by Malinda Lo
Judy saw Lily break into laughter. She saw Francis’s face, surprised and overjoyed all at once. He leaped after her, and when he caught up, he enfolded her in his arms. She let out a giggle as she pretended to push him away, but after a second she relented and allowed him to hold her.
Francis was bold, and he kissed her gently on the lips. “My moon lady,” he said under his breath.
In China, she would be embarrassed to be kissed by her husband in public, but this was America. Things were different here.
PART IV
Chinatown, My Chinatown
December 1954
25
Jean Warnock came striding out of the darkness beside Kath, smoking a cigarette, wearing a blazer and slacks, her hair cut short and a smirk on her mouth. Her eyes raked Lily up and down once, twice, and then she extended her hand and said, “Lily? I’m afraid I don’t remember you.”
Lily was a little affronted, but she shook Jean’s hand. It was limp, as if her handshake hadn’t yet caught up to the clothes she was wearing. Lily squeezed back more forcefully than necessary, as if to prove a point. When she released Jean’s hand, she said, “You must be Jean.” She refrained from adding, I don’t remember you either.
“That’s right.” Jean attempted a wink. “Let’s go. Kath’s been telling me you two met a couple of girls there last time.”
“It wasn’t like that,” Kath protested.
Lily fell into step slightly behind them, because the sidewalk wasn’t quite wide enough to allow all three of them to walk abreast. Lily noticed, to her surprise, that Kath had put on slacks too. Lily wondered if she should have done the same, but the only pair of slacks she owned were cropped at mid-calf, as if for a day at the beach, not a trip to a nightclub.
With Kath and Jean walking ahead of her, almost like a shield, Lily felt freer to look around and take in the other people out at this time of night. It was mostly couples, but there were also young men walking singly or in groups toward the lights of Broadway and the International Settlement. Sometimes one of the men eyed Kath and Jean, and once Lily noticed a man give them a sneer, but they didn’t notice Lily. She was grateful to walk in the other girls’ shadow.
At the Telegraph Club there was a couple talking to the bouncer, who said something Lily didn’t catch, but which resulted in the man pulling out his wallet and handing over a few bills. The bouncer took the money and folded it into her jacket pocket, then held the door open for them with a flourish. From inside the club the sound of conversation and laughter escaped out onto the street in a brief, rising wave before it was snuffed out by the door. Jean and Kath approached the bouncer next, and Lily wondered if they would have to pay—she began to reach into her handbag for the money she had brought to pay back Kath for the beers—but Jean said, “It’s been a while, how are ya, Mickey?”
Mickey did an exaggerated double take. “Jean Warnock! Back for Thanksgiving?”
“That’s right. How’s the show?”
“As good as ever,” Mickey said. “This your friend? Oh, I remember you.”
“I’m Kath. And this is my friend Lily.”
Lily came forward hesitantly, feeling out of place among these three girls in blazers and slacks. “Hello.”
Mickey grinned at her. “Welcome back, doll.” Mickey opened the door and gestured them inside with a miniature bow directed at Lily, as if she were an empress.
“Thank you,” Lily said self-consciously. She followed Jean and Kath through the black door into the dim, narrow bar, and the smell of the club struck her again—cigarettes and beer and perfume and sweat. In the stage room, the tables were nearly full, but they’d arrived slightly earlier than last time, and Jean spied a table in a corner, half obstructed by a black pillar. There were only two chairs, but Jean insisted that Kath and Lily take them, because she was going to the bar first and would return with drinks. Lily wasn’t sure if she should offer to pay. It felt wrong for Jean and Kath to pay for her, but it also felt awkward to insist, as if she were among Chinese people arguing over a restaurant bill. It was loud in the club, and she’d have to shout through the noise—and then it was too late to offer because Jean had already left to go to the bar.
Kath had barely taken her seat before she jumped up again and darted across the room to grab a third chair, maneuvering it back to their table for Jean. Kath sat down again and said, “Hope Jean gets back before the show starts.”
