“I know. But do you have anything better we could be doing?”
“Than eating and reading a girl’s diary? Nope. What can I get you?”
I took over the task of peering out the window until he got back. A typical Chinatown afternoon: wall-to-wall people, mostly Chinese, but also bargain-hunting uptowners and map-wielding tourists, all shopping their little hearts out. Umbrellas, uglyfruit, toys, T-shirts, salmon, and sunglasses flew out of storefronts and street stalls into plastic bags, and good hard American cash flew the other way. Heavy traffic in and out of the jewelry shops, too, but nothing out of the ordinary.
Or almost nothing. The one interesting thing I spied was Clifford “Armpit” Kwan, a distant cousin of mine-not distant enough, according to my mother-peering into jewelers’ windows. I shared my mother’s opinion of Armpit: He and I had had some run-ins at family gatherings in the past, when he was a nasty brat picking on the littler kids and I was an adolescent Lady Galahad riding to the rescue. Now he’s a grubby stoner perpetually on the fringe of one or another Chinatown gang. None of them really wants his useless behind, but occasionally he’ll get a one-day contract when some huge display of muscle is called for, or some gang’s franchise player is unavailable on account of being, say, in jail.
The gangs provide protection. This means they guard shops against theft and vandalism, caused, if you don’t pay, mostly by the gang you didn’t pay. I wasn’t sure whose real estate this block was, or which lucky gang had Armpit’s services these days. But I didn’t like it. Armpit, never devoted to beauty, was unlikely to be merely indulging his joy in sparkly things. It occurred to me some fed-up jeweler could have stopped paying, and his protectors might be planning to show him his mistake. I made a note to mention this to Mary. If, on her info, the cops were ready when a gang did a smash-and-grab, it could do her career some good.
“Anything?” Bill distributed cups and pastries.
“Relatives.”
“Mr. Chen’s?”
“Mine. Are you seriously going to eat that?”
“Why, just because it’s blue?”
“There can’t be one real ingredient in it.”
“Sugar. Come on, what happens next? Does her brother take her to dinner?”
“You really want to hear more?”
“You bet I do.”
I sipped the milk tea he’d brought-my aversion to tea had faded, but a great deal of sweetened condensed milk seemed important-and bit into an almond cookie. “Okay. Just don’t laugh at her, and don’t take your eyes off the street.”
“You got it, boss.”
I read down the column on the next sheet and found myself smiling. “They went to dinner a few days later.”
“Was it great?”
“Her word is ‘grand.’ ‘Oh, the Cathay is so grand!’ She talks about the marble, the carpets, the chandeliers. And the air-conditioning. It was so cold she shivered. But air-conditioning’s modern, and she likes modern.”
“Did she wear the shoes?”
“She did. ‘I’d practiced for days, so I swept smoothly past the Sikhs at the door. (One winked at me! Of course I pretended not to notice.)’ ”
“Of course.”
“You are laughing!”
“Never. If I’d have been there I’d have winked at her myself.”
“And she’d have ignored you, too. ‘I wanted to go into the bar, but Kai-rong refused. Women are permitted there-but he said I wasn’t. He can be so much like Father! When we were shown to our table he ordered champagne. It was delicious, though I’m not sure I care for a drink with bubbles. As we sipped we played a game: guess-the-nationality. I picked out Britons, Frenchmen, Dutchmen, Russians. Kai-rong wouldn’t give me credit for Americans because they’re too obvious.’ Hey, that was a definite snicker!”
“Only at the obvious Americans. Remember, I was a Yankee sailor in Asia myself.”
“Oh. Well, all right, but watch it. ‘There were Japanese everywhere, perfectly well behaved. When a mustached man entered, I guessed he was Italian, which made Kai-rong laugh.’ ”
“He’s laughing at her.”
“He’s her brother, he’s allowed.”
“I’ll remind you next time your brothers laugh at you.”
