by Ed Lin
Streamers were taped to the exposed pipes running along the ceiling of the church’s basement, making the room seem a little less sad. The dance floor was exposed and empty, save for an older Chinese couple shuffling slowly. The high-school-aged disc jockey leaned against a pole, one hand on his hip. He jumped to attention when we walked in.
About 20 kids, varying in age from early- to mid-teens, were sprawled around three round banquet tables against the far wall. Apart from the dancing couple, I was the oldest person in the joint. I stared at them, shocked at the sight of older Chinese people being affectionate in public.
“That’s Mr. Jen and his wife,” said Lonnie. “He’s been the janitor here for as long as I can remember.”
“Who’s the disc jockey?”
“Oh, that guy. He’s one of my brother’s friends. He asked me to go to the dance with him.”
“You didn’t like him?”
“I told him I was coming with you. Actually, I told him I was coming with you before I even told you about the dance.” She took off her coat and put it on a hanger. “Anyway, he’s just a kid.”
Lonnie had on a thin red blouse. There was no doubt in my mind that the Martha’s uniform was designed to flatten every curve in the female body.
“You want to hang up your jacket?” she asked.
“No, I’ll just undo the buttons a little.” After thinking a bit, I said, “Lonnie, how come nobody’s dancing?”
“Well, the kids really wanted disco, but the church said no.” That explained why the DJ was playing bland Chinese pop music from a generation ago. “This music’s really terrible, isn’t it?”
“It’s not bad, it’s just old. When I was a kid, we used to dance to the Beatles and Rolling Stones. Kids don’t dance anymore. They’d rather just be home playing with their
CB radios, right?”
“Do you want to dance, Robert?”
“No, this music makes me want to watch Mr. Jen.” We watched the couple dance. When the song was over, he bowed and she curtsied. Watching that made me wish I’d seen my parents dance. The DJ shuffled over to the record player. He threw on another record and put the tone arm down. That sulk of his could be contagious.
“Is everyone having fun?” Lonnie asked the tables of kids.
“No,” the collective chorus said.
“Lonnie, this music stinks.”
“I thought there was going to be dinner here.”
“Well, we have punch and cookies,” said Lonnie. “If you’re hungry, you can have some.”
“Those almond cookies are stale.”
“Come on now, they taste fine.”
I found a wall to lean against. I felt like I was at a surly 11-year-old’s birthday party. Where were the toy whistles?
“I’m sorry you’re not having fun, Robert,” said Lonnie, running up to me. “I really thought some of the older people were going to show up.”
“I’m here, doesn’t that count?”
“Are you making fun of me?”
“No, Lonnie. I’m just a little irritable because these shoes are kinda tight.”
“You want to sit down?”
“I’ll sit down right here.” I picked a dented metal folding chair that was far away from the kids. Lonnie hastily pulled out a chair and sat down next to me. She looked tired, too.
“I really tried to put something together that would be fun, but now I feel like I ruined everything. You just can’t make everybody happy. The older people didn’t bother to come and the younger kids hate this.”
“Lonnie, it’s not your fault. People never appreciate things.”
“Maybe.”
“What do you do here at the church?”
“I’m kind of a chaperone. I take the kids to museums or the zoo. I show them there’s a whole world outside of Chinatown.”
“I used to think there was. I thought that being in the Army would do that for me.”
“It didn’t work?”
“Only showed me that no matter where I was, I was a Chinaman, and I could never be anyone else.”
“Did you wish you hadn’t joined the army?”
“Join? I was drafted. I didn’t have a choice.”
“Oh. I’ve been with the church for more than 10 years. That’s by choice.”
“Me, myself, I never saw much use to the church. I mean, church is nice for people who believe in it, but it doesn’t seem to do anything real. All they do is collect money, right?”
Lonnie shifted her mouth a little.
“Well, I come to this church because it was one of the sponsors for us to come to the U.S. So it’s more personal obligation and my gratitude than a religious thing for me.”
“I’m sorry if I made it sound like church was stupid.”
“Don’t worry about it, Robert. I don’t care. I haven’t even finished the Bible.”
“Look, how about we get out of here and go have dinner? I mean a nice one. We’re all dressed up already.”
“I was supposed to stay and clean up after the party.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to Mr. Jen. He’ll shut the place down.”
—
We got a table at Garden of Peking on Mulberry, a place I have walked by many times. They used tablecloths and didn’t serve rice because at high-class Chinese meals, you’re supposed to fill up on meat to show how much money you have.
“We don’t often have dignitaries here, officer,” the waiter said. He was staring down Lonnie’s blouse. “You want me to roll for you two?”
“We got it, big boy,” I said. We took the flour pancakes and threw on duck meat and skin, green scallion stalks, and a spoonful of plum sauce. I wrapped one up for Lonnie, who seemed to be struggling a little.
“Thank you, Robert! I’m so clumsy. My hands are tired from the bakery.” After a bite, she said, “It’s good. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had this.”
I thought about the last time I had eaten Peking duck. It was right after my father’s funeral.
