Shanghai Girl (22 page)

Whatever I do when I close my eyes.

Would I think about Lu Long the next time Ed makes me close my eyes?

"B-e-e-e-e-p ... "

Ed’s phone rings later that afternoon when I am in a reflective mood. I wait until Ed’s answering machine message plays out. I have been told not to answer the phone.

"Oh, hello," a deep, male comes through. "My name is Lou. I'm calling for Miss Sha-fei Hong, from China. If this is the correct number, please ... "

I snatch the receiver. "Uncle Gordon! It's me, Sha-fei! How are you?”

"Oh, not bad. Just got back from a trip. Sorry I missed your arrival. How are things?"

"Fine. Still getting my bearings. I’d like to see you, if possible.” "For you, it’s always possible,” Gordon replies with a laugh. “Where are you staying?"

“I’m actually over at Ed Cook’s place. We met him at the Consulate in Shanghai, remember? And we’re now friends." Recalling Gordon’s confrontation with Ed in Shanghai, my voice falters a bit.

"Oh?” Gordon pauses for a second. “I was under the impression that he was stationed in Shanghai."

“Only temporarily. He was an intern there. Then he went to Tokyo for a while. But now he’s a lawyer in New York.”

“I see.” Gordon’s tone falls flat. “I didn’t know you were planning to see him in New York.”

“I didn’t come here just to see him. Things didn’t quite turn out the way I expected. I didn't get the assistantship from Gotham University, so I'm really worried right now."

“I told you things wouldn’t be easy. What do you plan to do?”

“I don’t have any concrete plan yet, but I’ll do everything possible to stay legal. If I could register for the fall semester, things will be okay. Unfortunately, I have no funds.”

I was secretly hoping that Gordon would offer to loan me some money to tide me over. Asking directly would be face losing, as I have vowed not to use his money once I come here. But Gordon didn’t respond to that. He said instead, "Don't panic. We can work out something for you if you are willing to be flexible. When can you stop by my office?”

“Any time you’re free, Uncle Gordon.”

“I’m never free. Hold on a second. Let me check my calendar with Lotus.”

I wonder whether Lotus is the woman who answered my calls to Gordon.

“Okay, Sha-fei. Why don't you come here at four-thirty tomorrow? I'll spend some time with you then."

"That's wonderful. I can’t wait to see you, Uncle Gordon."

"Same here. See you tomorrow."

I have a feeling that Gordon’s attitude toward me has changed because I’m staying with Ed now. Or could it be something else?

I look around Ed’s apartment, my eyes meeting those of "Mao"’s. Disapproving as ever.

“
Evening Pearls, Inc.” is situated at the corner of Seventh Avenue and 40
^th
Street. The four-story building looks like one solid concrete slab. The large freight elevator opens up directly into the reception area. A young woman with a typical Cantonese appearance is sitting at the desk, working on an electric typewriter. She has relatively large eyes and long hair like mine. Her protruding cheekbones are awkwardly covered by her dark skin. Layers of shining, 24K gold jewelry covers her earlobes, wrists, and neck. Her feet, in inch and a half black heels, appear tiny even in proportion to her small frame.

"Good afternoon, miss. I'm Sha-fei Hong. You must be Lotus, right?”

The woman tilts her head slightly and says, “Yes.”

"I have a 4:30 appointment to see Mr. Lou."

“I know,” Lotus says, glancing at her watch. "You’re a little early, Miss Hong. Take a seat, and I'll let Mr. Lou know you're here."

I sit on one of three red leather armchairs and study the reception area, noting the matching red, cylindrical reception desk at which Lotus sits and the ample space surrounding it. A tall, silver and neon sign mounted on the wall behind her states the firm’s name. Ceiling lights from a semi-circular track focus on the reception desk, making Lotus look like a TV anchorperson flanked by two original columns in the building. I suddenly wish I were sitting on that seat on center stage. I remember having admired Lotus for the way she handled my first two phone calls to Gordon. Now that I have met her in person, I feel certain that I, too, can manage the spotlight if given the opportunity.

