by York, Mattie
“What? What happened?”
“Well,” Joseph sighed, “you see, since my grandfather had sent his mother to arrange it, the mother of the bride had insisted the oldest daughter must get married first. My grandfather’s mother was so worried to make a match because she knew her son had many bad habits. She saw him, every day, going to temple and she was so relieved. She knew he was trying to be good and she knew the priest’s family would keep him on the right track, so,” Joseph shrugged, “she agreed.”
“Joseph” Alex scowled, “that is an awful story. You are terrible. That is not true.”
“What?” Joseph laughed, “it is true. My grandmother was a good strong wife and had 11 children. I should know.”
“But, your grandfather didn’t marry who he wanted.”
“Such is life,” Joseph shrugged. “He had a good life.”
“I guess. Anyways,” Alex reasoned, “if the youngest was so beautiful, the oldest couldn’t have been that bad looking.”
“Oh yes, she was ugly. So ugly! I know. She was my grandmother.”
“What an awful thing to say,” Alex laughed and punched Joseph on the arm.
41
Chieko pushed open the doors to the Eaton Centre and walked inside. She had really grown to love shopping in Toronto. Sure, it didn’t have the excitement of Tokyo; the flashing neon lights or the frantic crowds, but Chieko thought the Eaton Center had its own vibrant energy. She loved the spacious airy-ness of the tall windowed ceilings with the flock of wild geese suspended in their flight north.
It was so interesting to Chieko that so many nationalities could come together in such a small place, wandering, talking and laughing. The myriad of native languages, the cascading fountains and the classical music created a strange but harmonic melody. “Excuse me. Sorry. Sorry. Excuse me.” Chieko thought it was funny that no one seemed to notice that everyone was different, everyone just seemed to expect it. The gangs of unruly Filipino boys with their pants falling down, strutting along in wild packs calling out to the Latino girls that glided by in tight jeans and tighter tops, spoilt rich girls with long blonde pony tails, acting so above the scene in their lululemon track suits tucked into their UGG boots, carrying tiny purses and yelling into their cell phones on speaker, small groups of Muslim women, their faces hidden behind wrapped cloth, walking at the edge of the crowds to avoid eye contact, tiny wizened Chinese grandmothers in old style sneakers pushing full wire shopping carts, trying to avoid the large shopping bags of wealthy married women with their high hair-sprayed hair, leather pants and diamond rings, the groups of confident black women with immaculately coiffed hair in elaborate curls, twirls and up dos, thick gold earrings, their large muffin tops swaying as they carried their babies on their hips, shouting at their wild haired youngsters that run ahead dodging through the legs of businessmen rushing to catch their next appointment, trying not to spill their coffee over the rushing Jewish men with tall black hats and overgrown side burns styled into ringlets, pushing their way past obnoxious overweight American tourists in white sneakers and white sport socks, guzzling bottles of coca cola and orange soda while old balding Italian men just sit on the benches with their sport coats unbuttoned, sighing as they watch the hectic world go by.
In Tokyo, it was always easy for Chieko to spot the foreigners. You could see them standing at least a head above the crowd, their light coloured hair and skin so distinctive, their manners awkward, like a tall lighthouse precariously standing on the edge of a cliff while the ocean waves crashed and whirled around it. Chieko used to think it was funny how even though no one would never stare directly at the strangers, everyone watched them closely, always curious to know more about them. But here in Toronto, Chieko didn’t have to be so polite. Everyone was different and nobody cared.
Chieko stopped in a corner by the Indigo book store, leaned against the glass window and reached into her purse pulling out a folded letter.
My dear oriental pearl, Chieko
I must apologize to you. I am being taken to London, against my wishes, by my poor misguided wife. She believes a trip to London will not just restore our spirits but add a bit of romance into our marriage. As you can imagine, I have my doubts. Although, thanks to you I know everything shall at least be in good working order! I shall miss our weekly appointment terribly. They have become the highlight of my dull weeks. I may have to book you twice when I return. That delicious thought alone will make my week fly by! Please spoil yourself in my absence. Perhaps buy something a little naughty? I will dream of seeing you modeling what you decide to buy for me when I return. That vision alone shall keep me in good spirits all week, in spite of my wife.
