by Camy Tang
“I don’t want to hear about it.” Mom stuck up a hand, her voice strident. “I don’t want to know.”
“No, not that kind of problem. It doesn’t involve anything illegal.”
Mom raised an eyebrow. “Considering what you used to do, you can’t blame me for assuming.”
“It’s for Elizabeth.”
Her face lit up. “Oh. She is so sweet. Is she doing okay? So what do you need for her?” she asked.
Really? Tessa knew there was a huge difference between jailbird daughter and charming Southern belle, but really? “Charles hired a private investigator to poke into Elizabeth’s husband’s company, to find out what they’re up to. He hasn’t come up with much yet, but he found out that the company is giving a cocktail party in a few days. It’s for investors. I want to try to get hired as one of the wait staff. Do you know how I can do that? How do those kinds of functions hire people?”
Before her eyes, Mom transformed. Suddenly she wasn’t the petulant mother Tessa was used to — she was a restaurant professional, talking about her field of expertise. Her shoulders settled back, her chin went up confidently, and she seemed almost pleased to be giving advice. “Most of the time, one-time events like that hire wait staff through a staffing agency, or maybe through an event planning agency, or through the bartending service they hire for serving drinks. The agency decides who’s hired for the night — or sometimes they’re scrambling to find enough people to staff the event.”
“So I need to find out what agency was contracted for the party. How do I do that?”
“You should talk to the Mouse.”
“Who?”
Mom gestured toward the back of the restaurant with her head. “You know, Nez.”
“The manager? He’d know about the cocktail party?”
“His brother owns a large event planning agency in San Jose, but they have lots of connections with other smaller agencies in San Francisco. Sometimes he even gets hired for San Francisco events.”
“So he might have been hired by Stillwater Group?”
“Maybe, although that’s a bit of a long shot. But he would definitely know or be able to find out who was hired.”
“Great. Is he back there now?”
Wariness tightened the edges of Mom’s eyes. “Yes, but …” She glanced toward the area near the back of the restaurant that was filled with small rooms, separated by shoji sliding doors, which was often used for private parties. There was a raucous one tonight using the largest room. “Your cousin Fred is here.”
A greasy fist squeezed Tessa’s innards. “In that room?” While it was walled off with shoji doors, one door stood wide open so that the customers could flag down waitresses and hostesses. And Tessa would have to pass that door in order to get to the offices in the back.
“I’ll run interference for you,” said her mother, the 49ers football fan. “Let’s go.”
They made their way toward the back of the restaurant. Mom went straight to the open shoji door, pulling it slightly shut with one hand as she stood in the doorway. “Fred,” she shouted above the rowdy laughter, “did you get that order of gyoza you ordered?”
While Mom blocked the view from the doorway, Tessa darted past, her head down in case Fred could see above her diminutive mother’s head. She didn’t breathe again until she was well past the room and heading toward the door marked “Employees only” in the alcove in the far corner.
But then the men’s restroom door opened just as she was breezing past it, and Yuuto, one of Fred’s friends, caught sight of her.
“Tessa!” he said loudly, possibly to deliberately call Fred’s attention to her, but more likely because he was drunker than a skunk. “Long time no see!”
There was a slight lull in the banter in the room, then a hand shoved her mom out of the way and Fred’s head appeared. “Tessa!” If possible, he was drunker than Yuuto. “Come here to see your mommy?” His slur against Mom went no further, because his father wouldn’t stand for disrespect of his aunt.
Cousins, on the other hand, were fair game. Especially ones he hated because he was indebted to them.
She considered playing the submissive Japanese girl card and trying to slink away when he was done having fun with her, but more likely any un-Tessa-like responses would make him suspicious, and he’d try to figure out what she really needed here so he could do his best to prevent her.
The problem was that her normal response to Fred was to compare him to creatures that had higher IQs than he did, like slugs. Which only made him mad and bullish.
“Come to try to work here now?” he taunted. “No other place will hire you?”
