by Vivian Yang
“You’re scared of him?”
“No. He’s just a nuisance. I truly don’t want to have anything to do with him anymore, you understand?”
Lu Long looks into my eyes and says, “Yes. I support you, Sha-fei. Let’s go out through the service entrance in the back of the kitchen.”
I follow him out. Soon, we are under the Arch of Triumph leading onto the Manhattan Bridge. Here, we stop.
“When you walk fast, you look like a bird hopping around,” Lu Long says.
“I suddenly feel like a bird let out of a cage now,” I reply with a smile.
“If we have a daughter, I hope she will have pretty dimples like yours,” Lu Long says suddenly, looking at my face.
“What are you talking about? You’re crazy!”
“I’m crazy for you!” He embraces me right there under the arch.
“Lu Long, don’t. Restrain yourself.”
He quips, “Order obeyed. By the way, do you know the older man the American was arguing with?”
“That’s Mr. Lou, my sponsor.”
“That cheap skate sponsor is your father’s friend from Columbia University?”
I just nod and do not protest his characterization of Gordon.
He looks at me seriously and says, “I’ll show you soon, Sha-fei. I’m going to be a Columbia graduate, too. I will make you proud of me.”
“I already am, Lu Long. Don’t be silly.”
“You know I’m better than all of them, don’t you.”
I hold his hand and reply, “Yes, Lu Long, I know that.”
Lu Long starts kissing me again.
A young American man at the wheel of a Ford pickup honks his horn and waves at us. With a grin, he drives all the way onto the Manhattan Bridge.
I smile at Lu Long and say, “He thinks you’re a stud, Lu Long.”
“What’s that?”
I turn red. “Nothing.”
18 Edward Cook: Season’s Greetings
When I adopted Moratorium, it was purely an impulsive act. I soon discovered that there isn’t a worse place in the world to raise a pet than in an apartment in New York City. The little creature is on a leash almost round the clock and my whole place just stinks. Bella, my Czech cleaning woman comes in three times a week now, to walk the dog in addition to dusting. I bet Moratorium is so used to Lysol disinfectant spray that he uses it as a fix every other day. I wasn’t completely free from concern that Bella could be a petty thief, or an Ivana Trump aspirant with a penchant for a sniff or two in the Free World. Fortunately, my worrying seems to be unfounded so far.
I could never have imagined so much attention for one little pet. But every time I walk into the apartment after a shitty working day, Moratorium comes wagging and lapping, hopping right into my arms, warm and fuzzy. Suddenly, it all seems to be worthwhile. As a friend, he sure beats the species with two legs and no heart. Or maybe I’ll take that statement back.
Dad’s wife Michelle has invited me up to Connecticut for Thanksgiving. I told her thanks but I’d pass. I’m never too big a fan of family gatherings. I can’t remember a Thanksgiving dinner where my parents didn’t quarrel. It was almost a blessing when they finally got divorced. Perhaps as a result of my association with the Thanksgiving meal, turkey became my least favorite food back when I was in high school. More recently, while in Hong Kong, a bunch of Chinese friends challenged me to try the snake elixir soup, a local delicacy.
“You will like it, Edward,” my skinny friend urged. “It tastes like chicken, maybe closer to turkey.”
“I don’t like turkey.”
“Turkey?” the Chinese man asked with a tone of surprise. “Turkeys are Americans. We here in the Colony are more British. We wouldn’t like turkey, either. The snake soup belongs to a much higher rank. Try it.”
For a minute, I wondered whether he was calling us Americans turkeys for not knowing better or that his English was less than perfect. I declined the snake elixir nonetheless.
The weather has suddenly turned cold, but I need no additional reminder that it’s the second half of the fourth quarter. Attorneys and clients alike, with red-rimmed eyes and husky voices, are trying frantically to make that deadline before the end of the fiscal year. The financial statements of many corporations are due to close for their annual reports. Moratorium went unfed until after midnight for a couple of nights straight while I slaved away at work, skipping the firm’s Christmas party at some Hanover Square private club altogether. I have little time to track down that old fox Gordon Lou. This task will have to wait until after year-end, when it will top my New Year’s resolution list.