XX Carl
Inside the envelope was 5 crisp 100 dollar bills. Chieko sighed, she would actually miss Carl that week. She liked spending time with him. Ever since their break-through, Carl had become a different person. He was clever and witty. And kind. He listened to her when she talked and asked about her life and how she spent her days. Chieko couldn’t help but feel a small twinge of jealously. Carl was with his wife. Spending the week with her in London. She wished it could have been her on that trip to London. Inside, she knew it was better if Carl spent time with his wife and worked things out with her. Of course. She was his wife.
But that didn’t stop Chieko from looking forward to his return. And she already knew exactly what she was going to model for him. A red jacquard bustier with black lace trim. She had tried it on weeks before but couldn’t justify spending so much on a piece of underwear. Now, thanks to Carl, she could.
Chieko looked up just in time to dodge a family of shoppers coming out of the Roots store with their hands full of dark green paper bags. She stepped over to the side and noticed the heavy silver doors of Tiffany’s. Why did that sound so familiar? Oh yes, Chieko remembered. The silver necklace that Alex always wore from Joseph. It was from Tiffany’s. “I deserve a necklace from Tiffany’s” Chieko muttered. On impulse, she turned and grabbed the door handle.
“Hello. Welcome to Tiffany’s,” a tall man behind a clipboard stopped Chieko as the heavy silver doors closed soundlessly behind her. “Name, please.”
“Excuse me?”
The man sighed impatiently. “If you would like someone to assist you this afternoon,” he said, “your name must be on the list. I will put your name down and our next available associate will come and collect you when she is available.”
“Oh, ok, thank you,” Chieko said. “My name is Chieko.”
“Thank you,” he wrote ‘Chico’ down carefully in the next empty square on his chart. Before Chieko could correct him, he turned and walked away. Left alone, Chieko looked around the quiet store. She stepped up to the glass counter and stared at the large diamonds, admiring the way they twinkled in the lights and imagining how beautiful they would look on her fingers. She leaned further over the glass but Chieko couldn’t see any prices attached to the rings. How much were they?
“Hello. Chico? Can I help you with something special today?” A kind older lady walked down the aisle with a smile.
“Oh yes,” Chieko nodded, “thank you. I’m looking for,” she paused. What was she looking for? A ring? A pair of earrings? A necklace? Yes. “A necklace.”
“Were you looking for gold or silver?” Chieko shrugged. She hadn’t given it that much thought. “Let me just show you a few chains and you can decide,” the saleslady reached under the counter and gently picked up a silver necklace with a dangling rose pendant. “This is from our platinum collection. It is a platinum rose covered in diamonds.” She spread the necklace on the counter top for Chieko to inspect and moved along the display picking out another necklace with a letter A pendant. “This pendant has 19 diamonds. Of course, you can custom order your initial.”
“How much is this one?” Chieko asked twirling the tiny A around her finger. The saleslady reached under the counter and pulled out a small Tiffany’s catalogue. She flipped through the book until she found the letter pendant
and pointed to the price listing. $1500.00. Chieko gasped. She couldn’t afford to pay that much just for a chain.
“Oh, I like this one,” Chieko pointed to a slim silver necklace with a solid silver heart pendant further down the counter.
“Wonderful choice! That is from our Open Heart silver collection,” the saleslady said as she took the necklace out of the display case. She unclasped the back and waited as Chieko held her hair up. Then she wrapped it around Chieko’s neck. “That is one of my favorites,” the saleslady said warmly holding up the silver rimmed hand mirror so Chieko could see for herself.
“Sugoi. It’s perfect!” Chieko moved the solid heart so that it lay perfectly in the hollow of her collar bone. “How much is it?” The saleslady flicked through the catalogue, discretely pointing out the price of $420.00. “I’ll take it.”
