The Doll Brokers (25 page)

“That makes no sense, Ann. They can be frying my eggs while I'm in the shower.”

She rubbed her forehead, then came back into the room. “I'll order. What do you want?”

“Two eggs over easy, toast, potatoes, bacon. And I don't want to hear a word about my cholesterol.”

“Hey, they're your arteries.” She watched him head for the bathroom, finally breathing again when he disappeared inside and closed the door.

She'd had another night of dreams. Mad Dog woven in with Jonathan, the two metamorphosing back and forth. She remembered thinking vaguely—as she had nodded off—that it was okay to let herself drift into sleep because Jonathan was with her. As though Mad Dog couldn't come around if he was there. She'd just doze for a little while until he left, she'd thought. Then she'd woken, whimpering at two o'clock in the morning.

She'd been awake ever since, trying to decide what to do about these recent developments between them.

Give in to him
, something inside her whispered.
Give it up.
She already knew that sex with him would be wild and exciting. And then it would be over. No harm done and she would move
on. And if it was horrible, if he somehow sensed everything inside her that was lacking? So what? They'd never been close until now. They'd just go back to what they had been before all this had started—antagonistic, vaguely familial strangers.

That was when she realized she had started caring about his opinion of her. Because she didn't want him to know she was lacking. Broken. Used. Cold.

She was still standing there, staring at the bathroom door, when it opened. Jonathan came out and looked around. “No food yet?”

“Oh, shit,” she muttered, and went for the phone.

She called room service, then she phoned New York. She tried to ignore his presence as he wandered in and out of the bathroom. At one point, she heard the buzz of a blow dryer. Then her call went through and she had her secretary on the line. She had briefed Dora on the Baby Talk N Glow situation before Patrick's bail hearing.

“How's everything going?” Ann realized she was almost afraid to ask.

“About what you'd expect,” Dora replied. “The wire service has picked up the story of Patrick's arrest and we've been all over the news, except the truth has been exaggerated, making everything sound worse. Rumor has it that we won't be able to continue with the doll. We've had calls from no less than eight competitors, all offering to take her off our hands.”

“The damn sharks! What else?”

“All the major buyers are howling.”

Ann felt her anger rise. “Call them back and tell them nothing's changed. We're still going ahead with Baby Talk N Glow as planned.”

“Okay, then.” Dora sounded pleased. “I'll do my best to convince them.”

“Tell them all that I'll be in touch personally as soon as I get back to the States.”

Ann hung up just as room service arrived. Jonathan sat at the table and dug in. She nibbled toast and drank coffee, and kept on her feet. At some point he'd changed into navy blue slacks and a white Polo shirt. She was glad he'd lost the Hawaiian print.

“I want to go now,” Ann said, putting her half-eaten toast back on the plate.

“Then by all means, let me jump to my feet and race out of here.” But he pushed his plate aside anyway.

Ann went to the door and waited for him while he collected his wallet and key card.

Outside of their hotel Jonathan was surprised to see how few pedestrians there were compared to yesterday afternoon. But it was early and Ann had mentioned that people no longer worked long hours, even if most owners and executives were on call day or night. Vehicular traffic was still congested, however. Jonathan had never seen so many Mercedes in one place at any one time. Walking a few blocks, he soon got caught up in the magic of the street names—Hanoi and Mody, Peking and Canton—all spelled out in Chinese as well as English.

A few minutes later Ann had guided them to the entrance to the Star Ferry. It was far busier here. Men, women, and children, mostly locals mixed with a few foreigners, all lining up at the turnstiles, the majority willing to pay approximately the value of thirty American cents to travel first class on the upper deck, while a surprising number, bent on saving close to half that amount, were entering the lower deck.

