Mambo in Chinatown

by Jean Kwok

  We moved off into the foxtrot basic step and he didn’t confuse his left with his right again.

  —

  Early on the morning of the Hunter test, I bustled around. Pa leaned against the wall, a deep crease on his cheek from where he’d lain on his pillow. He’d already lit incense and we’d all bowed to Ma, to ask her for luck today. I always got home so late from the studio that I hadn’t been able to be with Lisa as she studied the night before. I remembered the hopeless cram sessions from my own school days, the desperation that turned into failure at the test. But whatever happened with Lisa today, I hoped everything would go back to normal with her afterward.

  “What did you do yesterday to prepare?” I asked.

  Lisa was hopping on one leg, then the other. “Not that much.”

  “Stop that, you’ll wake the neighbors.” I pursed my lips. I shouldn’t have let her study by herself. “Why not?”

  “I’d already done the practice test. I went over it again but I didn’t have anything else.”

  “You could have studied vocabulary lists or something. That Fabrizio had hours of homework per week, you said. Maybe you should have borrowed something from him.”

  Pa said, “Charlie, it’s a little too late for this now. I’m sure Lisa will do her best. What happened to that boy anyway?”

  Lisa said, “They figured it out with his records and he’s taking the test today too. Hannah and her parents have been making it their family project for months now. I’m sorry, Charlie, I should have studied better. I just didn’t know what else to do.”

  “What did you do with Uncle Henry and Dennis?”

  She looked away. “They just went over my homework with me, which I knew anyway. Mr. Song said that it was basically an IQ test, which means they don’t test so much what you know. They want to see how you think.”

  “Oh, it’s okay. I’m just nervous too. In the worst case, you don’t get in and then, well, we’ll do something really nice together.” I looked at Pa. “Right, Pa?”

  He nodded. “Maybe we could go to Central Park or something.”

  Lisa smiled. “I’d like that.” Then she turned serious again. “Yesterday at school, I read on their website that people shouldn’t come to line up at four a.m., that it won’t help you at all. Really, who’s going to do something like that?”

  I said, “Hannah and her parents. Come on, let’s go. We’d better make sure we’re early too.”

  —

  On the subway uptown to the test site on the Upper East Side, we saw other kids and parents traveling together.

  “Do you think they’re going to the test too?” Lisa asked.

  “Could be.”

  “It feels weird not to go to school on a Friday.” Lisa dug her fingers into my hand. “I’m nervous, Charlie.”

  “It’ll be okay. You know you’re smart. What are you scared of?”

  “That everyone else prepared a lot more than me. That I’ll do something wrong, like I’ll fill everything in with the wrong type of pencil and they won’t be able to grade my test. Or I’ll miss a line and every single one of my answers will be in the wrong place.”

  I thought a moment, then pulled something out of my bag. “I was going to give it to you afterward but this is for you.”

  “Oh, Charlie!” Lisa held it up and then started to giggle. “It’s beautiful!”

  I looked at it and started cracking up too. It was the scarf I’d worked on for her for months. It was riddled with holes where I’d dropped stitches. It grew wider and wider, then suddenly narrowed, then grew wide again. The surface was lumpy because I’d pulled some parts too tightly and some parts were too loose. It looked more like a handkerchief a dog had gnawed on than a scarf.

  Lisa tucked it around her neck and closed her eyes with a contented sigh. “No one else could have made something like this, Charlie. Only you.”

  —

  The test site area was so crowded, we had a hard time finding the entrance. The sidewalk was slippery with ice and slush, and sleet rained down upon us. Finally, we saw policemen and people wearing buttons clustered around a door. So many parents and kids were milling around.

  Lisa gasped. Her breath was white. “This isn’t just a crowd. This is the line.”

