The old woman shook her head in refusal. The servant stepped aside as she bowed several times before turning around to leave, amazingly agile on her bulbed feet.
The card read:
I promise it will never happen again. Please forgive me.
Joseph Wong
Emma leaned over Joan’s shoulder and read the card. Emma smelled of Camay soap and coconut candy. “Will you forgive him?” she asked.
Joan felt the small hairs on the back of her neck rise. “I haven’t decided.”
Three days later Joan was in her bedroom, taking her time to get dressed even as Emma rushed her along. As soon as the doorbell rang, Emma ran out to take a good look at Joseph Wong.
Ever since he’d called to arrange a date with Joan, Emma had been the one to pace and anxiously await his arrival. He had insisted on picking Joan up at home so there would be no more confusion. “I won’t make the same mistake again,” he had told Joan on the telephone, his voice as smooth as cream.
“He’s as handsome as a movie star!” Emma said, breathless, rushing back into the bedroom. She sat down on Joan’s bed and excitedly spilled out a full description.
Joan darkened her mole, then felt the back of her chignon to make sure all the pins were in place before standing up and following Emma into the living room.
Joan heard Mah-mee’s eager voice. “How is your mother?”
“Very well, thank you.”
“I must call her to play mah-jongg. It has been much too long.”
“She would be happy to hear from you.” His voice was deep and calm.
Joan could already imagine her mother’s words and laughter tinged with happiness. At last, a young man worthy of her older daughter! Joan cleared her throat, licked her red lips, and hoped for the best.
She saw the back of his head first. He was facing away from her, sitting on the couch, as she entered the living room. When her mother looked up at her, Joseph Wong rose and turned, bowed his head slightly, and extended his hand. He was tall, with deep-set dark eyes, and a straight nose. Emma was right: dressed in a dark pin-striped suit, he was as good-looking as a movie star.
“Miss Lew,” he said.
Joan shook his hand. “Mr. Wong. It’s nice to meet you. Finally.”
His hand felt warm in hers; the scent of his musky cologne made her dizzy.
Joan tried to remain calm and not stare. The collar of her cheungsam felt tight and she prayed she wouldn’t perspire through the red silk. It was something she’d never seen happen in the movies of Ann Sheridan or Rosalind Russell. But as they turned to leave the house, Joan thought how even Robert Taylor seemed to pale compared to this young man walking beside her.
After her first date with Joseph Wong, the last traces of anxiety Joan had harbored so long were replaced by warmth and relief. At last she’d come to the end of her mother’s long search. Since their return from Macao, things had been difficult between them. Arguments usually erupted out of small, annoying habits—a door left ajar; the clicking of Mah-mee’s long nails against the table; Joan forgetting to put her mother’s cosmetics back in place. It seemed the smallest thing could turn into a war of words, followed by days of deadly silence.
Joseph Wong brought a cease-fire. He possessed a sense of style and excitement that Joan longed for. He drove a green Bentley coupe convertible that roared up the hills, and he often let Emma ride in back on his rumble seat. Joan knew Emma loved him almost as much as she did. He nicknamed her Rosebud the day they saw Citizen Kane together, which made her laugh. He often brought Emma books and other small gifts, such as charms for her bracelet: a little gold piano, a tiny dancing ballerina.
After Joan met Joseph, her stomach pains calmed. The fears eased. With him, she felt safer than she had since before the war. Joan tried to curb her happiness, fearing that something too obvious could easily be taken away.
A month after they began dating, Joseph picked up Joan for dinner at Jimmy’s Kitchen. The restaurant was dim and quiet, most of the diners having already gone by the time they finished dinner. Candles flickered a muted light as Joseph talked about his mother and two sisters, but said little about his father, a well-known Hong Kong businessman, whom Mah-mee had said died just before the war.
“Tell me something about your father,” Joan said.
Joseph drummed his fingers on the table, sat back in his chair. “There’s not much to tell. He was a hard-driving businessman who built a thriving company from nothing. Growing up, we rarely saw him. He died several years ago of a heart attack.” Joseph stopped, sipped from his cup of coffee, then combed back his thick black hair with his fingers.