“The Boss will see you now,” Lotus announces. “His office is the last one to your right."

I thank her and go through the corridor where stacks of open boxes of documents line one side of the wall. It seems that Gordon is in the process of moving them. On the other side, through the sweeping one-piece glass window, I can see a huge workshop with high ceilings. Many people, almost all of them women, are bending over sewing machines. Others are manning the 40-foot long pattern-cutting monsters whose roaring sound can be heard even with the partitioning window.

The door to Gordon's office is open. I knock and enter. Gordon stands up from his desk and comes to hug me. "Sha-fei! Welcome! Do sit down."

He points to one of the two red velvet armchairs facing him and says, "Let me ask Lotus to get you something to drink. A soft drink, green tea, or coffee?"

"No, no. You don't have to bother. I'm really fine. The air-conditioning will cool me down quickly. I'm so glad to see you again, Uncle Gordon. You look splendid."

"Thank you for your golden and pearly words,” Gordon says with a smile and walks to the door to close it. Returning, he puts a hand on my shoulder and says, “So, new to America and no money to go school, aye?”

I shift my weight to make his hand go and say, "Yes. New to America and already hit by harsh reality. I did try to raise some funds for the fall semester, but wasn't successful."

"'Raise some funds.' What big words," Gordon laughs. “I could use someone who is a fund-raiser. How did you do that?”

I turn red. "What I meant was borrowing money. Unfortunately, I failed."

“Who were your targeted philanthropists?”

“Oh, please, Uncle Gordon. There is no philanthropist. I just hope you don’t scold me after you hear this. I was trying to borrow money from Ed Cook.”

“What?! Why didn’t you talk to me about it first?”

“I would have, but I called several times and you were not in.”

Gordon stands in front of my chair with arms folded and asks, “Is that why you’re staying in his place?”

“Why? No! That has nothing to do with it.”

Gordon waves his hand impatiently and returns to his desk. He spreads his arms on the desk like an A frame as if supporting himself with it. “The school situation aside – that we can work out, why are you staying at his place?”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Gordon. I know you disliked him. But I … I find him an interesting person. He loves Chinese and Japanese cultures. I don’t blame him for not wanting to lend money to me. Nobody is obligated. I just wish I could work to earn my own.”

Gordon pushes himself away from the desk and sinks down on his chair. “You’ve come to the right person if wanting to work is your goal.”

“You mean … you can find me work?”

He nods, displaying a controlled smile.

“But what if Immigration found out?”

“We’ll make sure it’s legal, but you’ll have to work on my terms, Sha-fei.”

“What are they?”

Gordon removes his bifocal glasses and meticulously folds the frame. The gentle clicking sound is followed by what seems a long silence. Then he says, “As new immigrants, we all have to pay our dues. Because of our special relationship, Sha-fei, I’ll give you a break and let you work on a project for me on a trial basis. The $500 monthly allowance should cover your basic expenses. How does that sound?”

“Would I lose my legal status if I work for you?”

Gordon sounds impatient. “Everything will be taken care of by my lawyers if you agree to my terms. Do you?”

“I guess I do.”

“You’d better. You know the Chinese phrase ‘Like a mouse falling into the rice vat and not realizing his fortune’? Well, you’re the mouse, my darling. Most people would kill for such an opportunity.”

“I appreciate that, Uncle Gordon. What are my specific duties?”

Gordon displays a big smile and says, “Now, that’s my girl! Your duties are to provide me with analyses and updates on the status of the Chinese community in the Greater New York area. You were a political science major in China, so you should know how to do research. You don’t have to come in here. I’ve got no office space for you, and you’re really not on Evening Pearl’s payroll. All I want is a weekly written report in Chinese on relevant topics. After I read it through and make changes in it, you can translate it into English and Lotus will type it out. Do you think you can handle that?”

