Swearing Off Stars

by Danielle Wong

  I wanted to go after her. I wanted to surprise her and eloquently win her back. I wanted to recite the speech I’d strung together on the long flight over, as I soared above places I had never even dreamed about visiting. I wanted to impress her and make her fall back in love with me. Instead, I stood there and watched her walk away.

  Red and green rickshaws raced past me when I left the market. I wandered slowly as fleeting thoughts and regrets bounced around my head. Hong Kong was still recovering from the war, and large numbers of Chinese refugees were pouring into the colony on a regular basis. As I passed by a corner ginger factory, I peered into its open windows. Rows of overworked employees moved in unison, hunching from exhaustion and sweating from the brutal heat. I continued to stare until a tall worker noticed me—there was nothing but fatigue in his shadowy eyes. I smiled and nodded at him, embarrassed that he saw me looking in the first place. He tilted his head slightly before returning my smile and going back to work.

  Dirty paths turned into paved streets as I made my way down to the harbor’s blue waters. Craft stalls became expensive shops and storefronts. The lingering scent of pricey cologne replaced the muddled aroma of orchids and salted meat. The sight was lovely and refreshing—like something I’d seen on a postcard back in the States. A busy terminal hummed with locals and tourists alike, and The Kowloon Star Ferry docked before a crowd of passengers stepped off.

  I walked past the terminal and found myself on an upscale street, glancing into the fancy restaurant windows on either side of me. Well-dressed businessmen sat at round tables for working lunches and couples shared noodle plates in padded corner booths. Whiffs of shrimp dumplings and savory vegetables tempted me inside, but I continued walking.

  For a moment, thoughts of Scarlett subsided. I strolled freely with a quiet mind, no agenda or persistent fears to dictate me. But as I went back to my hotel hours later, the thoughts returned. My tentative plan hung steadily above my head as I tried anxiously to avoid it. The more I tried to ignore it, the more I felt its heaviness. In this new place, with its bright lights and unmistakable boldness, there was absolutely no turning back now.

  Chapter 32

  SCARLETT

  Rustic brick overlays, solid oak doors, and cornflower blue awnings. The film set is a perfect combination of authentic and picturesque. Our art director definitely outdid himself this time. I smile at a group of actors running lines. Sometimes, the set feels more like home than anywhere else.

  I stroll down the sheltered street and head to costuming. What extravagant dress have they designed for me this time? I love the feeling of the exotic fabrics and elaborate embellishments against my skin.

  Before I open the door, a pudgy hand grabs my arm. “There you are,” my agent barks.

  I roll my eyes. “What is it, Joe?”

  “Explain this to me,” he says, slamming a British gossip magazine cover against the wall.

  Scarlett Daniels Leaves Producer James Carlyle

  I roll my eyes again, making sure Joe sees me do it this time. “This is rubbish.”

  “I know it is. I just called James myself.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  “Don’t make me say it.” His voice softens.

  Joe had recently become one of the few people privy to my secret.

  “I just—”

  “I know it’s hard. I do. But this is different now, Scarlett. You’re married.”

  I give him nothing but a blank stare.

  “W—well,” he stutters. “You know what I mean.”

  “I know.” I nod.

  “As far as the public is concerned, James isn’t just a fling you can leave behind after a drunken night in Cabo—”

  “Christ, Joe. I know that.”

  We both know that none of my flings have been with men.

  “Sweetheart,” he says, placing a hand on my tensed shoulder. Joe has been a faithful agent for years. I honestly don’t understand how he still gets me into big pictures. Me, with my wrinkled skin and graying hair—dyed blonde of course. He’s a miracle worker. Joe has his bad-tempered moments, but I know he’s always coming from a good place. The thing is, he doesn’t truly understand how it feels to continually repress this. He can’t understand.

  “What do you want me to do here?”

  “It’s just a magazine.” I shrug.

  “You and I both know that’s not true.”

  I break eye contact and stare at the cobblestone ground.