Joan looked away from his dark eyes, even features, and quickly took a drink of water. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
Joan knew that by the time Joseph’s father had died, the Wong family had long been established in the restaurant business, with a proliferation of dim sum and seafood places on Hong Kong Island and in Kowloon. Joseph now ran the business from his office located in the Swire Building.
“Don’t be. He died in his girlfriend’s apartment,” he snickered. “Didn’t even have the decency to expire on neutral territory.”
Joan’s hands played with her napkin, folding and unfolding it in her lap.
“Being the only son,” Joseph continued, “I was sent abroad to school, groomed to take over the family restaurant business. While I was away, my mother kept the business afloat. She’s a remarkable woman. And that’s the whole story.”
Joan had met Mrs. Wong just once, two weeks after Joan had begun dating Joseph. Unlike Mah-mee, Mrs. Wong wore little makeup, allowed her hair to go gray, and was quiet and calm. She spoke in low tones and was nice to Joan from the moment they sat down to tea at the Hong Kong Hotel. Joan’s palms felt sweaty as she smiled, afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing. “She likes you,” Joseph had whispered when he brought Joan home. She hoped it was true. Joan breathed in the slightly sweet air. The car was warm and closed as he leaned over and kissed her, moving his hand upward and placing it on her left breast.
Joan grew weak at the memory. “Ready to go?” Joseph asked. He stood up, held his hand out toward her as she reached for it.
Within three months, Joan and Joseph were the couple everyone watched as they glided into the Repulse Bay Hotel for tea, or the King’s or Queen’s Theatre to catch the latest Hollywood movie. Their movie-star good looks, and his family’s restaurant business, were enough to stimulate rumors and stares. Joan also knew gossip was contagious in Hong Kong, spread quickly by those who had too much time and money. Joan began to understand the value of family connections. Even though her own family was no longer considered wealthy, her mother remained an important member of Hong Kong’s elite, reinforced by her thrice weekly mah-jongg games.
By early June, Joan knew Mah-mee prayed that the Wong and Lew families might soon join together. Every morning at the breakfast table, Mah-mee casually spoke of things she had learned from her own marriage. “When you’re married, it will be up to you to keep the house running smoothly. The right servants are essential. Why, what would we ever do without Foon?” Joan kept quiet, knowing that it was too soon to speak of such things. But in the back of her mind, she was almost certain that marriage would come. Her family loved Joseph, and he was generous and good to Joan. Only Foon kept her distance, watching from the safe confines of her kitchen. Mah-mee was ecstatic, but bit her tongue against saying too much to her mah-jongg friends. Still, whispers drifted through Hong Kong Island of an upcoming union between the Lew and Wong families.
By August, the heat was unbearable. The humidity left tears flowing down the walls and a sour smell on the damp bathroom towels. An occasional tropical storm came their way, which left the wet heat clinging to their bodies. Emma wrote letters to Lia, read books, or practiced the piano. Joan, when she wasn’t out with Joseph, sat by the phone waiting for him to call.
During the last few weeks of sticky heat, Joan felt their relationship take a new t
urn. She could hardly believe they had been together for six months. Joan had never felt such closeness as when Joseph took her hand in the movies or kissed her over and over again at the end of an evening, whispering when his hands strayed too far that he loved her. When Joan wasn’t with him, time felt interminable. And when they were together, time ceased to be. It was love as Joan had always imagined it, the kind of love that flashed and sparked, that flickered in the movies she had watched for so long.
The heat waned by September, broken by a sudden tropical downpour that usually signified the beginning of their typhoon season. Joan knew the signs all too well. The sky thickened, low and heavy, wrapping everything in an eerie, hot silence. Then the sky opened up and the warm drops fell with a vengeance, followed by days and nights of wind. Each year Joan held her breath, hoping the winds wouldn’t be violent, remembering the time their windows had been blown out and Emma’s 78 rpm recordings of Chopin and Bach had been smashed against a wall across the room. But this year, the winds never picked up, adding to Joan’s good spirits.
