A heavy summer rain had drenched the American capital. Richard Ling and Zhang ‘Jade’ Jiao dined at their favorite Cantonese restaurant in the neighborhood of Adams Morgan. They sipped steaming Jasmine tea as they awaited a break in the weather. When the downpour subsided, they agreed this was their chance to head out. Richard paid and helped Jade with her raincoat.
Hand-in-hand, they walked out into the drizzle and headed for the Metro station at DuPont Circle. The couple pushed through the throng of college students, pickpockets, and tourists that spilled from bars and out into the potholed streets. Richard towered lankily over the crowd. He drew the bloodshot, blue-eyed stare of an entitled college student. As the couple sauntered, Richard contemplated rumors of promotion at work.
Born in Illinois, Richard was a proud second generation Chinese-American. He worked for the State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence & Research, serving as an analyst of Chinese economic, military, and political issues, and their role in Sino-American relations. As he pored over open-source material, covert intelligence, satellite photos, and foreign newspapers Richard had continued to distinguish himself from the ranks of anonymous analysts; even those across the river at CIA. His insights had benefited the secretary of state, as well as other high-level American decision makers. All this meant Richard was in line to become Assistant Secretary of East Asian and Pacific Affairs. A colleague in administration had already confirmed the whispered rumor.
Jade glanced at her man; pensive and inattentive as they nudged through the people. She leaned in to kiss his cheek.
A native of Hong Kong, Jade was in DC to study international relations. She never had expected to fall in love with an American, let alone a Chinese one; an inconvenience that went against her every reason for being in the United States. Together for several months now, Jade and Richard had met beneath the grand rotunda of the Library of Congress’s Reading Room. Jade studied at one of the long wood tables. Richard was seated there, too, clacking away on his laptop. Jade had noticed his nerdy good looks, and caught him looking her way and. To, hook him, she pouted her full lips and ran fingers through her long, black hair. Then, to reel him in, she had then flickered almond-shaped green eyes. The lure of her feminine powers did not disappoint. Within minutes, Richard had nervously approached and offered a simple, ‘Hello.’ The memory of their meeting made her smile. Richard turned to Jade and suggested they stop at their favorite club for a nightcap. Still unnoticed by Richard, a staring, loutish college student crashed into him.
“Hey, watch it,” bloodshot eyes slurred. Richard pondered the hate-filled eyes and remembered the countless times he had been surrounded by white kids on the playground and worked over for being different. Richard apologized anyway and pushed on. “I’m not done with you, chonky,” bloodshot spat. Richard looked to Jade, who shrugged in ignorance of the epithet. Richard turned back to the college student, who leaned in close to intimidate. “My old man lost his job because of you people,” bloodshot stated and stabbed his finger into Richard’s sternum. Surprised to find muscle where he expected only bone, the soused student stepped back a little. Richard moved forward and filled the void.
“I’m from Chicago,” Richard rebutted, leaning in closer and puffing his chest.
“Ah, you’re not worth my time,” bloodshot declared, before turning away. His frat brothers saw he had retreated and, to save face, pulled him away for more shots of tequila.
“Let’s just go,” Jade murmured, tugging at Richard. They took a few contemplative steps. “You’ll always be a foreigner here, you know? Just another ABC,” she muttered. Richard knew this term well. Like many first and second generation American-Born Chinese, his type often existed in limbo. Despite patriotism that Oscar Wilde would label vicious, Richard struggled with the alienating racism so many Americans showed him. While many called him smart and hardworking, deep down he knew his impetus for success was rooted in this dichotomy. Moments earlier, Jade and Richard had been happy to share a much-needed date. Now, they strolled silently past their favorite club. Guess there won’t be any dirty martinis tonight, Jade thought. The couple reached the Metro station. They stepped onto its steep escalator.
Jade and Richard bumped along in the subway train and stared out through blackened windows. Richard’s inverted triangle of a face was lit intermittently by passing tunnel lamps, and his dark brown eyes reflected in the safety glass.
Walking from Foggy Bottom/GWU station, Jade and Richard strolled along the cobblestones of Olive Street toward their place, the townhouse they had shared for several weeks now. Jade grabbed Richard’s ass, making him smile again. They paused in the yellow of a streetlamp and shared a long kiss. Walking again, their step quickened. Jade giggled with anticipation. Once through the apartment door, they began to strip each other. Richard was slow to indulge at first, seemingly preoccupied with his discouraging encounter. However, when Jade guided his hand to her moistness, he soon forgot all.
Panting heavily, Jade slid off Richard and collapsed beside him. Now at the outer edges of sleep from the powerful, shared orgasm, Richard flashed into a dream: The world was on fire.
“I’m hungry,” Jade declared, startling Richard awake. “You men,” she laughed. “If I were a spider, I’d sting and kill you now.” She donned a robe and went to the kitchen. Richard stirred from his cocoon of sheets, and clicked on the bedroom television with the remote. Breaking news from Taiwan came on. Richard squinted against the glare and sat up.
“Hon,’ come here. You need to see this,” he exclaimed with urgency. Jade ambled back into the bedroom cupping a bowl of chocolate syrup-covered ice cream.
“What is it?” she asked, as she fell into her favorite overstuffed chair. She shoveled some ice cream into her mouth.
“Look…” Richard turned up the volume.
A reporter explained that Taiwan had launched ballistic missiles at Communist China, killing thousands of innocent civilians in a blatant act of war. Taiwan, in turn, claimed the attack was unauthorized — the act of a rogue missile captain — and offered profuse apologies while warning China against escalation. Beijing promised retaliation for the act of terror, and to solve the Taiwan question, ‘once and for all.’ The United States had called for calm on both sides. As a prudent precaution, the American president ordered the nuclear supercarriers George Washington, John C. Stennis, and Ronald Reagan to the area. The journalist then concluded her report with, “Ladies and gentleman, the events of the last few hours are undeniable — the Fourth Taiwan Crisis has begun.”
Jade swore in Chinese, and Richard dropped the f-bomb in English. They both looked at each other with mouths agape. Richard’s cell phone began to ring. He glanced at the flashing, vibrating thing, and then back to the news.
“There goes the weekend,” he sighed. Richard stood and walked to the nightstand. Wanting privacy to take the call, he carried the phone into the kitchen.
On the San Diego embarcadero, near the Spanish colonial revival Santa Fe Depot, and past the tall masts of the Maritime Museum’s full-rigged sailing ship, Star of India, a white pickup truck pulled up outside a tall glass hotel. Wearing US Navy dress white, Lieutenant Cynthia Pelletier hopped out of the pickup and blew a last kiss to its driver, her dad. He smiled widely and told her to be safe, and that he was very proud of her.