Kitchen Chinese (19 page)

“Oh, there you are! Ooh! It’s humid! Be careful, I just had my hair blown out.” She fans the air around her head with both hands. “Are you busy?” she asks.

“Er, no. Not really.” I cast a longing glance inside the bathroom, the steaming tub edged with softly lit candles.

“Oh, goodie. Because I wanted to ask you—” She hesitates and looks into the bathroom.

“It’s okay. You’re not interrupting me. I can just add a little more hot water to the tub.”

“No, It’s just—do you mind if we move? I’m really afraid the steam is going to frizz my hair.”

In my bedroom, Claire curls up on the bed and I try to wrap the towel around myself a little more tightly. “What’s up?”

“Are you busy tonight?” She smooths her hair and tucks a stray strand behind her ear.

“Why?” I ask slowly. Claire’s invitations often involve a lot of money, and too much conversation about torts and testimony—or tan lines, depending on who we’re with.

“Well, the Marine Ball is tonight, and Wang Wei and I were supposed to go together, but something come up the last minute and he can’t make it. So, I was wondering—”

“A ball?” I cross my arms and grab at the towel as it slips. “Oh no, I mean, it’s really kind of you to think of me but I don’t think—”

“Oh, Iz!” she sighs with an impatience that surprises me. “I knew you were going to say no.”

“I’m sorry. You know these society events really aren’t my thing and—”

“It’ll be fun.” She looks down at the cream-colored invitation. “And it’s in honor of Ambassador Charles Eliot. I’d have thought you’d want to show him your support.”

“What on earth would give you that idea?” I shrug. “Look, it’s really sweet of you to ask me, but—”

“Do you have plans tonight?” she demands.

I run over my plans for the evening: a long soak in the tub, then curling up on the couch with a glass of wine, cashmere blanket, and the pirated box set of
Ugly Betty
…“Yes.”

“What?” Her eyes narrow.

“Oh, some people from the office are going to Alfa for eighties night. You know how I love Madonna!”

“So you’re going out with some of the girls?”

“That’s right. Geraldine and Lily and, er, Gab.”

“Alfa’s eighties night is on Fridays.”

Damn.

“Honestly, Iz. You don’t have to lie to me. If you don’t want to go to the ball, it’s no big deal, you can just say so.”

“Claire, I really don’t want to go to the ball.” I try to soften my words with a smile.

She slides off the bed and walks over to the door, where she leans against the frame. “Remember our lovely night out with the Keegs?” she says musingly. “I defended you from that walnut-faced woman and her pudgy son…”

“You abandoned me in the middle of dinner!”

“You asked me to go with you and I did. And now all I’m asking for is one tiny little favor…” She locks her caramel-colored eyes upon mine.

“Okay, okay,” I grumble. “Guilt-trip me into it, why don’t you?”

“Oh, thank you darling! Here’s the invitation.” She thrusts a card into my hands. “It’s black tie. Be ready by seven, okay?” She skips out of the room, leaving me to stare into my closet, where there are no ball gowns.

At 6:45 I am standing in the foyer, stomach sucked in with a girdle, hair pinned into a loose bun, my temper black. Why did I agree to go to the Marine Ball? I don’t even like swimming in the ocean.

“Are you ready to go?” Claire clicks across the marble floor, looking stunning in a silvery gray cheongsam. She snaps her beaded evening bag shut and inspects me. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

I glance down at my dress, a chartreuse off-the-shoulder number that I’d worn as a bridesmaid at my friend Erica’s wedding and brought to Beijing in a sentimental moment. Richard and I went to Erica’s wedding together, and it was the last time I remember us having fun together. We’d danced the “Hava
Nagila” and when my hair tumbled down around my shoulders, he wouldn’t let me pin it back up again. “You look all rosy and windblown, like Botticelli’s Venus,” he said. “A little, Asian Venus.”

I don’t know how he saw that, because the dress was supremely unflattering, even when I had a summer tan to offset the acid color (and bottomless champagne to offset my vanity). Now, it looks ridiculous. But without any other long gowns in my closet, what choice do I have? “What’s wrong with it?” I ask sulkily.

“You look like you’re about to dance the funky chicken and elbow your cousin out of the bouquet toss. Whose wedding is this from?” She fingers the faux satin fabric, lifting the skirt to expose my feet. “You wore the dyed-to-match shoes?” Her eyes widen. “Why on earth did you bring this to China?”

