by Nova McBee
The memory makes me wince. Why am I thinking about her? I blame it on the flowers.
A dog barking outside startles me from my mood. Leaning over to the windowsill, I peek outside. Kai is there with disheveled hair in gray sweats playing a game of tug-of-war with a black lab. The dog play-growls, his tail going crazy with delight. Kai growls back, a smile on his face.
A slight pinch of jealousy rises in me seeing his joy. A carefree boy playing with his dog. Kai bends down, changing the angle of his foot. Calculating his height, weight, the position of his body toward the dog, I predict the dog’s next yank will pull him to the ground in 3.2 seconds. If I yelled a warning now, he might not bite the dust, but I don’t interfere. Why would I? He won’t get hurt. It will just—oops. There he goes. Kai gets up, laughing. A laugh escapes my lips too before trailing away in the silent room.
I head for the shower. It’s already well past nine. I’m not sure when Chan will come to get me but I’m anxious to have resources at my fingertips and a safe cover to learn Madame’s whereabouts.
When I walk into the master bathroom thoughts of Madame vanish. The free-standing porcelain tub is all I see. I groan with happiness. A long hot bath is overdue.
As the tub fills with water, my fingers run over the Egyptian cotton towels. I find a collection of soaps in a drawer, holding them up to my nose one by one: lemon, lavender, and mint. There is a shelf stocked with lotions and infused bath salts. I wastefully shake three large handfuls of purple bath salts from a glass bottle into the water. As they dissolve, the scent of lavender fills the steamy air. I’m not sure if it’s the freshness or the clean water but hope dares to rise. I step into the bath, afraid to cling to that feeling and afraid to let it go.
Soaking in the bath is divine. I close my eyes for 22 minutes and let the hot water and scented crystals resurrect a fact I may have forgotten—I’m a girl with soft skin and the need to feel beautiful, without being scared.
My eyes open on the dingy hairband around my wrist and I’m brought back to reality. The hairband is a reminder of why I never wear my hair up. I remove the elastic black band from my wrist and move to toss it in the trash. But my hand involuntarily reaches to the back of my neck instead. Despite the heat, chills race over me.
Beauty is so easily scarred. I slip the hair tie back around my wrist and drain the tub.
When I’m finished blow-drying my hair, I stare at the clothes on the bed. They’re the same as yesterday. Even though the spa washed them, I cringe at slipping into clothes permanently stained with the Pratt. But I have no other options, so I put them on and make a note to buy new clothes right after my first day in the office.
At 10:00 o’clock there’s a knock on the door. Chan’s son appears in place of Mr. Chan. A split second of warmth circles my chest. As I walk out, I decide to act cheerful, but my smile drops abruptly.
“We will be in touch this afternoon, Mr. Shu,” he says into the phone. Kai holds his finger up in the air until I back up a step.
This is the boy I expected Mr. Chan’s son to be. Gone is the carefree boy playing with his dog and the shirtless workman repairing the pool. He’s wearing a suit, like my father used to wear—expensive, tailored, new. Kai is my age but now he looks as stiff as a mannequin, just like Chan. His hair does not fall in his face like last night but is neatly parted to one side, so firmly held in place by product that not even an atomic bomb could loosen it. His shoes are expensive and highly polished, possibly this morning. My father says shoes say a lot about a man and the combination of his wardrobe added to his hairstyle, I’d wager Kai is nothing but a self-centered rich kid.
“Yes, of course, anything for our favorite client,” he flatters whoever is on the phone. “Right away. Have a great day. You deserve it.”
Ugh. If I have to talk like that to Chan’s clients, I won’t last a day.
He ends the phone call with a dozen thankyous and good wishes, then turns to me. An irritated look is on his face. “Good morning.”
To my surprise, he extends a silver cup with a white lid to me. “You like coffee? I made you some.”
I take it because he made it for me and it reminds me of my dad, not because I like coffee. “Thanks.”
“Ready to go?” He steps away from the door, using his hand to indicate the way to the garage. “We’re already late.”
