by Min Jin Lee
“Are you free?” David asked, feeling bold suddenly. “Why don’t you come visit Mother. She must be dying to have a fresh face. It isn’t easy just having one dull son to rely on for visits. You’ve never met Mother. She’s wonderful. Really. Full of vinegar and life.” He was proud of his spry little mother with the sparkling ocean eyes and head full of white curls. Mrs. Greene was tougher than his father, but to her, David could do no wrong.
David watched her face, trying to guess what Ella was thinking as she paid careful attention to his words. He loved looking at her. He wished he could photograph her right at this moment. Her face was fuller and softer since she’d had her child, the line of her jaw connecting smoothly to her long neck. The curve of her breasts appeared higher, and he fought to glance at her collarbone instead, resisting a wish to touch the hollow of her throat with his hand. He had been in love with her for as long as he had known her, which was almost three years. She was engaged when he had hired her, and that should have been taboo enough for him, but his feelings had only sharpened. It was cruel how love could find you at the worst time. When she told him she was pregnant, he’d never felt so unhappy in his life, because he’d entertained a fantasy—albeit not admitted to himself—of being with her someday. And a child would make that less and less likely. Ella had thought David had been upset by the pregnancy news because then he’d have to find and train another AD of development. There were a few times he’d considered telling her about his feelings (if only for the selfish reason that it would relieve him of the pressure he felt inside), but he sensed that such a confession would make a working relationship and perhaps a friendship between a man and a woman impossible. Also, he was terrified that she’d be repelled by such talk and take flight. In his mind, Ella was like a rare bird hidden from view. His mother, an avid birder before she got sick, said there were such creatures in this world whose shadows you were lucky to see—even just once in your life.
After Ella had left the school this morning, less than half an hour before, David recognized what he felt. It was happiness. They would work in the same building again. He’d see her in the lunchroom. Ella would be only a few doors down in Fitz’s office. Colleen was nearly shoved out of his thoughts.
David focused on Ella’s dark pink mouth, which had a natural pout. When she was concentrating on something, the pout grew more pronounced.
“Can you come? I mean, you must have so many things to do.” David felt dumb suddenly for building his air castles again.
“No, I don’t have that much to do right now. I’d love it if I could join you. I like hospitals. I must be the only girl in America who really likes going to hospitals.”
“Oh, because of your father—” David had met Dr. Shim a few times. A lovely man.
“Yes, that must be it. I always think good things. That sounds crazy, I know. The nurses and orderlies were so kind to me when I was growing up—”
Then David remembered how Ella never had a mother, and he wondered if he’d been insensitive to invite her along. Would she think he was bragging about his being a good son?
Ella wanted the clouds in his expression to disappear. “I’d like to go with you if that’s all right. Are you sure?”
David nodded emphatically. “It would please me more than you can know.” He’d meant to say it would please his mother, to have company, that is, but that’s not what came out of his mouth.
Ella smiled at him, not realizing his mistake.
“Let me, please.” David reached out to take her package, and she let him carry it for her. She kept the tea.
“Have you ever had elderberry tea?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“Try it.” She handed him the paper cup, keeping the lid, then realized both his hands were full. “Oh. . .” Ella hesitated for a moment, feeling shy, then moved the cup toward his mouth and tipped it a little so he could have a sip.
David put his mouth on the cup and took a sip. “It’s divine,” he said.
“Yes,” she said, taking it back. “It’s not too hot?”
“No.” He smiled. “Very good. Mmm.”
“More, then?”
“Yes,” he answered, and Ella held the cup to his lips.
