“How did you end up back here?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I’ve been back and forth a few times, but China has always felt more like home. My grandmother lives just down the street, and my cousin’s children come to this school.”
“And your parents?”
“Still in the US,” she shrugs. “They’re divorced now.”
“So much for the American dream.”
“Tell me about it.”
The rest of the interview is easy and natural. Bianca is more interested in my skill-set than any teaching experience I may or may not have had, and I can tell that she likes me. She promises to let me know the outcome within a week. I leave with a sense of pride that I haven’t felt in years, and wave far more enthusiastically at the children as I pass the playground on the way to the car.
Denri drives me back to my apartment. Picking up on my positive attitude, he praises me for a job well done, and I don’t have the heart to point out that he would hardly know given that he spent the entire time in the car. He walks me right to the elevator before he hands me his business card, with strict instructions to call him if I need anything, no matter the time, day or night. At least, that’s what I think he said. He could well have been giving me a recipe for Dim Sum.
Upstairs, I decide not to tempt fate by texting my dad that I may have found a job. Instead, I Google the nearest takeaway restaurants and order in. My credit card payment goes through.
4
I sleep for fourteen hours straight and wake feeling better able to cope, but with a crick in my neck –a combination of cattle-class travel, and the rock-hard mattress adorning my new bed. Not just a new bed, but a new life. I still can’t quite process everything that’s happened in the past few days, but after a solid night’s sleep, I feel a sudden need to prove myself, or at least, to prove everyone else wrong. I know I haven’t got a job offer yet, but this might actually work out. Who knows, maybe I’ll be home sooner than I think. I’m sure my father will see sense once he’s over his latest tantrum.
I almost don’t recognize the tone when my phone rings. Vaulting out of bed, I scrabble in my purse until I find it. Lara’s name flashes on the screen. All thoughts of making it on my own vanish.
“Hey!” I answer, so excited to hear a familiar voice I could cry.
“Get your dancing shoes on, you sexy bitch,” Lara commands. “We’re going out.”
I’ve never been great at math, but I’m pretty sure it’s early evening back home. I frown at the morning sunlight streaming through the cheap curtains of my apartment and then slump back on the bed. “I can’t. You’re not going to believe me when I tell you this, but I’m in China.”
“China?” she squawks. “What the hell are you doing in China?”
“It’s a long story. Believe me, I’d rather be there.”
“Well get your sweet arse on a plane and get back here, then!”
“I can’t. My dad’s put his foot down. I have to stick it out.”
Lara wails. “How am I supposed to have any fun without you?”
“I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” I tease, thinking that we may start our evenings together, but we seldom end them that way.
“I’m serious, Ambs. I need you.”
“Why?” I laugh. “You’re perfectly capable of causing trouble all on your own.”
“Yeah, but…” she trails off and it occurs to me that she might need me for a reason I haven’t considered. In all the times Lara and I have partied together, she’s never once picked up a tab. It never bothered me because I’d been spending my father’s money, and people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. But suddenly, it does bothers me. A lot. I choose my next words carefully, praying I’m wrong.
“Lara, I hate to ask but all my accounts have been frozen and–” I begin, but Lara is already backpedaling.
“Sweetie, I’m so sorry, but I have to go. I didn’t realize you were abroad, this call must be costing me a fortune.”
“Actually, I think I”
“Call me the second you get back! Love you madly, sassy pants!”
I blink at my phone, watching as the screen fades to black. She hung up. That lying, using bitch hung up on me. Deep down, I think I always knew that Lara wasn’t a true friend, but it still stings to be proven right.
With nothing else to do and only my foul mood for company, I set out on my own to explore and familiarise myself with my new neighborhood. I discover a bunch of takeaway restaurants just a few streets down from mine, and a 24-hour liquor store, which I scurry past as fast as I can. I can’t afford to make that kind of mistake, literally can’t afford it, now that my father has set a strict limit on my credit card. It occurs to me that I didn’t actually think to check what that limit is.
I walk until my feet hurt, determined to embrace the culture of a new and interesting city. The streets are buzzing with people, and the air is not as clean as I’m used to. When I stumble into an informal market, I’m assailed by the smell of fish and spices, cheap plastic, and cat piss. A grizzled woman with a leathery face offers me a plate piled high with chicken feet, and I bolt, weaving through stalls as though the hounds of hell are after me. I emerge on the other side of the market and take a few deep, steadying breaths. So much for immersing myself in the culture. Across the street, I spot a bicycle hiring stand. Perfect! My feet are killing me, and I’ll cover far more ground on a bike. I navigate the docking station quickly, sparing only a fleeting concern for the sixty-dollar charge to my credit card. It’s refundable, and besides, there’s no way my father can find fault with me hiring a bicycle to get around, it’s healthy cardio.