  What we’d thought were people standing around was actually a long line that already wrapped almost all the way around the huge block, back to the entrance. Lisa and I hurried to join them. We were an hour early, and still all of these people had beaten us here. I studied the others. A woman in a fancy coat and high-heeled boots stood in front of us, holding her son’s hand. Behind us was a heavyset Hispanic man who looked like a construction worker, with his daughter next to him. Everywhere I looked, I saw the same set expression of determination and worry. People were desperate to get into this school. What chance did my little sister have? I wished I’d done more. I should have figured out how to get her into a course, no matter how expensive.

  As the line started to move, people wearing buttons reading “Hunter College High School” started walking up and down past us, calling, “Take all water and food out of your bags. Nothing is allowed inside except for your writing utensils. All electronic items will be confiscated. No candy, no snacks.”

  Lisa clutched the scarf I gave her, her eyes panicked.

  Suddenly, I remembered. “Do you have your pass with you?”

  Lisa took it out of her coat pocket.

  “Whew.”

  We approached the entrance and I thanked the gods that Lisa had her entry ticket with her. The policemen called, “Parents to the left, children to the right. Make sure you have your pass out.” The crowd pushed us forward, the line separating into parents and children. The kids filed inside the building and the adults were left in the cold.

  I realized I wouldn’t be allowed into the building with Lisa. “How will you know where to go?”

  “Don’t worry, Charlie. They’ll tell me.” Her face was white, she was blinking to get the sleet off of her eyelashes. “I wish you could come with me.”

  “Me too.” In a moment, we’d be separated. “Don’t forget to go pee before the test.”

  Lisa said, “Okay” and then she was gone.

  —

  I went into a Starbucks and tugged on my hair while I waited for Lisa. She was terrified and all I could do was tell her to pee beforehand. I was so useless. All of the composure I’d gained in the dance studio seemed to disappear when I had to solve real-life problems. People sat around me, working on their laptops and texting on their phones. After a while, I felt embarrassed staying there, so I went out and paced in the cold. It had stopped snowing. The skyscrapers of Manhattan loomed over me. Chinatown was nothing like this. I was fairly close to the studio but hadn’t ventured further than the couple of blocks between the subway and the building.

  I walked a few blocks downtown to a large department store. Except for a few times when I’d come uptown with Zan and Mo Li to window-shop, I avoided these types of stores, knowing they were filled with things I couldn’t afford. I entered the department store, but all of the people lying in wait behind black marble pillars to spray perfume on me made me uncomfortable, so I took the escalator upstairs. I spent some time browsing through women’s dresses, wondering which ones I’d be able to dance in, knowing I couldn’t pay for any of them. Finally, it was time to get Lisa.

  They’d sorted the parents by last name so I waited in the “W” room for Lisa to come back. I leapt up when I spotted her. She was clutching my scarf. We talked as we exited the building among the hordes of students and parents.

  “How was it?”

  “The beginning was a disaster. I got into the room and it seemed like everyone else knew each other. At least some of the kids.”

  “They probably took a prep class together.”

  “Yeah, they said hello to eac
h other and stuff. Then I dropped my pencil case and everything fell out with a big crash so I had to scramble to pick it up. Everyone was staring at me, especially the proctor. She probably thought I was trying to cheat. I even had to ask permission to leave the case on my desk. She checked it first. I forgot to go pee, Charlie, I was too nervous.”

  “That’s okay. So how was the test?”

  “The English part was fine and I felt good about it. But then the math was crazy.”

  “What do you mean?” Lisa had always been great at math.

  “It made no sense. There were about forty-five questions, and on some of them, I had a reason for guessing what I did. The rest, I just picked an answer at random.”

  My heart sank. “Really?”

  “Well, I tried of course, but the questions didn’t make any sense. There was like a big fraction over another fraction, minus a fraction, times a fraction. I tried to do it and couldn’t find my answer anywhere. Another question was so messed up, it must have been a mistake. There was no question. It was just smudges of ink.”

  I tried not to let Lisa see how concerned I was. “Did you freak out?”