“Yeah, I can’t remember the last time, either,” I said.
“It’s so fatty.”
“That means it was a happy duck.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t happy when they killed it.”
“This duck was happy to give its life up to feed hungry people.”
“Would you give your life up for someone else?”
“Lonnie, I’m a policeman. That’s what my job’s all about.
I’m dying a little every day and nobody cares.”
“Who was that girl you came into Martha’s with a few weeks ago?”
“She was an old friend.”
“Is she your Valentine?”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“She’s very pretty.”
“That’s not the most important thing.”
“What do you look for in a girl?”
“I guess someone who has the capacity to like me.”
“You mean, you want to find someone who will love
you, right?”
“That’s it. Hey, Lonnie. Does my hair look okay?”
“It looks really good.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes! It’s really you.”
“I like your hair, too.”
I was a little uncomfortable and ate more out of nervousness than hunger.
When dinner was done, we headed for Bayard in the old part of Chinatown, where Lonnie lived with her dad and stepmom.
“What are you going to do now?” Lonnie asked.
“I’m just going to go home.” And drink a little, I thought.
“It’s still early.”
“It’s almost 10. What do you want to do?”
“Can I see your apartment?”
I was shocked by how forward she was.
“Maybe we can listen to records, Robert. I want to hear the kind of music that you like.”
“Oh, Lonnie, I think I’m just going to sleep.” I slouched some.
&nbs
p; “You didn’t seem that tired before.”
“I feel it now, though.”
I walked her to her door, which had sheet metal bolted in the front.
“I’ll see you real soon, okay?” I said. Lonnie tried to smile then let go of me. I had almost forgotten we were walking arm in arm.
When I was alone, I put both my hands in my pockets.
It was good I hadn’t taken her home. I was five years older than her. That wasn’t right. Five years. That’s how long college is.
What was she thinking we’d do back at my apartment, anyway? Maybe she just wanted to neck. That would have been okay. Or maybe she wanted more? She lived with her parents, went to school part-time, worked full-time, and helped out ungrateful kids at church. That’s tough for anyone to do and still feel like a woman. How much did I really like her? I wasn’t sure, but I did know that if that DJ had come over and bugged her at the dance, I would have felt like playing piñata with his head.
The liquor store was two rights and a left from Lonnie’s apartment. It was below street level, so you had to go down a narrow, rusty stairwell and walk over a concrete slab that had a green streak where rain would trickle down and collect.
I hadn’t been there in a month, since I didn’t like to splurge much on the hard stuff when there wasn’t anything to celebrate. Today there was a banner hanging over the door that read “New Management — 25% Off.” I had to buy a bottle of something to celebrate that.
I ducked under the door frame and admired the Linda Lin Dai poster hanging behind the counter.
Wang the fortune-teller was wrapping a white ceramic bottle of rice wine with old issues of American newspapers. He called out my name as if I would be on sale for the next five minutes only.
“Policeman Chow! Policeman Chow!”
“Wang, looks like you’ve got a new line of work here.”
“It’s only part-time,” he said. “They needed help figuring out the metric system, now that it’s the law.” I looked around and saw a sign that said one quart was now a liter, and half a gallon was now 1.75 liters.
Didn’t two quarts make a half-gallon? And 1.75 liters sure sounded a lot smaller than two liters. Someone was getting ripped off here. The only other customer in the store was the midget.
“Big celebration?” I asked him.
“When you’re as small as me, everything’s a big celebration!” he said. “I’m going to get a little drunk and write some poetry tonight. Nothing exciting. Now what’s the story with you being dressed up?”
“I went to a dance tonight.”
“You smell like plum sauce.”
“That’s from the duck.”
“Did you go to dinner or a dance?”
“I went to both.”
“So, it was a date, huh?”
“You know, if you’d just put your probing mind into something constructive, you’d be a millionaire.”
“I’m already as rich as I want to be,” said the midget. “How much money do I need? I already get to play games all day. What else would I want to do?”
“Well, you could start a game store.”
“Then games wouldn’t be fun anymore. Anyway, Moy’s hard-hearted dad would drive me out of business.”
“Are you saying that your business would get beat?”
“You need to be ruthless to play games and run businesses. But at least there are rules in games; you don’t get to move more than once per turn just because you have more money than the other guy.”
Wang slipped the wrapped wine bottle into a doubled-up red plastic bag. “If the midget started a business, we’d all end up working for him, I’m sure,” he said.
“I’d like having a Chinese boss for a change,” I replied. “It’d make work a lot better.”
The midget reached for his wallet and shook his head. “Think of the sweatshops. They all have Chinese bosses.” The midget handed over a five to Wang. Wang reached his hands under the counter, shrugged a few times, and pulled out three bills for change.
“Come by and see me when you’re free and feel like losing,” the midget said to me. He swung the bag over his shoulder.
“Don’t drink so much you can’t play anymore,” I told him.
The midget smiled. “I’ll be dead before I can’t play,” he said on the way out. I watched his little legs waddle up the steps.