Ella took back the cup, and she felt even more shy than she had before. He noticed this and began talking rapidly about the annual campaign. He related funny stories about donors and volunteers they knew in common. She felt she could listen to him talk for the rest of her life. They walked up to Mount Sinai, and in no time they reached the hospital, where they found his mother sound asleep, having taken her pain medication earlier than usual. David kissed his mother on the brow. She was snoring ever so quietly, and he felt happy that she was resting. The monitors and equipment were beeping rhythmically, and they left the room. He took Ella to the cafeteria, where they ate pastries. Neither mentioned Colleen, how it was possible for her to turn up at any time. Ella couldn’t finish her cruller, feeling as though she were swooning. An hour later, she walked him back to school, then walked some more to her father’s office on Park. The walking helped to steady her thinking in a way. If David married Colleen, Ella thought, her heart might break completely.
7 JOURNEY
GEORGE ORTIZ, THE DOORMAN and occasional weekend porter for 178 East Seventy-second Street, had worked for most of his life. Ever since he was sixteen years old, he’d managed to keep a fat roll of twenties in his eelskin wallet. To his surprise, he was now forty-three—that seemed old to him. George was married to Kathleen Leary, a thirty-three-year-old schoolteacher with a master’s in English, but before her, he had known all kinds of girls. He’d plowed through all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors before getting down on bended knee with a one-carat diamond ring bought with cash from Kravitz Jewelers on Steinway to ask Kathleen to have and to hold his pitiful high school dropout ass till death do us part. Anyway, this girl that Unu Shim—his buddy as well as resident of 178 East Seventy-second—had been dating for the past two months was a trip. Her outfits were sort of out there, like from magazines or the movies. He liked her tough-girl stroll, because it reminded him of his baby sister, but the hats were a little crazy.
Today, she was wearing a black one, like the kind that Laurel and Hardy wore, and a black dress that looked like a tight bathrobe made out of a long-sleeved T-shirt. It wrapped across her waist and hips and was secured by a belt made out of the same fabric. There was only one thing a guy could possibly think of when a girl put on a dress like that: one knot kept him from a naked girl. Damn. But George Ortiz was a married man who had danced a lot of salsa—if you know what I mean—and he felt he was above any excessive ogling. A light-skinned Puerto Rican with a head full of wavy black hair and innocent deer eyes, he was proud of the fact that despite the number of honeys from his old neighborhood who called out to him from the street, saying, “¿Oye, Jorge, qué tal?” he did little except to toss out an occasional “Hey, mami!” George never took down the digits or touched los regalos. Kathleen Leary—a small brunette with sharp shoulders and an unforgettable pair of tits—was the wheel and sliced bread and Christmas rolled up into one, and he’d never fuck that shit up.
Casey was a nice-looking girl and not stuck-up, so it made sense that she and Unu got together, but what made George laugh was watching his boy Unu act as though this were no big thing. Unu claimed that he was finished with love.
“The divorce took all the juice out of me, man,” Unu said to him after shooting pool one night at Westside Billiards. They’d each had four or five bottles of beer and a wine cooler that tasted like apples that the bar was handing out for free. “Women are great, but I will never be shackled again. No disrespect to Kathleen. She’s an angel. The very last one. Almost worthy of my hombre George.” Unu patted George’s back. Thump, thump. Then a high five followed by two fist bangs—top and bottom. The alcohol had made Unu’s face red and his eyes watery. When Unu, the Upper East Side resident and Wall Street guy, hung out with George, the doorman from Rockaw
ay Beach with the perfect biceps, Unu spoke in a kind of frat-boy vernacular left over from his days at Dartmouth mixed with the street lingo picked up from riding the subways and watching television shows about New York City. George thought it was silly of Unu to try to talk this way, but he sensed that Unu wasn’t mocking him but was merely trying to connect. Unu was a good guy. You could count on him.
Naturally—about women—George let Unu think what he wanted to think. There were rules in Rockaway: Don’t talk shit about someone’s girl, and never tell a guy who to like or dislike. Those were all what you called lose-lose propositions. You let your boy make his mistakes (everyone invariably did), then go for a beer when he says jump. His brother had been married to a skinny girl who drank too much for like way too long, but hey, that was his thing. Sometimes a man liked to suffer. Besides, Eileen made the best sausage and peppers in the neighborhood. That was another thing George had learned in his forty-three years: Everyone had their good points. Anyway, he knew what a boy in love looked like. He looked a lot like Unu.