  “I wanted to. But I figured I wouldn’t have time to finish the test if I had an anxiety attack and ran around screaming.”

  I laughed. “Very logical of you.”

  “I kept telling myself that if I didn’t get in, you and me and Pa would go do something nice together.”

  We were walking toward the train station by now and I heard someone calling from behind us. It was Hannah and her father, a nice-looking man with a round face.

  When they caught up, Hannah said, “What did you think?”

  Lisa said, “I thought the math was really hard. Like impossible.”

  Hannah said, “It was difficult but I didn’t think it was impossible. What did you write for the essay?”

  I interrupted. “What was the subject?” I remembered Lisa saying the essay was one of the most important parts of the test.

  Hannah said, “We had to write about an object or memory that had meaning for us. I talked about our family trip to Washington, D.C., last year and how much I learned at the museums. What about you?”

  Lisa twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “Well, we have this jar filled with change, and Charlie and I are saving to see a Broadway show.”

  “You wrote about that old thing?” I couldn’t cover my surprise.

  Hannah said, “What’d you do that for? I mean, that’s not so special. Anyone can go to a show.”

  Her father jumped in. “Now, Hannah, you shouldn’t say that. I’m sure Lisa’s essay was lovely. What did you write in it, dear?”

  Lisa’s cheeks were bright pink. “That the jar isn’t just a collection of coins for a couple of tickets but rather a measure of our love for each other and our hopes for the future. That with every cent Charlie drops into that jar, she shows me her belief in our ability to change our lives.”

  There was a pause, then both Hannah and her pa closed their mouths. Her father said, “Okay! Well, we’re going out for some hot chocolate and cake. Do you want to join us?”

  Lisa said, “Thanks, but we’re meeting our pa to celebrate downtown.” This was a lie. I felt sad that Lisa already knew we couldn’t afford to go with Hannah and her father.

  After they waved and left, I turned to Lisa. “So level with me. Do you think you got in or not?”

  She met my eyes. “I have no idea.”

  —

  I was teaching students regularly now. They were all beginners and I found I really enjoyed it. I was grateful for all of the years I’d helped Godmother with her tai chi classes. My students liked me and many of them signed up for further private lessons after the beginners’ group classes, which made Dominic and Adrienne happy.

  I was always especially curious about the Asian students, who they were and what their lives were like. In one of my beginners’ classes, I had an Asian couple and one composed of a Chinese woman and a tall African-American man. The four of them were clearly friends, chatting together before the lesson began. They were so well dressed and confident. Had any of them grown up in Chinatown? Maybe Mo Li would become someone like this someday. They’d probably had rich families and gone to private schools.

  In anticipation of Valentine’s Day in a few weeks, the theme at the studio was already “romance.” So before we began our class, I had everyone stand in a circle and share a story about love, if they had one. I’d found that if we did a few minutes of talking before we started to dance, the students were much more comfortable with each other.

  “Please say your name, what you do, and if you have a memory about how you met someone special, we would love to hear it. If you don’t, just skip the story,” I said.

  We went around the room and the first two people said their names and professions, but didn’t want to share anything else. Then it was the Asian man’s turn.

  He had distinguished features and eyes filled with good humor. “My name is Jason. I’m a neurologist and I asked my wife out on Valentine’s Day.”

  The petite Asian woman next to him giggled. “Yes he did. I’m Naomi. I’m a psychiatrist. I didn’t trust him at all because he was so handsome.”

  The other students laughed.

  Jason beamed. “Honestly, I didn’t even know what Valentine’s Day was. I’d just arrived from Hong Kong.”

  “And I wasn’t sure what to do because he wasn’t Japanese like me,” Naomi said. “So I asked my mother. And she said, ‘He’s new in this country. You should be nice to him. Go out with him.’”

  “So actually, it was a pity date,” said his friend, the African-American man, grinning.

  “Hey, you owe me,” said Jason. “I set you up with Kimberly here.”

