Kitchen Chinese

by Ann Mah

  I wriggle out of the green dress, suck in my stomach, and zip up the skirt. It falls just above my ankles in a graceful ballerina pouf.

  “Oh goodie, it fits. I bought it before I went macrobiotic so it’s a little loose on me. Have you ever thought about giving up carbs?”

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “It’s just a suggestion,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Try this.” She tosses me a black shirt.

  I hold it out in front me. “This is a T-shirt.”

  “It’s couture. Put it on.”

  I pull it over my head. The scooped neck exposes my collarbone, while the clever twists of sleeves make my arms look long and slender. I turn to Claire and find her examining me in the mirror.

  “Much, much better,” she exclaims. “But still a little too plain. Here, these should do the trick.” Before I can stop her, she’s slipped her diamond and platinum hoops out of her ears and handed them to me.

  “Oh, I can’t take your earrings—what about you?”

  “I don’t need them,” she says airily. “But you do. Don’t forget to change your shoes. And for God’s sake put some lipstick on. You look pale.” She sweeps out the room, leaving me standing in my borrowed finery.

  One chauffeured car ride later we are standing in the crowded ballroom of the China World Hotel. The room glows with candles and tiny fairy lights, but despite the ice sculpture and open bar, it feels like an adult prom: the men look stiff in black tie, while the women eye each other, trying to discern who has the best dress. I want to hide in the ladies’ room, but Claire hands me a glass of champagne and pulls me to the center of the room.

  “Stand up straight,” she hisses out of the corner of her mouth. I take a sip of champagne as she drifts away, and I hear her say, “Hi, Krissie! How are you? Mwah, mwah.” I lean against a table and study the flower arrangement, a tight bouquet of white carnations.

  “I didn’t expect to see you here,” says a voice behind me.

  I turn and nearly drop my champagne flute. There, dapper and crisp in bespoke black tie, is Charlie.

  “Charlie! Hi!” I swallow my surprise. I haven’t seen him since that morning when he gave me a ride to the bus station. My cheeks flame when I remember how I thought Charlie might like me. Thank goodness I realized his interest was only platonic, before I embarrassed myself. I pray he can’t feel the heat in my face as he leans forward to kiss me quickly on both cheeks in a manner both Euro and brotherly.

  “How are you? I’ve been enjoying your restaurant reviews in Beijing NOW,” he says.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t waste your time reading those.” I wave a hand nonchalantly as the blush spreads further across my cheeks.

  “Are you kidding? They’re terrific! Your descriptions of food are so enticing—they remind of MFK Fisher. Have you ever read her? Besides,” his eyes crinkle into a conspiratorial smile, “I totally agreed with your review of Empress Impressions. Awful, awful restaurant. You’re so right, their shark’s fin soup is like glue.”

  I take another sip of champagne and laugh. “Actually, I try to avoid that stuff. Did you know they kill sharks for their fins? Well, of course you probably do since you’re such a supporter of marine wildlife.”

  A confused look crosses his face. To my right I hear Claire say: “Oh, that’s just my little sister.” I turn my head as Claire edges to my side. Next to her is a tall blonde, dressed in a body-skimming gold sheath. Kristin, from the embassy.

  “Charlie!” she says, playfully smacking him on the arm. “You didn’t tell me you were living in the same building as the Lee sisters.”

  “I didn’t know you’d be interested,” he says mildly.

  “Isabelle, do you know Kristin? She works with Charlie,” says Claire.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” gushes Kristin. “I didn’t even know Claire had a little sister!”

  “Actually, we’ve met before. It’s nice to see you again.” I straighten my spine as recognition dawns in her eyes and her smile grows chilly.

  “We were just talking about shark’s fin soup,” Charlie says, smoothly filling the silence. “Isabelle is a shark preservationist.”

  “Really? How fascinating.” Kristin puts a hand on her hip and simpers at him.

  “Oh, well, I’m sure you all know much more about the endangered shark population than I do!” I say, take a nervous sip from my glass and look at them expectantly. Silence.

  “Why would we know about that, darling?” Claire asks finally.

  “Well, considering how this evening is in support of marine wildlife—” I stop as Kristin and Claire dissolve into giggles. Even Charlie smiles for a brief second.

