A Certain Smile

by Judith Michael

  "Because Talia asked me to come."

  He heard more in her voice. "And?"

  "I thought it might be interesting." She gazed across the road, watching the vendor slit open another pomelo and strip off its thick skin. "A lot has changed in my life in the past couple of years, so much that sometimes I can't seem to get a handle on it—" She saw his look of puzzlement, and said, "Understand it. I can't seem to understand what I'll be, who I'll be, when the pattern of my life changes. I thought it was fixed, like a painting, you know, with everything permanently in place, so it never occurred to me to wonder who I really

  was and who I want to—" She stopped. *'I don't know why I'm telling you this."

  "Because I am interested. Because it is often easiest to talk to someone you do not know well. Because when we are far from our familiar world we see ourselves in new ways. Because the sun is shining. Because you are comfortable with me."

  She was smiling. "Probably."

  "Then tell me. A lot has changed in your life."

  "Yes, just in the past couple of years. Adam and Lisa grew up so fast—they took a huge leap when they went into junior high school— and they're thinking about themselves and their world in new ways, and most of the time they don't want me to be involved. I'm not complaining—I know they love me and they like knowing I'm around— but what they really need is to be with their friends, and by themselves, too, and they don't want me hanging over them, telling them what to do or how to solve their problems, worrying about them ... well, they know I can't stop worrying; what they really don't want is to worry about me worrying about them. They want the freedom of not feeling guilty about me, and I understand that, but it's hard to deal with."

  "And it's hard not to feel hurt when they shut you out," Li said. "So you said, The hell with it, I'll go to China.' I'll bet they were surprised."

  She laughed. "They were. You would have thought I was abandoning them."

  "But they got over it."

  "Right away," she said, her voice faintly wistful. "Nothing really changed in their lives, you know. In fact, the day I left, Adam had a soccer game after school and Lisa was going to meet with her ceramics class to get ready for their first show of the school year, so we said goodbye at breakfast and they went off to school and my parents took me to the airport."

  "And have you talked to them since you've been here?"

  "No, I'm going to call at noon today. That's nine o'clock last night in Boulder. I think. Is that right? It makes me feel even farther from them, not even sharing the same day, much less the same time. Oh, time." She looked at her watch, "I really must go."

  "Yes," he said, and stood up. He felt a little dizzy and thought he must have moved too quickly, or perhaps it was the sunlight, or sitting too long. But as Miranda stood with him, he knew it was for none of those reasons; it was a sudden rush of desire, almost overpowering, the

  kind he had not known for years. And from the abrupt way she turned from him, he knew she had seen it in his eyes. "My driver will be waiting at the comer, near the chestnut stand, and he is always on time." He was talking rapidly, to cover the pounding of his heart. "You will not be late, I promise, even with the traffic; we took account of that, and there are many routes we can take. You need not worry; you will be on time."

  Miranda was looking at the market, as if absorbed in the vendors and their wares, but it was clear to Li that her thoughts were elsewhere. They walked in silence, pushing through the crowds that had increased since their arrival. Li was amused to see that Miranda did not cringe when others shoved her; she still had difficulty making progress because she had not learned to shove back, but she had made a beginning. He lost sight of her as shoppers thrust between them, and even though he saw the man following them suddenly come very close, he could not think about him; almost frantically he searched for Miranda amid the throngs until, in a few seconds that felt like an hour, he saw her slim, pale figure, that shaft of light amidst the dark, and caught up to her. "Stay with me," he said, keeping his voice light. "If we lose each other you'll be late for your meeting." And so they moved forward, pressed together in the crowd.

  His car was waiting and when they sat in the back seat and closed the doors it was as if they had entered a cave, hushed and dim behind the tinted windows. Li looked at his watch. "My driver will take you to the garment factory, but I must get to my office for a meeting. If you do not mind, we will go there first and discard me—"

  "Drop you off."

