“Two or three years, I guess. I hadn’t really seen Ted for a while before he asked me a few months ago if I’d work on his film. We lost touch when he was touring with the band, and ever since he got back, I’m always in class or in the lab.”
“He was in a band?”
“Before he was a filmmaker, he was a bass player,” said John. “That didn’t really work out, though, and his mother had to send him money to get home from Kansas or someplace like that.”
“And what did he do before the band?” I asked, suspecting that Ted may have been through several professions by now.
“He tried art school for a while, but . . . well, you know.”
I had a feeling I did know. However, although I didn’t think Ted had much talent, he did have a lot of enthusiasm for filmmaking, and he had invested tremendous commitment and energy in ABC. So maybe he’d stick with this career choice. It made no difference to me, though, just as long as he at least stuck with it until this film was finished or the money ran out—whichever came first. I wondered how Ted’s meeting had gone this evening with his potential new backer.
We made a sharp right—and found ourselves facing a wall of carved masks, rather than a staircase.
“Ted?” I called, recalling Susan’s advice. “Ted!”
“Up here!” he responded, his voice still pretty faint. “Find the stairs!”
“Find the stairs?” I muttered. “Well, thanks for that helpful tip.”
“This place is astonishing,” said Max. “One really can’t tell from the street how big it is.”
“Enormous is more like it,” I said, looking down a very long aisle in hope of seeing some stairs.
“Oh, yeah, it’s a big store,” said John. “Well-known, too. I guess Yee’s has been here for at least fifty years.”
Although a fairly regular shopper in Chinatown, I had never been to Yee & Sons before. But I came to this neighborhood to buy food and practical goods at cheap prices, not art and souvenirs, so this wasn’t the sort of place I usually went into.
As I turned down a shorter aisle, then went around another corner, still without seeing a staircase, I noticed that another reason this wasn’t the sort of place I shopped was that most of the stock was well out of my price range. Some of it might even be out of Max’s price range, I realized, as I eyed an elaborate antique couch from (according to its label) nineteenth-century Hong Kong which cost tens of thousands of dollars.
This whole section of the store was a crowded jumble of gorgeous traditional furniture, most of it very high-end stuff like that couch. Carved wooden screens, hand-painted porcelain vases big enough to hide Nelli in, chairs with elaborately embroidered cushions, heavy desks, large cabinets painted with classical Chinese scenes . . .
“Wow, this place is amazing,” I murmured.
No one replied, and when I turned to look at my companions, I discovered I was alone.
“Max?” I called.
“Over here!” he called from somewhere on my left. “I didn’t realize we had gotten separated!”
“John?” I called.
“Oh, there you are,” he said behind me.
I turned around in surprise as he approached me. “I thought you were that way,” I said, jerking a thumb behind me.
“And I thought you were that way.” He nodded in the direction he had just come from. “Man, this place is really confusing, isn’t it?”
I said, “I suppose the idea is, the harder it is to find your way back out once you’re inside, the more likely you are to give in and buy something.”
John smiled at that, then he glanced at his watch. “I need to meet Bill pretty soon, so we really need to find Ted.”
“Ah-hah!” Max cried. We both turned to see him at the end of our aisle. “There you are.”
Reunited, we all went in search of the stairs again—and this time we found them. I called Ted’s name when we reached the next floor, and he answered. But when we went in the direction of his voice, we soon found that we seemed to be getting farther away from him, rather than closer.
“This place didn’t used to be such a maze,” John said in some exasperation. “It was always big, but I at least used to be able to find my way around.”
We rounded another corner—and were surprised to bump into Lily Yee. Per her daughter’s comment, she appeared to be taking inventory. Dressed in dark slacks and a pretty red blouse, with her black hair in a heavy bun at her nape again, she was carrying a clipboard and wearing a pair of reading glasses perched on her nose.
“John!” she said in surprise. “Ted didn’t mention you were coming.” Then she recognized his companions. “Hello, again! Max, how nice to see you.”
“Hello, Lily.” Max executed a gentlemanly little bow and beamed at her. “I’m pleased to see you looking so well.”
“Oh, nonsense,” she said with a smile. “I look a mess!”
It would take at least thirty minutes of makeup and hairstyling for me to look that much a “mess,” so I said nothing.
“Are you looking for Ted, er . . .” She said to me, “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”
“This is Esther Diamond,” said John. “She’s taken over the role of Alicia in Ted’s film.”
“What? Oh.” Her face fell. “Oh. I thought . . .” She sighed. “Well, never mind.”
I recalled that, at Benny’s wake, she had seemed to assume that Ted planned to meet me for a date, not an audition. Wishful thinking, but I could understand it. What hardworking widow with an unemployable grown son wouldn’t hope to palm him off on another woman?
“You must be the actress who Ted said would be here tonight to try on some dresses,” she said to me.
“Yes, but we’re having trouble finding him.”
“This place can be a bit of a maze,” she said with a smile. “Come with me.”
“Oh, good,” I said to John. “We have an intrepid guide to take us upriver.”