“Where’s Joseph taking you tonight?” Emma asked, her voice filled with excitement as they ate breakfast. The sky had cleared again and brightened the room.
Joan looked over at her and smiled. It was the young Emma again, eager and open-faced, who had once watched Joan get ready to go out and collect. “To the Jockey Club for dinner.”
“Then dancing?”
Joan laughed. “Maybe.”
Emma was quiet.
“What’s wrong?”
“I was just thinking, when you and Joseph get married and I move away from Hong Kong, we won’t be able to see each other very much.”
Joan stood up from the table. “Well, I’m not getting married tomorrow, and you’re certainly not moving anywhere for a while!” She leaned over and kissed her sister lightly on the head.
The Royal Hong Kong Jockey Club was once again operating at full capacity. The restaurant had remained open through much of the Japanese regime, and the slim stable of horses that had survived the Japanese bombing raids was once again at full strength and running races each Saturday. All the other nights of the week, the Chinese and British dined and drank at the Jockey Club, entertaining family and guests in lavish style. As with any other business enterprise in Hong Kong, a restaurant or two was an integral part. Since Joan had begun cooking with Foon, and now dating Joseph, she understood how food was fundamental to the Chinese in every aspect of life.
Almost always, when she and Joseph entered the room, voices quietly buzzed for a moment, then everything seemed to move in slow motion. No matter how many times it had happened to them, Joan trembled with the sensation of holding a roomful of people under her spell, just like in the movies.
Joseph was quiet during dinner. He sipped his shark’s-fin soup in silence. Joan worried that he was coming down with something. He was usually smiling and talkative. She thought he looked sullen and pale, which confirmed her belief that driving a convertible was bad for his health. During the summer it was too hot, and in winter, one could easily catch a chill.
“Are you feeling all right?”
Joseph looked up at her and smiled. “I’m fine.”
“You’re awfully quiet tonight.”
“I have a lot on my mind,” he mumbled. “We’re thinking of opening a new restaurant.”
“Where? Hong Kong or Kowloon side?”
“I’m not quite sure yet,” he answered, then scooped rice from his bowl into his mouth. Joan continued to pick at the abalone and mushrooms, feeling his distraction grow as the evening wore on. When the band began to play “Moonlight Serenade,” Joseph stood up, and for a moment, she thought he might ask her to dance.
Instead, he coughed hoarsely. “Maybe I am a little under the weather. Would you mind if we left early?”
Joan felt her heart beat faster. Her stomach began to churn as she chanted in her head for Joseph’s well-being, Let him be all right. Let him be all right. She felt his hand touch her bare arm, and his warmth spread quickly through her. She grabbed her purse and couldn’t get out of the Jockey Club fast enough.
Joan had known from the very beginning something was wrong. It was obvious Joseph was not feeling well. Foon would have seen it right away when he didn’t eat with his usual enthusiasm.
The next day Joan sat and worried. When she didn’t hear from Joseph all morning, she thought about calling him at home, or at his office. Just as she made up her mind to call, Joseph telephoned. Joan held the receiver tight against her ear. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just a little sore throat. Nothing that staying home a day or two won’t cure. Don’t worry, I’ll call you tomorrow morning.”
When Joan replaced the receiver, she could still feel the warmth of Joseph’s voice. She walked back to her bedroom and closed the door, trying to keep him with her as long as she could.
That afternoon Joan couldn’t sit still any longer. “Do you want to go shopping?” Joan asked Emma. “Or, maybe we can go visit Auntie Go at the factory.”
Mah-mee was already out playing mah-jongg, Ba ba was at a meeting, and Foon was nowhere to be found. Joan felt anxious. She was tired of pacing around her room and needed to find something to take her mind off Joseph.
“Sure,” Emma answered, a wide smile spreading across her face. Emma jumped up from where she lay on the sofa and hurried into her room to change.
