by Alex Hayes
Hyun looked me over. Maybe he thought that kid was my younger brother. “What’s your name?”
“Connell.”
“When you’re here, you’re Kuang. I’ll give you a trial tonight. You do well, you can stay.”
I guess I did well, because I worked for Hyun for two years.
“Kuang, how are you, today?”
I blink away the memories from six years past and look up.
Hyun’s soft-spoken words precede him as he enters silently through the kitchen door.
“I’m well, Hyun. You?”
“Oh, just watching the cranes fly by.” His eyes drift to the intricate mobile hung over the bar with its hundreds of origami birds. He smiles and reaches across the cool counter to clap my shoulder.
I grin. Coming here feels more like coming home than any other place in the world.
“So, what will it be?” he asks. “Chicken rice bowl? Kimchi kimbop? Dumplings? Lo mein?”
“Sushi burrito with a side of potstickers.”
Hyun laughs. “Consider it done.”
I settle my arms across the black bar with its twinkling golden flecks that shine like stars in a midnight sky.
At least three times a week, I stop by here for food, but I don’t come to hang out with Hyun often enough. Next to Azera, he’s my closest friend. He gave me a chance when no one else would.
“So, what’s on your mind, Kuang?” Hyun’s deep brown eyes are clouded by cataracts, but that doesn’t slow him down. Though it’s possible they’ve softened his view on the world over the years.
“Why do you think I have something on my mind?”
He shrugs and rubs his smooth-shaven chin. “It shows in the stiffness of your lower jaw and the tightness around your eyes. You forget, Kuang, how many years I’ve watched you.” He places a glass of ice water in front of me.
I take a sip. “Azera’s unhappy with our work setup. Says she wants more people in her life. I don’t get it. And then there’s this girl.”
Hyun’s eyes pop open like I just told him the Earth’s a sushi plate and all the people on it are grains of rice. “A girl?”
“I know, right.” I drop my chin onto a cupped palm. “But it’s not like that. I scared the hell out of her. And—”
“You’ve come to your good friend, Hyun, for advice.”
“Huh?”
He chuckles as he reaches under the bar and hands me a plastic-wrapped fortune cookie.
I take it with a smirk.
“Open,” he tells me. “See what it says.”
I plunder the cookie for its fortune. “You learn from your mistakes,” I read. “You learn a lot today.” I glance up. “Thanks, Hyun.”
He pulls at his chin again, then nods. “The fortune you seek is in another cookie.”
He reaches under the bar, but this time, pulls out an armful of cookies and dumps them in front of me. “While you wait for your food, work on these.”
I frown at the pile. “I can’t eat this many fortune cookies.”
He shakes his head. “Forget the cookies. It’s what’s inside that matters.”
“Which is?”
“The answers to your questions.”
I stare at the heap of golden cookies and rub my neck. “But I haven’t asked any questions.”
“Sometimes you need answers before you know what questions to ask.”
I laugh. “That is so backward, Hyun.”
He pats my arm. “Start unwrapping those fortunes while I check on your order.”
I do as he says, though I’m not sure why. I don’t even like fortune cookies. Nevertheless, I tear open each package, snap the cookie inside, and extract the three-inch strip of paper until I have a pile of fortunes in front of me.
I don’t read a single one.
Hyun appears as if he’s been watching me through the kitchen door, waiting for me to finish my task. He brings a trash can over and sweeps the packaging and broken cookies into the canister.
“Isn’t that a waste?”
“But worth it.”
I’m not so sure.
He heads back behind the bar. “Now, while I get your meal, separate these fortunes into two piles. The fortunes that don’t apply to you and those that do.”
I raise an eyebrow as Hyun walks away, then start reading each one. People are naturally attracted to you. Toss that one in the dud pile. You cannot love life until you live the life you love. Okay, there might be some truth to that one.
Hyun sets an oversized burrito filled with seaweed, rice and ginger guacamole on the bar.
I read the last fortune out loud. “The man or woman you desire feels the same about you.”
