by Camy Tang
“Don’t be lecturing me, of all people, about culinary arts.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She shut up. Jenn could cook circles around most of the aunties, although none of them would ever admit it.
They tromped down the hallway, sprinted past the living room archway and escaped out the door. Trish turned to Mrs. Choi. “Thanks for letting me stay here.” Sleeping on her office floor in a sleeping bag was making her back hurt.
“It’s the least I could do. I’m so sorry I didn’t look at the place before offering it. George only told me that he had bought it, where it was, and how much rent to charge.”
“That’s okay. At least I have a temporary place to stay that’s close to work.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to find something?”
“Now that I’m not under time pressure, I’m sure I will. This last week must be a fluke — normally there are plenty of apartments available.”
Mrs. Choi smiled. “That’s good, dear.”
“I promise I won’t be here long.” Trish walked toward their cars. “One week, tops.”
Trish was going to be totally abandoned in her worship tonight if it killed her.
Well, not that worship was really supposed to kill a person, but she wouldn’t let Blondie — Katy? Kaitlyn? Kassie? — dissuade her from going all out. That little blonde chick could take herself to another Singles Group because Trish was a force to be reckoned with.
She marched into the social hall, ready to take on lions. Except Blondie wasn’t there. Rats.
More people than normal filled the small number of folding chairs, so Trish settled near the front on the side. Up front, Olivia gave her an encouraging smile. Nice to know someone appreciated her no matter how she worshipped.
Off and on, she’d been thinking about what Spenser had said — how the worship team had kept coming up in his head when she talked to him about volunteering. She’d figured out that Spenser wasn’t the total playboy he’d originally seemed like. In fact, she hadn’t even seen him talking to that Hong Kong intern at work. The only girl he talked to was . . . well, her.
Something warm and chocolatey stirred in her stomach.
Ed and Olivia started worship. Trish closed her eyes . . .
. . . To be rudely jostled as two latecomers practically tackled her to get to the seats beside her, which were the last empty ones available.
Oh. It was Blondie. With a gorgeous male friend.
He smiled at Trish, who couldn’t help but notice that he had the high cheekbones and deep cut jaw of Johnny Depp from Pirates of the Caribbean, but without the scruff on his face and with cleaner teeth. His smoothed-back hair gleamed a little more golden than Captain Jack’s, and much less oily.
Blondie’s smile showed an awful lot of teeth as she introduced him. “Trish, this is Jack.”
In the flesh, indeed. “Hi.”
Still with that feral smile, Blondie leaned in close enough for Trish to see the faint smear of Berry Bliss on her teeth. Her lips barely moved as she hissed. “Jack isn’t Christian, so don’t you be scaring him away with your weird hand flinging.”
Not Christian? Scared away? Well, yeah, Trish could see how that might happen.
But she was supposed to be totally abandoned tonight! What happened to her resolve not to let Blondie ruin it for her?
But what about rule number two? Tell others about Christ. Or at least don’t scare them away their first time at Singles Group.
The music started. Olivia’s eyes softened, then drooped as Trish remained sitting, miserable. Olivia’s disappointment ground at her like pepper in a spice mill. Or cheese in a hand grinder. Or nutmeg in a mortar.
Great, now her stomach started churning.
The melody passed over her head. Trish was drowning, letting the waves wash over her. But after a moment, she closed her eyes and sang, letting the words of the song stir her heart. She raised her hand to her chest to feel it beating.
Blondie jostled her arm.
Was that on purpose? How mean. Trish hadn’t been intending to raise it all the way up or anything like that. She glanced across Blondie at Captain Jack. He smiled, enjoying the music even though he didn’t know the words.
Trish huddled in her seat.
Ed segued into the next song, a powerful ballad that felt like it deserved banners of victory waving over the Singles Group. Her heart swelled, and she leaned forward.
Blondie pinched her leg.
Ow! Now that was uncalled for. Trish rubbed the spot as the stab subsided. That would leave a bruise. Blondie wasn’t fighting fair, and they weren’t even at war. But they would be if she didn’t leave off. Trish sharply nudged her knee into Blondie’s bony one.