By the time the giant ball of snowflakes-shaped bulbs is suspended over Columbus Circle, and the Christmas tree is erected in Rockefeller Center, I realize I haven’t been in stores in ages. I don’t have anybody to shop for, it seems, but I can use a little holiday atmosphere. At Bonwit’s, I notice a well dressed but nerdy-looking guy and a sophisticated-looking Oriental girl hugging on the escalator. A sour feeling rises in me. I fantasize that I look like Roger Moore while James Bond scoops up exotic women left and right …
At the end of the day, I finally buy just one thing, at Lord & Taylor’s: a Tartan dog coat with a matching collar and a bell. Moratorium will look swell on Fifth Avenue this holiday season. And who is to say that some lady in mink with a Pekinese won’t stop to strike up a conversation with me because of the outfit. I smile to myself and hail a cab.
Merry Christmas, one and all!
“Season’s greetings, my big lawyer!”
“Who’s this?”
“Too many women, too-oo-oo … “
"Lotus?"
“There you go,” she laughs.
“Hey. How’s it going? How’s married life?”
“Not bad, not bad. We had a great time on our honeymoon.”
“Where did you go?”
“The usual. Hong Kong and Macao. Tons of relatives out there. Feasting and slot machines every night. It was great. Plus I kept winning at black jack. I told Brainy I was his lucky star.”
“Good for you. So what now? All set to make babies?”
Lotus giggles like crazy. “I can’t. Brainy is not around. He stayed on in Hong Kong for some business. Won’t be back until after the New Year’s.”
"Is that why you called, sugar puss?” I open my fly and slide my hand in.
“Shut up! Actually, I called to thank you for coming to the wedding.”
“You like my present?”
“To tell you the truth, I haven’t gotten around to seeing all the gifts. But thanks.”
“I meant to call you but figured you’d still be away.”
“Oh, right!”
“Serious! I wanted to ask you about your old boss, what’s-his-name.”
“What for?”
“The guy’s in trouble. The IRS may soon look into his finances, so you’d better cooperate.” My dick is still flaccid, I reach for a cigarette with my free hand.
“What are you talking about? How do you know this?”
“Well, I happen to have some reason to believe so.”
“Oh, fuck off. What evidence do you have against him?”
“We’ll find out as we go along. You want to help?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“How about the reward of helping an old friend?” I chuckle to myself at the suggestion. “Oh, by the way, would you be interested in working for me?”
“Doing what?”
“Oh, administration stuff like you did for your old boss. I’d like to have my own immigration law firm some day, and I need bilingual help.”
“Listen, Ed. I’m retired,” she replies with a laugh. Shifting gears, she says, “I was wondering if you have plans for New Year’s Eve.”
“I’ve got a couple of invites but nothing definite at this point. You got something?”
“As a matter of fact, there’s going to be a masquerade on New Year's Eve near Chinatown on West Broadway. Would you lik
e to go with me?”
“That sounds like fun. I’ll go with you, as long as your husband doesn’t kill me. Remember you’re a married woman now.”
Lotus lets out the wildest laughter. “Why would he want to kill you? We’re just going to a party. Besides, if we dress up well, nobody will recognize us.”
I suddenly have an idea. “Did you say it’s a masquerade? How about you dressing up as a geisha woman? I’ll supply the genuine, classic kimono. Have your hair done and I’ll pay for it. Deal?”
She giggles and giggles and says, “Deal. I’ll send the info over to you and let me check out your kimono some time. Survive Sachs & Klein in the mean time. Ciao!”
As soon as I hang up, Moratorium starts barking. He likes to hear me talking on the phone. At this stage, it doesn’t happen too often for me at home.
Lotus is some woman. Not so high caliber compared to someone like Sha-fei Hong, but public school in Little Italy certainly paid off for her. Education definitely is the great equalizer in America. I remember a joke they used to have at Gotham U. (read Gotham Jew for its high concentration) campus: the difference between a Jewish mother who survived the Holocaust and her American daughter is that in one generation she’s turned from a seamstress to a shrink.
Could this also be true of Chinatown residents in New York? I don’t really know. But I do need to get my immigration practice started. Well, another top resolution for the coming year.