“Do you desire a man or a woman?” he asks.
I groan. “It doesn’t mention girls.”
“Girls are women in disguise.” He tilts his head. “But then, here you are, a boy disguised as a man.”
“Thanks, Hyun.”
“So let me see. Which ones do not apply?”
I point to the larger of the two piles.
He pulls it toward him and starts reading and nodding. “You will find true love under the moonlight… Never give up on someone you don’t go a day without thinking about… Change hurts but can lead to something better.” He looks at me, brow dipped. “I can see why you rejected these. They’re all completely true.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I’m not sure I want to hear his answer.
“Throw away the other pile,” Hyun says, grabbing the next rejected fortune.
“But those are the ones I wanted.”
He nods. “But these are the ones you need.” He reads another, “A chance meeting opens new doors to success and friendship,” then looks at me. “Tell me about the girl you met.”
I finish chewing and sigh. “I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Hyun scans the fortunes he has read, grabs one and waves it. “Never give up on someone you don’t go a day without thinking about.”
“But I’ve nothing to give up. I don’t even know her.”
“And yet, you can’t stop thinking about her,” he persists. “What is it about her you can’t stop thinking about?”
“It’s like I saw her face and now I can’t get it out of my head.” I take a giant bite out of my burrito.
“Is she pretty?”
I nod, and say around my mouthful, “Beautiful.”
He waves another strip of paper. “Find her and you’ll find the answers you seek.”
“Wait, I don’t remember reading that one.”
He grins. “I made it up.”
I groan. “What if they’re answers I don’t want to hear?”
“You want her.”
“Do I?” I’m not so sure. Okay, so I can’t stop thinking about her, and there’s something going on with the crystal in my chest, a tingling that keeps me on edge. Whatever that means.
Hyun tops up my water glass. “You said she’s beautiful. You can’t stop thinking about her. Take it from one who is old and wise. Of course you want her.”
I roll my eyes. “Even if I do, I don’t know how to find her.” A gentle tugging in my chest seems to belie that statement. What could that tugging mean?
Besides, I do have a lead, thin though it may be. Idris Williams. If I can find him… Though what the hell I’d say to him when I did, I’ve no idea. He’d think I was a psycho. And maybe he’d be right.
“Oh, I like this one,” Hyun says. “Everything happens for a reason.“ He looks at me accusingly. “Why did you reject that one?”
“Because everything doesn’t happen for a reason. It’s all random.”
He shrugs. “Random or not, it’s what you make of what happens that matters. It’s the action you take.”
“Now you sound like one of those cookies.”
“Mmm…” he murmurs, picking up a fortune in each hand. “Your life does not get better by chance, it gets better by change.”
“My life is just fine the way i
t is.”
“Except…” He waves the fortune in his other hand. “Your secret desire to completely change your life will manifest.”
“I don’t have a secret—”
“How do you know that if it’s a secret?”
“Hyun!”
He waves away my protest. “Food for thought, nothing more.”
12
Rowan
I look over my shoulder into the floor-length bathroom mirror and tug the hem of my little black dress. The outfit is a few years old, and I guess I’ve grown. If the skirt were any shorter, my undies would be showing.
Mental note: Don’t bend over.
After a final check of the loose knot on the top of my head and a scrunch of my freshly glossed lips, I flip off the light.
“Ready?” Idris calls from the bottom of the stairs.
I detour into my room for the black clutch lying on the bed and clomp downstairs in a pair of chunky heels.
Reaching Idris’s side, I tilt my head and smirk. “This is so weird.”
“What’s weird?” He straightens his denim jacket and pulls his keys from a pocket.
“Going to a party with you—without Cadi.”
His brightness fades. “I wish she were coming with us, believe me. But friends go to parties all the time.”
“Well, I’m happy to help out, but…” I nudge him, “clearly, you need someone else for your backup vocals.”
He chuckles and opens the door, gesturing me through.
I precede him down the front steps. “So who are we trying to impress at this party?”