Then Ed started her favorite song.
“Your mercy comes to me now . . . I lose myself when I come before you . . . You are everlasting . . .”
What was more important, Blondie’s friend or bringing God glory? She’d come tonight, determined to worship Him with reckless abandon, but she’d been distracted, jostled, and pinched. Was it wrong to put her worshipping before Captain Jack’s first experience at church?
But it wasn’t her worshipping. It was God’s worship. She was stinting, like skimming the whipped cream off a white chocolate mocha.
“Consume me, Lord . . . transform me from the inside out . . .” She closed her eyes and felt the words imprinted on her heart. Her hands came up.
Another pinch from Blondie, but without opening her eyes, Trish slapped her hand away.
“Your light shines . . . never ending . . . I long to bring you praise . . .”
She longed to bring God praise, as much praise as she could give him from her little (well, not that little) body. He deserved all of her, He wanted all of her.
“My soul cries out . . . I long to bring you praise . . .”
Trish shot to her feet, throwing her hands up in the air. Her fingers hit something — maybe the chair back — but she didn’t care. She felt like a bird rushing out of a cage, a dog snapping a leash. She had wings, and she was flying right to God.
The worship set ended too soon. She stood there in the resonance of the last guitar strum, head bowed, taking a last sip of the divine Spirit that had filled her heart.
She opened her eyes and sat down. Where had Blondie and Captain Jack gone?
Oh, there was Blondie, walking back into the social hall. Sporting a huge black eye. She glared at Trish kind of like how the crazed serial killer looked in the movies before hacking off the victim’s head.
Blondie flung herself into Captain Jack’s empty seat, leaving a gaping hole between them. “You are a menace.” Her voice had enough venom to poison a small reservoir. She gingerly laid an ice pack over her eye.
“What do you mean?”
Blondie turned purple. Well, at least her entire face matched her eye, now. “You idiot!” Her lips curled out to expose her teeth, which ground together. “You socked me in the eye when you stood up.”
Oh. “I’m sorry.”
Blondie rolled her eyes and flipped up a hand. Talk to the hand.
“Where did Captain Jack go?”
“Who?”
“Uh . . . your friend.”
“Well, you can be happy you condemned his mortal soul.”
Wasn’t that a little dramatic? “I don’t understand.”
“He left as soon as you jumped to your feet.”
The fizzy, freeing feeling in her chest suddenly froze and slammed into her gut. “He did?”
“He’ll never set foot in a church again, thanks to you.”
TWENTY-TWO
There should have been a sign — Bad Wednesday afternoon with the old ladies straight ahead! — when Trish pulled into the parking lot. She knew because of the overwhelming number of rice rockets — souped-up Honda Accords, Acura Integras, Mitsubishi Eclipses — and newer-looking SUVs packed into all the parking spaces. The more expensive cars had parked sideways to take up two spaces, the cads.
After p
arking down the street, she headed inside. She’d arrived early as instructed — she’d gotten into work extra early so she could leave early. She’d arrived even before the other volunteer, Christina. She had to admit she was rather curious to see what the big deal was about those K-dramas.
Her pace slowed as she passed a cherry-red Mazda convertible in neglected condition, with a few small dents and bruises, tires that needed to be replaced soon, and filthy windows. And an ancient Lemon Tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror.
No. It couldn’t be.
She whipped out her cell phone. “Lex, I need serious help.”
“What?”
“I’ve been volunteering at Katsu Towers — ”
“You? At an old folks’ home?”
“It’s assisted living.”
“Okay, whatever.” Lex’s voice was dry.
“I just arrived, and Kazuo’s car is here.”
“How’d he know you’d be there?”
“Grandma probably heard from one of the ladies in there, and she told him. I need you here to help me fend him off.”
There was a moment of silence from Lex. “Trish, it’s not like he’s jumping you every time he sees you.”
“No, but I . . . kind of want to jump him.”
“Ooooh. You need help to fend you off.”