December 31, 1985. Walking in Manhattan tonight, I feel like the meat in Lotus’s father’s giant Frigidair box. I am too cold to joke about it with her.
Cops, pickpockets, and tourists are at Times Square waiting to see the descent of the big ball. Manhattanites usually celebrate the New Year away from Mid-town. Lotus is dressed up stunningly as geisha girl. The makeup person she got has virtually turned her into a real Japanese. I decided against wearing a costume just so that I don’t look too silly with a geisha in my arms.
By eleven thirty, Lotus and I have left the masquerade in a loft on West Broadway near Canal, relishing the fact how everybody at the party thought she was a Japanese babe who couldn’t speak a word of English. She played the game so well she made me feel like a real cross-cultural, crossbreeding stud! And now we are braving the cold, heading for Chelsea. I'm wearing a dark gray Burberry tweed with a bottle of 1980 Chardonnay tucked inside my pocket, stolen from the party to drink in the cab. Wrapped under Lotus’s long coat, all she wears is the kimono, my first major purchase from the Oriental Bazaar in Tokyo. Her giant, beehive hairdo is beautiful. “The hairdressers on Pell Street can do anything you want them to,” she tells me with her face muffled. “They perfected their trade in Hong Kong.”
The way Lotus looks tonight is absolutely striking, better than she did in all her Chinese wedding gowns.
We run after a couple of yellow cabs like the NYPD chasing a limo-load of armed Mafioso into nearby Little Italy, but to no avail. On foot, we head West, in the opposite direction, braving the wind from the Hudson. Suddenly, Lotus dashes off the sidewalk onto the middle of the ice-covered street, nudging a pony-tailed blonde man away from an opened taxi door. She drags me into the back seat and eases in herself.
"Twentieth and Sixth, the Limelight," she calls out to the cabdriver, whose medallion identifies him as "Andre Novitovic." The bearded Russian bear bellows into the cold air, "Get out ov my vay."
Canal Street is a blinking Christmas tree. Red-lighted trucks and yellow cabs are clawing in and out of the Holland Tunnel, bumper to bumper, stopping and going at the flick of green traffic lights. Horns and sirens pierce the frigid air. Jaywalking pedestrians drive tempers thin.
As our cab makes a left turn onto the Avenue of the Americas, a homeless man in a Knicks cap leaps out of the dark and pounds on my side of the window with a bare fist. "Happy New Year! Spare some change, please! Change!"
“Get lost!” I yell at him. Then, to the driver, "Let's get out of here!"
Lotus looks at her watch again and again. "Relax. We'll get there by midnight," I assure her.
Just one more block to go. I can already see Limelight’s steeple and the stained-glass windows with beams of light flickering from inside. I can already hear the melody of "Auld Lang Syne" in my head. In a few minutes, I'll join the nearly two thousand people there screaming "Happy New Year!" at the top of our lungs. Flowing beers and dirty dancing at the chapel will follow. If I’m lucky, I may even get to fondle Lotus, underneath her kimono, in the original church pews. Holy shit! Limelight, a former church turned nightclub. Speaking of "God is dead." Hey, it's New Year's Eve in New York City!
Then, out of the blue, hands on her stomach, Lotus whines, "Oh, no. I feel like throwing up. Could be something I ate at the party."
I let out a laugh. "Don’t blame me. Sounds to me like your honeymoon seeds have taken root. Early morning sickness for the New Year’s. Way early. Ha-ha!"
"You're so sick," Lotus chides. "This is not good." Her eyes are fixed on the front side mirror as if in a trance. Before I can stop her, she opens the taxi door, charges to the sidewalk, and bangs the door closed.
The traffic lights turn to green. The cars in front of us are beginning to move. But no sooner have I begun to wonder whether Lotus will jump back into the car than my peripheral vision notices a black car coming my way from the side at full speed ……
19 Gordon Lou: He Laughs Best
The balsam fir Christmas wreath is still hanging above the fireplace. Below, a tongue of flame continues to lick the wood. Eyes closed, palms clasped, legs crossed, I sit on the meditation mat in a perfect lotus position. Ripples of warmth accost me. My mind is blank, my body immaterial. The blaze is colorless, not crimson-like blood diluted in water.
