Ghosts of Chinatown

by Wesley Robert Lowe

  “No, I do not comprendez because I’m not drunk.”

  “Then you’re a druggie and I hate those guys even worse.”

  Harlan picks him and throws him out the door. “Welcome to Chinatown.”

  Todd turns around and looks inside the Ho Inn. Cam and Angela are sitting at the table in friendly conversation as Harlan serves them drinks.

  He balls his fists and scampers off.

  Chapter 20

  I love two men. One from my home, one from my heart. Neither understands the other and I don’t know what to believe. My father has always protected me and has never been wrong. Todd, I just don’t know, but he has affected me in a way that is more than anyone I have ever known… I can’t believe that he would hurt me.

  These thoughts conflict Jasmine as she treads around the debris in the dark alley leading to the Rialto Theater. Arriving at the stage entrance, she knocks on the door—it’s a reflex. She doesn’t have to knock but does.

  Nadir, the security guard, opens the heavy metal entrance. “No visitors.” However, he doesn’t see anyone and steps outside. Puzzled eyes sweep the area. “Hello, who’s there?”

  But he does not see anybody there.

  Jasmine blows directly past him into the building.

  “Bloody kids.” He shakes his head, goes back into the building and shuts the door.

  ***

  In this dressing room is a long mirror lined with lights with counter space for chairs for seven actors and their make-up artists. It’s empty now save for Vicky. Even though she’s as sexy gorgeous as she was five years ago, there’s something about her that’s a little edgier, a little harder. Clad in a bathrobe, Vicky looks in the mirror as she removes her make-up. She wears a locket around her neck identical to the one that Todd wears. She hears a voice that is vaguely familiar but not quite recognizable.

  “Hello, Vicky.”

  Vicky continues taking off the make-up without turning to the voice. She haughtily replies, “I don’t appreciate visitors. How did you get backstage through security?”

  “I don’t need anyone’s approval.”

  “How dare you?”

  Vicky whips around and is petrified to see Jasmine standing there. Her face flashes tension in the mirror as she sees her reflection—but not Jasmine’s.

  “Jasmine! What... how...”

  Vicky sprints to the door but it is locked. She quickly hides the locket under her robe.

  Jasmine’s voice is full of sadness. “You don’t need to run, Vicky. I won’t hurt you. You can relax.”

  Vicky does not believe Jasmine but has no choice but to respond to her old playmate.

  “Hello, Jasmine. It’s been awhile.”

  This conversation between ghost and living is so foreign to Westerners as to be unbelievable but to Chinese, it is normal as breathing. The spirit world is not “out there” but co-exists with the natural. Death is a different state; it is not the end.

  “Maybe not long enough or maybe too long. Actually, I didn’t think I would ever see you again. But I need to know something and I think you know the answer.”

  “Of course. Anything. Ask away.”

  Jasmine speaks slowly and deliberately. “Did you kill me?

  Vicky backs up to the wall, flushing with alarm. “Is that why you’re here? Who would say anything like that?”

  “Todd. He thinks it might be you that did it.”

  Vicky breathes a little easier. “You trust what Todd tells you? After what he did to you? Jasmine, when Catherine found you, you were already dead.”

  Vicky enters onto the Xing-xing stage, coughing through the smoke. “Jasmine, I’m here. Jasmine. We can start rehearsing now.”

  She hears someone sobbing. “Hello. Jasmine.”

  “She’s dead,” wails a voice.

  “Stop playing games, Jasmine.”

  “It’s Catherine and I’m not playing games.”

  Vicky fights her way to the direction of the voice and sees Jasmine lying down with

  Catherine crouching beside her.

  “What do we do, Vicky?”

  Vicky leans over Jasmine, whose eyes are wide open with the look of the dead. “I don’t know.” She speaks tenderly. “Jasmine... Jasmine...”

  No answer. She turns to Catherine. “What happened?”

