by Malinda Lo
Her mother held out a five-dollar bill, and Lily took it wordlessly. She was afraid her mother would realize somehow that she had lied, but her mother simply went back into the kitchen, leaving Lily standing by the phone.
* * *
—
After lunch, Lily walked up Grant Avenue toward North Beach. She turned onto Jackson Street and went into a few of the shops, idly looking through display cases full of cheap jewelry. She had no real plan for the afternoon now that she didn’t have to go to the hospital, but she was filled with a restlessness that made her twitchy and anxious. In one store she found an inexpensive rhinestone comb and impulsively bought it, thinking that she might wear it to the Telegraph Club one night, for Kath to see.
The thought lodged in her like a hook, and she began to consider what else she could buy. A new dress, perhaps. New stockings—grown-up ones. A new bra—and that made her imagine Kath seeing it, which made something clutch in her belly.
She went north, going into a couple of Chinatown boutiques and finding nothing she liked, and then continued past Broadway, up Columbus and into North Beach. The cafés were lively this afternoon, and as she walked past their big glass windows she looked inside at couples sipping espressos and nibbling on Italian pastries. Boys and girls, men and women, smiling at each other or talking animatedly, hands touching, unafraid to be seen together. She felt a growling jealousy in the pit of her stomach at the unfairness of it.
Before she knew it she had arrived at Washington Square Park, and she crossed Columbus and stood at the edge of the grass. It was chilly, and not many people were lingering outside. She catalogued them one by one: Caucasian man and woman; three Caucasian men (maybe Italian) smoking on a bench; two older Negro women walking slowly together; a Chinese girl of about ten with a woman who was probably her mother, holding her hand. Lily had been hoping she might see Kath, but there was no sign of her.
She glanced at her watch. It was time to go to Dupont Market and then home. She turned back toward Chinatown and decided to walk down Powell before cutting across to the grocery store. At the intersection of Powell and Green Street, she stopped to wait for the traffic before crossing, and on the corner diagonal to her a car pulled up to the sidewalk. The car was familiar, but she wasn’t sure why until the passenger door opened and Shirley got out.
Lily almost raised her arm to wave at her, but something stopped her—perhaps the furtive way Shirley was moving, the way she drew her hat down as if to hide her face. But Lily would know Shirley anywhere; she had gone with her to pick out that powder-blue coat she wore. It had been her favorite purchase of the last year. Shirley came around to the driver’s side of the car, and the window there rolled down, and a man’s face appeared in the opening. Lily recognized Calvin Chan with a faint shock.
Shirley bent down to Calvin and kissed him. A smile crossed his face, and he reached out of the car and put his hand on her waist, drawing her down for another kiss. The way Calvin touched Shirley—the way they lingered over their kiss—sent a shiver of recognition through Lily. (Before she and Kath left the home economics closet, their fingers linked until the last possible moment.)
When Shirley finally pulled back, she was smiling too.
The street was clear by now, but Lily didn’t move. She continued to stand on the corner, watching as Shirley waved goodbye to Calvin and hurried down Powell toward Chinatown. Calvin turned his car toward Columbus. Shirley didn’t glance back in Lily’s direction. She didn’t see Lily at all, but Lily saw the jaunty way she walked, head up and shoulders back, carefree.
* * *
—
On Monday, Lily watched Shirley closely, but Shirley seemed the same as ever, except with a renewed determination to win the Miss Chinatown contest. She regaled Lily and their friends with her plan to rework her pageant speech, which she would practice at a full dress rehearsal on Friday night. Lily and Kath had plans to go to the Telegraph Club on Friday night, too, but she agreed to the dress rehearsal; it would be over before it was time to meet Kath.
On Tuesday, Kath left a note in Lily’s locker. They’d begun leaving each other messages after Christmas break—only a few lines long and never signed. Lily knew she should wait to read them in private, but she was always too impatient, and today was no exception. She unfolded it inside her locker, angling the metal door so that she had some privacy. Kath had small, neat handwriting, and the note was short and to the point. Can’t wait till tomorrow.
