A Certain Smile

by Judith Michael

  green and past that to the blue dress she had seen in the window, peacock blue, with a long, sUtted skirt, a wide silver belt, and a sleeveless top with a deep notched collar. "If you have this in my size ..."

  "This is a U.S. four. Your size, I believe."

  Miranda nodded. She should have known. She was in the hands of an expert. She watched herself in the mirror as the saleswoman slipped the dress over her head and zipped up the back.

  The small room seemed to flare with light, as if someone had thrown a switch: suddenly everything was brighter, more positive, more exciting. The dress was a perfect fit, shaping itself to Miranda's slender form, the neckline plunging (what had happened to the demure collar that had seemed, on a hanger, fit for a schoolgirl?), the skirt, reaching to her ankles, slit thigh-high. Her bare arms seemed smoother and longer than usual, and her neck rose from the V of the collar with a grace she had not imagined it had.

  "Ah, my dear," the saleswoman sighed.

  Miranda met her eyes in the mirror and felt a surge of affection. It was as if she had slipped back in time and once again was with her mother, shopping for school clothes in the long hot days that signaled the end of sunmier. "Do I look all right?" she asked.

  The woman smiled. "You look lovely. And happy."

  Miranda frowned. She took a step back and shifted uncomfortably within the fine silk. She felt exposed and vulnerable. The fabric was so light it was as if she were clothed in air, with no comforting weight of wool or barrier of starched cotton to shield her. And her figure—surely taller and straighter than normal?—was so definitively blue: vibrantly, unmistakably, conclusively blue.

  No one could hide in such a dress, or shrink away, or assume anonymity.

  "It's not me," Miranda murmured.

  "Or it truly is," said the saleswoman gently.

  Miranda spread her hands beneath her chin, fingertips together, gazing at her face.

  "Yes, you see," said the saleswoman. "It is the same. No more beautiful than before, not even prettier. But now people will look at you. And more than that: they will see you."

  Miranda's eyes widened in surprise. How had this woman known that that was how she always felt: that people looked through her, not at her? In fact, that was usually what she wanted: to blend in, to find a niche where there were no surprises, no crises; a place where she belonged and knew exactly what was expected of her. A place where she could be calm and unpressured. Invisible.

  Don't make waves. Her parents had taught her that. Life is hard; don't overreach, don't get involved in other people's affairs. They'll sap your energy with their neediness and you won't have any left for yourself.

  Jeff had believed that, too. It was as much as he could do to cope with what was close to him, and familiar.

  Miranda frowned at her reflection. All my life I've been surrounded by fearful people.

  But now, strikingly blue, her hair a light-glinted halo above the vivid silk, it occurred to her that all the possibilities she had ruled out years earlier need not be scorned indefinitely. Perhaps they deserved a second look. Would it really be such a bad thing to step away from the crowd . .. and be visible?

  Or—as they said in the fashion world—to make a statement?

  What kind of a statement?

  Oh, I have no idea, she thought crossly.

  "Perhaps you would like to try the other dresses," the saleswoman said.

  Miranda looked at the woman, who was gazing at her so warmly. "What is your name?" she asked.

  "Ye Meiyun." Her body bent slightly; it was almost a bow. "And yours is Miranda Graham."

  Miranda stared at her.

  "I saw you this morning, coming from the elevator and going to breakfast, and I asked the concierge who you were. You must forgive me, but I was curious."

  "Because of the friend who was with me."

  "Yes, with Yuan Li."

  "You know him?"

  "I have known him for a very long time. Before I came to Xi'an, my husband was a professor in Beijing; he and Yuan Li were dear friends. When my husband died, Li and I became close, as survivors often do. He helped me start my business and he suggested I come to Xi'an; he knew a few shopkeepers here who could help me and be my friends, and he thought it would be easier for me in a small town."

  "It has three million people!"

  "That is small, for China. And shopkeepers form their own small community within a city. Even in New York they do that, as everywhere in the world. People with common interests and passions and backgrounds."