His car alarm chirps as the door locks release.
“If we’re lucky, Malcolm Emmanuel,” he says, opening the passenger door.
“Who’s he?”
Idris freezes dramatically and gives me a wide-eyed stare. “You don’t know who Malcolm Emmanuel is?”
“Sorry.” I ease into the passenger seat, mindful of my sore ribs and short skirt, and offer him a pert smile.
“He’s a jazz musician. My hero for as long as I can remember.”
“So how’d you wrangle the invite?”
“Max knows someone who knows someone.” Idris straps in and starts the engine. “That’s how it works in Hollywood. I hate to quote my dad, but ‘Being successful isn’t about how good you are. It’s about who you know.’”
“Yeah, but if you’re terrible, you won’t stay popular for long.”
Idris shrugs. “But who you know is a massive part of the success equation.”
The party’s in full swing when we arrive at a mini-mansion with a two-story stone entryway and perfectly manicured front lawn. The place is located in what seems to be a new housing development perched on a low hill with a view of the glimmering city sprawl.
We haven’t made it a dozen steps across the marble foyer when a bleached blonde in a sparkly green dress, even shorter than mine, and ridiculously high, glittery silver heels sidles up to my companion. “Hi, Idris. I’m so glad you could make it.” She slips an arm through his and hunkers down, like she’s staking a claim.
“Hey, Nicole.” Idris grins. He looks genuinely pleased to see the girl, who strikes me as an ego with long legs.
A carefully painted eyebrow arches in my direction as a measure of snark plays around her lips. “Who’s your friend?” Even her voice condescends.
I’m tempted to, and say, I’m Idris’s fiancée, just to put the blonde in her place, but I hold back to see what Idris does.
“This is Rowan.” He’s still smiling, seemingly clueless about the resting bitch face Nicole is sporting. “She’s a family friend from New York.”
I fake smile at her. “Nice to meet you.”
A smile to match shines back. “Yeah, same to you…” Nicole casts a look over her shoulder. “Uh, Shelby?”
A dark-haired guy turns his head in our direction. He’s good-looking in a boyish kind of way, his firm body wrapped in designer clothes that make a neat package. He saunters over. “You called, Nikki?”
Her smile dissolves, then rematerializes a little more forced. Apparently, she doesn’t like that nickname.
I take note to be sure to use it later.
“Meet Idris’s friend. Ronnie, was it?” She bats her eyes in my direction.
Turning my attention to her friend, I hold out a hand. “Rowan.”
With a genuine smile and a knowing look, Shelby snags my arm. “Let me get you a drink.” He pulls at his collar as we walk away. “It’s getting hot in here.”
Ha-ha. He’s got that right. “See you later, I guess,” I call over a shoulder to Idris.
His smile seems stuck. Can he possibly be oblivious to Nicole’s maneuvering?
I accompany Shelby through the open-plan house and its crowd of guests, bumping the odd elbow as we go. The place is modern and bright, predominantly white with dashes of primary colors. A red and yellow blown-glass chandelier hangs overhead. A triptych of blue acrylics line one wall. And an impressive Chinese-style warhorse statue of green malachite sits dead center on a solid dark-wood table.
“What would you like?” Shelby asks as we approach the catered bar. “Wine, beer…gin and tonic?”
I drag my gaze from a survey of the room. “Sparkling water would be great.”
How old does he think I am? How old is he? I’m guessing mid-twenties, but it’s tough to tell with that baby face.
“Well, you’re no fun.” Shelby orders my drink.
I keep an eye on him as he accepts the beverage and hands it over. I’ve heard of guys slipping drugs into a girl’s drink and taking advantage of her. Shelby seems nice enough, but I don’t know these people and wouldn’t trust him any more than I would Nicole.
“So what do you drink, when you’re drinking?” He swirls the ice ball in his bourbon glass as he faces me.
I raise my glass to exemplify. “Delicate stomach. Last time I drank something stronger than orange juice, I spent the evening projectile vomiting.”