“I don’t think it’s that bad. My friend Erica really wanted her bridesmaids to be able to wear the dress again. Besides, I don’t have anything else.” I scowl. “The shoes make the skirt the right length.”

She takes my arm and pulls me down the hall into her room. “Come on.”

“Claire, I can’t borrow your clothes. You’re about twice as tall as me and half as wide.”

“We’ll find something,” she says firmly, switching on the lights to her walk-in closet. “I refuse to be seen with you in that dress,” she mutters. “Here, try this.” She hands me a black tulle skirt.

I take a deep breath and try to suppress my annoyance. “Claire, this is never going to fit. Maybe I should just stay home…”

“Oh, no. You can’t get out of this by cooking up some sort of fashion emergency. Come on, put it on.
Hurry.
The car is waiting for us downstairs.” She starts flipping through the hangers.

I wriggle out of the green dress, suck in my stomach, and zip up the skirt. It falls just above my ankles in a graceful ballerina pouf.

“Oh goodie, it fits. I bought it before I went macrobiotic so it’s a little loose on me. Have you ever thought about giving up carbs?”

“Thanks a lot.”

“It’s just a suggestion,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Try this.” She tosses me a black shirt.

I hold it out in front me. “This is a T-shirt.”

“It’s couture. Put it on.”

I pull it over my head. The scooped neck exposes my collarbone, while the clever twists of sleeves make my arms look long and slender. I turn to Claire and find her examining me in the mirror.

“Much, much better,” she exclaims. “But still a little too plain. Here, these should do the trick.” Before I can stop her, she’s slipped her diamond and platinum hoops out of her ears and handed them to me.

“Oh, I can’t take your earrings—what about you?”

“I don’t need them,” she says airily. “But you do. Don’t forget to change your shoes. And for God’s sake put some lipstick on. You look pale.” She sweeps out the room, leaving me standing in my borrowed finery.

One chauffeured car ride later we are standing in the crowded ballroom of the China World Hotel. The room glows with candles and tiny fairy lights, but despite the ice sculpture and open bar, it feels like an adult prom: the men look stiff in black tie, while the women eye each other, trying to discern who has the best dress. I want to hide in the ladies’ room, but Claire hands me a glass of champagne and pulls me to the center of the room.

“Stand up straight,” she hisses out of the corner of her mouth.
I take a sip of champagne as she drifts away, and I hear her say, “Hi, Krissie! How are you? Mwah, mwah.” I lean against a table and study the flower arrangement, a tight bouquet of white carnations.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” says a voice behind me.

I turn and nearly drop my champagne flute. There, dapper and crisp in bespoke black tie, is Charlie.

“Charlie! Hi!” I swallow my surprise. I haven’t seen him since that morning when he gave me a ride to the bus station. My cheeks flame when I remember how I thought Charlie might like me. Thank goodness I realized his interest was only platonic, before I embarrassed myself. I pray he can’t feel the heat in my face as he leans forward to kiss me quickly on both cheeks in a manner both Euro and brotherly.

“How are you? I’ve been enjoying your restaurant reviews in
Beijing NOW,
” he says.

“Oh, you shouldn’t waste your time reading those.” I wave a hand nonchalantly as the blush spreads further across my cheeks.

“Are you kidding? They’re terrific! Your descriptions of food are so enticing—they remind of MFK Fisher. Have you ever read her? Besides,” his eyes crinkle into a conspiratorial smile, “I totally agreed with your review of Empress Impressions. Awful, awful restaurant. You’re so right, their shark’s fin soup
is
like glue.”

I take another sip of champagne and laugh. “Actually, I try to avoid that stuff. Did you know they kill sharks for their fins? Well, of course you probably do since you’re such a supporter of marine wildlife.”

A confused look crosses his face. To my right I hear Claire say: “Oh, that’s just my little sister.” I turn my head as Claire edges to my side. Next to her is a tall blonde, dressed in a body-skimming gold sheath. Kristin, from the embassy.

“Charlie!” she says, playfully smacking him on the arm. “You didn’t tell me you were living in the same building as the Lee sisters.”

“I didn’t know you’d be interested,” he says mildly.

“Isabelle, do you know Kristin? She works with Charlie,” says Claire.

“It’s so nice to meet you,” gushes Kristin. “I didn’t even know Claire had a little sister!”

“Actually, we’ve met before. It’s nice to see you again.” I straighten my spine as recognition dawns in her eyes and her smile grows chilly.