  "You've been in New York? When?"

  "Most recently, last year. And Chicago as well."

  "And you still came back to China?"

  "Of course. It is my home."

  "But..."

  "But you think that I should want to stay in America because everything is better there. And indeed many things are. But what I said about shopkeepers is true of everyone else, too. Common interests, passions, backgrounds ... do you not think those are of the greatest importance in life?"

  "Not more than freedom."

  "Ah, well. That sounds to me like something one of your presidential candidates would say. There are many kinds of freedom, my dear, and there is the work to do to make freedom grow, and to protect it."

  "Are you talking about America?"

  "Both America and China."

  "I don't understand that." She frowned. "There are so many things I don't understand."

  "It is good to say that. No one except a fool would say the opposite."

  Miranda laughed. "Thank you."

  "Well, now, let us have tea." Meiyun clapped her hands, and a young woman came in and placed a tray on the table between the damask chairs. "I will pour," Meiyun said, "while you try on another dress. You should look at three, at the very least. It is always best to make a decision from comparisons. Try the gold."

  Miranda put on the antique gold dress, close-fitting, with short sleeves and a high collar. She turned to let Meiyun zip up the back and then turned back and gazed at her reflection. "It's a little dull," she said at last.

  Their eyes met in the mirror and they burst out laughing.

  "It takes but a small shift in the prevailing winds," said Meiyun, "and the entire world looks different. Sit down, my dear, and have some tea. Then perhaps you will try another one. Perhaps the red."

  Miranda shook her head. "The winds haven't shifted that much." She sipped the hot tea, then picked up the blue dress and turned it around and around in her hands. Suddenly she burst out, "But what do you think about this? You haven't said a word about my being here, in Xi'an, with—" She could not bring herself to say his name.

  "With Yuan Li. But, my dear, it is not for me to comment, is it?"

  "It's your country and I've barged in from somewhere else and taken..."

  "One of our men?" She looked amused. "I do not truly think you have taken anything. In any event, we have an abundance of men in

  China, although, as everywhere in the world, there are too few wonderful ones."

  Surprised, Miranda said, "Do you really think that?"

  "Doesn't every woman think that?"

  "Yes, but.. ."

  "Ah, you are surprised that women are the same everywhere."

  "We're not. We have different ideas, depending on our countries, our governments, our schools, the way we live."

  "Yet we all feel hunger and eat, we grow tired and sleep, we ovulate and menstruate and nurse our children, many of us get cancer or other diseases, we find careers, we fall in love and marry and worry about our children crossing the street or getting involved with the wrong friends—"

  "That isn't what I meant. We think about the world differently, about freedom and civil rights, and freedom of the press ... all of that."

  "Different governments handle these differently," Meiyun said gently. "And nothing remains the same forever, in your country or in ours. It is what I was saying before."

  Miranda was silent, trying to deal with ideas
that contradicted everything she had been taught. I'll do it later, she thought, I can't handle every new idea at once. "You haven't told me what you think," she said.

  "About you and Yuan Li?"

  "Yes."

  "I do not think. I only observe."

  "That's not true. You have opinions on everything."

  "Well..." She spread her hands. "In fact, that is true."

  "And I want to know your opinion about my being with ... Li."

  Meiyun sighed. "I think it is a mistake."

  Miranda's eyes widened. "For him or for me?"

  "For both of you."

  "For us to be friends?"

  "No, no. Friendship is always to be nurtured and cherished. But surely what I hear in your voice tells me that you are leaning beyond friendship; that events are swift, but you are swifter."

  "If that's true," Miranda said after a moment, "//" it's true, why would it be so bad?"

  Meiyun refilled their teacups. Sitting erect in her chair, she waited as the leaves swirled and slowly sank to the bottom of her cup. She took a long swallow and set down the cup. "I did not say it would be bad. It might well be exquisite. I said it would be a mistake."