“Policeman Chow,” Wang said slowly, “I understand that you’re one of this store’s best customers.”
“Used to be. I’ve switched to beer for the most part. I was starting to have blackouts from this stuff.”
“Beer kills brain cells. I’m not kidding, that cheap alcohol will ruin you. Oh, I have to tell you something. The midget told me not to sell you any alcohol.”
“And why not!”
“He told me that you’re an alcoholic.”
“That’s ridiculous. If I’m an alcoholic, how could I walk around with a gun?”
“What I think is that you’re drinking the wrong alcohol.
Beer is low-class. The best liquor puts you in a more profound state of mind. All the best Chinese dynasties
were run by drunks.”
“I don’t know about profound. I would wake up and not remember what day it was after a night with the hard stuff.”
“A lot of people don’t know what day it is,” Wang said, dismissively. “Try this,” he said, holding up a plain-looking brown bottle. “You like coffee, right? This is the sweetest coffee you’ll ever have.” He punched the price into a calculator on the counter and turned it to face me. My eyebrows twisted involuntarily and he knocked off a buck.
“Okay,” I said.
“I hope to see you here again,” said Wang. “But don’t tell the midget I sold you this. You want me to wrap the bottle?”
“Just put it in a bag. I don’t need the newspaper.”
“You don’t read much, do you?”
“I don’t trust the New York Post,” I said, pointing to his pile of newspapers. “Don’t you know there’s a liberal bias in the American media?”
—
Back in my apartment, I put the bottle down on the coffee table. I took a glass out of the sink and washed it. I turned the TV on. The communist station was showing a reenactment of the Long March. It was a tearjerker.
The Taiwan station had a news magazine on. Scientists thought another earthquake would hit Taipei, followed by a tidal wave. Nobody could agree on when, though. The show ran through some stock footage from earlier earthquakes.
I reached for the bottle and twisted the cap. The metal tabs snapped like knuckles that had been waiting to crack all day.
I poured from the bottle into the glass into my mouth. I licked my lips and licked the cap. It was good and sweet and the lingering smell of it calmed a primitive part of
my brain.
Some knocks came at the door. I doused my throat with another glass, hoping it was for my neighbor, but the knocks only grew louder.
I really hate to put a cap back on a bottle unless it’s finished, but I screwed it back on and went to the door. Maybe it was Vandyne again to chew me out for drinking.
It was Lonnie. She was glaring at me with bared teeth. I saw why she didn’t smile much. Her front two teeth were slightly turned in to each other like an inverted V. It didn’t make much of a difference when you saw the rest of her, but I’m sure Lonnie was painfully self-conscious of it. At least in public.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I came in the front door behind an old woman.”
“I hope you didn’t wait long. You know the lock’s
broken anyway.”
“I thought you might be a little drunk by now,” she said. “Maybe a little lonely, too.”
“How did you know where I live?” I asked, backing away from the door.
“Everyone knows where you live.” She came in and closed the door behind her.
“Lonnie, I was just sitting down for some Taiwan TV. Can I ma
ke some tea for you?”
“Why don’t you give me some of that?” she asked, pointing to the bottle of coffee liquor.
“You ought to lay off that stuff, and stay away from any other alcohol, too. It’ll stunt your growth.”
“I’m not some little kid, you know,” growled Lonnie. She grabbed the bottle, took the cap off, and hoisted it before I could do anything. Working at the bakery counter sure gave her fast hands. I grabbed her arm and twisted the bottle out of her grip.
“What’s the matter with you? You know I could be charged with endangering the welfare of a minor?” I asked.
“I can drink! I’m over 18!”
“Yeah, but I’m older than you, and I say you can’t in my house!”
I wanted to close the bottle but the cap was gone, so I took a swig and then another.
“You think I’m ugly, don’t you?” she asked as her whole body heaved. She coughed and her eyes watered.
“You’re not ugly, you’re a very pretty girl.”
“Then what’s wrong?” She was crying full on now. “Why don’t you like me?”
“I do like you. A whole lot.” I could feel an all-nighter coming on.
“You don’t think I’m sexy?” asked Lonnie. She swaggered to the couch and dropped.
“You’re fine,” I said. “Just fine.” I took a few more swigs from the bottle.
“I liked you the first time I saw you. I could tell you were a great guy,” said Lonnie, crossing her arms. “It’s because I go to community college, right? You think I’m stupid.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid! The movie review you wrote was really good. I couldn’t write like that.”
“You want to give me more of that drink?” she asked.
“No, you don’t get any of this,” I said. I finished the bottle to make sure.
Lonnie sighed. “I never cared what Dori said about you because I knew you were good.”
“What did she say about me?”
“She said the only reason you got your job was because you were born here and knew English, otherwise you’d be waiting tables.”
“I’d rather wait tables than work her dumb job.”
Lonnie reared up and snarled. “Dumb job! You think my
job is dumb! You don’t think I’m good enough for you!”
I couldn’t think fast enough to recover, so I tried the honest approach.