Shanghai Girl (32 page)
Authors: Vivian Yang
“Gordon.”
“Yes, Gordon, of course. I’m terrible with names. How have you been?”
“Can’t complain.” Gordon points at me and says, “Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Cook, Sha-fei. Ted, this is Sha-fei Hong. She’s recently arrived from China. Don’t give her a hard time.”
He shakes my hand. “Ted Cook. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you,” I reply softly, aware that the older version of Ed Cook is not in high spirits. But what he goes on to say surprises me:
“Oh. Good English. Gordon certainly has good taste.”
The man’s resemblance to his son is obvious in more than one way.
Gordon says, “Cut that out, Ted.”
Ted Cook pats Gordon on the shoulder and walks back to his seat.
"Lenny's here," I hear someone say. I see a short man and a tall woman in a black see-through dress heading towards the table where Ted Cook is. After they sit, someone taps a wine glass and the room quiets down.
Senator DellaFave stands up, a glass of wine in hand. "Ladie-e-es and gentlemen,” he pauses to chuckle at his own dramatized opening. “Thank you for coming. You know, as I know, that you are the most principal assets of our Party here in the great Empire State of New York. It is my hope that you will have a great time here tonight. So, how do you like this egg-shaped palace?"
The room erupts with applause. Someone says, “Feels like the Oval Office to me already, Senator!”
"And why not? Our goal will be the Oval Office a few short years down the road. The Rotunda here tonight is the beginning."
"Hey, nobody told me this was supposed to be a symbolic affair," Ted Cook cries out from his seat.
Keeping myself alert, I speak little while paying close attention to the order in which Gordon uses the silverware. Few at our table seem to be interested in me or in Gordon. Asian-Americans must be a deplorable minority at such functions, I think. Someday, I will change that.
Toward the end of the meal, people began to mingle. DellaFave’s wife clicks her two-inch heels and stops by Gordon, bends and plants a kiss on his cheek. "Fancy seeing you again, sweetheart!"
Gordon stands up and says, "How nice to see you, Mrs. DellaFave. You look stunning this evening.”
“Oh, do I?” Mrs. DellaFave smiles. “Thank you so much. Do enjoy our little party.”
“Thank you. We will.”
Ted Cook sits at the table across from us, chewing hard on a cigar. Seeing Mrs. DellaFave, he picks up his wine glass and walks toward her. They exchange a kiss.
“How are you holding up, Ted?” she asks.
“Hanging in there, but I still can’t believe he’s gone.” Turning to Gordon, he explains, "My son died.”
Gordon nudges me discreetly as he stands up. "I’m sorry to hear that.”
"He was hit by a car on New Year's Eve," he shakes his head and drinks up half a glass of wine.
Bewilderment and relief wash over me. Ed’s death is finally confirmed. Unable to contain the urge, I blurt out, "I'm so sorry to hear that, Mr. Cook.”
Ted Cook and Gordon look down at me simultaneously, with Gordon’s eyes giving me a fierce warning.
“Thank you for your sympathy, young lady,” Ted Cook gazes at me while biting hard on his cigar. “Ed would have gone berserk over a beautiful lady like you, but … “
“What happened?" Gordon interrupts hastily, edging Cook from our table.
Ted Cook says, “Freak accident. And the stupid NYPD is investigating, but they are completely clueless right now. ‘Shit happens,’ they say. ‘Looks like it’s hit and run, but New York is a big place.’ Anyhow, they haven’t caught anybody."
"Any witnesses?"
"None so far. Maybe you can help me. Ed was with a Japanese woman at a party before the accident. Can you help me find the woman?"
A Japanese woman. That certainly sounded like Ed.
“But I’m Chinese, you know,” says Gordon.
“Yes, I know,“ Ted Cook says in an irritated tone. That’s not what I thought. Believe it or not, I used to date a Japanese woman. Ed knew her. After the tragedy, I thought about Michiko immediately.” He pauses thoughtfully. “But she lives in Paris now. New Year’s Eve she was with some French Moroccan musician there. Well, anyway, I just thought maybe you … “
"Wish I could help you. But I don’t happen to know any Japanese people."
Ted Cook smothers his cigar in his almost empty wine glass and declares, "I have a theory. The Democrats are out there to get me. They do it by murdering my family. There's an uncanny resemblance between the deaths of Ed and my own father on the island of St. Martin. Both died of an accident involving a taxi."
Gordon nods thoughtfully and agrees, "Sometimes, events do have a strange way of repeating themselves."
"When my old man died several years ago, I didn't think too much about it. But now that Ed has died almost the same way, I have become suspicious. I was talking to Lenny about this. I wonder whether we should hire a private investigator. If the Democrats are found to be behind this, it can help us politically. Lenny could make martyrs out of Ed and my old man."
"I hear Ted is testing his conspiracy theory again,” Leonardo DellaFave’s voice rises behind me. “Let me tell you something, Teddy boy, you are not going to generate a national scandal out of your son’s death to bring down the incumbent President."
"You never know!" Ted Cook waves his fist in the air.
I am appalled by the cold-bloodedness of Ed’s father.
Gordon calls out, “Hello, Senator DellaFave. Good to see you again,” and shakes hands with him.
I stand up and say hello to the Senator, too.
“Hello, Miss Hong. Glad you could come.”
“I’m really enjoying your party. Thank you again for inviting me.”
DellaFave winks at me and says, “You’re most welcome.”
Gordon walks farther away from our table with the Senator and they start talking. I hope Gordon will remember to bring up my H-1 sponsorship issue.