Put like that, Trish sounded pathetic. “Yeah, I guess.”
“You’re lucky. Today’s a slow day for me at work.”
“You can leave early? You won’t get in trouble?”
“I’ll be there in twenty.”
“Thanks.”
Trish shut her cell phone. She almost regretted calling in the reserve, but she wasn’t strong enough. Even the thought of Kazuo’s dark eyes made her breath quicken, and that was not good.
One day she’d be strong enough. Wasn’t this like that verse in Corinthians, about the “way out” of any temptation? Lex was Trish’s way out.
She stomped through the front doors of Katsu Towers. Why were the bad boys so good-looking? God should have given all the bad apples ugly mugs and jiggling beer bellies.
He saw her as soon as she passed the front desk, a decidedly non-ugly, non-beer-belly specimen of the male species, and she hated herself for the blip of her heart when she saw him. She drew her lips down in a frown. “What are you doing here?”
“Your grandmother’s friend — ”
“Never mind.” Why even bother to ask? Of course it was Grandma’s nefarious scheming, who else would it be? She probably had spies all over Japantown, which included Katsu Towers. “I’m here to volunteer, not talk to you.”
Of course, her treacherous body swayed toward him even as she said that. He smelled clean and exotic, sandalwood with the distinct tang of Japanese soap.
“I can help you.” He smiled. He sounded so reasonable.
No, he wasn’t reasonable. He was sneaky and sly even if he didn’t seem like it right now. He was dangerous and good-smelling and —
Stop that. Focus. “Fine.” She marched away from him and upstairs. As soon as she entered the general rec room, the ladies came at her like a slow-moving flock of chickens, clucking and giggling.
“Trish, I want you to meet my nephew . . .”
“This is my grandson . . .”
“Where’s my son? Oh, there he is. Come here and meet Trish . . .”
Kazuo stuck to her side like a sword to a samurai’s belt, and he glowered at each and every male relative the old ladies threw at Trish. Some of the guys were as annoyed as Trish at their matchmaking matriarchs, and once they did their duty, they left.
Some were mere boys who gave Kazuo a Down, Cujo! look. Others were belligerent — back went the shoulders, up went their chins. Kazuo’s stance never relaxed.
Some of the guys weren’t bad looking, but most of them were either too young or they were older with baggage — the kind of “baggage” that left a pale strip of white on their tanned wedding ring finger. Plus she wasn’t disposed to like any man who came at Grandma/ Aunty/Mom’s beck and call.
As she smiled politely at each of them, she started to wonder if she was supposed to evangelize to them. After all, rule number two and all that. She tried it on one of the more persistent ones, a guy in an American Eagle T-shirt that was way out of place on his forty-something person. “Do you believe in God?”
“Uh . . .” He fiddled with his jacket buttons and glanced nervously at Kazuo, who hovered over her shoulder. “Sure.” Not a rousing affirmation. Trish wondered if the guy had ever been inside a church.
“Do you have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ?” She had this down pat. She’d finally memorized all the points from her Four Laws tract last week. This would be great —
Except the guy straightened and backed slowly away from her as if she were a nuclear weapon. He wore a too-bright smile. “Nice meeting you, Trish.” He ducked out.
Hmph. Well, at least it got rid of him. Eventually, they all said polite good-byes and left her alone.
Maybe Kazuo was good for something, after all.
She happened to glance up and catch Deborah — the deaf-as-a-doornail old woman — sitting on the opposite side of the room from last week. Her outraged eyes bit into Trish like a dozen rabid dogs. Or maybe a dozen rabid toy poodles, anyway. She could almost read Deborah’s mind — This isn’t a brothel, you hussy!
She wasn’t a hussy. Trish swallowed and looked away. It wasn’t her fault the old woman was deaf and couldn’t understand what was going on, on top of being crabbier than apples.
“Hurry, the K-drama is starting!”
The magic words made the women flock to the television set. Kazuo watched with his arched eyebrows furrowed. “K-drama?”
