The Queen of Tears (3 page)

The last song, “Poison,” ended. She loved Alice Cooper. Despite the fact that she was completely naked, Donny’s eyes never focused on her for more than a couple of seconds. She stood up from her stirruped position, smiled, then put on her florescent green thong bikini and walked off the stage. The green glowed especially bright because of the black lights. Before she made it back to the dressing room, the bartender handed her a margarita. “From that Korean guy over there.”

He pointed to Donny, who was now sitting in a booth. He was quick. Crystal thought maybe he was a high-roller. He dressed well and seemed to have no problem ordering her a twenty-dollar drink. He’d sat at the stage, seemingly willing to tip her. At this job, you never knew, though. Even blue-collar guys and college kids seemed to come in here and spend incredible amounts of money. But if you went shopping with them the next day, you’d see them break out into a cold sweat with every item you charged on their credit card. But this Korean guy looked harmless enough, and it was a slow night, the tourist industry crumbling and all, so Crystal sipped her margarita and walked to the booth.

When she sat down across from him, her ass squeaked against the cheap red plastic of the seat. She was still sweating. Bon Jovi’s “You Give Love A Bad Name” blared. More inspirational music. The booth shook slightly because of the level of the bass. Donny’s black shirt had lint on it. Crystal smiled. “Didn’t anyone tell you never to wear a dark cotton shirt to a club or a strip bar? You become conspicuous because of the black lights.”

Donny looked down at the glowing lint on his shirt and smiled. His teeth did not glow very much. Hard-core smoker or coffee drinker or hygiene neglecter. “Sorry, I’m not a regular.”

His voice held a faint accent. She could tell he was Korean, but now she knew he was first-generation Korean, F.O.B—Fresh Off the Boat. Even though his accent was very light, she still felt uncomfortable. The owner of Club Mirage, Mama-san, was an F.O.B., and she should’ve been used to having F.O.B.’s around, but she still felt kind of weird around them. She didn’t know what it was, but male F.O.B.’s made her feel especially uncomfortable. Their politeness seemed sinister to her. “So where do you normally go then?”

“Korean bars.”

Go figure, she thought. Most of the bars in the area were Korean-owned, and a few of them catered especially to Korean customers. Young F.O.B. Korean girls worked at these places as hostesses. They spoke the language, rubbed legs, and sometimes rubbed more for the right amount. Crystal was no hostess, and she was definitely no whore. The “new” Crystal, of which there had been several manifestations (the one who fucked for love, the one who fucked rich guys, the one who fucked girls, the one who fucked for free, or for herself, and now, the one who decided not to fuck anymore), would not rub anything but herself from now on. Two months of celibacy would not be wasted.

Crystal gently took off Donny’s shades, looked into his eyes and smiled. He quickly looked away, and went straight for his cigarettes. She saw enough to know that he was wasted on more than alcohol. Maybe acid, maybe coke. She knew; she was an addict trying to kick the habit. Now she really didn’t want anything to do with this guy. When she’d been into sex, she had been into white guys anyway. Less hangups, bigger dicks. Besides, she remembered when this Japanese guy was bouncing at Mirage a few years back. He went ape-shit one night and held Mama-san and a couple of cops at gunpoint. Asians. Sometimes violently unpredictable. She stood up. He smoked like a fag—another minus. “Well, thanks for the drink, hon. I gotta get back to the dressing room. Maybe some other time?”

As she stood up, he stood up, too. Like in the movies. She loved movies. What kind of freak was this? Didn’t he know he was at a strip bar? She’d smiled and quickly walked away.

But he’d persisted and persevered, Crystal remembered, as she applied her metallic-lavender lipstick. He spent hundreds on her. After a while, the weird F.O.B. vibe faded. Now they were engaged and living together. They both quit drugs, and while she still stripped, he was out scheming on how he could open his own Korean restaurant.

She felt calm for the first time in her life, like her life was going somewhere. After living the lifestyle of a stripper for ten years, she was finally about to escape the Lotus-guys she faintly remembered reading about during one of her many failed attempts to attend a full semester of community college. Since she’d been eighteen, she’d been dancing. But the dance was about to end. Donny assured her that his mother would dig them out of any hole. “The guilt,” he’d told her.