George reached over to help with Casey’s packages. She was holding a large hatbox and two tote bags, one stuffed with papers from work and the other with millinery supplies.
“Give you a hand?” he asked.
“No, no, it’s okay,” she answered, readjusting a long-handled cloth bag sloping off her shoulder. It was less than half a dozen steps to the elevator. “Thank you, though. You’re a sweetie—but can you buzz me up?”
“He knows you’re coming. The apartment door will be open. He was taking a shower about ten minutes ago. Said to send you up.” George winked. “Guess he’s cleaning up for you.”
“Well, that’s good.” Casey laughed. “Soap is a nice thing. We girls like clean.”
“Don’t get me started.” Kathleen made him scrub his nails with a little brush before dinner.
Casey smiled at him. He was a nice man.
George watched her walk away, then step into the elevator. Not enough bounce in the rear, he thought. The bigger the cushion, the better the pushin’.
Casey nudged the door open. Unu had grown up in Dallas, the youngest of four—with two brothers and a sister. He’d attended the St. Mark’s school and was president of his fraternity at Dartmouth. Member of the golf team and blackjack aficionado. Walter and Hugh, who covered Unu, a buy-side analyst, said that he was crazy smart, but not very flexible in his market calls. The only thing Casey didn’t get about Unu was his divorce. The other aspects of his life made sense to her. She was admittedly curious about the former wife who’d left him for her childhood boyfriend. They had no contact, but he didn’t appear bitter about her.
Unu walked out of his bedroom, wet hair combed, wearing faded khakis and a clean white undershirt. His feet were bare, and short black hairs sprouted from his toes.
“You left the door open,” she said.
“Baby, take whatever you want.” He waved his arms out like a modest game show host before a stage filled with prizes. Unu had no regard for crime or theft, leaving valuables out in the open and bundles of cash unlocked in drawers.
Casey pretended to case the apartment. She put down her tote bags on the nearest chair and placed her free hand on her hip.
“Hello there,” he said, and came over to kiss her. “Good dress.”
“Thank you,” she mumbled.
Casey liked the way he kissed. He had this way of putting her lower lip or upper lip between his tenderly, while his left hand would recede to the back of her neck, his fingers playing in her hair. He closed his eyes when he did this.
“Mmm. Thank you,” he said. Unu removed her hat and held her close to him.
“For what?” She laughed.
“For coming by. For wearing your perfume. I looked forward to seeing you today.”
Casey smiled. What was she to make of him? He wasn’t her boyfriend really. They didn’t call each other that. She had no idea what she was to him exactly. They never spoke about love or the relationship, but he’d been quite clear that he’d never marry again, and Casey, twenty-five years old, about to start B school in the fall, had no interest in marriage herself. But they had something between them, and all of their restraint and refusal to make explicit commitments had given their meetings a kind of inadvertent mystery; perhaps it could even be called romance. It was as if at any moment, each could decide to vanish. Expect nothing and never disappoint; never harm and be kind. Enjoy the moment. Those precepts seemed to govern their behavior. It was an interesting way to run a relationship and unfamiliar to both of them. Casey liked the freedom and spontaneity of their arrangement, but at times it was downright odd and hard to explain to others (the boys at the desk were often asking their status). Also, now and then she wanted to know what to call what they had, in light of what seemed to her to be real feelings.
“What are you holding in your other hand?”
“I have a present for you.” Casey lifted up the hatbox by its cord handle.
“It’s not my birthday or Christmas.”
“Shall I return it?”
“No.” He took it from her, a big grin spreading across his face.
Casey watched him open the hatbox. She loved to give presents. If she had pots of money, she’d never be able to stop.
“It’s amazing,” he said. Unu put the gray fedora on his head. It had a conservative brim and an anthracite-colored, tailored-bow band. Size 7½.