  “Isabelle,” says Kristin slowly and clearly, as if she were speaking to a child. “The Marine Ball is in honor of the Marines. You know, the branch of the U.S. military. Army, navy, air force…”

  “Oh!” I try to force a laugh. “How silly of me!”

  “It’s all right. How could you have known?” Kristin shrugs her bronzed shoulders. “You’re a total stranger to the embassy community.”

  I stare at her, trying to think up a witty retort. When nothing comes to mind, I hold up my empty glass. “I think I’m going to get another glass of champagne. It was lovely to see you all again!” I trill and slink away. But not before hearing Kristin exclaim, “Don’t forget, Charlie! You promised me you’d sit next to me at dinner.”

  In line at the bar, I squint at my tiny bejeweled watch (Claire’s) and sigh. I have hours left in my pointy-toed shoes and snug skirt. I stand shifting from foot to foot, trying to relieve some of the pressure, when someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn to find Charlie, with two sparkling, full glasses in his hands, a wry smile on his face.

  “Did you cut in line? How very Chinese.” I take a grateful sip from the glass that he hands me.

  “Listen, Iz.” He pulls me into a corner of the room. “I don’t know how much time I’ll have to chat later, but I wanted to ask you—how was Pingyao? Did you make it to the bus in time?” His eyes are friendly, but concerned.

  I smile politely even as a bristle of indignation raises the hair on my neck. Evidently, he feels the need to check up on me. “Fine. It went fine,” I say shortly. But he smiles so encouragingly that I find myself continuing. “Well, I practically missed the bus, and then I stayed with this peasant family and almost had to take a shower in the public bathroom but everyone was staring at me…And when I finally met Max, he was totally behind schedule, but our interview went really, really well—” I take a sip of champagne, and try to stop the stream of chatter. Why am I so nervous?

  He looks at me with a bemused smile. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to call you…”

  I take a step closer until I can smell his clean, fresh scent, like laundry that’s been left to dry in the sun. He was going to call me? Something flutters deep inside me.

  But then I hear him continue: “Have you looked at this weekend’s crossword puzzle yet? I can’t figure out the theme and it’s driving me nuts.”

  “Oh.” I take a sip from my glass and try to ignore the sound of blood that is suddenly rushing in my ears. “No, I haven’t…”

  “I’ve also been trying to find time for our trip to Houhai,” he says gently, as if sensing my disappointment. “But work. Ugh.” He rolls his eyes and laughs. “It’s been truly crazy. Nonstop. Insane. I’ve barely had time to eat, let alone see you, which is what I really wanted to do.”

  I can’t believe he’s using the work excuse again! And if lying makes him so uncomfortable, he should really stop. His gaze is so intense, I’m afraid it might burn through my skin. “Maybe you should talk to the ambassador about your workload,” I babble nervously. “I’m sure he isn’t the young tyrant everyone says he is.”

  “Er—that’s another thing I wanted to tell you…” He looks at me anxiously as people start moving toward their tables for dinner.

  “Yes?”

  “Excuse me, sir?” A young marine, his dress uniform s
tiff and shiny, taps Charlie on the shoulder. “We’re just about ready for you.”

  Charlie sighs and throws me a rueful glance. “I have to go,” he says, squeezing my hand. “But I’ll try to find you later, okay?”

  “Sure!” I say with false cheer. He moves toward a group of marines who are carrying the American flag.

  “Where have you been?” whispers Claire as I slide into my seat. “The ceremony is about to start.”

  I shrug as the room darkens and we rise to our feet. What could Charlie have wanted to tell me? I wonder. The high-pitched notes of the “Star-Spangled Banner” start to soar and a small group of marines marches in, bearing the American flag. I wonder if it was something about his work…I wonder if he’s a…spy! I stand there stock-still, my hand frozen to my heart. Could that be the reason for all the late nights, the mysterious disappearances?

  A voice booms over the loudspeaker, causing me to jump in fright. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the U.S. Embassy Beijing Marine Ball.” A muscled young man in military uniform, his face flushed above his stiff collar, stands at the podium. “As you know, we gather each year to celebrate the birthday of the United States Marine Corps. But tonight we are proud to also honor a special individual, our ambassador.” My stomach growls and I clutch at it, wondering what we’ll be served for dinner. Probably dry roast beef.

