“Of course,” Helen answered. “My brothers and I all do. He provides for us. We live with him. And he gives us spending money. Anything else you want to know?” The way she asked seemed designed to put an end to the conversation. “Are we set then? Good. Now let’s get some noodles.”
We began to walk, with Helen in the middle. I peered around her and into Grace’s face. She still looked a bit numb from shock and confusion. Between us, Helen wore an expression I couldn’t decipher. The three of us were as different as could be, and-despite the sudden revelations-I had a hunch that the two of them were harboring deeper truths, just as I was. In the same way I sensed that Helen and Grace had attached themselves to me like sucking sea creatures, I understood that I had glued myself to them too. The realization shook me something fierce. This was stranger than moving to Hawaii with my parents; defying them with my attitude, smart mouth, and boys; returning to the mainland to live with Aunt Haru and Uncle Junji; or abandoning the identity I was born with for one that might be more practical. Friendship was uncharted territory for me, maybe for all of us. Would the three of us end up as good companions or as vicious enemies?
None of that mattered to me if I didn’t get a job.
GRACE: A Few Glorious Minutes
“Smile, damn you. Smile!” Mr. Biggerstaff yelled. It was late November, and we were at his studio, about midway through rehearsals for the Forbidden City’s opening. He’d explained that we’d be doing three one-hour shows each night with five acts of dancing, singing, and what he called novelties. In between those acts would be short bridge routines by the ponies, culminating in a big production number for the finale.
“Do it again! One, two, three, four… Again! Five, six, seven, eight!” He made us practice at the barre to build our strength: “Keep your knees directly above your feet.” He ordered us to do crawling splits across the floor to increase our flexibility: “Wider, wider!” He had us twist into pretzels-all edges erased-to improve our agility: “Stretch. And keep smiling, damn it. Didn’t anyone teach you to smile? Show your teeth! Teeth! Teeth! More teeth!”
Mr. Biggerstaff put me in charge of the line. I kept an eye on the other girls-especially Ida Wong, who could be a real nuisance-making sure they hit their marks, didn’t get lazy with their turns or kicks, and stayed in time to the music. This caused jealousy among some of the gals, and they stopped talking to me for a few days, but I had to be tough on them, because they were now my responsibility.
“Rehearse, perspire, perfection!” Mr. Biggerstaff encouraged us. “Rehearse, perspire, perfection!” He made us dance and dance and dance. “I want your hop to come on the drummer’s downbeat. The kick is on the upbeat. Listen! Don’t you hear it?”
Everything he asked us to do was easy for me, but most of the other girls had never danced before. They were getting my thirteen years of experience in six weeks. If a girl didn’t learn the routine quickly, he went after her, cutting her down, making her cry, but ultimately forcing her to improve. It was hard work and long hours. I forgot the time. I forgot to eat. And for a few glorious minutes each day I forgot to miss my mother or feel bad that I couldn’t write to her, knowing that, if I did, my father would find out, track me here, and drag me back to Plain City.
“Take five, girls,” Mr. Biggerstaff called.
Helen and I sat on the floor a little apart from the other ponies, who massaged one another’s feet, stretched, and gossiped. Every day Helen arrived at rehearsal in a dark wool skirt, long-sleeved black sweater, and charcoal-gray wool stockings, but she quickly changed out of them. To my eyes, it seemed like she was shedding not just layers of clothing but layers of tradition. Now we huddled together-inseparable-watching Eddie warm up for his routine by entertaining us with little combos. He ended with his left leg tipped behind his right, his elbows close to his torso, and his fingers spread wide. He winked flirtatiously, and we clapped. He’d taken a couple of ponies on dates, but he’d never asked Helen or me. When I pointed that out to her, she wrinkled her face like she’d just smelled a glass of sour milk.
After rehearsal, we poured into the street. Fog draped heavy and white over the city, leaving the sidewalks eerily quiet. The melodies of chattering young girls rang through the night like police sirens. As the other ponies melted into the fog, Helen and I headed to Chinatown. For all of Mr. Fong’s insistence that Helen always be escorted by her brother, the practice was haphazard at best.
Ruby waited for us in Sam Wo, our favorite café. “I’m starved,” she announced.
That first night on the street outside the Forbidden City, something invisible but very strong had clicked between us like cogs catching and holding a tractor wheel. Now, as we ate, we talked about insignificant things.
“The hair on the left side of my head is fine and won’t hold a curl,” Ruby revealed. “That’s why I pin gardenias above that ear.”
“My feet are too long,” Helen complained, even though they were smaller than Ruby’s or mine.
I told them my bosoms were growing too big, to which Ruby agreed, saying, “They’re whopping for a Chinese girl.”
We ate-I was now adept at using chopsticks-and laughed as Ruby told us about her latest job.
“I don’t know anything about housekeeping,” she chirped. “The apartment was so nice I was afraid to touch anything. The lady released me. And after only one day! But that wasn’t a good position for me, because I’m not neat, and I can barely wash a plate.”
We never talked about deep things-why I’d run away, how scared Helen must have been when the Japanese pilot tried to shoot her, or when Ruby had made up her mind to pretend she was something she wasn’t. Instead, Ruby taught Helen and me how to hula, Helen taught Ruby and me how to make simple soups on our hot plate, and I taught them things I’d learned from the movies, like how use makeup to make our eyes look more dramatic. Ruby and I had to watch our money, so we showed Helen how to make false eyelashes by taking strands of hair from our brushes, winding them around our fingers, snipping them with scissors, and gluing them onto strips, which we then applied to our eyelids. We copied my favorite actresses’ hairdos and the way they plucked their eyebrows. We didn’t spend a cent, but, along the way, we fell in love with each other. The show kids said we went together like ginger, scallions, and garlic: put us in a pot and you get the perfect dish.
Now, as we lingered at our table, sipping tea and waiting for Monroe to pick up Helen, I got up my nerve to share a little more about myself. I told them about three girls back in Plain City whom I’d named the evil triplets. Velma, who was Finnish by blood, had once been my best friend. When we started kindergarten, we met another girl named Ilsa, also Finnish. The three of us played together all the time, but at the end of first grade, Maude-another Finnish girl-got taken in by Velma and Ilsa, and I was pushed out for good. Soon, their sole pleasure came from teasing and bullying me.
“In fourth grade, the evil triplets told the class not to give me a card on Valentine’s Day,” I confided, “even though the teacher said that kids needed to give cards to every child in class or not give them at all. The evil triplets argued that I wasn’t a proper Christian, even though I was baptized in the same church they were. When I tried to fight back, they chanted, ‘Ching chong Chinaman sitting on a fence, trying to make a dollar out of fifty cents.’ ”
Helen got steamed-“That’s awful!”-and Ruby shook her head sympathetically. To have these girls hear me and feel for me made me like them all the more.
“It must have been easy for you to have friends,” Ruby said to Helen, “since you grew up in Chinatown.”