Lily had her purse on her lap, and she opened it and pulled out a couple of dollars. “I brought money.” She held it out to Kath, who seemed surprised. “For the beer. I owe you from last time.”
Kath waved it off. “No you don’t, it was on me.”
Lily suspected that she had more pocket money than Kath, but there was a hint of pride in Kath’s tone that suggested she wanted to pay. It was confusing but also flattering, and as the spotlight came on and the pianist began to play, she let her hand sink down to her lap, still holding the money.
This time she knew what to expect, but that knowledge didn’t blunt her anticipation. Instead it seemed to magnify it: the slow electric thrill that built from deep inside herself as she heard the opening bars of “Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered.” When the murmur from the back of the room began, she turned in her chair to search through the dimness for Tommy Andrews’s dark-suited figure. When she finally appeared, her face coming into the light for a transitory moment, Lily caught her breath. And then as she stepped onto the stage, her back to the audience, Lily felt that sweet, warm buzz spreading over her skin as if a charge were rising from her very pores.
When Jean returned with the drinks, Lily barely noticed. Unlike her first visit to the club, when she had squirmed with worry that someone might notice her, tonight she allowed herself to look, to sink into the looking, until all she saw was Tommy. Tommy’s hands as she adjusted the knot of her black tie, the gold signet ring glinting in the light. Tommy’s mouth, surprisingly pink and pretty, as she sang with a tiny smirk into the microphone. Tommy’s dark eyes, lazily half closed or winking at a girl in the front row. The more Lily watched, the more she began to pick out the tiny feminine details that had eluded her last time. Tommy’s face was smooth and softly rounded; her hands were small and slim. And beneath the starched white shirt and tailored tuxedo jacket, Lily detected the slight swell of breasts. That made Lily’s face burn, and for a moment she had to lower her gaze to the table, where she saw the glass of beer Jean had bought for her. She reached for her drink and was startled to discover that she was still clutching her money, now crumpled and limp from her sweaty grasp. She smoothed out the damp dollar bills under the table, replacing them in her purse, and then picked up the beer. She took a trembling sip of the cold, faintly bitter liquid, and then another, and when she raised her eyes back to the stage she could watch again.
* * *
—
Lily leaned toward the mirror in the women’s bathroom, raising her lipstick to her mouth. Behind her, the door to one of the two stalls opened and a woman in a slim purple V-neck dress emerged. She carefully balanced her handbag on the edge of the sink before she turned on the taps to wash her hands. She caught Lily’s eye in the mirror and smiled. “I like that color on you,” she said.
“Thank you,” Lily said shyly.
“Where’d you get it?”
“At Owl Drugs, on Powell.”
The woman dried her hands on the rotating towel. “What’s the name of the color?”
Lily capped her lipstick and peered at the bottom. “Red carnation.”
“I’ll have to look for it.” The woman reclaimed her handbag and took out her own lipstick, while Lily slung her purse over her shoulder. “See you down there,” the woman said.
“See you,” Lily said as she left. She felt buoyed by the brief encounter, as if she’d been admitted to a club she hadn’t known existed. As she passed the line of waiting women in the up
stairs hallway, she didn’t mind so much if they gave her curious looks.
Downstairs in the stage room, Jean and Kath had met a couple of other women during the break between Tommy’s acts. They had pulled up two more chairs and drawn into a loose circle around the little table. Lily’s seat was still empty, and when Kath saw her she waved her into it, saying, “Jean ran into some friends from Cal.”