Hong Kong was comprised of two parts; Hong Kong Island itself, home of the stock market, banking, and head offices servicing the business community, and Kowloon, which catered more to tourists and whose territory led directly into mainland China. In the city guide in his hotel room, Jonathan had read that the Star Ferry, or Ferries, included twelve boats that traveled between Kowloon and Hong Kong Island on a regular basis, every
day, seven days a week. Up until 1972 when a tunnel was built, and then the subway, or MTR, in 1979, this had been the only means of transportation between the two parts.

Standing beside Ann now, waiting in line to board the ferry, Jonathan looked at her, grinned, and said, “1841.”

She waited.

“That was the year the British got the Chinese to sign a treaty ceding the barren island of Hong Kong to them.”

“Wonderful.” She frowned, giving him a look that said she was really not interested.

“This agreement was soon extended to include Kowloon.”

“This is better than Paris, Jonathan. You seem to know everything.”

“1898,” he said.

Ann purposely kept her comments to herself.

His grin extended. “That was the year the mighty British Empire had China sign a ninety-nine year lease giving them control of the New Territories, thereby lessening the chance of attack from the mainland.” He paused. “A little shortsighted, wouldn't you say?”

Despite herself, Ann asked, “And why is that?”

“Because,” he said, “the first treaty left them with the rights to Hong Kong Island and the Kowloon peninsula in perpetuity, but the second was a lease that would expire in ninety-nine years. We arrive at 1997 and the British are caught looking ridiculous. It would have been impractical, if not foolhardy, for them to have tried to hold on to one part of the colony without the most important part, the New Territories, the parcel of land that bordered the mainland. Bye-bye British protectorate, and so much for perpetuity. It's a shame, really. But what else could they have done?”

Silence followed his little speech. Then Ann asked, “Are you through now?”

Her disinterest didn't bruise him, but he kept quiet after that. They entered the ferry through the gangway and took a seat on
one of the wood benches. There was nothing glamorous about this ride. It was all a throwback to another era, with elderly coxswains, many of whom had missing or rotting teeth, riding alongside them. Yet the short journey across Victoria Harbour, all of eight minutes or so, was eye-catching if nothing else, despite the refuse in the water which included everything from pop and beer bottles to toilet paper, and too many other varieties of waste to count. The view was what made it worthwhile, however. In the near distance, high-rise office towers with neon signs gave off a multi-colored display. Closer, the odd sampan, oil tanker or cruise ship passed by.

They arrived at Central District and Ann led the way off the ferry. A short walk brought them to Harcourt Road, where they turned east. Jonathan found this area to be more sterile and less cluttered.

“What time did you call this guy, anyway?” he asked Ann, meaning the police captain.

She shrugged. “I don't know. Six-thirty, maybe?”

“And he was there already, working?”

“I got lucky.” Ann felt jagged, irritable. She wanted to sleep. She wanted to continue to tease Jonathan. She wanted to run and hide from everything.

They arrived at the police station with twenty minutes to spare and were put in another dingy room with stone walls and a yellow linoleum floor to wait. Cop shops were the same the world over, she thought.

Someone went to find Bruce Tang.

The door opened within minutes and the man came into the room. “Sorry I kept you waiting,” he said with hardly the trace of an accent.

Ann towered over him by a good four inches, but he was twice as round. Not fat, exactly, but stocky. He wore a white, short-sleeved dress shirt with an aquamarine tie that was slightly askew. His black hair was razor-cut and his face oval. He had eager eyes.

Ann moved to shake his hand. “You didn't,” she said. “We're early.”

He pulled out a chair at the single table in the room and sat. “We've contacted your authorities in New York,” he said, looking only at Jonathan. “We certainly want Mr. Morhardt for questioning, but we are not charging him with a crime at this moment.”

“Oh?” Jonathan said. “Then what's this all about?”

“Does the name Edmund Chow mean anything to you?”

“Of course,” Ann said. “He has looked after our company's manufacturing and product development here and in mainland China for the past ten years.”