And that was only after a sip of tequila.
His expression turns pained. “Not a pretty picture.”
I take in the crowd of mostly twenty-somethings and catch the first chords of a string quartet piece drifting from the far side of the open space. “So whose house are we at?”
No one seemed to be greeting the newcomers. Other than Nicole, that is. And if she’s the host, she forgot her duties the moment Idris arrived.
“Dunno.” Shelby clinks glasses with me. “I came with a friend who’s probably locked away in an upstairs bedroom sampling someone’s wares, so to speak.” He winks. “Personally, I come for the conversation, not the hookups, so don’t worry. About me, at least.” He surveys those chatting over the cello riffs in closest proximity to us. “That said, beware. It’s a full moon, and who knows what creatures might be lurking.”
“Hmm, thanks for the warning.” I chuckle. Shelby’s entertaining if nothing else.
Across the room, Idris talks animatedly to an older man with dark skin and a bald head. Between his scarlet wide-rimmed glasses and silky black jacket, the guy has celebrity artist stamped all over him.
This must be the famed Malcolm Emmanuel Idris was so excited to meet. My friend isn’t shy, which impresses me. In his place, I’d be awestruck.
A flash of green catches my eye. Nicole splits her attention between Idris and a blond guy with muscles, tattoos and a stud earring. He comes with a six-pack and a couple of couples, like he’s a fifth wheel looking to get pegged, and every time Nicole looks at Idris, the blond guy’s eyes slide from her face into her cleavage.
With effort, I bite back a smile and return my attention to Shelby. “So, anyone famous here tonight?”
“Other than Malcolm…” He purses his lips and glances around the wide-open living space. “No one noteworthy, to be honest. Most are of interest by association. Take our good friend, Nicole, for example.” He twitches his eyebrows in her direction. “Her father’s a film producer. He has money but hasn’t had a
major hit in a while. Nicole’s a decent singer with an okay following, but she’s on the decline. She needs to rebrand before her fans jump ship.”
Shelby offers a sympathetic smile as his eyes drift around the room. “She’s far from the only flash-in-the-Hollywood-pan here tonight. Even talented individuals can find it hard to keep their work fresh and innovative. It’s sad really. Tinseltown isn’t a friendly place.”
My eyes find Idris. I’m certain his work will stand the test of time because music speaks through him.
I push an overbright smile Shelby’s way. “I’m glad to say I have zero talent and will never be a star. But that’s okay. Standing on the sidelines is entertaining enough. How about you?”
“An actor. Best in Hollywood. The studios just don’t know it yet,” he adds with a flourish.
I laugh as Shelby wanders off for a refill, then turn my attention back to Idris who’s still talking to Malcolm.
Apparent boredom and the interest of Mr. Fifth Wheel has drawn Nicole away from Idris and into a circle of sunken couches. She melts over champagne velvet, a glass of wine in hand, and laughs several notches too loudly as the muscle guy drops his hand over her knee.
With no desire to linger in her vicinity, I wander toward Idris and tune in to Malcolm’s low voice. “You’ve got to watch the scene here,” he says to my friend, eyes drifting toward Nicole and her newfound amusements. “True genius is hard to come by, and those without will try to leverage those who hold a key. For every star in Hollywood, there are hundreds of people making a living off their fame and fortune. How many assistants, managers, agents, lawyers, dressers, private chefs, personal trainers and psychotherapists do you think live in LA?”
Idris shrugs, eyes riveted to Malcolm.
“Take a look at the classified section sometime. It’ll blow your mind.” The older musician smiles. “I’m not saying these people aren’t helpful, dedicated and enthusiastic professionals. Many are. But like the planets circling the sun, everything in this town revolves around money. Everyone wants a cut of the action or they wouldn’t be here. Never forget that.”
Leaving Idris to his idol, I quietly observe the loss of inhibition in the other guests. A couple perches on the arm of a couch, lips locked, until they topple into the seat, landing in the lap of a guy with a martini.