  "Yes, that sounds better, thank you. Drop me off. You will still be on time. When you are finished, would you like me to send him back for you? He can take you wherever you want to go."

  "No, thank you, you've been a wonderful guide but you have other things to think about; you can't be worrying about me. I have so much to do; I'll be busy all day."

  "And for dinner?" he asked.

  She let out her breath in a long sigh. "I could pretend that I'm busy, but. .. no, I have no plans for dinner. Except—" She looked at her hands, then looked up at him. "I probably ought to stay in my room. I have work to do, writing up today's meetings and getting ready for tomorrow."

  "Another dinner alone in a hotel room?" She flushed, and he said, "I'm sorry; I don't mean to criticize you. I would very much like to

  have dinner with you, and if we begin a little earlier than last night, there still would be time for you to do your work."

  Her eyes searched his face. "There is nothing sinister in this," he said quietly. "Just more time to be together."

  "So you can learn more about America."

  "That is not what I'm thinking about right now."

  "What are you thinking about?"

  "You. How to be with you. Nothing more."

  She flushed again, a rush of color suffusing her face. Her eyes were still on his, and Li felt the air charged between them. They sat in opposite comers of the plush seat, but they were being drawn together, and he knew Miranda felt it, too.

  The car pulled up at a modem office building. Li took his briefcase and held out his hand and they shook hands formally. "Thank you for a wonderful morning," she said. "I enjoyed it so much."

  "And so did L" He waited, still holding her hand.

  "Six-thirty," Miranda said. "If that's all right."

  Relief swept through him. "Yes."

  "If you can't come, you can leave a message at my hotel."

  He shook his head and smiled, exultant because, whatever else this day held, he could look ahead, toward their evening. "I'll call you from your lobby at six-thirty. And everything will be excellent."

  He walked across the small plaza to the double doors of his office building. Glancing around, he saw the car with the man following him parked across the street as his own driver edged away from the curb. Miranda was looking back. He held up his hand in farewell and hers came up in just the same way, and then the car plunged into the stream of traffic and was gone. He paused for another moment, still feeling her palm against his when they shook hands, seeing her eyes, direct and searching, hearing her voice, a little wavering on, "Six-thirty," firmer and settled on, "If that's all right."

  Oh, yes, he thought, it is very much all right. Once in the lobby of his building, he gave a moment's serious consideration to what would be the perfect restaurant for dinner. Then, reaching the elevator, he thought of what he had to do: first a meeting to put together a bid on a new project, and then the complicated process of finding out why he was being followed, and whom he could get to quickly, to end it— someone high enough in the bureaucracy to change an order with one phone call.

  He was angry at being forced to do all this. They had left him alone for so many years; he had created a life that was quiet and orderly and

  de

  unthreatened, and it was infuriating to face once again this fear that grew from the seeds of intimidation, and to be distracted from iiis time with Miranda, the first woman in a long time to—

  How do you know she's really a designe
r? What do you know about her?

  Enough, Li thought. Well, perhaps not yet enough. But I'll learn more about her; I'll find out everything. I just need some time, and I'll find out all I need to know, about everything.

  Chapter

  3

  Miranda and Yun Chen bent over the table, so engrossed they had forgotten there were others in the conference room. This was Miranda's second day at the factory and she had arrived prepared to do battle. Instead, the men had remained silent while Yun Chen opened the meeting, and then the two women had gone to work. All morning, they had worked on designs that had caused problems earlier, and, to her surprise, Miranda was having a good time. And as they arranged and rearranged various parts of suits and sweaters, she had discovered, with even greater surprise, that they shared the same goal, of achieving the best designs at good prices, not exorbitant ones, for both Talia and the Beijing Higher Fashion Garments Factory.

  "Perhaps a cape," Yun Chen said.

  Miranda shook her head. "I tried that." She took a sketch from her folder. "It doesn't work with the short skirt. It will, when we get to the long skirts . .." She paused, contemplating the sketch in her hand. "A shawl, though ..."