  "Why?"

  "I think you know the answer to that. The impediments of two different cultures—"

  "You just told me how much alike we all are."

  "People are. But too often, in a complicated world, it is not enough. My dear, if you glimpse ahead of you even the chance of pain, it is wise to change direction."

  Miranda looked at her over the rim of her teacup. "You sound like my parents."

  Meiyun's eyebrows lifted. "And that is not good?"

  "I don't think so. I mean I'm not sure." Feeling once again mired in unfamiliar territory, she looked at her watch. "Oh, how late it is. I haven't even showered yet. I really must go."

  "With the blue dress?"

  She hesitated. "Yes."

  "And one of these blouses? For tomorrow, you know. Not the one with large flowers, but ... let me see ... ah, this one." She took from the rod a wine-red blouse with pearl buttons and sleeves that fastened at the wrists with tiny gold monkeys. "Will you try it on?"

  "I don't have time. Could I take it with me, to try on in my room?"

  "Of course. How very sensible. And, perhaps a jacket? September nights grow chilly in Beijing, and perhaps also back home?"

  "Yes, very chilly."

  The jacket was long, intricately cut from heavy black silk, with black embroidery on the collar and pockets and turned-back cuffs. It was Asian but not Asian, Western but not Western. "Cross-cultural," said Meiyun, and their eyes met and they smiled. "Take all three," she added, "and come back tomorrow to tell me what you are keeping."

  "You'll be here tomorrow?"

  "I am always here."

  Miranda turned the jacket in her hands, luxuriating in the warm texture of the silk, almost alive beneath her fingertips. She glimpsed the label inside the collar, and looked at it more closely. "This is your name. You designed this?"

  Meiyun bowed her head. "Everything in the shop is my own design."

  "All of them," Miranda murmured, making a swift inventory of the garments hanging on the long rod. "Every one different. Double and triple stitching, bias cuts and straight, welting, and all the trims..." She looked up. "Is that why you go to New York? To sell your designs?"

  "To make agreements, yes, with the stores that carry my dresses."

  "Which stores?"

  "Bergdorf Cxoodman and Saks Fifth Avenue, and Ultimo in Chicago."

  "But, those are the most expensive.... You're very successful, then."

  "I am happy to be doing well. I can help my daughter, who is weak in business and cannot weather bad times. And I can be generous with my grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and with my son, who has a taste for travel and not the skills to earn the money to pay for it. But how is it that you know so much about the design of clothes?"

  "I design cashmere knitwear; I came to China to work with companies that will manufacture my company's designs." She looked around again. "You have no cashmere?"

  "To my regret, no. It is a different kind of designing and I must study it fost."

  Miranda grew thoughtful, circling the room, fingering the garments. "Sweaters, jackets, cuffs and collars," she murmured. "That design I did last month, at home. ... Oh, what an idea!" She mmed to Meiyun. "I have some designs that would fit so well with yours. Would you be willing to look at them? There are things my company hasn't wanted to do that I could design for you; I think they wouldn't mind. I've never really thought about it, I've been too busy, but your things are so beautiful and some of the designs I've been experimenting with would go so well with them. Would that interest you?"

  "It is a possibility." Meiyun rested her hand on Miranda's arm. It was a Ught touch, but firm: a mother's restraining hand. "We will think about it, and talk again. It is such a brightness to contemplate new directions. But right now, my dear, you must go. You do not want to be late."

  "Even if it's a mistake to be with him, and I should be changing direction?"

  "That is not for me to say. I gave my opinion, which my children say I do too often. Beyond that, I must not go." She gazed at Miranda with a small smile. "You are a grown woman, my dear; no one can tell you what to do."

  Miranda smiled ruefully. "I'm not sure I've ever really grown up. You seem like my mother, as if I need one, even here. Maybe especially here."

  "Ah, it is not a mother that you need; it is a friend. And I will be that

  for you. And I think you are growing up very quickly. New places often do that."