Jean made the introductions. Sally was the girl in the green-and-white shirtdress, and Rhonda was the one in the lavender sweater and gray wiggle skirt. They were both brunettes who wore their hair almost identically, but Sally wore hardly any makeup, while Rhonda had a lush, dark red mouth, and eyelashes so long Lily thought they must be false. Jean seemed to be paying Rhonda quite a bit of attention, flattering her and offering to buy her another drink even though she hadn’t finished her gin and tonic. Sally, meanwhile, went back to her conversation with Kath. They appeared to be discussing something they’d both seen on Toast of the Town the other night, an act involving two little girls and a dancing monkey. Lily hadn’t seen the show and had nothing to add to the conversation, and the buoyancy she’d felt earlier began to dissipate. Kath, on the other hand, seemed very free and easy talking to Sally, leaning forward slightly, smiling as she sipped her beer. When Jean offered around a pack of cigarettes, Kath even took one, though she held it stiffly, barely smoking it. She miscalculated the trajectory of the ash when she flicked it toward the ashtray, and a gray cinder dropped onto the scarred surface of the table, breaking up and scattering like crumbs.
There was a hubbub on the other side of the room, and for a moment all of them turned to watch as a couple got up—the wife was wobbly, and her husband had to put his arm around her waist to keep her steady—and after the couple had departed, Rhonda turned back to the table and her gaze fell on Lily.
“There’s a girl in my psychology class from Chinatown. Helen Mok. Do you know her?” Rhonda asked.
“No. I don’t think so.”
Rhonda lifted her cigarette to her mouth, the filter stained red from her lipstick. As she exhaled she said, “I’ve even seen Helen around here once or twice.”
Lily felt a twinge of excitement at the idea of another Chinese girl at Telegraph Club. “Really?”
Rhonda nodded. “I don’t think she comes here anymore though. I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“People come and go all the time,” Sally said.
“Just like these bars,” Rhonda said. “This place has been around for a while though. I wonder how much the owner’s paying the cops.”
Lily’s eyes widened, but nobody seemed surprised by what Rhonda had said—not even Kath.
“I heard that the Five Twenty-Nine Club might be starting up a Saturday night show with a new male impersonator,” Sally said. “Have you ever been there?”
“I heard it’s all hookers and dykes, and you can get bennies there under the table,” Jean said with a grin.
The words shocked Lily, but Jean said them as casually as one might say girl or boy or aspirin. She fought the urge to look over her shoulder.
Rhonda merely shrugged. “Sometimes it’s fun to have a little sleaze with your night out, but they better watch it if they don’t want to get raided.”
They laughed, and Lily forced herself to laugh too, though she wasn’t sure what was funny about it. Lily glanced at Kath, who looked almost exhilarated by what was being said, and Lily was ashamed of her own prudish reaction. The last thing she wanted was to behave like her mother. She shuddered inwardly. She tried to relax and drank more of her beer.
“What do you think of Tommy Andrews?” Sally asked. “I think she’s pretty classy.”
“Classy onstage, anyway,” Rhonda said archly.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jean asked. “Do you know her?”
“Not well. I know of her. She was with a friend of mine last year—before the femme she’s with now—I forget her name.”
“Lana Jackson,” Lily said, and they all looked at her in surprise. Their attention made her nervous, but she tried to pretend as if all of this—the club, the conversation, these strange women with their strange slang—was entirely normal. “I met her last time we were here, in the bathroom line.”
“Well, what do you think of Tommy?” Rhonda asked, tapping her cigarette against the ashtray.
“I guess I think she’s . . . talented.”
Jean snickered, and Lily went red.
“Don’t tease her,” Sally said. “She’s just a baby.” Sally looked at Lily empathetically. “Don’t worry about it—Jean’s barely out of diapers herself. We’ve been right where you are.” She cast a frown at Jean, who raised her hands.
“All right, sorry, I didn’t mean it.” Jean smiled at Lily in a more friendly way. “I like Tommy too. I want to know where she gets her suits.”
“They’re obviously custom. Would you wear one?” Rhonda asked, cocking her head at Jean.
Jean laughed. “I can’t afford it.” She glanced across the table at Kath. “I think you’d like one.”
Kath seemed taken aback. “A suit?” She shook her head. “Where would I wear it?”
“Oh, you’d find a place,” Rhonda said, shooting an appraising kind of glance at Kath. “I can see it.”
Kath looked uncomfortable. “Nah. It’s not my style.”