“No problem, Uncle Gordon. As a matter of fact, I’ve already begun to do some research on immigration for Ed at the New York Public Library.”

Gordon gathers his thick black eyebrows. “What for? Is he an immigration lawyer?”

“Not yet. But he hopes to become one someday.”

Gordon sneers, “Let me know if he ever becomes something real. So how is he treating you?”

I shrug, avoiding eye contact.

Gordon pulls at the knot of his tie and loosens his first shirt button. He says in a deep voice, “If we were still in China, I’d tell you to stay away from that scoundrel. But here in America, I can’t tell you what to do because you are an adult. You’re supposed to have your own sound judgment, make your own choices, and bear the consequences. As someone who was once a friend of your father, I just want to remind you that my daughter was ruined in the hand of this man.”

I look up into his eyes and reply, “Thank you for your advice, Uncle Gordon. But I think I know what I’m doing. Anyway, thanks for everything. I’ll be a good worker for you.”

“That I’m not concerned about. One last thing. You need to make a trip down to Chinatown, and Lotus will take care of that for you. It’s for your legal status transition.”

“That’s right! A friend of mine told me that some doctors in Chinatown do that for foreign students,”

Gordon casts me a surprised look. “I have to watch you, Sha-fei. You’re a sponge sucking up everything.”

I just smile at him.

Gordon presses a button and talks into a speakerphone, “Yeah. We’re done. You can go ahead and make the arrangement with Sha-fei, as discussed.”

He gives me a tight hug. “I care a lot about you, Sha-fei,” he says.

Then he lets go.

Lotus is late.

As I stand waiting under the golden arches sign on Canal Street, I re-examine the slip of paper Lotus gave me yesterday upon my departure from Gordon’s office. “Dr. Winchester Hom, 222½ Canal Street, Room 5. 1 p.m.” The Chinatown in America is so different from China itself. McDonald’s, the famous American institution I only heard of in China, is here known in Chinese as "
Mai Dang Lao,
" or "Wheat Should Be Old." Who did such weird translation?

So this is the world depicted in
The Chinese New Yorker
. Merchants with storefronts looking like the China of the past century. Peddlers hawking in a dialect I cannot comprehend. Pedestrians lugging plastic bag after plastic bag of groceries. Truck-drivers bargaining with the Chinese proprietors in vernacular English. Hustle and bustle. The Middle Kingdom in the middle of democracy.

I observe this world with fascination. My research for Gordon will be focused here, this social and cultural center of the Chinese-American community, this country within a country new immigrants are most attracted to.

At one twenty, Lotus emerges from under the subway stairs. All she says is “Just follow me and do as I say. Dr. Hom is going to give you a brief check-up. If he asks where you are going to school, say out-of-state. And you're staying with relatives here for the summer before going to school in the fall. That's enough. They just want to know you're not admitted by a school in New York so that Immigration wouldn't check that far."

"Then?"

"Chances are he'll issue you a health certificate. You’ll be all set. The Boss’s lawyers downtown will handle the rest."

The sign on Dr. Hom's door is in both English and Chinese: "Winchester Wing-Wah Hom, M.D., Internist." His Chinese given name means “Forever China.”

Lotus says “Hello” to the doctor's receptionist and hands her several $20 bills. The girl nods and glances at me. She then attaches a note to a folder. She and Lotus start chatting vigorously in Cantonese as if I and several other elderly Chinese patients were not present. Not understanding their conversation, I turn my eyes to the waiting area. Two mice race through the cracked wood floor toward a withered indoor plant.

It must be because Lotus is a friend of the receptionist that my turn comes before everybody else’s. “I’ll go in with you,” says Lotus matter-of-factly.

Dr. Hom is a short, skinny man probably in his early forties. He peers at the note on the chart and asks, "You've been sick since you came to the U.S., eh?"

"Yes. Tired all the time," I answer, realizing why Lotus has taken me here.