Joan felt guilty. Ever since she had begun seeing Joseph, she’d hardly paid any attention to her sister. Now, it seemed Emma was all alone and waiting for Joan’s company again. Emma hadn’t found another friend in Hong Kong as close to her as Lia had been. They had been inseparable in Macao, and Joan knew they still kept in close touch through letters. “Lia may be visiting soon,” Joan faintly recalled Emma saying the other evening, just as Joan was leaving the flat to meet Joseph.
Just this morning, Joan had seen her mother staring at Emma while they were eating breakfast. After a long pause, Mah-mee said in a low, serious tone, “A little makeup is just the thing you need to give you some character.”
Joan sighed, hoping Mah-mee’s matchmaking wouldn’t now be focused on Emma. Emma had so many other talents that went beyond makeup. Joan felt a sharp twinge move through her stomach, but was quickly relieved by the thought of Joseph’s dark eyes, and the way his voice floated across the room to her.
An October heat wave left Central hot and airless, as if everything had come to a standstill. Joan and Emma walked out of a small dress shop into the stale, breathless heat. Joan was debating if she should buy a green silk blouse she’d just seen when she glanced across the street and saw Joseph. He was laughing and holding on tightly to the hand of another woman. Her face looked faintly familiar. They were coming out of the King’s Theatre, which was still showing The Lost Weekend, a movie he and Joan had just seen together last weekend. She stared so hard her eyes watered and blurred. She couldn’t move. The air had been knocked out of her. She could feel Emma pulling her away, saying something with words, so soft she could barely hear them. All night, the echo of those whispers rang in her ears, until she finally made them out. Afterward, Emma’s words, “It can’t be him. It can’t be him,” reverberated just as loudly in her mind.
The next day a warm, driving rain clicked against the windows. The phone rang continuously, but Joan refused to speak to Joseph. Emma came into the dark, messy room, bringing with her the heavy sweet smell of roses.
“He says it was just a friend of his sister’s,” Emma said softly. “She doesn’t mean a thing.”
Joan looked up at Emma. Her sister’s hands were clasped tightly around the roses, holding them out to her. Joan shook her head at the offering. She coughed, her throat dry and sore. “What does he want? Forgiveness?”
“He made a mistake,” Emma pleaded. She cradled the roses in her arms.
“I can’t…”
“You could try.”
Joan searched for the right words to tell her sister how betrayed she felt, how unjust it
was when she had followed all the rules, but tears came instead, followed by a soft moan rising from deep down in her throat.
It had been almost a week since Joan had seen Joseph. She rose slowly from bed and dragged herself over to her mirror. Her face was puffy and pale. She had lost weight. Foon made her drink soups brewed from lean pork and astragalus roots to strengthen her blood. She had cried and cried, until the tears no longer came.
Joan felt sick to her stomach again, a sharp, burning pain that stabbed like a knife. She bit her lip till it passed. The doctor had said it was a tiny hole in her stomach lining, a small ulcer that would heal in no time with rest and the right foods. Joan swallowed and rubbed her temples slowly, until she felt the tightness behind her eyes relax. She looked into the mirror again, wondering if the cold, dark hole in her heart would heal and disappear as easily.
Chapter 6
Rosebud—1946–47
Emma
Emma sat in her room, two hours after seeing Joseph in Central, carefully removing from her bracelet the three gold charms he had given her. The latest one was the rosebud he had given her last week on her sixteenth birthday. “So you’ll always remember me,” he had said. Now she’d never hear him calling her Rosebud again. She could still feel the warmth of his hand as he took her wrist and gently attached the gold bud.
She pulled down the sleeve of her pink cotton cheungsam, glanced up, and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her features appeared thinner, complemented by her shorter, shoulder-length haircut. When Emma heard Mah-mee return from playing mah-jongg at Auntie Kao’s house, she set the bracelet down and hurried to find her mother in the living room.
“Moi-moi, I just read the note you left. I didn’t think you two would be back from Central yet,” Mah-mee said, dropping her jacket on the sofa.
“We saw Joseph,” Emma started, her hands clasped behind her back.
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