  “Talk to James. He needs to know what he really signed up for.”

  Deep down, I know he’s right. But I also know how James will react. As I walk back to our hotel, I mentally draft a press release about our broken marriage.

  Chapter 33

  LIA

  I passed a few solitary days getting to know more of Hong Kong. I had convinced myself that I might as well explore the area and become familiar with it. It was a decent way to waste time until I figured out what to do about Scarlett. Step after step, I meandered through different neighborhoods and obscure parts of the colony.

  Without a map or guide, I strolled down alleyways, through tunnels, and across squares. Old women clicked Mahjong tiles from open cottage windows. They shot me curious looks, but eventually returned their attention to the table in front of them. Children played games on sidewalk corners and ate steamed buns from local food stalls. They stared as I walked by, whispering secrets to each other as I went. I smiled as a little girl— no more than six years old—ran up to me and held out her hand expectantly.

  She had disheveled black hair and wore a torn dress. I fumbled through my purse, realizing that I hadn’t yet exchanged currency at the hotel. Hesitant to give her American money, I pulled out an unopened pack of M&Ms. My eternal sweet tooth planned to eat them on my last flight, but never actually got around to it. I wished that I had something else to give, but her eyes lit up when she saw the American candy. I placed the package in her tiny hands and smiled. She looked up at me with sweet dark eyes. As I went to close my purse, I saw an unwritten postcard from the first airplane. I pulled it out and gave it to her, pointing up at the sky when she furrowed her brow. She squeezed my pinky finger gently and smiled before running back to her friends.

  I continued walking towards a cluster of short buildings. Bright banners with Chinese characters hung from rooftops in the thick air. Sweat tickled the nape of my neck as I peered into open shop windows. Stacks of herbs and medicines lined the walls of one store, while Chinese newspapers and books filled another. Canary-yellow window frames caught my eye as I gazed into a little bakery on the corner. There were glazed pastries covered in sesame seeds, sticky golden gelatins, and sugary buns dripping with sweet bean paste. I licked my lips and savored the thought of sinking my teeth into a fresh egg tart. But I kept walking, headed towards a tall monument in a busy square ahead.

  I encountered an upscale area next, with nicely dressed men sitting on restaurant patios, drinking Chinese beer and reading the paper. Some of them seemed misplaced, while others looked oddly comfortable in the stifling heat. I felt like the mile I’d just walked had taken me to a completely different place. It’s interesting how big cities tend to do that—they combine mismatched slivers of rich and poor, happy and sad.

  I planned to stop for a drink until I found myself nearing what appeared to be the end of the road. I had no idea where I was, and the distance held nothing more than fields and dust. I squinted as the midday sun hit my eyes, but could barely make out farmhouses in the rural expanse.

  I turned around to retrace my steps and noticed a tiny restaurant on the next corner. A sign hanging above the red awning said “MAC’s,” with a few Chinese characters underneath. My achy feet needed a rest, so I walked inside and waited at the chipping countertop.

  “G’day, love,” said a husky Australian voice.

  I whipped around to see a stocky old man standing behind me. He was carrying a crate of brown eggs.

  “Oh, hello,” I said, cau
ght off guard.

  “Don’t let the accent fool ya,” he grinned. “I make a mean hot pot . . . or whatever else you might want.”

  “Sounds good,” I smiled and sat down at a small table near the back.

  “Mac’s sampler platter coming right up.” He winked before disappearing into the kitchen.

  I draped my fuchsia wrap over the chair and set my bark cloth purse on the seat next to me. The weather in Hong Kong waxed and waned much like it did in New York, going from cool and breezy to sweltering hot in less than an hour.

  In less than fifteen minutes, Mac emerged from the kitchen with an oversized tray balanced on his right arm. He was wearing a white cloth jacket and a makeshift chef’s hat. I scanned the contents as he slowly lowered his tray.