  “I, I... Todd was rushing out as I was coming to visit. He was like a madman and pushed me down and wouldn’t stop for anything. He must have done it.”

  “We were supposed to rehearse but when Jasmine told me Todd was coming, I came late so I wouldn’t have to see him. If I came when I was supposed to, maybe she’d still be alive.”

  Catherine trembles as Vicky puts her hands on Jasmine’s face, sliding them down to her neck, fondling her locket.

  “But why? Jasmine, why did this have to happen?”

  “Maybe she told him.”

  “You think so? She was worried about what Todd might think.”

  “She must have. Men are like that. That’s why he did it.”

  Vicky holds Jasmine’s hand. “It’s still warm. Maybe it’s not too late for a miracle. Doctors can revive people sometimes. Go. Now. Run. Get help.”

  “Okay.”

  Catherine darts off the stage.

  Vicky leans over Jasmine and whispers. “Jasmine, can you hear me? Do you know what I’m saying? It’s Vicky, Jasmine. I’m here for you.”

  In the dressing room, Jasmine confronts a distressed but still calculating Vicky.

  “You’re lying, Vicky. You knew that you would never get the part as long as I was alive.”

  “Jasmine, you never had a chance against me.”

  “I was the top student, I knew the role better than anyone, I went to the point of death to prepare.”

  Vicky relaxes, realizing Jasmine really will not or cannot hurt her. Her mojo is back.

  “You are so naive, Jasmine. You never had a chance. There is one thing that I have always played better than you.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Men. I left Todd for Zhou Peng.”

  “You know he left you for me.”

  “Think about it, Jasmine.”

  Jasmine ponders and has a sinking realization of another potential truth. “Zhou Peng? The director?”

  “Yes. The most powerful man in theater in Beijing. I dumped Todd the moment I met Zhou.”

  “My father never directed because he refused to kowtow to him. He always wanted success on his own terms.”

  “Exactly. Now you know, Jasmine. You didn’t steal Todd from me, Jasmine. I left for a better opportunity.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  “Believe it. How do you think I got here? Do you think that it is so easy for an actress to get out of China? To get invitations to foreign countries?”

  It’s so true. There are many fantastic, talented and gorgeous Chinese actresses who would do anything to work in Vancouver, Toronto or Hollywood. Vicky and I studied English so hard together to improve our chances. I performed in all those English plays but nothing helped. A Chinese is a Chinese and we could never be a real Maria in Sound of Music or Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire.

  “But you were going to marry Todd.”

  “I was going to marry Todd so I could go to North America. And then he said he wanted to stay in Beijing, that he loved China. That there was no need to go to the United States or Canada. I would never have been able to leave. You remember that, don’t you?”

  “Yes… I had the same discussion.”

  “And I hope you didn’t forget that you and I both wanted to go to Hollywood, both of us wanted a home in Beverly Hills, both of us wanted to get a star on the Walk of Fame… I never gave up on that dream, Jasmine. That’s why I’m here. I’m not there yet but little by little, I’m getting there.”

  Vicky sees Jasmine nodding in agreement and breathes an inward sigh of relief. “It was Todd, Jasmine. He couldn’t face the responsibility. I know men, Jasmine.”

 
“Then why did you flirt with Todd again after you broke up? I was so angry.”

  “Insurance.”

  “Insurance?”

  “To distract you, set you off-balance at the audition. Jasmine, you are my best friend but you were also my biggest competition and I always play to win.”

  Tears come to Jasmine’s eyes. “I love you and I hate you.”

  “That’s the way it has always been with us. Stop trying to fool yourself, Jasmine. It was Todd and no one else. It’s not love blinding you, it’s stupidity.”

  Both women fighting back tears, Jasmine puts her arms around Vicky.

  “Will you help me, Vicky? I don’t know what to do.”

  “Of course.” A cunning smile curls onto Vicky’s face.

  Chapter 21

  Todd walks down the empty corridor to his apartment, trying to convince himself with a show of bravado.