As the saleslady prepared the necklace; wrapping it up in blue tissue, inserting it into a small blue box, and then tying it with a white satin ribbon, Chieko reached into her purse and took out the $500 Carl Roberts had given her. She ignored the small feelings of guilt that wanted to lecture her about buying such an extravagant gift for herself. She could have easily bought the cheap lingerie outfit and saved the rest. And, Chieko doubted that a silver necklace was what Carl Roberts had in mind when he told her to buy something for herself. So what? Chieko smiled and took the small blue parcel from the saleslady. It was the perfect present. She had been working so hard. And she never spoilt herself. This was the first thing, besides clothing that she had bought. And how beautiful was it? Anyways, Chieko knew Carl would love it just as much as she did when she modeled it for him wearing nothing else.
Chieko almost skipped out of the shop. She couldn’t help it. She felt so exhilarated. How interesting is life? It can seem so difficult. And then when you think it can’t get any worse, the clouds open up and the sun shines all over you. As she thought over her past year, Chieko was amazed at all that had happened. Would I have ever imagined myself here in Canada, in Toronto, buying myself a silver necklace in Tiffany’s? Just a few months ago she had been so miserable and depressed. She didn’t even know Angela or that there was such a thing as an escort in Canada. “And look at me now!’
Chieko stopped dead and spun around. Her stomach sank. It couldn’t be, could it? But there was no mistaking that familiar low voice. And that laugh. Loud and hearty and oddly high pitched for a grown man. It was right behind her. Chieko spun around and easily spotted his head towering above the crowd. Had he noticed her? Chieko didn’t think so. Not yet. He seemed to be occupied with the girl beside him.
Lowering her head and pushing her hair down to hide her face, Chieko ducked through the crowd. She pressed her face against the glass of a shop window and tried to pretend that she was completely engrossed in, what was she looking at? The new DragonFighter 6? Her hands were shaking but she forced herself not to turn around. In reality, it was only a few seconds, but to Chieko, it felt like hours. Finally, she turned around and frantically scanned the backs of the people in front of her. There. The green baseball cap. On backwards. That was him.
“Chieko, stop.” She warned herself. Stop now. Turn around. Let it go. But she couldn’t stop herself. She had to know more. Keeping her eyes glued on the back of his broad shoulders, she hurried through the crowd to catch up, and then she followed the pair as close behind as she dared. She felt dizzy. She could barely breathe. She thought for sure her heart was going to explode right out of her chest.
It had been months, almost a year, since Chieko had seen John. Since that awful night. He had come home smelling of alcohol and marijuana and another girl and she had locked the bedroom door. He had kicked in the TV and she had flushed his precious plastic bags down the toilet. He had slapped her and kicked her in the stomach and forced himself on her. To have sex with him. After her. After another girl. He didn’t even know the other girl. He said he didn’t care. She was hot. He could do what he wanted. Then he had passed out. She had grabbed all his money and left.
Chieko got a good look at John’s backside as he strolled through the crowd. He looked like hell. His hair was long and scruffy. His clothes were filthy. He was fat. Was he growing a beard? Chieko felt sick. How could she have ever been stupid enough to think she was in love with that? He was gross.
And who was that girl he was with? She looked like a slut. Her hair was greasy. Her high heels were cheap. Cheap low cut jeans. They were too low and too tight. Her flabby stomach hung out over the waist band and her tacky tank top was too short to cover it. Chieko watched as the girl leaned over and whispered something in John’s ear. Chieko gnawed on her lip but couldn’t take her eyes off of the pair as the girl dug her hand deep into the back pocket of John’s jeans, then leaned over and kissed him. Chieko stared as their tongues met and circled each other.
Suddenly, the crowd swelled and Chieko was jostled in a mass of hurried commuters that came rushing out of Dundas station. Chieko spun around frantically, jumping up to look over the throng of heads, wildly searching for the couple, but they were gone. Damé. She had no idea where they went, what they were doing or where they were going. How could she?