“Of course,” Tessa said, chin lowered and eyes blazing. “Why wouldn’t they hire me if this is the only restaurant that’ll stand the likes of you?”
Fred’s face darkened. “You watch it. I own this restaurant.”
His friends, sensing the insult to their banana leader, left their places at the table and crowded around Fred in the open doorway. Several climbed out of the room to stand a few feet from Tessa. Some recognized her from seven years ago — some were men she had often worked with when her uncle asked her to do jobs for him — but they didn’t hesitate in puffing out their chests and donning fierce expressions.
No one insulted yakuza. Especially not a woman.
Except she wasn’t just any woman. “Your daddy owns it, not you.”
A triumphant leer slid onto Fred’s face. “I own it now. Signed the papers today.” Hence the celebration with his friends.
“Oh, did Freddy-weddy finally learn to count to ten?” The insult shot out of her mouth before she could think. While she hadn’t wanted to be un-Tessa, she also hadn’t intended to insult him so condescendingly in front of his friends, requiring Fred to get ugly or lose face.
And Fred never willingly lost face.
His lips drew back, exposing his teeth. “You apologize or your mom loses her job.”
Tessa glanced to her mom’s white face, visible a few feet from the crowd of men. “Your father would skin you alive.”
“Do you see my father here?” He gestured wildly. Fred couldn’t think wisely or long-term if he tried. What mattered to him was the now — Tessa’s insult, the chance to show his power by either forcing his cousin to grovel or humiliating Tessa’s mom in front of her customers and the rest of the restaurant staff.
This was the enraged pride that had killed Laura Starling.
Seven years ago — no, three years ago, she wouldn’t have cared. Would have rather fought them all and broken every rib in her body, along with some of theirs, than be submissive. Would have cared more about her own pride and reputation with the yakuza than the embarrassment and problems caused to her mom.
But she wasn’t that Tessa anymore.
With her jaw so tight that it ground a headache behind her eyes, she said, “I’m sorry, Fred.”
He gave a toothy smile that Hannibal Lector would have sported with pride. “What? What’s that?”
“I’m sorry, Fred.”
Fred hooted, as did some of his friends. Some of the men she knew and had worked with stared at her with disgust in their eyes. Behind them all, Mom had her fist to her mouth. Her eyes implored Tessa, and she shook her head. Tessa didn’t know what she meant by that head-shake — no, don’t apologize, or no, don’t make trouble.
“Now, Tessa, I want you to dance like a geisha.” Fred struck a girly pose and almost fell over, but recovered his balance by grabbing onto an equally drunk friend.
Every muscle in Tessa’s body swelled and tightened, as if they were going to explode off of her bones in her rage. She bit her tongue to prevent the retort that rose to her lips, and she tasted salty blood in her mouth.
“Go on. Dance like a geisha.” Fred brayed like a donkey.
Several of the men had evil gleams in their eyes. Tessa, who used to win bar fights, reduced to being Fred’s puppet. Tessa, the woman whose fighting abilities were tolerated only beca
use she was the boss’s niece, now in the proper role of a subservient Japanese woman.
“Dance, geisha, dance.” Fred strode to her and grabbed her arm. “Dance —”
Tessa drew back her fist to punch him in the nose, but a low voice cut through the jeers and laughter.
“Fred, that’s enough.”
From the front of the restaurant, Kenta approached them, striding through the crowd of men. Some immediately swept back in deference. Others who were dumb like Fred — or simply too sloshed to know better — paused in their catcalling and stared at him with glazed eyes.
“Fred, let go of her.”
Fred pouted, but dropped his hand from Tessa’s arm. Fred might be his father’s son, but Kenta was his father’s captain. “It’s my restaurant and she dared to insult —”
“Then she can apologize.”
There was a pause, then someone said grudgingly, “She did.”
“Then she can leave.” Kenta looked at her then, with eyes hard and jaw tight.
“I wanted to say hello to Nez,” she said.