Crystal heard the apartment door open. She held the mirror up so that she could see Donny walk into the bedroom. He stepped in and sighed. “I can’t believe that lady.”

Crystal stood up. She smiled. He had that foreign accent well-covered, but there was still a twang. She could tell his tongue desperately wanted to replace his “L’s” with rolling “R’s.” But he was better at covering it up than his sister. Crystal picked up a tiny white slip-on dress from the bed and put in on. The brown of her areolas showed through the thin white material, and her nipples protruded. She ran her long metallic-lavender fingernails through her hair, smiled, and asked Donny, “So what do you think?”

“I hope you’re not fuckin’ serious. My mother would have a stroke,” he said without looking directly at her.

Crystal walked up to him and rubbed her breasts against his shoulder. She found his accent kind of cute. To her it revealed a certain vulnerability. “Oh, c’mon honey. She’ll love it.”

As she nibbled on his ear, then tugged on his gold hoop earring with her teeth, Donny pulled away. “Get serious. Dinner’s in a couple of hours. We gotta get there early so I can get good and drunk. I had enough sober-time with that woman.”

Crystal walked to her closet. There he went again. The hardships of being raised by an actress mother. He didn’t even know hardship. But she knew it; she knew it well. It took focus for her to turn around and smile at Donny. She pulled off her dress and said, “Well maybe I should just go like this?”

Donny laughed. “I’d love to see that,” he said without really looking.

-4-

So I had to go to dinner with the folks, my loser uncle,
Grandma, and Crystal (I don’t know how she ended up with
the loser). We were going to some sushi bar because
Grandma likes rich people food. I think that’s all old people
eat. Even the folks like rich people food sometimes, but
they usually stay home. All Dad eats is broiled chicken or
tuna, and Mom can’t live without her kimchee, or anything
else that smells bad. I’d hate to have a friend over and have
them see the inside of our icebox. There’s jars and jars of
something pickled or fishy, always Korean and always hot,
sitting next to at least a dozen bottles of Dad’s Mauna Loa
Hawaiian Natural Spring Water. It’s like Mom should go
live in Korea again. But I guess the folks are cool. Mom
gives me money for Playstation and computer games, and
Dad is thick. He paddles canoe for the Hawaiian Canoe
Club, and he always wins. I hope I get muscles like him
when I get older, but I doubt it. I’m not really into sports
and surfing and stuff. I like my computer. I guess I’m kind
of a nerd, and Dad gets on me sometimes about it. But he
surfs the web with me sometimes. Mom would freak if she
saw the porn stuff he has bookmarked. Good thing Mom
doesn’t use the computer. She also doesn’t drive. It’s weird.

So we get to the restaurant with Grandma to meet the
loser and Crystal. It’s called, “Yoshi-something” or
“Samurai-something,” you know some Japanese name.
Well, we get there, and it’s so obvious that the loser is
drunk. I think Crystal was drinking, too, because as soon
as I walk in, she runs and kisses me. On the cheek. But it
was awesome. You should’ve seen what she was wearing.
She had this tiny white dress that was so tight, I don’t even
know how she got her boobs into it. You could see her bra.
Bras are cool. And she was wearing those huge Spice Girl
shoes. Some girls in school wear those, but they look
nothing like Crystal. They wish. It’s like Crystal should be
on Baywatch or something.

Well, after she kissed me, Grandma didn’t look too
happy. You know, old school. I don’t know why she’s worried;
like Crystal would go out with me, a kid. I wish. But
she wasn’t happy about it, and what made things worse
was that Crystal looked at her, smiled, and gave her a
giant hug. I never saw anybody hug Grandma before, not
even grandpa, when he was alive. Right after Crystal let
her go, Grandma started smoothing out her rich, old-person
skirt and twisted the big diamond on her right ear. I
don’t think I ever saw Grandma wear anything wrinkled
before. She’s like so old, and even her face doesn’t have
wrinkles, just make-up. Well, after she stroked her skirt a
few times and gave the earring a twirl, she walked up to
me, pulled out a little plastic bag filled with white tissues
from her purse, licked one of the tissues, and wiped my
cheek. Some metallic lavender lipstick was smeared on
the tissue. I can’t believe Grandma did that. What am I,
two? I don’t want her spit on my face.

