’s support, but I hadn’t taken offense at Ted’s comment. This was business, not personal, and actors need to know what people see when they look at us. My looks are all right, but I’m no Hollywood bombshell. On the other hand, I also knew that what Ted was seeing right now was an incomplete picture. I didn’t have any of my headshots with me, and I certainly wasn’t dressed for an audition—let alone to try out for the role of a “really hot” love interest.

  So I said to Ted, “Look, I came here through sleet and snow, at the end of a long day of pounding the pavement, and then I wound up in the middle of your aunt’s violent brawl with a hooker and a corpse. So you’re not seeing me at my most attractive. Put me in good makeup and hair, with the right clothes, and I can play a Betty.” And when I did my reading for him, I would convince him by showing up dressed for the role.

  “I think you look nice,” said John.

  “Well, I suppose I really do need to recast that part,” Ted said unhappily. “Mary says there’s no way she can come back to work. Her broken leg was just one thing too many.”

  “I’m not surprised,” John said. “She’s a trooper, but she’s really had a rough time lately.”

  “So I guess I should hear you read, Esther,” Ted concluded with unflattering reluctance.

  I smiled warmly at him. I wanted work more than I wanted flattery, after all. “Great!”

  We agreed to meet late the following afternoon on the set where Ted hoped to resume filming soon. It was a loft on Hester Street, which served as the main character’s apartment in the film.