“Not yet.” Rhonda sounded amused. “I can see them coming a mile away, those baby butches.” Her voice was honeyed, teasing.
Kath was holding another half-smoked cigarette in her hand, and now she raised it to her mouth and took a shallow puff on it, the smoke emerging in a cloud rather than a stream. She shook her head, but there was a hint of a smile in her eyes, and Lily realized she was trying to hide the fact that she was pleased. Rhonda had apparently paid Kath a compliment, and Lily felt an electric clutch in her belly as she recognized it, butch like a blue ribbon awarded at the county fair, baby like a promise.
Kath’s gaze flickered briefly to Lily, and then she tapped her cigarette against the ashtray, and this time she didn’t miss.
26
Lily, what are you doing today? I don’t have to work!”
Shirley’s voice vibrated through the telephone line with what Lily felt was excessive energy for just past eight o’clock in the morning. Dramatic music came down the hall from the living room, where her brothers were watching Tom Corbett, Space Cadet, the tinny notes crescendoing in an explosion as a rocket presumably blasted off. Lily rubbed a hand over her eyes and answered, “I have a trig problem set. Why?”
“Do it tomorrow. Let’s go somewhere.”
“Where?” Lily stretched the telephone cord out as far as she could to look through the window in her brothers’ room, but the curtains were still drawn. “Is it going to rain?”
“No, it’s perfectly nice. It’s probably going to be sunny. Come on, I have to get out of Chinatown.”
There was an undercurrent of urgency in Shirley’s voice that surprised Lily. “I have to ask my parents. When do you—”
“Meet me on the corner in an hour.”
“But where do you want to go? I have to tell them—”
“Tell them we’re going to Aquatic Park. I’ll see you soon!” And she hung up.
* * *
—
“I don’t really want to go to Aquatic Park,” Shirley admitted as they walked down Grant Avenue. “It’s too close to school. We’re there every day.”
“Where do you want to go?” Lily asked. “The Embarcadero?”
The sky was overcast, and the flat gray light muted the reds and golds of Chinatown, giving them an ashy tint. The shopkeepers were opening their storefronts, unlocking their doors and poking their heads out to frown up at the sky, wondering whether it would open up on them.
“Let’s go to Sutro’s. We can see the Seal Rocks! And they have that museum,
don’t they, that’s free?”
“Sutro’s! That’s so far.”
“I have all day.” Shirley gave a little skip of excitement. “Do you have to be back soon?”
“No.” The wind caused Lily’s skirt to flap against her shins. She suspected it would be freezing out by Ocean Beach, but there was a franticness to Shirley that told her she had made up her mind, and Lily knew there was no use arguing.
They took the B-Geary streetcar all the way to the end of the line, rolling through the Western Addition and past Fillmore and across the wide lanes of Divisadero. In the Richmond District, the avenues began their orderly march to the Pacific, each block lined with nearly identical houses painted in pastel shades or covered in cream-colored stucco. The farther west they went, the more space each house claimed. At first they’d been shoulder to shoulder with their neighbors, but eventually small plots of land began to separate them, so that each house was granted its own driveway and tiny bit of lawn. Out here the marine layer hadn’t yet burned off, and clouds of mist drifted over the streets, phantomlike, as they were pushed about by the wind.
Shirley had brought a cloth bag with her, and she opened it on her lap to show Lily its contents: a takeout box from the Eastern Pearl containing chue yuk paau* and faat ko,* a couple of apples, and a paper sack of fortune cookies. Shirley pulled one out and cracked it open. The message, printed on a tiny slip of white paper, read, You will be prosperous and lucky. Shirley made a face and broke the cookie into pieces, offering some to Lily.
Lily took a piece and popped it into her mouth, crunching on the slightly sweet fragment. As they passed Twentieth Avenue, she said, “My mother wants to move out here.”
Shirley had tied a green-and-pink-patterned scarf over her hair, and it was dimly reflected in the window. “Do you think you will?”