  It’s time to stop running. Voodoo, hoodoo, bring it on.

  He opens the door, walks to the couch and sits down. He spots the Bible and there’s an unseen force that makes him opens it to Ecclesiastes, written by King Solomon, the smartest guy who ever lived.

  There’s a time to be born and a time to die.

  He tries to close the book but it refuses to do so and his eyes force themselves further down the page. God will bring into judgment both the righteous and the wicked, for there will be a time for every activity, a time to judge every deed.

  Then the sacred book closes by itself.

  Well, that’s righteous.

  With the resignation of a man battling insurmountable odds, he moves to his bedroom. He lies down on the bed and opens the locket on his neck. He stares at the picture of Jasmine on his locket and quietly intones, “Now I know why an innocent man would take his own life.”

  He snaps the locket shut and his eyes close. Sleep, the relief of the weary, arrives to his weary bones. Todd, dead to the world, is oblivious to the wavering darkness.

  ***

  Inside the living room, ghostly silhouettes quiver on the walls and piano. A dark, amorphous figure silently opens the door and enters and quietly closes the door.

  There’s a soft click from somewhere, startling the figure, who freezes against the wall.

  ***

  In the gallery, Liang plays the erhu with his back to the television hanging on the wall. Onscreen is Todd’s living room, where vague shadows waft throughout the ether. The door closes but because Liang faces the other way, he does not see it.

  Harlan and Cam suddenly open the door, strut in and sing raucously, “Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer, Take one down and pass it around, ninety-nine bottles of beer.”

  Cam adds, “And one little bottle of that crazy Chinko elixir, Fen Jiu.”

  Harlan pulls out the plain bottle of Chinese overproof spirits.

  “What do you say, Liang? A nip for old times sake?”

  Liang ignores them and continues playing. It’s a weird confluence of noise between rowdy partygoers and contemplative Asian music.

  Cam drunkenly offers, “I believe Mr. Liang is permanently on the wagon. Giddy up, Chinaman!”

  Hilarity abounds as Harlan pours drinks for Cam and himself.

  Liang remains stoic. Your time will come too.

  ***

  In the living room, the unknown person holds something long and thin in its hand. It resembles a long, thin dagger—or is it a knitting needle? It’s too indistinct to know for sure.

  The figure runs its fingers along the doorframe and pulls out some hidden wires at its bottom. It takes out a soft substance and presses it into the strands.

  The silhouette hugs the wall and navigates soundlessly along the perimeter of the room to the writing desk.

  The figure takes something out of its pocket—it’s a live mouse. The mouse gets pushed in the direction of the door.

  ***

  Liang’s playing creates an evocative, mystical mood—a complete contrast to the drunken bacchanalia that Cam and a pie-eyed Harlan indulge in as they sit on the sofa drinking Fen Jiu.

  None notice that on the television screen a mouse scurries across the room to the door.

  Harlan does notice, though, that Liang’s playing is getting stronger, more intense. “How about a little quiet, Liang? That damn thing is driving me nuts.”

  Liang stops playing. “The erhu has a history of over a thousand years. It has the soul of thirteen centuries of China.”

  Cam guffaws. “Sounds more like thirteen centuries of a cat with diarrhea.” He mock sings, “Yeow, yeow, yeow, yeow...”

  Liang prepares to resume playing but Cam interjects and points to the TV. “Check it out!”

  On the screen, the mouse bites into the soft substance in the wires. The mouse starts quivering crazily, then starts smoking and then the picture goes black.

  Cam, roaring with laughter, points to the dark screen while Harlan offers, “I told you to call the exterminator but no, you didn’t want to spend the money.”

  Liang puzzles, “It makes no sense. There’s no food, nothing tasty. Why would a mouse want to bite into those wires?”

  The drunken Harlan yowls, “To get to the other side.”

  The rowdy duo howl in laughter at the moronic joke.