Jun Zi Bao Chou, Shi Nian Bu Wan – “Ten years is not late for a gentleman plotting his revenge.” New Year’s Eve still tender, and I am patient gentleman.
In this dreamy state of eternity, I hear the initial two telephone rings for which my subconscious has been waiting. Lifting my eyelids otherworldly, I see rested on the andiron an ashy jack-o’-lantern in the shape of a log. Next comes the second set of two rings. I laugh to myself.
Standing up, stretching, exhaling deeply, I reach for the Christmas wreath and throw it into the fire. Soon, the aroma of balsam fills the air. I walk to the top level and activate the button for the skylight windows. A single star shines through the vault of frosty sky. A nova for the New Year.
Later this morning, at ten, as planned, Lotus and Dong Kee will be my first guests for the New Year. I tighten the belt of my heavy terry robe and head upstairs to the bedroom. Lotus has visited here once before, but I’m certain she will pretend in front of her husband that she sees it for the very first time.
The soft light over my bedside table shadows a small blue gift bag: TIFFANY & CO. Inside lies a necklace – Lotus’s bonus for a nearly impossible job well done. Fingering the shining white satin ribbon on the signature blue box, I visualize the graduated South Seas on Sha-fei’s beautiful neck. Perhaps someday. Perhaps, not. The key, as always, is – Ren -- to endure and cultivate patience.
I should contact Sha-fei before our next scheduled meeting, just to make sure she doesn’t get upset when she hears about the younger Cook’s death. DellaFave’s annual fund-raising event is coming up soon, this time at the Pierre. Ted Cook is likely to be there. I’d better warn Sha-fei not to say that she dated the bastard’s offspring. A year ago, when I first went to this DellaFave bash at the Waldorf, it would not have been possible that Sha-fei would even be invited, certainly not by DellaFave. But here she is, a feisty, fledging bird ready to flutter onto his platter. So am I jealous of this chick? Sha-fei is slipping away from me like sand through my fingers. For a moment, everything feels futile, without a purpose.
I remember the Buddhist teachings. Worldly things are of little value when compared with the ultimate state of spiritual inner peace. Nirvana, the highest state of being, is the goal of a true practitioner. For me, a clumsy believer
, ascending to the comfort zone of an earthly stratum is worth years of effort. All I pray is that I not be banished into the nether world of Yin, where the ghosts of Tao and Marlene would haunt me. As for the white devil Ed Cook himself, he paid for his deeds. It is strictly revenge. Buddha’s Bao Ying – the appropriate retribution. It’s His judgment, and I have a free conscience.
As I answer the door at ten on the dot, Lotus’s icy cheek touches mine. “Happy New Year, Boss.”
For a split second, I am unable to resist her. I hug her and pull her inside. “Happy New Year to you. Do come in!” Dong Kee follows her in.
Helping Lotus with her coat, I notice she’s a lot taller than usual. “I didn’t know you were still growing,” I tease her.
Glancing at her tiny booted feet and her black stockings, I imagine her undressing and look away. Lotus steps “tap, tap” in place, rubs her hands together and exclaims, “It’s nice and warm here!”
“An understatement,” corrects Dong Kee. “It’s stunning here. It’s a triplex, right, Boss Lou?”
I nod and say, “Thanks, Dong Kee. Thank you both!”
Dong Kee says immediately, “It’s our pleasure. The Chairman says anytime, Boss Lou. Just let me know.”
Lychee eyes rolling, Lotus chimes in, “It’ll be our pleasure, Boss. Seriously.”
My chin twitches when our eyes meet. I turn to Dong Kee and ask, “You already spoke to Mr. Siew?”
“Yeah. We went to pay respects to him earlier with the clan. He was quite approving.”
I nod and smile. “Give him my best, please.”
“We sure will,” says Lotus.
They follow me up my circular staircase to the second level and sit down on rattan chairs in the broad corridor leading to my bedroom. “Anything to drink?” I offer.
“I’ll take care of it, Boss,” Lotus stands up and volunteers. “Do you have Jasmine?”
“I have everything you can name,” I say with a smile.