Her heart sank. She couldn’t move. Her legs felt like lead. Her stomach ached. It felt like someone had just punched her in the stomach, knocked the wind right out of her. She could feel it. The wind rushing out through her ears as the shopping mall closed in on her. Feebly, she shuffled over to an empty bench and sat down.
Tears streamed down her face. He was supposed to love me. He was supposed to take care of me. He said he would.
42
Dear Diary,
Fine. Fine. I haven’t wanted to get into this. Why? The past is past, right? But I’ve been thinking. If it helps, it helps. And so far, Luann seems to know me better than myself. So who I am not to trust her? So, here goes.
My 3 defining moments are:
Well, I don’t know. I can’t say that I had an awful childhood. We were poor, but nobody beat me up. Nothing like that. My parents were ok. They drank a lot. They smoked a lot. A lot of pot. My parents were good though. They cared for me.
Ok, shit. I guess my first defining moment was the loss of my virginity. Yes, that’s defining moment one. My father’s friends were always trying to touch me when they came to visit. And I liked the attention. And then well, one of them, oh shit, that’s so goddamned cliché. But yeah. He took me outside.
Don’t get me wrong though. He didn’t rape me. I was 13. I knew what I was doing. I liked it. I liked him touching me. That’s why I wore the short skirts. He knew that. He told me that’s how he knew I wanted him. And I did. I don’t know why. He was so strong. His big hands were so warm. He used to follow me with his eyes every day. I didn’t masturbate or anything before. I never touched myself. But maybe I should of. Maybe somebody should have sat down with me and told me it was ok to get excited. I had no idea what I was doing. Just that I got so crazy excited when he came to visit. I couldn’t sit still. And made all kinds of excuses to come out of my room to where he and my dad and the others were drinking and smoking.
That day, I remember it like yesterday. I didn’t even wear underwear. I wore my new yellow skirt. I pulled it up too. Oh, I was brazen. Why? I decided to give everyone a coke while they were playing cards. And I bent over to reach across the table right in front of my dad’s friend. Shit. I can’t even remember his name. What was his name? Anyways, he could see my bare ass. My shirt was really tight too. And I didn’t wear a bra. My father barely looked at me. He said something about my skirt. Asked what happened to it. Did it shrink in the dryer? Or was I growing that god damned fast. Everyone laughed.
It didn’t shrink. I cut it. I wanted it short. I had nice legs. I watched him. That guy. And I waited till he went outside for a smoke. And I followed him. Pretended I had to pick out the weeds in the garden or something. I didn’t have to say much. He followed me to the back yard and grabbed me. Kissed me hard on the lips. And it was good. He touched me. And h
e kissed me. All over. God. It scared me how good it felt. It was so, well, shit it was nothing like I had ever felt before. And damn, once you have a man’s hands run over your skin, you know a real man with big warm hands that know what they want, once he grabbed my tits and took off my clothes and licked me inside, well that was it. My mind and my body were officially blown. Addicted. Shit. He gave me an orgasm. Heaven, right there in my back yard. Under the stars. Goddamned poetic.
So that was my first. You know it barely even hurt. It was worth it. So I guess that was a big defining moment. You could probably say, that’s when I discovered the ways of men. After that, he came to visit my dad lots. And me. And he gave me things. Presents. Money. Usually money as time went on. That’s what I needed. I think I learnt something else though too. That with men, there is no beating around the bush. Be up front with what you want. Tell them you want one hundred dollars. Show them the goods. And then you get two hundred. And then let them fuck you. Good lesson for a thirteen year old right?
So then, I, well, shit, that was my path. I needed money. And it was easy to get. I didn’t even bother with the boys at school. Boys were useless. Sniffing around, nervous, jumpy, horny, zit covered boys. They were no good either. They didn’t know what they were doing. Sure they needed someone to teach them, but it wasn’t going to be me. I couldn’t be bothered.