“He gave me the impression he hardly knew you. The story he told was one of duplicity. Patrick Morhardt attempted to steal one of his products from under his nose.” Papers on the desk were shuffled aside. “Yes, here it is.” He turned a sheet over. “Baby Talk N Glow. A doll that he says he was negotiating to sell to Hasbro that Patrick apparently took without authority for your company or himself, it was unclear which. Mr. Chow was quite adamant that this doll belonged to him and him alone. I was going to—”

“Did he mention the inventor of this doll?” Ann interrupted. “Or the fact that our company signed a contract for worldwide rights, and that we paid him an advance of one point five million American dollars?”

Captain Tang rose to his feet. Directing himself to Jonathan once more, he said, “My dear sir, if what this lady is saying is true then we had best get Mr. Chow in here for a round of serious questions.” He made to walk out of the room. “I'll get one of my men on it right away…”

“Don't bother,” Jonathan stopped him. “The man's absconded. We've been trying to reach him without success.”

“Is that so?” the policeman said, returning to the room and reclaiming his seat. “We will see about that. Please—let me have the contact numbers you have for Mr. Chow.”

Ann rattled them off. “But we have a more pressing issue,” she explained. “We must locate Charles Ling, the inventor of the doll. His company is called Mae Sing Creations. If anyone can shed some light on the situation, it should be him.”

The policeman raised his pen and, without looking at Ann, asked Jonathan for Mr. Ling's phone number.

“We don't have a number for Mr. Ling,” Ann answered, placing a firm hand on Jonathan, who seemed ready to protest against the policeman's obvious sexist attitude toward her.

“Address?”

She shrugged. “Sorry.”

Captain Tang leaned back in his chair. “Then may I see a copy of the contract you have signed?”

Ann took her time, began to explain the precise details of how they had acquired the rights to the doll, then how the contract had gone missing. “We could really use your help, Captain,” she said, “starting with finding Charles Ling.”

“I will find Mr. Ling,” the policeman said with some determination. “And Mr. Chow as well. What hotel are you staying at? I will call you with some news before the day is out.”

Ann gave him the information, then stood. Captain Tang gave a slight bow in her direction but shook Jonathan's hand.

The minute they were out on the street, Jonathan pounced on her. “Sonofabitch! Why didn't you tell him how rude he was being towards you!”

“It wouldn't have done any good!” Ann flung back at him. “Do you think he'd be helping us if I had?”

“Fuck him! We don't need his help.” He left her standing and started to walk away.

“Hey—” She came after him. “I'm touched, Jonathan. I really am. But the fact is we
do
need him.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, screw it! I want out of this rat hole!”

“Why? Because of his rudeness? Come on, Jonathan. The stakes are too high for this. Besides, this is China. I've gotten used to it.”

He hesitated. Yes, it did bother him that someone treated her with such obvious disrespect. And it bothered him even more that he cared so much, and that he was powerless to do anything about it.

But Ann was right. He had to keep his personal feelings out of it. Finally, he took hold of her hand, noticing with pleasure that she did not try to pull it away.

T
hey disembarked the Star Ferry on Kowloon side and began the walk back to their hotel. The muffled sound of her ringing cell phone sent Ann into a panic. Where was it? In her briefcase? Her purse? A second later she held the phone to her ear and heard the voice of Emeril Lacey. “I've got good news and bad,” he said.

Too much good always made her nervous. “I'll hear the bad.”

“In all likelihood, you're out the million five you laid down for this baby doll in the first place.”

As bad went, it was digestible. “I knew that.”

“If the authorities ever find Edmund Chow you might get it back, but my guess is he's gone for good, and our time would be better spent moving forward.”

At least they were thinking along the same lines, Ann thought. Finding the inventor of the doll, Charles Ling, was what mattered, but she didn't want to get into that now. “What's the good news?” she asked.

“I've spoken to Felicia. She wants you to know that the loss will be covered by her reserves. She asked me to tell you not to worry.”

Ann shrugged. “Tell her I'll try.”

“Call me if there is anything else I can do.”

“Will do,” Ann said. She thumbed the off button.

“And you're agreeing to what?” Jonathan asked.