  “Not only does he bring superb leadership skills to the job, we appreciate his unflagging spirits and excellent sense of humor. Even when our hours are long, he always has a smile for all of us…” The young sergeant drones on, and I look longingly at the glass of red wine in front of me. “Through Six Party Talks and Sec-State visits…” I crane my head, trying to find Charlie. Hm. I wonder why he’s standing back there by the door. “Please welcome Beijing’s most eligible bachelor…” Laughter. “The United States ambassador to China…Charles Eliot!”

  I start to clap, but suddenly my hands freeze in midair. Striding up to the podium, shaking hands along the way, is Charlie. The applause roars around me, but I sink into my chair, shock draining the color from my face. Charlie is the American ambassador? To China? It seems impossible, but as I stare open-mouthed at the podium, everything starts to click into place. The late night calls from the Foreign Ministry. The unexpected trips to Washington. The unrelenting work schedule.

  Oh God. My face flames as I recall the disparaging remarks I made about the ambassador, all secondhand gossip from Claire’s friend, Eric. Which, I realize now, could very well have been the bitter ravings of a jealous colleague.

  “Isn’t it amazing that Charlie’s already an ambassador?” Claire murmurs. “His rise to the top has been incredibly fast. They say he’s a shoe-in for Secretary of State someday.” I can scarcely respond, let alone concentrate on Charlie’s speech, which stirs up more laughter and another enthusiastic round of applause.

  Dinner passes in a blur of cold beef and leaden roast potatoes. I smile politely at the guy on my right, who is more interested in punching buttons on his BlackBerry than talking to me, but I can’t stop the swirl of confused thoughts in my mind. Claire shoots me a look, but she is occupied by her neighbor, a taciturn bearded man whom I recognize as a senior partner at her law firm.

  When the waitstaff distributes small plates of soggy apple pie and a stage crew starts setting up for the band, I lean over to my sister. “Claire, I’m not feeling too well. I think I need to go home.”

  She looks at me in astonishment. “But the band hasn’t started yet! I thought you’d want to hear Xiao Zhu play live.”

  “Who?”

  “Little Zhu. Zhu Bian. Jeff. Jeff Zhu. You know, your boyfriend?” She pokes at her piece of pie and pushes it away.

  “My what!” My jaw drops. “Jeff’s not my boyfriend. We’ve barely even kissed!” I insist a little too vehemently.

  “If you say so, darling.” She smiles knowingly and pushes back her chair. “I must say hello to the Swedish ambassador’s wife. See you later!”

  I drain my glass of wine and stare at the plates littering our deserted table. First Charlie, now Jeff. Haven’t I had enough surprises for one night? And how on earth did Claire get the idea that Jeff is my boyfriend? I start calculating the cost of calling Julia on my cell phone when my thoughts are cut off by a drum roll and blast of disco fog.

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” Jeff emerges on stage, dressed in dark jeans and a tank top that bares his muscular arms. “We are DownLoad.”

  The stage lights flash and two other band members join him, launching into a bouncy Mando-pop song that I recognize as their popular single, “China Love,” complete with carefully choreographed dance moves. They’re actually not bad—their boyish faces and pop beat would send a flock of adolescent girls swooning—but here at the sedate embassy ball, the dance floor remains completely empty. From the stage, Jeff scans the thinning crowd and his face darkens. I should get up and dance, I think. But…alone? My inhibitions glue me firmly to my seat.

  The beat changes into something more familiar and I recognize a remixed version of Madonna’s “Holiday.” With Chinese lyrics. I take a deep breath, stand up and edge toward the dance floor.

  “Hey!” Charlie appears at my elbow, shouting over the music. “You gonna dance?”

  “Maybe,” I shout back.

  “What?” He raises an eyebrow and steps out onto the parquet. “Come on! Holida-ay! Holida-ay!” he sings and moves around to the beat. He’s so unabashed and carefree that I can’t help but giggle. “Come on, Iz! Don’t leave me hanging out here!” he calls.

  I creep out onto the floor and before I know it the familiar, infectious beat has me shaking my hips. We throw up our arms and dance around the empty floor. Jeff plays some more Madonna, and soon another couple joins us, and then another, and another, until the dance floor is packed. When the music slides into a slow song, I somehow find myself in Charlie’s arms, moving in an unhurried circle, everything very proper, with inches between us, just like a junior high school slow dance.

