She took a deep breath and made a decision. “I’ve been in love once before.”
“With Wu Fan-zi.”
“Yes, with Wu Fan-zi,” she agreed. “What about you, Detective Zhong?”
“Once.”
“But not with Lily?”
“No. To my shame, not with Lily.” It was his turn to agree.
“With the actress?”
“Her name is Fu Tsong.”
There it was. Wrong tense. She looked at his delicate features and suddenly she knew he’d done it on purpose. That he’d offered her an opening. Now she needed to figure out if she was brave enough to take it.
She was.
“You meant, her name was Fu Tsong.”
Fong nodded slowly.
“She is too much with you, Fong.”
Again Fong nodded. “I can’t seem to let her go.”
“Then don’t. Just give her a place at the table, but not every seat, or the one to which the fish head points.”
“Is that what you’ve done with Wu Fan-zi?”
Now it was her turn to nod.
“What place does he have at your table?”
She thought about that for only a moment then responded, “Fire. Every time my life becomes about fire Wu Fan-zi is at my side, alive as when he first touched me.” She looked at the distance between their hands on the rail. “Can you do that with Fu Tsong?”
Fong didn’t know. Then he looked into the depths of Joan Shui’s eyes. “Yes, I think I can.”
“How?” Joan’s voice was hard. There was no movement in it. If Fong couldn’t answer this she would take the next available flight back to Hong Kong and never again set foot in Shanghai or have any contact with the man who now stood beside her, his hand so close to hers on the railing, again.
“Fire with Wu Fan-zi and you, right? Art, especially theatre and Shakespeare for Fu Tsong and me.”
“Only in those places?” she pressed.
“Only in those places.”
There was a beat – a flutter of gulls moving in an arc high to the west – and the miracle happened. From light years apart hands met, fingers entwined and a sea breeze, all the way from the mighty Yangtze, blessed their coming together.
The darkness came on fast that evening. Time was moving quickly as Fong and Joan sought out a place to be alone – but privacy was the hardest thing to find in a city of 18 million souls.
“I would invite you back to my hotel but I have no room booked and no money on me to purchase one,” Joan said.
He began to laugh.
She liked the sound and joined in. Their laughter grew until they staggered with the force of it. Passersby stopped and stared at them. Older people scolded. Finally Joan got enough control of herself to ask, “What are we laughing about?”
Fong answered through bursts of laughter that caused tears to roll down his cheeks, “I’ll soon be in the same situation.”
“What do you mean?”
“My rooms are going to be part of a new condominium project. They’ve offered me the right to buy them but . . . ”
“. . . but the price is a bit steep?”
“Yeah,” Fong stopped laughing, “you could say that.”
“Do you like these rooms, Fong?” she asked.
“I do.”
Joan looked at the proud newness of the Pudong across the Huangpo River then turned and looked at the Bund behind her. It felt right. She touched Fong’s face, “Would I like your rooms, do you think?”
Fong put his hand up to her hair and felt its bluntness, “I hope you would.”
She put her lips to his and whispered into his mouth, “Ask me to your rooms, Fong.”
Fong turned his head and whispered in her ear, “Would you come with me to my rooms, Joan Shui?”
She whispered back into his ear, “I thought you’d never ask.”