“Come back another time.”
“No, she can’t,” Fred snapped. “If she does, she’ll be thrown out.” He leaned close to glare at her. “I’ll be happy to do the throwing.”
Tessa said softly, so no one else could hear, “Touch me again, and I’ll flip you over my hip and dislocate your shoulder.”
Fred sneered at her, but he couldn’t hide the widening of his eyes and the creases of fear at their corners.
“Tessa.” Kenta leveled her a commanding gaze. Leave, now.
No, they were not her family. She should never have assumed they were. She was a girl. They were yakuza.
“Ayumi-san, take the rest of the night off,” Kenta told her mom.
Mom’s eyes were wide and her breathing rapid, but she nodded and followed Tessa.
“Hope you find a job,” Fred called after her. “The only job you’ll find is as a call girl.” He laughed, and a few of his friends laughed with him.
Call girl.
What had Layla said to her? Some businesses used her models as hostesses for high-end parties.
Once outside the restaurant, Mom stood rock still, like a Buddha, but with a turbulent expression rather than one of transcendent peace.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Tessa said.
“Why’d you have to antagonize him?” she said in an anguished voice.
“If I had been submissive from the start, would he have been any less difficult?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Mom turned away from her, her chin trembling, but not crying. She never cried, not even the morning Dad had left. In that way, she resembled her stoic brother.
“Are you okay? Do you want me to drive you home?”
“I can drive,” she said snippily. Then in a different voice, “I can try to talk to Nez tomorrow —”
“No, don’t get in trouble, Mom.”
“I won’t.” A bullish expression settled over her face. “You know what? I won’t stand for that kind of disrespect to my face. I’m not his mother, but Teruo is my brother. If Fred thought his father wouldn’t hear about this …”
“Uncle Teruo would only say I shouldn’t have insulted his only son.”
“His only son should never have insulted his aunt,” she snapped.
Tessa was a bit surprised Mom was angry enough to demand action from Uncle Teruo, but it meant Fred would wish he had the brains of a cricket rather than the considerable amount less that he had. And after Uncle made Fred regret ever mixing thinking with drinking, Fred would take his anger, frustration, and humiliation out on Tessa rather than Mom, so that would be okay.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t help you,” Mom said. “Actually, Mom, you did help.” “I did?”
“Or rather … Fred did.”
“He did?” Mom shrugged. “At least the pile of rotting fish brains is good for something.”
Tessa smiled at her Mom. “Nice.” Mom preened. “I learned from the best.”
Chapter 22
Tessa hadn’t thought it was remotely possible for her to achieve cleavage, but Layla had worked a miracle. Of course, it had required an entire roll of duct tape to do it.
She looked at her reflection in the mirror. “You gave me two entire cup sizes.”
“Turn around, let me see the backside,” Layla said.
The dark blue gown wasn’t spandex-tight, but boy did it hug every curve, every roll of fat, every panty line. Somehow, though, seeing sexy-Tessa staring back at herself in the mirror unlocked something inside her. She felt like … a paper crane being unfolded.
“This is not me.”
“Don’t hunch your shoulders. Normally you have such good posture — don’t let this dress tell you how to walk. Lengthen your neck. Bring your chest up.”
“If I do, it’ll fall out of this dress.”
“It can’t,” Elizabeth said. “It’s duct-taped to the dress.”
Vivian bustled into the bedroom. “Here are those shoes … Oh, my.”
“‘Oh, my, you look like a million bucks’ or ‘Oh, my, you’re a spaghetti strap short of indecent’?” Tessa asked.
Vivian smiled. “Oh, my, you look like Cinderella at the ball.”
Cinderella. No one had ever called her that. More unfolding occurred inside her. “Well, I’ll look for my prince among the rich men at that party.”
“Actually, as a hostess, you have to make sure all the guests are having a good time, which, at a function like this, means chatting up the wives so the men can do business,” Layla said.
“This is such a strange world,” Tessa said.