Trish followed in the wake of wheelchairs, walkers, and canes. She glanced back at Deborah, who pinched her mouth and turned her head away from the cattle call of bodies. A desert island, sitting by herself at the far end of the room. She didn’t even try to get up and walk to the TV set with everyone else. Surely she could read the subtitles?
A majorly cute Korean guy — maybe the actor on Clara’s keychain fobs — vowed his undying love to an incredibly beautiful Korean woman. In the next scene, an unsavory man brandishing a knife carjacked the hero. The thief was robbing him when the man tried to take the knife away, and he got stabbed!
It cut to commercial.
Wow. This was addictive.
Apparently Kazuo thought so, too. He glared at the set as if willing the commercial to end with his radioactive brain waves so the rest would play. “This K-drama is very good.” For him, “very good” meant absolutely riveting, surprising, and immensely wonderful.
Kazuo and Korean soap operas? Who’d a’ thunk?
“Oh, there he is.” Clara reached over from where she sat to grab Trish’s arm. “Meet my nephew.”
She motioned to an Asian man who stood in the doorway to the rec room. He strode across the room with power and arrogance in every step, and Trish hated him on sight. It reminded her of Kazuo’s demanding attitude when they’d been dating and he’d been in the midst of painting yet another “masterpiece.” They were all “masterpieces,” and she had gotten tired of being the focal possession in his collection.
She glanced at Kazuo, still staring at the TV. She hadn’t thought of him once while the K-drama had been on, whereas at any other time, she wouldn’t be able to make her brain stop dwelling on undwellable things. Should be a clue to her when a soap opera could distract her from a man.
She stepped away from the TV crowd as Clara’s nephew came closer. She crossed her arms over her chest as a shield when he had the nerve to peer down his long, straight nose at her. Or at least try to. Up close, he was only a couple inches taller than she was. She got a good view of his excessively oily forehead.
She put a hand up to her own face. Man, she was leaking oil like an old car. She needed to talk to her cousin who sold Mary Kay about what products she could use.
“I’m L
awrence.” He didn’t even attempt a smile.
“Trish.”
“You volunteer here at my aunt’s facility?” He cast his gaze, tinged with disdain, around the room.
“I just started.”
He looked at his watch.
“Nice meeting you.” She turned to walk back to the TV set. Oh, the commercials had ended. Good.
“Oh, wait, that’s right.” He pointed a bobbing finger at her. “Aunt Clara said you work for a pharmaceutical company?”
“Valley Pharmaceuticals.” Over his shoulder, the TV distracted her. The soap opera’s villainess, Eun-kee, looked upset. Oh, the man she secretly loved, but who suffered from unrequited love to another girl, had walked into the room. Uh-oh.
“Ah.” Lawrence erupted into million-dollar smiles. “How’s that going?”
She trusted him as much as that Korean guy trusted that chick. “Uh . . . okay.” What was Eun-kee saying? Trish was too far away to see the subtitles. Looked like she was cussing him out.
“What department are you in?”
“Osteoporosis.” The hot Korean guy was backing away from Eun-kee now. “Cell culture research.”
“So . . .” Lawrence leaned in closer. “What are you working on?”
Trish’s “potential skunk” meter fired, and she snapped back to attention. “I can’t disclose that, it’s proprietary information.” Her voice came out hard and sharp. Hopefully she pricked him enough that he wouldn’t keep going down this line of questions.
He had alligator skin. “Aw, come on. Just a hint. I won’t tell anyone.”
Suuuure. Just his stock broker. “Do you need a dictionary?”
“Huh?”
“You obviously don’t know the meaning of the word proprietary.”
His smile and his half-lidded eyes screamed condescension even before he unwisely opened his mouth. “Now, Tina — ”
“Trish.”
“ — let me explain how companies really work . . .”
She already knew he had absolutely nothing meaningful to add to the conversation — such as it was — so she turned her eyes back to the TV. Eun-kee and the man were struggling. When did that happen? The villainess seemed to be wanting to embrace him. Uh oh, what was he going to do?