It takes me about half a mile and several near misses with startled pedestrians before I find my balance. I can’t remember when last I rode a bike, but I guess it’s true what they say about never forgetting. I coast down street after street, finding my rhythm and getting hopelessly lost, when suddenly the city begins to fall away. Gone are the high-rise buildings and, in their place, stand temple-like structures, with intricate artwork carved into their walls. It’s greener here, the air thinner, easier to breathe. I pedal slowly, taking it all in, and then I follow a crowd of people who all seem to be walking in the same direction until I find myself at the southern gate of the Forbidden City, which I recognise from the tourist signboard I saw on the way from the airport. I stare in wonder at the stone expanse, the five arches, and the sight takes my breath away. Wordlessly, I park the bicycle in a designated area and join the queue. I hand over my credit card to pay the entrance fee, not caring if I don’t eat for a week.
The massive entrance leads into a large area surrounded by the same beautiful buildings. There is an awed hush, a respectful silence as visitors simply stand and stare at the palatial architecture. And then, a loud, nasal voice shatters the quiet. I whirl around in a fury to find a portly tour guide wearing Ray-Bans and leather sandals, surrounded by a crowd of tourists kitted out with selfie-sticks and fanny packs.
“… used to be the imperial palace in the Ming and Qing Dynasties, and ordinary people were not allowed in without permission,” the guide is saying now. He pauses, and I sense a punchline in the making. I cringe as he opens his mouth. “But don’t worry, we won’t kick you out. You all paid the entrance fee!” What an asshole. The polite half of the crowd forces fake laughter, while the rest pretend not to have heard. I meet the eyes of a blond girl about my age, and she rolls hers, displaying an alarming amount of white. I give her a sympathetic look and then can’t help but grin. As the guide waxes lyrical about the history of the Meridian Gate, through which they’ve just come, I wander off in the opposite direction. It feels ironic, standing here in this hallowed place – the banished daughter sent to the Forbidden City for her sins – and yet, as far as punishment goes, this isn’t the worst thing that could have happened. I’d never have made it here myself, never have experienced the beauty and wonder of this glorious place. I might even have to stop hating Kent.
�
��You seem quite in awe of the Forbidden City.” A deep voice interrupts my thoughts. A cute, twenty-something, with a deep tan and a mop of curly brown hair, is standing beside me. My eyes come to settle on the loudest floral shirt I’ve seen since a trip to Hawaii a few years back.
I shrug. “I was just wondering why I bothered to climb the wall to get in when the gate is wide open.” It’s a joke worthy of the loud-mouthed tour guide, but to my astonishment, he throws back his head and laughs, as if he finds my response genuinely funny.
“Nice shirt,” I tease, warming to him instantly.
He looks down at it. “It’s amazing, right? I won it in a dare.”
“Was the dare to wear it in public?”
He flashes me a grin and gazes up at the palace looming above us. “This place is amazing though, right?”
“It is pretty incredible,” I admit. “I haven’t been this still in a long time.”
He turns to face me and thrusts out his hand. “I’m Ben.”
I shake his hand. “Amber.”
“That’s pretty. Like the color.”
I shrug. “If you like brown, I guess.”
We fall into another pensive silence, only this time, my sense of calm isn’t quite as zen as it was a few minutes ago. I’m acutely aware that there is a very handsome boy at my side who laughs at my jokes and is a serious threat to all my good intentions.
“So,” Ben says, breaking the silence. “Are you here on a spiritual journey?”
“Something like that.”
“Does this spiritual journey allow you any sabbaticals. A drink with me, for instance?”
He really is ridiculously cute.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
I think of the splendor which awaits me if I continue to explore the Forbidden City. I think of my father’s ultimatum, of Kent’s haughty disapproval. I remember the ridiculous limit on my platinum card.
“On who’s buying.”
The Juicy Bar is only a ten-minute drive from the Forbidden City and is already filled with people and buzzing with conversation and laughter. It seems to be a popular place for tourists because I see hardly any locals in the confined space.
I learn that Ben is originally from San Diego but is currently working his way across the globe with two of his friends, in search of the perfect wave. Josh and Garrett arrive a few minutes after we’ve settled into a booth and proceed to tear Ben apart for visiting the Forbidden City instead of joining them at the beach. They speak almost exclusively about surfing, which at least accounts for the ridiculously dark tans, but after an hour of gnarly, dude, and right on, I’m ready for something stronger than the beer I’ve been nursing.
Fortunately, Ben senses my discomfort and gently guides the conversation in other directions. The beer flows fast and furious, and after what must be my fourth draught, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom. I squint at the red tiles which stretch from floor to ceiling, broken only by a garish gold in the form of two enormous mirrors over the sink. The entire effect is revoltingly vulgar. As is my face, I realize in horror, when I catch sight of my reflection. My mascara is smudged beneath my eyes, and my hair is escaping its ponytail. I remove the hair tie and run my fingers through it, then smear a layer of concealer beneath my eyes. It’s hot as hell in here. I use the paper towels to wipe my sweaty armpits, then weave my way back to the booth where another full draught awaits.
Ben is eager to know more about me, but I’m not willing to spill the daddy-cut-off-my-credit-card beans, so instead, I fabricate an elaborate story of how hard I’ve been working, building up my property development company, and how I just needed to get away from it all to center myself.
“You know what you need?” Josh asks, and I squint at his blond dreadlocks.
“What?”
“A tequila!”