As I expected—since it was her place, after all—she led us unerringly to Ted, who was in a section of the store devoted to cheongsams, kimonos, and other clothing.
Ted, who was talking on his cell, waved to us and started wrapping up his call. “Well, I’m glad you won’t need a second surgery on the leg. And I’ll be in touch about a date to film in the apartment.”
After he got off the phone, he greeted us all.
Then his mother asked him, “Did you finish unpacking those statues from the new shipment?”
“Huh? Oh, I forgot.”
Lily’s face went very still. A lesser woman, I sensed, would have scowled at him. Speaking evenly, she said, “Ted, I really want those on the floor tomorrow. With the New Year just over a week away—”
“Sure, I’ll get to it, Mom.”
“When?”
“Um . . .”
“And I still need you to clean out that back room, too.”
“Uh-huh.”
“And don’t forget to take out the garbage tonight.”
“Okay, Mom, don’t worry.”
“You keep saying that, Ted, but then you don’t—” She looked at the rest of us and evidently decided not to criticize her son here and now. Instead, she said to him, “Please just make sure the things we’ve discussed get done by tomorrow.”
“Right, Mom.” He paused. “Um . . . what were those things again?”
With that look of resigned disappointment which I had seen before on Lily Yee’s face when speaking to her son, she said, “I will write you a list.”
“Okay,” he said cheerfully. Ted was feckless, but good-natured.
“Now I shall leave you with your friends and return to working on the inventory.”
“May I assist you?” Max offered.
“Oh, thank you, Max.” She gave him a warm smile. “That is very thoughtful. And I w
ould enjoy your company.”
But although he seemed pleased by her response and he smiled back, I thought his expression seemed a little melancholy. Almost regretful. I wondered if he was thinking of another woman who had lived in another era, someone who had inhabited a world that must have been very different from this one. And I had a feeling he was recognizing in his heart, that organ which is such a slow learner, that despite the resemblance which drew him to her, Lily Yee was not Li Xiuying—whoever she had been.
I said to him, “I guess I’ll send a search party after you when I’m ready to leave.”
Max responded with a distracted nod, still gazing after Lily Yee with that melancholy expression as she turned to lead the way back to another section of her labyrinthine store.
14
Loyalty
After Max and Lily parted company with us, John asked Ted, “Was that Mary on the phone? How is she?”
“They don’t think they’ll have to operate again,” said Ted. “But she’s looking at a long recuperation.”
“Just how bad was the injury?” I asked.
“Bad,” said John. “She slipped going down the stairs of her apartment building. Broke the leg in two places.”
I winced. “What rotten luck.”
“You said it.” Ted nodded. “You never met anyone with worse luck than Mary.”
“It was one thing after another,” said John—which I remembered someone saying at lunch today, too. “First, she got mowed down by a runaway food cart on Broadway.”
“What?” I blurted.
“Such a weird freak accident. Nothing broken, just superficial injuries,” Ted said to me. “But she was so bruised and banged up, I postponed the start of the film for a week. She couldn’t work on-camera in that condition.”
“Then a few days after we started shooting,” said John, “she got this virulent chronic rash. Very uncomfortable. I was afraid the makeup had caused it, even though the rest of the cast was fine.”
“I still don’t see how it could be the makeup, John. The only place you were using it was on her face, which was just about the only place Mary didn’t have that rash.”
“After that, she went into anaphylactic shock one day.”
“Oh, my God,” I said. “That could have killed her.”
John asked Ted, “Did they ever figure out what caused it?”
“I don’t know,” said Ted. “I don’t think I’ve asked about it since she broke her leg.”
“Man, it really was one thing after another, wasn’t it?” I said in amazement. “That poor woman.”
“It was like she was cursed,” Ted said.
“Cursed?” I repeated with sudden dread.
“But the surgery on her leg went well and it sounds like she’ll be all right,” he added. “Well, as long as nothing else happens to her for a while.”
I took a breath to steady myself. When Ted said curse, he was just using a figure of speech—a very apt one, given Mary’s run of bad luck. Max had said the death curse would work quickly and couldn’t be mitigated; and, obviously, Mary wasn’t dead. She also didn’t have anything to do with Joe Ning. Or with Benny Yee, apart from being in his nephew’s film.
“Are you all right?” John asked me. “You look a little . . . I don’t know.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” I assured him. “Mary’s story is just really upsetting, you know?”
“In that case,” said Ted, a big grin starting to spread across his face, “let me take your mind off it with some good news! My new backer has stepped up to the plate. We can keep filming after Uncle Benny’s investment runs out!”
“Hey! That’s great!” In the spirit of the moment, I gave Ted a big hug. “I’m so glad.”
“Great news, Ted. Congratulations!” John shook his hand, patted his back, then turned to give me a hug.
I was so pleased I’d be working for a while longer, and so grateful to John for introducing me to Ted, I squeezed hard.
When we let go, he murmured, “You smell nice.”
I laughed. “I think that’s crab in spicy sauce. Or maybe Nelli.”