“You’d better not. ‘It was Sir Horace Kadoorie, a wealthy Jew from Bombay. How am I supposed to know what Jews look like? I don’t know what anyone looks like unless they call on Father. And the famous Sir Horace is small and dark. The only Indians I’ve ever seen are those gigantic Sikhs. Kai-rong kept laughing and said I’d seen other Jews and Indians on the streets, but I probably thought they were all Italians, too. I’d have thrown my champagne at him but my glass was empty. If I were allowed on the streets I could learn to tell people apart! He said the Bombay Jews are originally from Baghdad, which accounts for their coloring and size, and that not all Jews look like them, either. When I asked how he became such an expert on the subject of Jews, he blushed! And then said out of nowhere how much he was enjoying the string quartet.’ ”
I glanced up at Bill; he was grinning but silent. Well, I hadn’t said he couldn’t smile.
“ ‘I thought the quartet was boring. I wanted to hear the Filipino jazz band in the nightclub. But I didn’t say that, so he wouldn’t think I’m ungrateful. One day soon I’ll play him my jazz records, and show him the American dances the Feng sisters taught me (while Amah was gossiping with their cook!).
“ ‘So many people came over to welcome Kai-rong home! Some asked who his companion was. When he introduced me eyebrows flew up. “This is little Mei-lin?” they’d say-if they knew I even existed! One Frenchman said he suddenly regretted not calling on Father while Kai-rong was away. Each time someone complimented me, I gave them a distant smile, to show I was pleased to meet them but really, one meets so many people, doesn’t one?’ ”
“I knew it!” Bill broke in. “This girl doesn’t get out much, but she knows how to make men feel small. You’re all born with that talent, aren’t you?”
“No, but we develop it early, after we’ve met a man or two. Shall I go on?”
“Please.”
“ ‘Once each one left I made Kai-rong tell me all about them. The Frenchman, he said, is a wine importer, and I could thank him for the champagne that was making me tipsy. I told him I wasn’t tipsy-’ ”
“She was too.”
“Granted. ‘-and asked about a sad old woman. She’s a Russian countess! Here since the Bolshevik Revolution. Kairong says all the White Russians are aristocracy of some sort, which doesn’t keep them from jobs as waiters and seamstresses. He suggests I take a lesson from that. Just like Father! And I can sew, though I’d like to see him wait on tables.’ ”
I took a tea break. “I can sew, too, by the way.”
“I know you can. And I’m a lousy waiter, but a hell of a short-order cook. So when the revolution comes, we’re in business.”
“What a relief. ‘We ate roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. It wasn’t the first time I’d had them, and I told Kai-rong he needn’t think it was: The Tsangs keep an English cook. I don’t like roast beef-it seems rude to serve such a big, unflavored slab of meat-but Kai-rong says it’s the most British meal of all. The evening raced by like a kaleidoscope of dinner jackets and silk gowns. I was so happy to be there! Probably because of the excitement, some parts are hazy.’ ”
“Or the tipsiness.”
“Shush! ‘I remember meeting a bookseller called Morgan, and a Dutch doctor. Two dashing soldiers approached us together: a German officer named Ulrich, and his friend General Zhang. They both kissed my hand!’
“I don’t know the dashing German,” I interrupted myself to tell Bill, “but the dashing General Zhang is the guy she eventually married. C. D. Zhang and Zhang Li’s father. But you need to read Rosalie’s letters. He doesn’t come off quite so well. ‘Three school friends of Kai-rong’s sat and drank champagne with us; we all found each other amusing, oh how we laughed! They excused themselves, with winks they thought I didn’t see, saying they were off to Madame Fong’s. When I asked who that was, they roared. After they left, Kai-rong’s only answer was that Madame Fong is no one I’ll ever need to know. He thought I had no idea-but of course I do! She must be a courtesan, and his friends were off to a flower house! I asked Kai-rong if he’d ever been to Madame Fong’s. He opened his mouth with no sound, like a carp. I laughed so hard I cried.’ Is that what they called them when you were a sailor?”