  “Yum, yum. Barbecue mouse,” taunts Cam. “You can have it along with Chinese fried dog and sweet and sour cat.”

  ***

  The figure takes a quick glance at the smoldering electrocuted mouse...then glides across the room into the kitchen.

  Through the subdued light, the shadow quietly moves across the soft linoleum floor.

  ***

  Harlan points to the blank television monitor as he and Cam guzzle more Fen Jiu. “Hey, check out those boobies and the booty. Duh, is it black-and-white or in color?”

  Liang gets up. “I’ll fix it now.”

  Cam pulls at Liang. “Piano Man’s had enough Fen Jiu to sleep for three days. Keep us company.”

  “I’d rather not hang around barbarians.”

  Cam yanks the aged director down. “Duh, why don’t you look at the mirror then?”

  Harlan bursts out, “There ain’t nothin’ doin’ in the mirror.”

  “Duh.” Liang glares at the undynamic duo.

  ***

  The dark alien figure flows into the bedroom and stands still.

  The shadow looks at the sleeping musician. The item it is holding is now clear—it is a single long-stemmed red rose.

  The figure’s hand comes into view. It is feminine with long fingers like a pianist. The shadow’s identity is revealed—it is Angela.

  She stands over Todd and puts the rose beside the unconscious pianist on the bed.

  She kneels down, takes off his socks and places them onto the floor.

  Eyes always glued on his face, Angela tenderly removes his pants, lingering for a moment on the groin area. Todd groans but does not awaken.

  A genuine look of happiness crosses her face. She folds the long, worn jeans and places them by the socks.

  With utmost caution, she undoes each button on Todd’s shirt, playfully tapping his chest after each button.

  With an easy strength, she lifts his torso and slips the sleeved garment off and gently lays the pianist back down.

  She folds the shirt neatly and places it on top of the pants.

  She tenderly takes his face with her hands.

  Her breathing quickens slightly as her fingers dance from his face down to his chest.

  Her index finger makes small circles on his bare skin, caressing the area around his heart.

  She slides herself onto the bed, her body next to Todd’s, kissing him.

  She unbuttons her blouse, takes his hands, and uses them to fondle her breasts.

  She climbs on top of the pianist, moaning as she manipulates his hands on her face, her breasts, between her thighs.

  “I’m not dead, Todd. I’m so very much alive. Do you see me now? Do you feel me now? A real,
live woman.”

  She murmurs passionately as Todd stays still.

  CLICK! The sound of the front door opening startles her. She grabs the rose and rapidly darts into the closet.

  Quiet footsteps thunder loudly in Angela’s ears as she watches anxiously.

  Liang, carrying the electrocuted mouse, enters the room. His eyes explore the sleeping pianist. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow.

  He places the mouse on Todd’s chest, then quietly leaves.

  Angela waits until his footsteps stop and the front door clicks shut.

  She goes back to Todd, takes the mouse from his chest, and replaces it with the red rose.

  She gives him a single kiss on the lips, then stands up for a final look.

  Eyes full of emotion, she turns to the window, opens it and tosses the mouse as far as she can heave it.

  Chapter 22

  Now what? A new day brings a new terror.

  Water drips from the bedroom ceiling onto a quasi-catatonic Todd.

  Clad only in his birthday suit, Todd, shivering fitfully and looking like hell, huddles against the wall staring at the red rose that he clutches in his hands. “Hello. Do I know you? Maybe from somewhere.” His mind is fuddled, his speech childlike.

  He snickers, ignoring a pool of water beside the bed caused by the dripping water from the ceiling.

  His dimwit gaze switches from the flower to the neatly folded pile of his clothing. “Oh. That’s nice. Funny. I don’t remember taking them off but I guess I must have.”

  He arcs his head upward to see the drip from the ceiling.

  He squeezes the flower stem really hard, then opens his hand to see a little blood on his skin where a thorn has pricked him.