  “Here ya go, love,” he said proudly before identifying each dish. “Chinese pan-fried noodles,” he said, his plump finger hovered over a steamy plate. “Wok-seared vegetables.” He motioned to a bowl of vivid carrots, mushrooms, and squash. “Sweet and sour pork—with a Mac twist of course.”

  My mouth was beyond watering now.

  “And fresh egg tarts.” He gestured to a plate of bright yellow pastries. “The soldiers loved ’em—they couldn’t get enough.”

  “Everything looks incredible,” I said eagerly. “Thank you.”

  “Enjoy!”

  Mac sang as he made his way back to the kitchen.

  I swooped up a clump of sizzling noodles and gulped them down, relishing their saltiness and texture before moving onto the pork. My teeth chewed quickly as new flavors danced around my mouth. I couldn’t get enough. I had almost devoured the entire vegetable bowl before Mac’s voice pulled me out of my haze.

  “Like it, do ya?” He stood next to me, trying not to laugh at my overeagerness.

  “Mmm. Yes.” I nodded, and my cheeks flushed hot red.

  “Mind if I sit?”

  “No, not at all.”

  Mac took the chair across from me and picked up an egg tart. “I don’t even know your name,” he said jovially.

  “Michelle,” I said quickly. I didn’t know why I lied.

  “Where ya from, Michelle?” he asked as he stuffed the pastry into his mouth. He was a bit rough and ragged, but there was something about him I really liked.

  “New York City,” I said as I wiped my mouth. “And you?”

  “Sydney, originally. Moved to England as a lad. Then started with the Navy once I was old enough.”

  “The Navy sounds exciting.”

  “It is at first. But it’s a dangerous life once your priorities change. My daughter was born at sea.”

  “Oh wow, really?”

  “Yep,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “She’s all grown up now, though.”

  “Is that how you discovered Hong Kong? The navy, I mean.”

  “Yep. Fell in love with this place. The people, the climate, the food . . .” He pointed to his belly and we both smiled.

  “It’s a captivating city,” I agreed.

  “I worked as a cook on the ship, so I figured I’d open up a restaurant here. Almost got kicked out when the occupation started in ‘41, but convinced ‘em to let me stay. And the rest is history!”

  I nodded and looked around at the empty tables. Everything he said almost seemed too simple. Despite Mac’s amazing food, I wondered how much business he really got.

  “So. How about you?”

  “Me?”

  “What’s a nice American girl doing all the way on the other side of the world?”

  I looked down and smiled when he said the word girl.

  “Well.” I struggled to think of a believable reason. “I—”

  Just then, the bells on Mac’s front door jingled and someone walked in. I sat up straighter in my seat and turned toward the blinding sunlight. All I could see was a silhouette.

  “Hey, you!” Mac called.

  I still couldn’t see anything but sunlight streaming in through the large windows.

  “Hey there,” said a casual British voice.

  Mac jumped up and met the woman by the counter. He embraced her and led her over to my table.

  “Hun,” he said, his arm around her shoulder, “I’d like you to meet—”

  “Lia,” Scarlett said, her face white.

  For the first time in our lives, we were both equally stunned.

  “Scarlett,” I said, a gasp escaping me.

  “Lia?” Mac cut in. “I thought your name was Michelle.”

  I opened my mouth and waited for words to come. They didn’t.

  “Dad? We need a minute,” Scarlett whispered.

  “You two know each other?” Mac asked.

  Apparently he was as confused as I was. Scarlett nodded without taking her eyes off me. Mac retreated to the kitchen, muttering to himself as he went.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” Scarlett asked. I couldn’t read her tone.

  “I, um—”

  “Please tell me that this is a coincidence,” she said hopefully.

  But Scarlett knew exactly what I wasn’t saying. She knew I’d followed her across the world.

  “Jesus, Lia. How did you even know where I was?”

  I broke our mutual gaze and looked down at the white linen napkin on my lap. It was stained with something dark, maybe plum sauce.

  “Please tell me, Lia. How did you find out?”