  “You could give Beyoncé a run for her money,” says Charlie. “I didn’t know you could dance like that!”

  “Well, we all have our secrets.” I raise my eyebrows. “Some of us, more than others.” My voice emerges sharply.

  He swallows. “About the ambassador thing…I’m really sorry, Iz. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  “I just have one question.”

  “Anything.”

  “Why do you live in our building? I thought there was some fancy ambassadorial residence on Guanghua Lu.”

  He smiles. “Can you keep a secret?”

  I nod.

  He leans in so close I can see the faint stubble on his chin. “It has rats!” he whispers. “Bionic rats! We’ve been trying to get rid of them for months.”

  I laugh, and he looks relieved.

  “Listen, Iz. I really wanted to tell you. Really. But at first I didn’t want to scare you off…and then I didn’t know how to tell you. I’ve been struggling with what to say for a few weeks—I thought for sure you’d think I was lying, or delusional. And actually, I kind of liked being incognito. You weren’t intimidated by me, which was…a relief.”

  Before I can respond, the song trickles to an end and Jeff whispers huskily into the microphone: “I’d like to dedicate that last song to a beautiful woman. Isabelle Lee. My girlfriend.”

  What? My head snaps to the stage, where Jeff stands staring at me and Charlie. Is Jeff insane? Why would he announce to the world that I’m his girlfriend when I’m clearly not? Or does “girlfriend” mean something else in Chinese? Maybe I should ask Geraldine. I shake my head sharply and frown at Jeff, but he simply lifts his chin before a cloud of disco steam descends and his face fades from view, the beat changing into something fast and insistent. My heart sinking, I turn to Charlie, who remains frozen, a surprised look on his face.

  “Charlie, listen. Let me explain, Jeff and I aren’t—I mean, he’s not—” I put a hand on his arm, but he turns
away and rearranges his features.

  “It was great seeing you again, Isabelle.” Suddenly, his voice is as polite as if I’m the Swedish ambassador’s wife. “But I should probably mingle among the other guests. Good night.” He leaves the dance floor and I find my way back the table, where I collapse into a chair.

  I don’t know how long I sit there before Claire appears. “Iz? A bunch of us are going to Bellagio to get something to eat. Do you want to come?” She scans my face. “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t know.” I bury my face in my hands. “Charlie and I…Jeff dedicated the song to me, and—” I stop. What does it matter? Dancing with Charlie hasn’t changed anything. His interest in me is obviously platonic, otherwise he would have made more of an effort to see me. Why do I care what he thinks? I take a deep breath and smooth the tremor out of my voice.

  “It’s okay, honey. Jeff’s going to finish his set and meet us at the restaurant!” she says cheerily.

  Before I can tell her that Jeff is the last person I want to see, she adds, “Besides, you have to come.” She lowers her voice. “Wang Wei is meeting us there, and I told him you were coming. He wants to meet you. Isn’t that great?” She beams at me.

  I still haven’t met Wang Wei, and after all these months, I’m dying of curiosity. Claire snatches stolen moments to be with him; the minute her BlackBerry lights up with his name, she reaches for her laptop, so she can simultaneously talk to Wang Wei while canceling her preexisting other plans. She says his schedule is crazy—apparently developing new properties built on the land of poor, displaced, uncompensated Beijingers takes up a lot of time—but I suspect something else keeps him very busy: his wife. Knowing Claire’s hair-trigger defensiveness, however, that’s an opinion I keep to myself.

  Instead, I paste a smile on my face and try to repress a feeling of impending doom. “Great!” I echo her. “Come on, let’s get our coats.”

  Later, much later, our group is still sitting around an enormous square table at Bellagio. Claire sits next to Wang Wei, who rests one thin hand on her thigh, while the other clutches his shiny leather man-purse. We’ve only exchanged pleasantries, as he’s spent most of the night leaning across Claire to chat quietly with his business partners, the cueball-headed Yang Biao and the flat-topped Peng Bo, who insists that I call him by his English name, Chaos. Their girlfriends, Chloe and Pearl, two Taipei girls who rival Claire in beauty and thinness, sit beside them, emitting occasional giggles. Their voices are unbearably dia—high-pitched and sugary sweet.