Then I think: But they don’t have to meet face to face to talk about that. If Gordon really intends to help me, a phone call will suffice. Long gone are my days of a 3-minute-limit phone call made from a Shanghai neighborhood public phone shack after a long wait in line.
Most Chinese people won’t be able to earn twelve hundred dollars in their lifetime. It’s unthinkable to spend that amount for one dinner. Sha-fei Hong, you are a long way from home! At the thought, I drink up what’s left in my glass. Bottoms up and Cheers!
The very next morning, Lu Long calls me. “How did the fund-raising event go?”
“It went well. Very interesting. I certainly couldn’t have pictured anything like that without actually having been there.”
“Did that politician praise you?”
“No, we only shook hands and said hello. He wasn’t there to visit with me. He was there to raise money.”
Lu Long laughs and says, “I was imagining the dinner – how you would rule like an empress.”
I laugh, too. “You’re so silly. Nothing like that could ever happen. I was just a small potato,” I giggle at my American slang.
“A small potato with big ambitions. I know you.”
“Maybe. Aren’t you the same?” I ask.
We laugh together in acknowledgment.
“I called to invite you to go to Columbia with me today. It is pre-registration week. I went up there yesterday to familiarize myself with the campus. It is so much better then Flatbush University, and I have to finalize my choice of an apartment, too.”
“You have your own apartment at Columbia?” I ask excitedly.
“Not my own. It’s supposed to be shared. But so far, I believe I’m the only person assigned there. Other students may move in later. It’s on Morningside Drive. I hear it’s really nice.”
“I can’t wait to see it once you settle in. Is it expensive?”
“It’s $450 for my share, plus utilities. With my scholarship, it should be quite affordable. It's still much below market because Columbia owns the property.”
“I almost forgot you are a $15,000 a year rich man now.”
“Oh, stop that. Are you coming or not?”
“I haven’t gone back to the Columbia since I first arrived in New York. I’d like to see it again.”
“Wonderful. Let’s go together.”
Lu Long and I spent half a day walking around Columbia and enjoyed ourselves. We took pictures in front of the seated Goddess of Justice Alma Mater statue just like Father and Gordon had done over three decades earlier. Lu Long couldn’t get into the apartment assigned to him until after the winter break, but we strolled hand in hand on Morningside Drive.
When I returned to my apartment in Chinatown that evening, a letter from Aunt Cheng was waiting for me. I had written her last October not long after I moved here and enclosed stick-on labels with my name and address in English so it would be easy for her to reply.
Sha-fei girl,
Let Buddha bless your kind heart. You haven't forgotten humble, old woman me in Shanghai. I was in tears when I got your letter from New York. And I wet my pillow at night with joy when I thought about your letter and the photo you sent.
You looked so happy next to the green, plastic Statue of Liberty on Fifth Avenue. Naturally, I hid your letter from my dead old head Si Lao Tou. He would beat me up for dreaming about going to America.
You said life was hard, but I want to encourage you to bear with it for a while. And always remember how life is here. When you finish school and have an American degree, everything will be much better. You will become rich and make lots of American money.
Please sponsor me to New York. I can cook, clean, wash, and sew for you. If you marry a wealthy American gentleman, I'll wait on him, too. And take care of your baby in the future.
I just want a small salary as long as it’s in U.S. dollars.
Your mother came late September to take care of the apartment matters with the University. Comrade Chen's office had written her to take away the things you had left. She came with her new baby. Bad luck! Another girl resembling your stepfather more, as you can see from the photo I enclose. Your mother told me your stepfather was furious over the birth of yet another girl, as well as your unannounced departure. She had to kneel down in tears to beg for his forgiveness. It seems the world is full of bad men like my ungrateful Si Lao Tou.
On the other hand, I think your mother is paying for her sins now. You know I am a straight-forward person, and do not be offended if I say something direct.
You hadn't written me then so she gave me this picture of her and the baby to pass on if I heard from you. She got the letter you wrote before leaving. You have her address in Nanjing so you can write her if you want. Just be discreet. Your stepfather is fuming over you right now.
That is all I can tell you. Your old apartment is such a help to us, my son lives there now. Thank you very much again, Sha-fei girl. Study well and make lots of American money soon. Your poor Aunt Cheng is counting on you! Please write again as quickly as possible.
Your foolish Aunt Cheng
I thought she was not foolish at all. She was a typical, non-professional immigrant from China, or a potential immigrant in her case: idealistic, hard working, and persevering. If I ever made it somewhere, somehow, I would help her.
Back in China, neither Lu Long nor I knew about Valentine's Day. On my first Valentine’s Day, Lu Long invites me to his new apartment on Morningside Drive. The wide, marble, and circular staircase leading up to his apartment reminds me of Ed Cook’s place on lower Fifth Avenue. I wonder what happened to it.
It takes Lu Long a while to open the door after I press the buzzer. A mischievous smile on his face, he greets me with his hands tucked behind his back. "Happy Valentine's Day, Sha-fei Hong!”
“Happy Valentine’s Day. What are you holding behind you?”
“Say you want to be my Valentine.”
I smile and ask, “Do I have a choice?”
“Well, no,” he says. “Here. These are for you, then." He hands me six long stem red roses. An accompanying small card with his handwriting in Chinese reads:
Wishing you a very happy Valentine’s Day from the bottom of my heart!
Wo Ai Ni!
Lu Long
Surprised and moved, I exclaim, “Thank you so much! I can’t believe this. I’ve never gotten roses from anybody. I didn’t know you were such a romantic!”