“Yes.” I take the key to the house and the chess pawn, but nothing else. I don’t have any other possessions, besides the hairband around my wrist.
In the garage there are three different motorcycles and an SUV. A loud beep sounds and the automatic locks on the black Range Rover slide open.
On the drive to Chan’s office, I sip my coffee, wishing there were at least one drop of milk in it. We pass a billboard advertising a Chinese kung fu movie. The men on the board are shirtless, holding swords and crouched in a fighting stance, muscles rippling. It sparks the question I’ve been meaning to ask Kai.
“What kind of martial arts do you practice?” I ask, cutting through the awkward layer of silence.
“Did my father tell you?” he asks, surprised.
“It’s obvious by the way you walk and move.” I look at him. “I’ve known many men who can fight, unfortunately.”
“Unfortunately?” he repeats.
The drunken brawls over gambling in the Pratt, game-fights, guards extracting information come easily to mind. Even my own scars sting. “Yes. Unfortunately.”
“Okay. Since you asked, I’m a student of traditional kung fu,” he says seriously, “which is not fighting. It’s not meant to harm, but to protect.” He takes a drink of his coffee as we pause at a red light. His hands are gentle as they grip the cup. “My father said you had great talents, but he didn’t mention your keen observation skills. That’s an important part of kung fu, to know your environment and the people in it. I’m impressed.”
“What else did your father say about me?” I say, harsher than I intended. Chan promised he wouldn’t share anything about where I came from with anyone, but did that include his son? How many details did Chan tell him—found with criminals, smelled of garbage, makes millions miraculously? That I broke his nose?
“He said you don’t like talking about yourself,” Kai says, matching my tone and presses down on the gas pedal.
Apparently, Chan mentioned our ride into Shanghai. Chan had tried chatting, asking very normal questions, which I politely refused to answer but he kept asking. Finally, I erupted, warning him never again to ask about my life. We didn’t speak after that until we arrived at the house. I sure know how to make a good impression.
Likewise, now, the car is silent again.
We zip through the city. My mind buzzes with counting heights of buildings, scooters, cars, speeds, horns honking, but while numbers scroll and log, my mind is stuck on Chan. Asking about my past doesn’t mean he doesn’t know about Madame. Red could have told him or even Bo Gong. I suspect Chan’s told Kai more than he’s letting on.
I could ask questions, too. How does Chan know Red? Why was Red in the Pratt? As we break for a red light, I decide to drop it. It’s better that we don’t ask any more questions of each other, so I don’t have to talk about myself and get off track. I have one purpose right now—one I’ve waited a long time to fulfill. I must stay focused.
We’re now in Pudong—Lujiazui, the financial district and pulse of the city. We pull up in front of 126 floors of wealth and power. A new and improved Shanghai Tower dominates the city’s skyline with its shiny-windowed presence, as if proclaiming money is the real leader of the land. It was one of the landmarks I could see from Madame’s hotel. I always wondered if I’d ever see it in person one day.
Kai motions to a guard at the building to come over. “He will let you in,” he says to me.
“Good morning, Chan Gongzi.” The guard greets him respectfully, talking for several minutes, asking about his father, and complimenting his suit, then throws in a few flowery words, usually reserved for near royalt
y—or in this case—billionaires.
“This is Ms. Phoenix, my father’s new assistant,” Kai says. “You’ll let her in from now on without question. We’ll have her security card by the end of the day.”
The man, who looks just a bit older than Kai, opens my door, acknowledging me with a bow of the head. His clean-cut, black hair and alert dark eyes catch me right away. We are also the same height.
“Yes, sir.” The guard dips his head, but I don’t miss the cocky smile on his face.
“Phoenix, I’ll meet you in the lobby.” Kai disappears down the driveway under the building and I’m left with the guard, whose mannerisms—posture and use of language—have my calculations spinning.
The guard is out of place. He’s confident, hyper aware of everyone around him. He speaks perfect standard Mandarin, including a very high level of Chinese idioms. He’s educated or from the upper class. So why is he working as a doorman? The question itches in my brain. In my world of numbers everything counts for something, even a doorman.