“How’s the fit?” Casey tilted her gaze to check his profile. He looked wonderful, like a Chinese movie star from the forties.
“Perfect. How did you know?”
“Lucky.” That wasn’t true exactly. Casey had a knack for estimating sizes just by eyeballing a person’s head. She could do it for clothing as well. Again, she had talents that were essentially inapplicable to her life.
“Let me thank you.” Unu said, and he kissed her again, and yielding to the slight pressure of his tongue, her lips opened a bit.
Using both hands, Unu untied the belt of her dress, and he let it slide off her body. “I always wanted to do that.”
“And you did.”
Casey didn’t change her facial expression and stood there wearing her underwear and boots. He led her to the sofa.
Casey enjoyed having sex with Unu. He was lean and agile. It could be, at times, not gentle, and it was always wordless, but she could tell what he liked by the way he moved. They understood each other’s responses. She wanted to please him, and he her.
It wasn’t making love. Something happened after Jay and the two girls where Casey learned that she could climax without having affection for a man at that present moment. This was what men could do—make sex a physical sensation, not always emotional—and somewhere along the line, Casey realized that she could do it, too. Could all women? No one would dispute the superiority of sex with romantic feeling, but it was possible for her to enjoy the act without it. Tina would have been shocked. Casey did not think she was in love with Unu, nor he with her. And as for this thing about being in love, she was growing awfully suspicious of it.
They had started the sex with him on top, then he lifted her over him so she was propped over his slim hips. If right then Unu were to tell her that he loved her—from passion or from reason—she would not have said it back. Not to be cruel, but because she wasn’t sure if love was a true and constant feeling. The next time Casey would utter those words, if ever, she wanted to say them with conviction and permanence. She missed Jay Currie, but she didn’t regret their breakup. And gradually, she did think about him less and less than before. Especially after she had met Unu. The heart seemed to her fickle or forgetful, or perhaps, in an uglier way, it was hidden with possible betrayals. Was love a decision, then? Regardless, in the alternative to this feeling called love—maybe respect, kindness, and pleasure between two bodies and minds having sex were the ideals worth shooting for. As she rocked her hips over his, Casey closed her eyes and tried not to think anymore.
Unu was trying to make
sure that Casey climaxed before he did. Part of it was because it seemed expedient to make sure your lover was happy, but also he liked watching her. When she came, her forearms bent while her upper arms remained still, making sharp Vs, and for a second or two, her fingers would flutter delicately like the tapered wings of a dragonfly. On the oval of her face, was it first a quiet fear and then a visible relief? Her eyes would shut tightly for two or three more seconds, then open wide as if she were waking up from an absorbing dream. Then she’d shift her body to appease his.
When it ended, that awkward moment of separation arrived, then a kind of absurd shyness would follow. Casey wanted to shower. After, they’d go to the House of Wing for dinner. It was often sex before dinner, then sometimes again in the late evening. Then Casey would leave, always refusing to spend the night. In two months, they had developed comforting routines for their Saturday nights together.
They had a favorite restaurant—a cheap Chinese noodle house two blocks from his apartment where they ordered enough dishes to cover the laminated table.
“And how was Sabine’s today?” Unu asked.
Casey shrugged. She’d sold six hats, two scarves, and seven hair accessories. Two pairs of gloves. Buying Unu’s hat had wiped out all of her earnings for the day, however.
“Just sent off my first tuition check to NYU,” she said.
“Yeah?” Unu smiled, sensing she wasn’t fully happy about it.
“Sabine said that was—nice. Her word.” Sabine had not been impressed with Stern Business School at NYU. And Casey had never bothered to tell her that she’d been wait-listed to Columbia. In fact, she had made it seem as if she’d only gotten into NYU, which was technically true.
“It’s none of her business, Casey.”
“I lied to her.”
“It’s none of her business.”
“I could have told her about Columbia. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Sure you do.” Unu served her the tofu and spinach that she liked. “You didn’t want to be beholden.” He stressed the last word, making it sound even stranger than it was.