  “Robbie . . .”

  “Robbie? That guy you used to date?”

  “His friend sort of . . . his friend has a source.” I felt her green eyes burning into me but continued to avoid them. “He told me where you were filming, and—”

  “And you’ve been wandering the streets aimlessly, trying to hunt me down ever since?”

  Scarlett let a furtive smile creep across her lips.

  “I—I saw you walking the other day. At the market.”

  “Of course you did.” She sighed.

  “How can you just strut around in public? Aren’t you afraid that someone might notice you?”

  “First of all,” she said straight-faced, “I don’t strut. And second, it’s my job to get noticed.”

  We both started laughing. It was a small chuckle at first, but then it became a full-blown, gut-wrenching kind of laugh. The kind that makes your eyes water and your stomach ache. For a moment, I felt like we were back at Oxford, in those early days of our friendship. Before it all became so serious.

  WE sat at that tiny table for two hours. Mac eventually brought us oolong tea and fortune cookies. I was so lost in our conversation that I’d forgotten all about him.

  “If there’s anything else ya need . . .” He lingered, his curiosity getting the best of him.

  “Dad.” Scarlett put her manicured hand on his arm. “This is Lia.”

  “Well, we were talking before you arrived and—”

  “Lia, Dad.”

  I watched his face change as she said my name—first filled with confusion, then bright with recognition.

  “You’re . . .”

  I looked at Scarlett, then back at Mac.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “He knows.”

  “You’re the Lia?”

  Mac’s green eyes twinkled with subtle tears as I nodded. “My god,” he said. He stepped closer and put his weathered hand on my shoulder. Scarlett smiled at him as she blinked back tears. Slow understanding coursed through me as I realized that Scarlett had never really forgotten about me after all. The moment was almost too much.

  Later that evening, she told me all about Mac and growing up on the sea. Her face glowed as she talked about the rough waters and almost falling overboard on her seventh birthday.

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” I asked.

  “Shame,” she answered.

  “But—”

  “Until about fifteen years ago, I didn’t even know my father was alive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My mother died when I was ten,” Scarlett said sadly. “My father wanted t
o keep me, but it was too hard with his new crew. He sent me to live with my aunt in England to be ‘properly raised.’”

  “I’m sorry,” I said gently.

  She looked at me and slid her fingers underneath my hand. Her forgotten touch was electric.

  “I planned to go back to him the second I turned sixteen . . .”

  “What happened?”

  Our fingers were intertwined now.

  “She told me . . . she told me that he died at sea. I didn’t believe her, but two men came to our door and—”

  She took back her hand to wipe her eyes.

  “His ship went under, but somehow he survived.”

  “Didn’t he ever write to you?”

  “Yes, but my aunt burned his letters.” There was a bitterness in her voice now. “Sad what happens, isn’t it? When people interfere . . .”

  “Yes.” I sighed, trying to let the sadness roll off me.

  “Anyway,” she said, “we found each other again and here we are. That’s all that matters now.”

  “Yes,” I whispered as I reached for her other hand.

  It was only when she pulled away that it dawned on me that Scarlett wasn’t talking about us.

  “We should get together again before you leave,” she said, smiling. I couldn’t tell if she was being genuine or just cordial.

  “I’d like that,” I said.

  Scarlett nodded and took a long sip of tea.

  “What does your fortune say?” I asked.

  She cracked open a cream-colored cookie and read it aloud: “Great love will test you before it returns for good.”

  She laughed and tossed the tiny white paper onto the table.

  “Fortunes aren’t even a tradition here, you know. But my father loves them,” she said, shrugging her slender shoulders.

  I just stared at her, wanting desperately to live within the warmth of her green eyes and hoping that just maybe, fortunes could come true.

  Chapter 34

  SCARLETT

  Our inevitable fight is over, and I’m leaving the hotel. I told James I’d find a different place to stay. He was so angry, so bitter, and I didn’t want to risk running into him if I didn’t have to.