  The suit was cashmere and wool; the sweater cashmere and silk, with a silk scarf. It was a simple, elegant design, but just before Miranda arrived in China, Yun Chen had seen the Dolce & Gabbana spring catalogue, with a suit so close in design that Miranda knew she would have to drop hers or change it.

  "A shawl," Yun Chen repeated. She watched Miranda make quick strokes on the sketch, adding a lightweight shawl, the silk scarf a colorful splash in the soft folds at the neck. "Yes, very good, Miranda. This is a good idea. And a shawl is lower cost to make than a jacket."

  "Double-faced cashmere," Miranda said. "Washed for softness."

  "Yes, absolutely. And perhaps a trim— "

  "A fringe. Very fine threads of silk, multicolored, to match the scarf."

  "Oh, I like this very much. Better than Dolce and Gabbana. You have a good eye. You see the whole picture. That is an excellent talent."

  "And so do you," Miranda said.

  "No, alas, I do not. I am very good at catching ideas and perhaps modifying them and thinking how to manufacture them at a good cost to us, but the original design ... I do not have that talent. I stare at my piece of paper for hours and nothing comes to me."

  Miranda smiled. "That happens to me, too. I think anyone who creates goes through that: when it seems there's absolutely nothing in your mind to fill the paper."

  "But then you think of something. I do not."

  "Well, it's my job," Miranda said simply, ending the discussion. They were being ridiculously kind to each other. But, when had she had that complaint since coming to China?

  "It is almost noon," Yun Chen said. "You said this was the time you wished to make a telephone call?"

  Miranda looked at her watch. How quickly the morning had passed! "Yes, thank you. Is there an empty office I can use?"

  The men at the table stood up and Wang Zedong, the director of manufacture, bowed and said, "I will take you to my office. You may use it for as long as you wish."

  "And we will continue after lunch," said Yun Chen. "It is going so well."

  Very well, Miranda thought as Wang shut the door of his office, leaving her alone. Better than before. And that meant she could call home without defeat resonating in her voice.

  She gave the operator her telephone number in Boulder, and sat back, looking around the room: a steel desk, three straight-backed chairs, two steel filing cabinets. A vinyl floor; no window. The office would have been completely anonymous were it not for a photograph on the bare desktop, showing a woman smiling shyly at the camera, a yoimg boy grinning on her lap.

  She wondered what Li's office looked like. Whose pictures were on his desk?

  The telephone rang. "I have your party," the operator said in careful English.

  "Mom!" Adam yelled. "Can you hear me?"

  Miranda laughed. "As if you're just around the comer. You don't have to shout, sweetheart."

  "Say something in Chinese." His voice was barely a notch lower.

  "M hao. Zai-jiang.'"

  "Really weird. What does it mean?"

  "Good morning, or How are you? And goodbye."

  "Yech, boring. Say something else."

  "That's for next time. Now tell me what you've been doing."

  "Nothing."

  "What does that mean?"

  "You know, the usual."

  "Mom, hi, we miss you," Lisa said on another telephone.

  "Hey," Adam protested, "we said we'd talk one at a time."

  "I couldn't wait. Mom, say something in Chinese."

  "She already did that."

  "Not to me."

  "Well, she was talking to me! It's my turn!"

  "It's both our turn!"

  "I see everything's absolutely normal," Miranda said, strangely delighted with their squabbling. "Okay, one of you tell me what you've been doing. And don't say 'nothing.' I've been gone three days; you must have been doing something."

  In a rush, before she could be interrupted, Lisa said, "I sold one of my teapots at the ceramics show."