Before I know it, the waitress arrives with four tequilas and places them in the middle of the table. I eye the lemon and tug my lower lip between my teeth. I know the right thing to do. I know I have to say no.
“Amber? You okay?” Ben’s eyes are crossing, his tousled hair standing on all ends, but when he smiles, my heart flip flops in my chest.
“I’m fine.” I snatch up a glass and hold it aloft. “Cheers!”
5
My mouth is dry, my head throbbing. A hangover. I have a hangover, but somehow it feels worse in China. Maybe it’s the altitude. Or maybe I’m just out of practice. The sounds of the street below seem amplified, too, as if every resident of Beijing decided to use the street outside my apartment block as a thoroughfare today. Honking horns, people shouting, doors banging. It’s a cacophony of pain, and I pull my pillow over my head with a whimper of frustration.
“Oh good, you’re up.”
I freeze at the sound of that low, melodious voice. I keep deadly still, praying I imagined it.
“Good morning, Amber.”
Son of a bitch! I twist my neck and peer around the pillow. Kent’s wicked green eyes gaze back at me. He’s standing beside the bed, an open Manila folder in his hands.
“Please tell me I’m just having a really bad case of déjà vu,” I groan.
He closes the folder with a snap and shoves it into the laptop bag beside my bed. “No such luck, unfortunately,” he says. He looks tired, his suit rumpled as if he slept in it. A five o’clock shadow darkens his jaw, and his face is creased.
“Amber,” he begins wearily. “Do you remember anything that happened last night?”
I close one eye, racking my brain, but there are holes in my memory. I remember the Forbidden City, and Ben of the revoltingly loud shirt.
“The Juicy Bar!” I announce in triumph as the name comes back to me. “That’s where I went last night.”
“Uh-hmm,” Kent drawls, sounding far from impressed. “And what time was that?”
“I don’t know, around six?”
“I found you wandering around down the street at 4 am,” Kent says.
“That can’t be right.” I do the mental calculation. What in God’s name could I have been doing for over eight hours?
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I snap, going on the defensive. “Spying on me?”
“Actually, I had absolutely no intention of even letting you know I was here. I flew in yesterday morning and had back-to-back meetings. You weren’t on my list of priorities.”
“And yet here you are,” I reply smugly.
“I’m here,” he thunders, “because the accounts department called me about irregular activity on your credit card. I told them not to tell your dad,” he adds menacingly, “until I could get to the bottom of it.”
I sit bolt upright in bed, clutching the sheet to my chest.
“What? That’s bullshit. I’ve hardly spent a cent since….” I trail off, the details of yesterday coming back to me.
Kent’s nostrils flare, inhaling the scent of victory. “You want to tell me where I can find the bicycle that Shu Cycles claim you stole?”
A couple of Tylenol and a cold shower later, I emerge from the bathroom to find Kent flipping through the Manila folder, his foot tapping in irritation. He’s made the bed, which he’s sitting on. I don’t think I’d ever be able to get it that straight.
“Feel better?” he asks, taking pity on my pale-faced shakiness.
“A little.”
He gets to his feet and puts the folder back before shouldering his laptop bag.
“Let’s go.”
The plush interior of his hired car is heaven, and I melt into the dove-grey leather.
“How come you get a car, and I have to taxi everywhere?”
“Because I’m here on business,” he snaps. “It’s called a perk, and it generally comes with earning your keep. You should try it sometime.”
“God, can you just not,” I grumble. “Why do you always have to turn everything into a life lesson? You used to be fun, you know. About a hundred years ago.”
He shoots me a warning look. �
��Fun? Is that what you call what you were up to last night?”
Given that I can’t actually remember what I was up to last night, I wisely stay silent.
“That’s what I thought,” Kent says. He indicates left, makes a perfect turn, and then glances across at me. When he speaks again, there’s something different in his voice, a cold fury that I shrink away from.
“I found you wandering the streets, out of your mind, Amber. With three men who seemed thrilled at the prospect of spending the night at your place.”
“They were just friends. It wasn’t like that.”
“You were hardly in any state to be sure of that.”
“How did you find me, anyway?”
“I tracked your phone. When I couldn’t find you at the apartment, I got worried. Especially knowing you’d hired a bike and hadn’t returned it.”
“You tracked my phone?” I’m outraged.
“Saber pays your bill,” he reminds me darkly. “And before you get on your high horse, I was worried. For all I knew you’d been hit by a car.”
“Well, I wasn’t. You must be so disappointed.”
“God, you’re impossible.”
“And you’re an asshole.”
His jaw tightens. “Maybe, but at least I give a shit about you, which is more than I can say for the company you keep. I don’t even know why I bother. I should just call your father and tell him you’re a lost cause so he can stop wasting his time and money.”
“Go ahead. At least I’d get out of this crappy country. It’s awful here.”
“Bullshit! You’re in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, if you’d only take the time to appreciate it.”
“I tried,” I retort, as we round another corner and the Forbidden City looms into view. “I came here yesterday, in case you’ve forgotten.”
I’m out of the car the second Kent parks, and I scan the area for the bicycle.
Awkward Abroad (Awkward #2) Page 3