“We were just talking about shark’s fin soup,” Charlie says, smoothly filling the silence. “Isabelle is a shark preservationist.”

“Really? How fascinating.” Kristin puts a hand on her hip and simpers at him.

“Oh, well, I’m sure you all know much more about the endangered shark population than I do!” I say, take a nervous sip from my glass and look at them expectantly. Silence.

“Why would we know about that, darling?” Claire asks finally.

“Well, considering how this evening is in support of marine wildlife—” I stop as Kristin and Claire dissolve into giggles. Even Charlie smiles for a brief second.

“Isabelle,” says Kristin slowly and clearly, as if she were speaking to a child. “The Marine Ball is in honor of the Marines. You know, the branch of the U.S. military. Army, navy, air force…”

“Oh!” I try to force a laugh. “How silly of me!”

“It’s all right. How could you have known?” Kristin shrugs her bronzed shoulders. “You’re a total stranger to the embassy community.”

I stare at her, trying to think up a witty retort. When nothing comes to mind, I hold up my empty glass. “I think I’m going
to get another glass of champagne. It was lovely to see you all again!” I trill and slink away. But not before hearing Kristin exclaim, “Don’t forget, Charlie! You promised me you’d sit next to me at dinner.”

In line at the bar, I squint at my tiny bejeweled watch (Claire’s) and sigh. I have hours left in my pointy-toed shoes and snug skirt. I stand shifting from foot to foot, trying to relieve some of the pressure, when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn to find Charlie, with two sparkling, full glasses in his hands, a wry smile on his face.

“Did you cut in line? How very Chinese.” I take a grateful sip from the glass that he hands me.

“Listen, Iz.” He pulls me into a corner of the room. “I don’t know how much time I’ll have to chat later, but I wanted to ask you—how was Pingyao? Did you make it to the bus in time?” His eyes are friendly, but concerned.

I smile politely even as a bristle of indignation raises the hair on my neck. Evidently, he feels the need to check up on me. “Fine. It went fine,” I say shortly. But he smiles so encouragingly that I find myself continuing. “Well, I practically missed the bus, and then I stayed with this peasant family and almost had to take a shower in the public bathroom but everyone was staring at me…And when I finally met Max, he was totally behind schedule, but our interview went really, really well—” I take a sip of champagne, and try to stop the stream of chatter. Why am I so nervous?

He looks at me with a bemused smile. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to call you…”

I take a step closer until I can smell his clean, fresh scent, like laundry that’s been left to dry in the sun. He was going to call me? Something flutters deep inside me.

But then I hear him continue: “Have you looked at this week
end’s crossword puzzle yet? I can’t figure out the theme and it’s driving me nuts.”

“Oh.” I take a sip from my glass and try to ignore the sound of blood that is suddenly rushing in my ears. “No, I haven’t…”

“I’ve also been trying to find time for our trip to Houhai,” he says gently, as if sensing my disappointment. “But work. Ugh.” He rolls his eyes and laughs. “It’s been truly crazy. Nonstop. Insane. I’ve barely had time to eat, let alone see you, which is what I really wanted to do.”

I can’t believe he’s using the work excuse again! And if lying makes him so uncomfortable, he should really stop. His gaze is so intense, I’m afraid it might burn through my skin. “Maybe you should talk to the ambassador about your workload,” I babble nervously. “I’m sure he isn’t the young tyrant everyone says he is.”

“Er—that’s another thing I wanted to tell you…” He looks at me anxiously as people start moving toward their tables for dinner.

“Yes?”

“Excuse me, sir?” A young marine, his dress uniform stiff and shiny, taps Charlie on the shoulder. “We’re just about ready for you.”

Charlie sighs and throws me a rueful glance. “I have to go,” he says, squeezing my hand. “But I’ll try to find you later, okay?”

“Sure!” I say with false cheer. He moves toward a group of marines who are carrying the American flag.

“Where have you been?” whispers Claire as I slide into my seat. “The ceremony is about to start.”

I shrug as the room darkens and we rise to our feet. What could Charlie have wanted to tell me? I wonder. The high-pitched notes of the “Star-Spangled Banner” start to soar and a small group of marines marches in, bearing the American flag.
I wonder if it was something about his work…I wonder if he’s
a…spy!
I stand there stock-still, my hand frozen to my heart. Could that be the reason for all the late nights, the mysterious disappearances?