“It’s definitely not Nelli,” he said with a smile. “I remember what she smells like.”
“Who’s Nelli?” Ted asked.
“Never mind,” said John. “So who’s your new backer?”
“I can’t really say.” Ted made a vague gesture. “He wants to be a silent partner. For the time being, anyhow. At least until we get more details worked out.”
“But he’s investing enough money for us to finish the film?” I prodded.
“That’s one of the details we have to work out,” said Ted. “Exactly how much money he’s putting in. He wants to see a budget and, well, I don’t really have one. Well, not like a detailed, formal one. Most of it is in my head.”
Somehow this didn’t surprise me. And since there seemed to be a hole in Ted’s head . . .
“Still, it’s good news,” I said, determined to look on the bright side. For a while longer, I could keep eating and continue saving toward next month’s rent, and I was acting instead of waiting tables or office temping. So it was all good.
“I have good news, too,” said John. “Since you’re not sure how much of the, um, budget your new backer will cover, I think I’ve got a plan for raising additional money.”
“Really?” Ted was suddenly alert. (Indie filmmakers are always alert when someone says they might be able to raise money.)
“Since I’m pretty much carrying my lab partner through this term, he owes me a big favor,” said John. “The upshot is that his girlfriend, who does something in NYU’s film school, says she can help us host an investor event. She’s done this before, and it worked, so she knows the ropes.”
John explained that Ted would need to prepare a short sample reel from the movie—a full scene or two, plus a short montage of some other scenes and shots. Then he’d rent a hall and invite a few dozen venture capitalists to come to view the reel. Among them, there should be a few people who’d be willing to invest in the movie. John’s NYU acquaintance would help us stage the whole evening for maximum effect and best results.
“Oh, I know what to use! I’ve got some great footage of a speech that Jianyu makes to Brian about Confucian values. Archie delivers the whole monologue while working with his nunchaku.” Ted demonstrated by waving an imaginary version of the flailing weapon all around his head. “It’s really cool.”
“Archie doing his moves might work better in the montage,” said John. “He does look impressive doing his thing.”
I shrewdly sensed that John might not be a big fan of Jianyu’s tedious speeches.
“Hmm.” Ted thought it over.
“Anyhow, I think you should definitely use one of Esther’s scenes. I know it’s mostly a Chinese story, but I think it’ll get investors interested when they see how good she is in the movie,” John said. “And you’d need to prepare some comments about the film, Ted. A short introduction, talking about the themes and the story, its meaning and message, why it will appeal to audiences. You know the sort of thing.”
Ted nodded and recited, “ABC is a coming-of-age story about a first-generation American-born Chinese guy torn between his attraction to Western culture and its emphasis on the individual, as represented by Alicia, and traditional Chinese culture, with its emphasis on family, duty, and the importance of face, as represented by Mei.”
“Well, you’ve got time to work on the speech,” John said tactfully. “You’ll also need to prepare a package to hand out. It should include a written summary of the film—”
“A treatment,” I supplied.
“Oh, right, that was the word.” John nodded. “And you’ll have to provide the attendees with a copy of the budget—so, um, it’s just as well you’ll be working on that for your silent backer.”
&
nbsp; “Oh, right . . . A budget . . .”
“After we show the film clip, there could be a question-and-answer session with the actors. The investors would probably like to see the cast.”
“We could come in costume,” I suggested. “Archie could do a martial arts routine. Cynthia and Brian could talk about their characters. And I . . . um . . .” I could fight off hypothermia in one of Alicia’s costumes.
“You can charm the investors,” said John. “Just be yourself and say funny things, the way you do.”
Without being immodest, I had to agree that being myself would be more charming than being Alicia.
I said, “So it sounds like this event would cost time and money, but it could really pay off if done well, Ted.”
“We’d need to supply refreshments, too, obviously.” John added to me with a smile, “You can’t host anything in Chinatown without providing food.”
“In that case,” I said, “count on me being there.”
“We should make sure we invite a lot of Chinese and ABC investors,” said Ted enthusiastically. “After all, this is their story.”
Who knew? Maybe they’d see it that way, too, and sink money into Ted’s flaccid script. At any rate, it was a good idea, and I said so to John.
Ted agreed and gave him a hearty handshake, thanking him for making the initial contact that generated this idea. John offered to introduce Ted to his lab partner’s girlfriend as soon as possible, to get the ball rolling.
“Man, the morning started off so bad, and now just look at where we are tonight!” Ted said happily. “I’ve secured a new backer. John’s contact can help us find more investors. And your detective friend, Esther, will help us get our location permits. Our luck is really changing!”
As if to punctuate that statement, his cell phone rang.
“Detective friend?” John said to me while Ted looked at his phone to see who his caller was.
“Oh, no,” Ted said wearily. “It’s Susan.”
His sister probably couldn’t leave the front of the store untended, and phoning him certainly made more sense than bellowing a conversation through the multi-floor maze of this building.
The Misfortune Cookie: An Esther Diamond Novel Page 21