Lily smiled. She pulled out her pencil and wrote beneath it: Me neither. She folded it back into a neat square, and in math class she slipped it into Kath’s hand, her fingers brushing like feathers against Kath’s palm.
* * *
—
On Wednesday, it rained. All day it tapped against the windows like a drumroll. After school, Lily dawdled at her locker, straightening up her books, putting on and then taking off her coat, glancing impatiently at her watch.
Finally, it was time. She walked to Miss Weiland’s classroom alone, and when she arrived, it was unlocked and deserted. Rainy afternoon light came through the half-closed blinds, casting pale stripes across the floor. She went to one of the windows and looked out; it had a view of the courtyard. She was there for barely a minute before she heard footsteps, and when she turned around, she saw Kath closing the classroom door.
Lily crossed the room and reached for Kath’s hand, her pulse already leaping.
“Wait,” Kath said, and she first locked the door from the inside, and then went across the room to close the blinds.
Lily went to help her. When they were finished, the room was almost dark, although the thin rectangular window in the door let in light from the hallway. If anyone stood at that window and peered inside, they’d be able to see most of the classroom. Lily and Kath headed for the farthest corner, which was blocked from the window’s view by the tall metal filing cabinet. Above it, Miss Weiland had pinned a travel poster depicting palm trees and a beach, with the words los angeles written across the sky.
Lily reached for Kath’s hand and drew her closer, her heart racing with anticipation. She had to be at Commodore Stockton to meet Frankie in an hour and a half, which gave them barely an hour together. She already felt the minutes ticking by too fast, but part of her realized there was something delicious about prolonging this moment, this intolerable pause before they kissed. Here, everything was possible.
In the dim light, Kath’s face was all shadows. She was close enough now that Lily could smell the faint trace of mint on her breath, and the light, warm scent of her skin. She brushed her nose against Kath’s neck, and she wanted to bottle up the fragrance of her. She felt Kath’s pulse beneath her lips, and Kath’s hand cupping the back of her head, and at last, Kath’s mouth touching hers.
It was still a shock to feel it: the connection between their bodies, as if it had risen from the marrow of her bones, thick and charged and sweet. Before, she had been afraid of being discovered and afraid of discovering herself, but the more they kissed, the less afraid she felt, until her fear was subsumed beneath much more powerful feelings.
She wanted to touch Kath’s skin. She tugged the hem of Kath’s blouse out from her skirt and slid her hands beneath it, and finally she felt the warm skin of her back, and the quiver of Kath’s body as she touched her. Kath drew back briefly and reached for the buttons of Lily’s blouse, asking, “Can I?” Lily helped her unbutton it, and then Kath put her hand on the bare skin of Lily’s waist, and Lily closed her eyes. Kath’s hand slid up over her ribs and cupped the curve of her breast, and her thumb trailed electrically over the outline of Lily’s nipple through her bra. And then she pushed her leg between Lily’s thighs, and Lily gasped at how it felt—the pressure and the movement there—and it was exactly what she wanted. She was astonished by the way this worked between them so instinctively, as if they had been made to do this together.
But Lily felt a
s if there were no time. She couldn’t entirely forget that they only had an hour together. A desire for something more was rising inside her as Kath moved against her, their skirts riding up as their bodies rubbed together. It felt urgent, as if they were counting down the seconds till a bomb would explode. There was no time; they had to do this right now. And she reached for the hem of her skirt and tugged it up to her hips, and she took Kath’s hand and moved it to the cleft of her body.
Kath hesitated. “Are you sure?” she whispered.
“Please,” Lily said, overcome.
So Kath put her hand between Lily’s legs, and Lily helped her, fumbling with her underwear. It was awkward, but when Kath’s fingers touched her, they both gasped.
“Am I in the right place?” Kath asked.
“Yes,” Lily whispered.