Before we part ways, I turn to him. “What’s your name?”
He gives me a strange look, as if I shouldn’t be associating with him because of my social status but I know better. A handful of friends are worth more than a pocket full of cash. “I am Yu Tai,” he says.
The lobby is impressive, like entering a five-star hotel. A bubbling fountain pours rose scented water over white marble statues. Black leather couches line the windows to my left. A large round carpet—possibly from the Ming Dynasty—has a red symbol woven into the middle of it and lies under a modern chandelier that glows softly. To the right are the elevators and veering hallways.
An elevator lights up and opens. Kai walks out with a girl, slender and well dressed. Her hair is twisted into a playful roll on top of her head. Her earrings flash and dangle against her cheeks. Pretty, if you like the flashy look. They exchange words too quiet for me to understand. Business or personal, I can’t guess. But from the way the girl continues to touch Kai’s arm, she either likes him or is just the flirty type. A moment later she wiggles her fingers in goodbye and leaves, turning heads all the way to the main door.
Kai spots me and heads in my direction.
As he moves forward, I calculate an embarrassing collision about to occur. In less than five seconds a man barking into a cell phone will bump into a woman holding an open tea canister who is walking backwards while waving to a man at the door. If Kai keeps moving at his current pace, the woman, in effort not to fall will latch on to Kai and there’s a 81% chance she’ll spill her tea on him. For the other two, there’s no chance to avoid it. It’s an action already in motion. As Newton’s second law requires, there’s no impulse to stop it but Kai has a chance because he’s looking at me.
I stick my hand out, palm forward, a universal symbol for “stop” and hope Kai pauses at my weak command.
Like a soldier attuned to warning signs, he stops in mid-step, looking confused. Then right before him, the woman falls, tea is spilled, and the man lands on his back. No one is hurt, just embarrassed. Maids rush over to clean up the mess. It’s no one’s fault. Just carelessness.
“How did you know that would happen?” Kai asks, walking up to me.
I shrug. “I’ve always been a bit jumpy.”
I move quickly towards the elevator, but Kai hangs back, his eyes fixed on me. The expression on Kai’s face reminds me of another boy—the one boy who saw past the facade, the one boy I used to think could save me—Rafael. He used to give me that same look. The one that says “jumpy” has nothing to do with it.
9
Present: Phoenix
SHANGHAI TOWER, SHANGHAI, CHINA
Upstairs, people hurry between offices, busy with what they think are important tasks. Phones ring. Computers light up. It’s not the Pratt or Madame’s expos. It’s a real office, like my dad’s, where people work for an honest living at jobs they have chosen—kind of like I wanted to do for Prodigy Stealth Solution when they hired me a long time ago.
For a moment, there’s a prick in my conscience. If I bring my plans for Madame into this environment, I could endanger innocent people and myself all over again, but the weight of my vow wins out. I promised Red I’d use my gift for good. If stopping her isn’t a good use of my time, I don’t know what is.
As we maneuver down halls, people greet Kai respectfully and look me over with open curiosity. I ignore their stares, whether they’re directed at my clothes or my young, laowai face and look around—sizing up dimensions, spaces, people, prices—the new place refreshes me, like reading a new book. I realize I’m gawking—real wood floors, more leather couches, crystal vases with real flowers. The desks, floors, and windows literally shine. I forgot things could be this clean, this normal.
“Here we are.” Kai drops me off at his father’s corner office. I’m even more impressed. Everything in the room is fengshui and perfectly symmetrical. It’s shaped like a circle. Half of the room is one long window, curved smoothly around the building in one long sheet of glass. The view follows every bend and stretch from downtown, along the famous Waitan on the river.
On the other half of the room water trickles down a granite wall. Plants and moli flowers, are everywhere. Why moli, I wonder? Peasants sell this flower on the street. It’s far from common in a place like this. Then there’s an oak desk, a long leather couch, a bookshelf with small plaques on it and a marble chess set. Very few personal items.