“But you had a lot of money,” Elizabeth said.
“I earned it by working for my uncle, but my friends were all the same; they weren’t high-class like this. And then when I became a Christian, I gave it all away because I didn’t want to live on blood money. So I really don’t know how to act around rich women.”
“Yes you do,” Elizabeth said. “Rich, poor — women are women. Why, some of the women at that shelter were from low-income families, but they were more classy than some of the rich women I met when acting as Heath’s hostess for his parties.”
Tessa smoothed the blue satin over her hip. “Hopefully I can be classy too.”
Vivian appeared behind her in the mirror. “Just tell yourself you’re a butterfly. Butterflies are classy just by being themselves.”
Tessa didn’t want to leave the bedroom, surrounded by these women. They’d seen her at her most vulnerable — as they’d stripped off her clothes in preparation for getting her into the gown, Tessa had had the strange sensation that they were removing old, yucky armor that had served its purpose, but was no longer needed. And she’d emerged with this gorgeous gown on, but somehow she didn’t feel as defenseless as she thought she would. Nor did she feel awkward covered in feminine accoutrements.
She was a girly-girl after all. And yet, she was still Tessa.
Take that, Alicia.
Actually, Tessa didn’t care much for the wig. She scratched at the blonde curls.
Layla slapped at her hand. “Stop that, it’ll come off and it took us forever to get it on just right.”
“It itches.”
“It’s supposed to itch. The alternative is being recognized.”
Tessa’s facial features weren’t distinctive or striking, but the assassin in the parking garage had seen her, and Heath’s three thugs had seen her. Layla had thought about dying Tessa’s hair, but worried they wouldn’t be able to make it look natural as opposed to bleached, and she said that a bad dye job was more noticeable than a wig.
They all trooped downstairs, Layla giving Tessa tips on being a good hostess.
“Communication is key,” she said. “Be pleasant, ask people what refreshments they want and get it for them, chat with people to make them feel comfortable. If you’re smart, you’ll hover close to the right people and overhear things.”
“I wouldn’t know
what I’m hearing if I heard anything,” Tessa grumbled.
“Well, if you think you might be overhearing something important, turn on the digital tape recorder we taped down your dress. Just don’t look like you’re groping yourself when you turn it on.”
Eddie was in the living room, sprawled out on a chair, one leg swinging over the armrest. “I still don’t understand why I can’t be the one to come with you,” he complained to the ceiling. “Why does Charles get to be all James Bond?”
“Because Charles would understand what people are talking about when they start discussing business,” Charles said as he entered the front foyer from the kitchen, “whereas you would …” And then he caught sight of Tessa.
She’d never seen a man’s jaw drop like that. His eyes widened and also darkened, making his gaze seem more intense. Her heart beat strongly and rapidly at her throat.
Charles really was James Bond. His black tuxedo made him seem taller, leaner. He’d dyed his golden brown curls into a dark, rich mahogany and he’d cut them shorter than normal, making him look older. She wanted to cup his face with her hands, feel the planes of his cheekbones, the strong cords of his neck, and draw his head down to kiss her.
“Oh my garlic,” Eddie exclaimed, only now seeing Tessa at the base of the stairs. He leaped to his feet. “Now I’m really mad I can’t go.”
“Doesn’t she look wonderful?” Vivian gushed. “I wanted to strap a little pistol to her thigh under her dress — I thought that would be so sexy — but Tessa says she can’t be in possession of a firearm.”
“That’s what happens when you get released from prison,” Tessa said.
Charles cleared his throat. It sounded like it had closed up a little. “Thanks, Layla, for calling around for us and finding out which agency was hired to send hostesses for this party.”
“Oh, it was nothing. Desiree owed me a favor, and it wasn’t any skin off her back to send you two as opposed to two of her other employees.”
“I hope we do a good job. I don’t want it to reflect badly on her,” Tessa said.
“I hope we’ll be able to overhear something important,” Charles said. “We’re risking a lot by going tonight.”