  "It's so strange. I think I like it, but I don't want to lose what I was and where I came from. Like Alice in Wonderland, you know: when Alice grew so fast she couldn't see her feet."

  "I do not know Alice in Wonderland.''

  "Oh. I'll send you a copy when I get home." She paused. "Will they let me?"

  "They?"

  "Your government."

  "I am sure there will be no problem. Now, let me hang these clothes for you." She reached for a garment bag. "The dress, the blouse, the jacket."

  "Wait. I can't take them; I can't afford them."

  "Do you know the prices?"

  "Bergdorf's prices."

  "In China it is far less. And in any event, I will make you a special price for all three."

  "Why?"

  "Because we had a good talk and are more alike than you thought when you arrived. Because I like you. And because you like me, and that is pleasing to an old woman."

  Miranda put her arms around Meiyun and kissed her cheek.

  "You see," said Meiyun, smiling. "A fortunate meeting, for both of us. Come back tomorrow and see me. Save some time for tea and conversation."

  "Oh, I can't. I just remembered. Our plane is at seven."

  "Then call me when you are back in Beijing. And I will tell you then what you owe me and you can send it. I think we will have much to talk about."

  Miranda kissed her again. "Very much to talk about."

  Crossing the lobby, her feet skimmed the marble floor; she felt carried forward by possibilities. Suddenly she was no longer an outsider. The elevator was familiar, the corridor on her floor was familiar, and when she shut the door to her room and looked at her things scattered about, and at the carp swimming in the stream below, dimly seen in the fading evening light, it was like coming home. Even China, imagined in its immensity beyond her window, seemed less awesome, a land of ancient myths and modem factories and people like Meiyun.

  And Li.

  She showered quickly, and, while drying her hair, turned on CNN for the hourly newscast. A strike by miners in England. Scattered

  shooting in Bosnia. A volcanic eruption in Iceland. Forest fires in California. Demonstrations in Israel. A bombing in Afghanistan. A hot new British musical opening on Broadway.

  How remote it all seemed. And how indifferent to it all, how enclosed and preoccupied,
did China seem, minding its own bustling business, creating itself anew on layers and layers of history. One could get swallowed up here, Miranda thought, and find the rest of the world amazingly unreal.

  And would that be a bad thing, she thought, to live here long enough to really understand it? What if I decided to stay for a while? I could bring Adam and Lisa here and they could learn more about China and Asia in a few months than in five years at home. And I could work with Meiyun, get something started with her that could continue wherever I am in the future. Make new friends. Spend time with Li.

  Oh, what a fantasy. How ridiculous.

  With the newscaster's voice in the background, she reached for the blue dress and let it slip over her head and settle around her body. The silk was cool and clinging, like a new skin. She fastened the belt below the deep open V of the collar, stepped into her black shoes— they should be dark blue, but I will not go hunting for new shoes —and stood before the mirror.

  Oh, my dear. That was Meiyun's voice, sighing with pleasure. And she was right, Miranda thought. I look fine. And happy. Yes, that, too.

  Her purse was on the carved table at the window and she reached for it, then paused. There was no way she could carry a purse that looked like a briefcase with this dress. But she had no evening purse. Well, the black silk jacket had large pockets; she could put a comb and lipstick and her room key in one of them. That was all she needed. Anything more would make the jacket bulge and sag.

  Never, never go anywhere without money. It leaves you at the mercy of other people. That was her mother's voice. So. A few paper yuan in the other pocket, and she would have bulgeless, sagless insurance.

  She was removing her wallet when she glanced out the window and saw a man standing beside one of the sculpted bushes below, looking at her window. She could have sworn their eyes met, but she knew that was impossible: with the light behind her, he could not even see her face. And how did she know he was looking at her window? He could have been looking at any of the windows to the right and left of hers, or above or below. Or he was just scanning the front of the hotel, idly, the way people do when they are waiting.