It all felt like the right place. Kath’s fingers rubbed and rubbed, and it was so marvelous, so intoxicating—she’d never even really touched herself like this before—and now she was pinned against the side of the filing cabinet, and it made a dull metallic thud as her hand slapped against it.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, but she couldn’t really be sorry because it was all happening so quickly, so unexpectedly, and she clutched Kath close to her as the sensations took over, her body shuddering, and she pressed her face into Kath’s neck until it was over.
There was a minute in which she breathed in and out, in and out, and Kath held her gently, her head resting against the filing cabinet. Then Kath kissed her neck and shifted herself over Lily’s thigh and whispered, “Can I—is this all right?”
“Yes,” Lily said, and she leaned into Kath, holding her as she moved, feeling Kath’s wetness slide against her leg.
It was extraordinary, Lily thought. There was nothing like this in the world. How different this was from when Lily was alone in her room. How different, and how much more: an overflowing amount of more. Kath kept rocking against her thigh, her breath ragged against Lily’s cheek, and Lily stroked her hand over Kath’s hair tenderly, feeling impossibly close to her. How precious she was, and how miraculous.
37
All this time, Shirley had said nothing about Calvin. Earlier, Lily might have been resentful or even jealous, but her own secret was much more important now.
On Friday night, Lily arrived at the Lums’ home to find Shirley and Flora in the living room. Shirley had already put on her Macy’s dress, and when Lily entered, Shirley asked, “Look what I have—do you like my earrings?”
“They’re from Mr. Wong’s store,” Flora said.
Lily took off her coat and came closer to look at the blue drops clipped to Shirley’s ears. They looked like sapphires. “Pretty,” Lily said.
“They go really well with the dress,” Flora said.
“What do you think, Lily?” Shirley asked, twirling around. The dress fit her well. She’d selected a gauzy pastel-blue gown with a full skirt and a Grecian-style draped neckline. She was wearing white patent leather heels and full makeup, with a crimson mouth and the corners of her eyes emphasized by a sweep of eyeliner, and she’d curled her hair and pinned it in place with a rhinestone comb. “Do I look like a good Chinese girl?” Shirley fluttered her eyelashes.
Lily sat down on the sofa and picked her words carefully. “You look like a beauty queen,” she said.
Shirley pursed her lips and walked over to the coffee table, where she had left a written draft of her speech. “Well, the judges better think so,” Shirley said.
“I know they will,” Flora said.
They heard footsteps on the stairs, and a moment later Mary appeared, carrying Shirley’s cheongsam in a garment bag. “I’m sorry I’m late,” Mary said, rushing into the living room. She laid the bag over the back of the sofa and unzipped it to display the dress, which her mother, who was a seamstress, had altered for Shirley. “You should try it on to make sure it fits.”
The cheongsam was sky-blue silk embroidered with white flowers, to coordinate with the Macy’s dress.
“Oh, it’s beautiful! But I’m going to give my speech in this dress,” Shirley said, gesturing to the one she was wearing. “Let me practice in this first. Dress rehearsal! And then I’ll try on the cheongsam. Here, all of you should sit down and be my audience—and my judges.” Shirley moved the cheongsam over to one of the empty armchairs while Mary joined Lily and Flora on the sofa.
Shirley stood across from them, backlit by the windows, and held her speech in both hands as she gave them a bow. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she began.
Flora and Mary giggled in response, because of course they weren’t gentlemen. Lily managed a smile.
“恭喜發財.* Thank you for allowing me the honor of speaking to you tonight. I have thought carefully about who Miss Chinatown is meant to be, and I humbly hope that you will find me best suited to the task. One of Miss Chinatown’s most important responsibilities is to reign over the New Year festivities as a representative of our community. The New Year festival is an ancient tradition dating back thousands of years, and yet it also celebrates the opportunity to make a new start in the New Year. Every year we honor our ancestors and thank them for their blessings, and every year we prepare our homes and families for the New Year by paying our debts and cleaning out the dust of the old year.