Mr. Chan sits at his desk in a classic tailored suit, a fresh moli flower in his lapel. I take the chair opposite of him, set my coffee down on a small jade coaster and cross my legs.
“Welcome, Phoenix,” he says shooting me a courtesy glance. His nose is bandaged and there’s a slight bruise under his left eye. It appears he’s still a bit upset with me. “Sleep well?” he asks indifferently. He’s counting out money as he speaks.
“Well enough.”
A large fistful of red bills with Chairman Mao’s face on it goes into an envelope, then into my hands. “You will need money to live. This will be deducted from the first transaction.”
My first paycheck. The calculated width of the pile of cash puts it roughly around 20,000 yuan. Too many variables to be more precise, but it’s enough money to start. I shove the envelope in my pocket.
“Kai told me you met each other on the grounds. I apologize that he disturbed you last night,” he says stiffly. “He usually isn’t at home. He is quite busy with his internship, and his girlfriend or should I say, soon-to be-fiancée.”
Kai is nearly engaged? I wouldn’t have guessed it by his manner last night. A numerical analytic summary usually detects small actions displaying attachment, but I hadn’t. Not like it matters. “It’s fine,” I say.
“Next time he tries to fix something, ask him to leave and call me. He needs to focus on his school internship, which means working at my company. After all, it will be his one day,” he says wryly and clears his throat. “Shall we?”
“Sir, before we begin,” I say, bringing up my fist. The small chess piece, scratched and faded with time, is cradled inside. I don’t know why it’s so significant. Nor could I have guessed it’d be Chan Huang Long I’d be giving it to. Regardless, my orders were to pass it on and trust that this trinket would accomplish its purpose.
“Yes?” The look in his eyes is contrived.
Suddenly, I know this isn’t the moment. I tuck it back into my pocket.
“Um—” I spot the trash beside his desk and lift my cup towards him. “My coffee’s finished,” I say lamely.
Chan takes my cup and places it in the trash bin. “Was that all?”
I clear my throat. “No.”
There’s something else I need to make clear to Chan. If Madame were to find out I’m alive, she’d suspect me in every investment to cross her desk, even from Chan’s corporation. I’ve got to take precautions. “Outside of this office you speak only Chinese to me. I’m not American. I don’t speak English, got that? Everythi
ng about me is private. You’ll provide a translator for me in every meeting that requires English. Tell Kai to do the same.”
He swallows hard. He’s still skeptical about working with me. He’s not convinced of my honesty. Especially now that I’ve asked him to lie. He finally nods. “Done. Can we begin?”
I nod eagerly. The anticipation of this moment bursts like a shaken soda can. Madame’s reign would end soon. To my surprise, I’m not hyper or anxious, I’m cool and calm, like a hunter preparing his snares.
Then King’s mantra whenever he went into a business meeting—words I never thought I would say—come out of my mouth. “Money time.” The irony makes me laugh.
“Phoenix, please, this is serious,” Chan says as I stifle the laugh. “My company is in a financial mess. If you can fix the problem as you claim—”
That’s right. I almost forgot Chan’s company had a problem at all.
“If?” I stop him, eyes steady, “No offense, Mr. Chan, but when I fix your financial mess is more like it.”
“You’re very confident for one so young. I’m only trusting Red’s judgment now. I haven’t seen anything you can do for myself,” he says again.
“If there is one thing I can do, it’s make money. I’m actually excited to work for you, an honest man, but like you, I haven’t seen that for myself.”
Eagerness to use my gift in an honest business also wells up inside me. But Chan is a pawn in my game, I remind myself. I’ll solve his problem, pay him back, and put an end to Madame. Then I’ll take my hard-earned money and go back to Seattle and try to piece together a new life. The sooner I leave this life behind, the better.
“Just show me the files so we can get started,” I say. A file lies open on his desk, displaying a stack of papers. “Are these the documents?”
“No,” he says. “These are standard reports, mainly from this quarter’s gains and losses.” A slight panic comes over him. “You can read Chinese, can’t you?”