  "Oh, Lisa, how wonderful. Your first sale. Oh, I wish I'd been—"

  "We beat Longmont in soccer," Adam yelled, "if you really want something exciting! "

  "Very exciting." She settled back and listened as her children described their triumphs. As their voices overlapped, her thoughts wandered to the Chinese students she had seen that morning. They had been just as lively as children everywhere, but somehow less aggressive, more orderly in their play than most American boys, with not even a hint of rowdiness. Li must have been like that: a serious, quiet little boy wishing for a father

  She listened to her children's bubbling enthusiasm, and closed her eyes, picmring her house: golden sunlight pouring in through big square windows along the back, the front porch shaded by towering trees. When she opened them, and saw the stark walls and gray furniture of a Chinese office, she thought what an odd place this was for her to be. I belong in Boulder Colorado USA, she thought, hearing Li's voice saying it that way, like one word, and I'm going to finish here as soon as I can. Six days left; that's not so many.

  "What about homework?" she asked as her children's stories wound down.

  "Oh, right," Adam said. "Tons. Bye, Mom." And as abruptly as his

  conversation had begun, it was over. In a minute, Lisa followed, and then Miranda's parents were there. "I apologize for my grandchildren," her father said. "They didn't ask one question about you."

  Miranda laughed. "At thirteen and fourteen? The only thing idds that age find fascinating is themselves. Anyway, even if you could civilize them, you haven't been there long enough."

  "They're lovely children; I'm not complaining—"

  "What are you doing?" her mother asked. "Is everything going all right?"

  "Today it did. Everything is so different, I can't always tell, but today I worked with a woman in manufacturing and we liked each other, so it was fun. I'm learning a lot, and seeing a lot, and I've made a friend—"

  She stopped. She had not meant to say that. But when the words kept coming, she knew how much she wanted to talk about Li, and had no one to talk to, except her parents. "He's an engineer, his company builds office buildings and apartments—you wouldn't believe the amount of building going on here—and he's been so helpful, explaining things and showing me the city—"

  "How did you meet him?" her father asked.

  He picked me up at the airport.

  That won't do, she thought in amusement. Think of something else. But she was not good at lying, so she evaded it. "It was just chance. His company built the factory where I had my first meeting, and since then we've gone to dinner and this morning to a local market—"

  "Who introduced you?"

  "No one, we just started talking. His father was an American soldier, helping the Chinese build airfields
—"

  "No way did we help any communists build airfields," her father declared.

  "It wasn't the communists then; it was just the Chinese and they were being invaded by the Japanese—" She sighed. It seemed far too complicated and perhaps unbelievable. Told by Li, the story had been simple and moving, but with her parents it became a tangled web that she could not weave into a smooth tale. And so, as much as she wanted to talk about him, she could not. "Let me tell you about the market this morning; both of you would love it,"

  But she had barely begun to describe it when her mother said, "But what about your work?"

  "I told you," she said, almost impatiently. "It's fine."

  "You said today was all right. What about before that?"

  "It was different; I told you, everything is different. And it takes a while to learn how to get along in—"

  "Are they trying to take advantage of you?" her father demanded.

  "I suppose so. Well, I mean, we expect that, don't we? We all do that in business."

  "What are you talking about? Americans play fair. Tough but fair. You can't let those people get away with anything, Miranda; you have to keep your guard up."

  "I am, but that isn't the problem."

  "Well, what is?"

  "I am. I'm not pushing hard enough. Li says that all Americans—"

  "Who?"

  "My friend, the one I told you about. Yuan Li. He says Americans are aggressive and demanding, and I suppose a lot of us are, but I'm not."

  "You shouldn't put yourself down," her mother said. "Talia wouldn't have sent you to China if she weren't sure you could handle it. Are you saying they don't like your designs? I can't believe that."

  "I have no idea whether they do or not."

  "They didn't say? But that's very rude."

  "They're never rude; they're painfully polite."

  "What does that mean?"

  Miranda sighed. "Mother, rudeness isn't an issue. Whether they like the designs or not, they'll make them, because it's their job. They don't have to like something to make it to our specifications."

  "Well, but they could admire your designs. It would make for more pleasant relations between you."

  "They're not looking for pleasant relations; they're trying to make a profit. And they never seem to get tired; they're ready to talk forever, wearing everyone down, to make a point or get a concession."