  I smiled at the next couple, the African-American man and Chinese woman. “So what’s your name and story?”

  “I’m Tyrone Marshall. I’m a neurologist too. And Jason didn’t introduce me to Kimberly, we’d already met in elementary school.” He put an arm around the attractive woman next to him. She was wearing a golden necklace with a jade Kuan Yin pendant.

  She smiled and said, “Yes, that’s true but we do owe Jason because Tyrone and I had completely lost touch. I’m Kimberly Chang, by the way. I’m a pediatric cardiac surgeon.”

  Someone in the crowd whistled. “So if anyone feels like having a stroke or heart attack, now is the time.”

  Kimberly laughed and cleared her throat. “Yes, we shall endeavor to save you. In any case, Jason and I work at the same hospital. One day, while we were chatting, he mentioned this brilliant neurologist he’d met at a conference, a man named Tyrone Marshall. I said, ‘That name sounds familiar . . . ’”

  “And the rest was history,” said Tyrone. His eyes hadn’t left her face the entire time she’d been talking. Now he bent down and brushed her hair with his lips. I wondered what it would be like to have someone love me like that.

  “So you’d actually met when you were children?” I asked.

  “Yes,” said Tyrone. “She was the smartest kid in the whole school.”

  “No, you were,” said Kimberly.

  Naomi shook her head. “They’re always like that. It’s awful.”

  Jason added, “We bought them matching T-shirts that read ‘Most Disgusting Couple.’”

  Everyone laughed. Now that the ice had been broken, they all seemed relaxed as we finished going around the room.

  “What about you, Charlie?” one woman asked.

  I hadn’t expected this. “Oh, well, my name is Charlie Wong. I’m a professional ballroom dancer and I don’t want to meet anyone special.” This wasn’t really true, not anymore, but I wasn’t ready to talk about that in front of my students.

  The group burst into laughter. “I’d be glad to help you change your mind,” a young man said.
r />   “I appreciate the offer,” I said, smiling. “I’ve just got a full plate with my dancing and family right now.”

  Kimberly said, “Your time will come, Charlie. Just wait and see.” There was something honest and generous about her. I hoped she was right.

  “Thanks.” My throat felt tight. I quickly started the lesson so that no one else would notice.

  Kimberly and Tyrone had a wonderful time during the lesson but they were both terrible dancers. Kimberly was laughing so hard, she was almost crying. “You always told me you had rhythm,” she gasped.

  Tyrone was marching like a soldier, trying to find the beat and failing. “I did, I swear. I don’t know what’s happened to me. Too much Chinese food, I think.”

  Kimberly kept moving left when she was supposed to go to the right.

  I said to them, “You guys are overthinking it. You need to turn off your brains and let your bodies take over.”

  Kimberly sobered up. “That is such an intelligent thing to say. You’re right.” Then they bumped into each other again.

  I left them to it and moved on to Jason and Naomi, who were doing much better. He lifted his arm and Naomi did a neat underarm turn.

  After the class, Kimberly and Tyrone came up to thank me. “We had such a wonderful time,” she said. “But I’m afraid we’re not going to take the risk of injuring you or one of your peers. We’re hopeless.”

  “Oh no, you’re not,” I said. “You should have seen me when I started.”

  “You are so kind, Charlie,” Tyrone said. “Maybe one day when we’re feeling especially brave, we’ll be back.”

  Jason and Naomi did sign up to come back for their private lesson and requested me, as did a number of the other students.

  —

  I danced hour after hour. I was either being taught or giving lessons to a student. Nothing can teach you something so well as needing to pass that knowledge on to someone else. I knew I wasn’t as good as the other professionals, not even as well trained as the best student dancers in the studio yet, but I’d come a long way in a short time. I could even keep up in most of the professional dance sessions. And although I loved sweeping across the room in a waltz or foxtrot, I had already learned that it was the freedom and exhilaration of Latin that called to me.