“We Chinese Americans have come to this new world of America to make new lives for ourselves and our families. Miss Chinatown should represent the best of both these traditions, ancient and modern. She should honor the strength of the Chinese family and Chinese tradition, but she should also embrace the best of the new American way of life.
“I am the daughter of hardworking immigrants from Canton. I was born right here in Kau Kam Shaan,* and I grew up working in my parents’ restaurant, where I saw how Chinese culture can be embraced by Americans. I am a daughter of the Old World as well as the New World, and I am ready to represent Chinatown as we move forward into the Year of the Sheep. I humbly present myself to you, honored judges, as an obedient and dutiful daughter of Chinatown. Thank you.”
Shirley curtsied, holding her skirt back delicately as if she were a princess, and Lily, Flora, and Mary clapped.
“I think that’s pretty good,” Flora said. “Very humble.”
“And virtuous,” Mary said.
Lily wasn’t sure she liked the speech. It felt like a fraud, as if Shirley were trying to flatter the judges into voting for her. “I like the curtsy at the end,” Lily said.
“But do you think it’s enough to win?” Shirley asked. “I didn’t sell enough raffle tickets.”
“You can still win,” Flora declared. “You’re so much prettier than the other girls. I saw the one who sold all those tickets to the Six Companies—she has a face like a cow.”
“Flora,” Mary admonished her. “That’s mean.”
“It’s true,” Flora insisted. “If Miss Chinatown is supposed to be a beauty queen, then Shirley should win.”
“What do you think, Lily?” Shirley asked. “You’re so quiet.”
There was a subtle challenge in Shirley’s tone, and Lily knew she was supposed to say something encouraging—that Shirley was the prettiest of all, that she would surely win or else those judges were all blind idiots. That was the price of admission to Shirley’s circle, and Lily had paid it before. It was easy enough to continue paying it, but she didn’t want to anymore. Lily realized she’d stopped wanting to pay her fee a long time ago. All she wanted right now was to get this dress rehearsal over with and go to the Telegraph Club with Kath.
“Miss Chinatown is about supporting Chinatown businesses,” Lily said finally. “The judges don’t care how pretty you are—the girls are all pretty enough. They only care how much money you’ll bring in. You know how it works.”
Flora gasped, and Mary frowned, but Shirley gave Lily a look of grudging respect.
38
Whe
n Lily got home after the dress rehearsal, Frankie was sick with a stomachache. As she waited for him to settle down and for her parents to go to bed, she watched the hands of the clock move toward and past the hour she usually went to meet Kath. By the time the flat was quiet, she knew Kath had left their meeting spot. She hoped Kath had gone ahead to the club to wait for her.
Outside, the streets were thick with fog, and she doubled her scarf around her neck. Every headlight, every streetlamp had a nimbus around it, an otherworldly glow, and the air itself seemed to press against Lily’s body. It clung to her like smoke, like a cloak, making her feel as if she must be invisible. It was as if the city itself were helping to hide her.
The Telegraph Club’s neon sign shivered in the distance. Music drifted down Broadway; disconnected laughter floated on the air. She was a ghost gliding through the streets. She was a fish sliding through dark waters. She was at the door of the club, and there was Mickey, who said, “Your friend’s already inside.”
“Thank you,” Lily said, and stepped through the doorway.
The club was warm and loud and smelled as it always did of perfume and cigarettes and beer. Lily heard Tommy crooning through the speakers. The bar area, which she had never walked through alone, was a long line of women turning to look at her. She felt as if she were on display, and part of her wanted to hide, but another part thrilled to it: this being seen, as if every person who gazed at her were creating her anew.
She paused in the archway between the bar and the stage room, loosening her scarf in the warm room and scanning the tables for Kath. Every face was turned toward the stage, where Tommy stood spotlighted, singing “Secret Love.” Like every time before, there were a number of couples—men and women—seated close to the stage, the women somewhere between enthralled and embarrassed, the men wearing knowing smiles. Lily wondered what they thought they knew. She was pretty sure they were wrong.