Well, everybody said “hi” to each other, and we all
took our usual places at the bar on the smallest chairs in
the world. Of course, I had to sit between Grandma and
Mom, which never made sense to me considering they
always spent the whole night talking to each other in
Korean. Dad sat next to Mom. Crystal sat in between
loser and Dad. Dad and Crystal talked in pidgin, while
the loser pigged out on like the most expensive and gross
sushi, even that slimy orange stuff, while drinking sake
like crazy. Dad liked to speak in pidgin to Crystal, even
though he’s from Kahala, and she’s from Waianae. I went
to Waianae a couple of times with Dad to surf, and there
weren’t even sidewalks. I doubt anybody has computers
over there. The Hawaiians there didn’t look like Dad
either. They were like fat and poor and spoke in nothing
but pidgin. Except for certain guys who looked mean,
wore thick gold chains, and obviously lifted a lot of
weights. I’m surprised Crystal came from there, too.

So I was sitting at some sushi bar not knowing what
to do with myself. It’s like I don’t have anything to say to
these people, but everybody kept looking at me, except for
the loser. Mom and Grandma would look at me every time
they’d stop jabbering in Korean. Dad would look at me
once in a while and roll his eyes. I guess he was bored too.
He was down. And even Crystal looked at me a couple of
times. But I’m such a fag because every time she’d look at
me, I’d look away. I remember learning in speech class
that eye contact is key, but it’s funny, in the ninth grade,
you take speech and they try to teach you everything
except how not to be nervous. I mean, isn’t that important?
Well, everybody kept looking at me like I was supposed
to start juggling or something, so I started to stare
at the clock.

Well, the clock was moving pretty slow. It was like I
was in a time warp or something, so I started to watch the
sushi chef. He was pretty cool. It was trippy seeing how
fast he was. Slice the fish, roll the rice, spread wasabi on
it, deliver. Five seconds, tops. He was really going at it,
taking orders from the waitresses, taking orders from the
loser. He was in the zone. It’s like when I play a computer
game sometimes, like a real-time game. Everything is
happening so fast, and then it’s like three hours later. I
wanted to try. Every time I’d disappear, though, thinking
about making sushi, Grandma would shove the picture of
all of the sushis in front of me, trying to get me to eat
something. “You pick,” she’d say over and over again.
Ever since I was a kid, it’s like she gets off on making me
eat. It used to be cool, but now it makes me lose my
appetite. “You pick, you pick, you pick.” Jeez, I don’t
know, maybe there was like no food in Korea in the old
days. That’s probably why the loser is such a pig.

So I’m sitting there trying to convince Grandma that
I’m not hungry, and then suddenly everyone but me starts
playing musical chairs because some old Japanese couple
needed some seats. So instead of everyone moving over
one, it’s like chaos. I guess being in a room full of chairs
all day during the week does have its benefits. I was about
to say something and complain, but suddenly I was sitting
by Crystal, with Mom on my other side, and Grandma two
seats away from me. Even from two seats away, she was
tapping my arm and shoving the picture menu in front of
my face. I was about to tell her that I wasn’t hungry when
Mom leaned over me to talk to Crystal. “So Crystal, how’s
work?”

Immediately I start ordering sushis. Maguro,
hamachi, ebi. Mom is so naïve. Like I don’t know what
Crystal does.

“Oh you know, the same. It’s getting slower and slower.
Jeez, five, ten years ago, I was makin’ money. But now,
people at McDonalds probably make more than me. Too
bad I blew all that cash. I was too young to have that kind
of money.”

God, her perfume killed me as she leaned across me.
Her right boob was like on my chest. Dad told me once
that he’d take me to a strip bar when I turned eighteen,
but that’s like years away.