He took her hands in his. "I love you." And there was a freedom in saying it that filled him with exultation. He felt young and free and powerful, open to discovery, to certainty, to hope.
"Yes," Miranda said. She brought his face to hers. "A celebration. Long life, and hope, and harmony, and love."
Chdpter 8
¥u Yi flung the dress to the floor. "It is not what I want. It is not right for me. Not one of these is right for me. Take them away!"
TTie saleswoman bit her Up as she knelt and gathered together the dresses tumbled on the carpet. The apartment was densely furnished in brocades and velvets and mahogany furniture piled with cushions embroidered with flowers and birds in bright coral, Wu Yi's favorite color. The saleswoman, eyes lowered, crouched to reach under a chair for a shoe that had been kicked there.
"You needn't put on that wretched look," Wu Yi stormed. "You knew I wouldn't like them, but you brought them anyway."
"They were the closest I had to what you said you wanted."
"Something different, I said! Dramatic! Special!"
The saleswoman slipped the dresses into their garment bags. "I don't know anyone else in Beijing. There is a shop in Shanghai, and one in Xi'an, but of course you want something closer."
"Which is the best?"
"Oh, Xi'an, by far, it is an extraordinary collection, but Xi'an is—"
"Call them! I want to talk to someone there!"
"It is almost five o'clock; the shop is probably closed."
"Call them!"
Wu Yi waited for the saleswoman to tell her she could make her own call with her own telephone in her own apartment, but after only a brief hesitation the woman went to the telephone and dialed. Being a famous actress is a good thing, Wu Yi exulted silently. People do your bidding.
Except for Sheng. A frown brought two deep lines to her perfect
forehead. Quickly, before any damage was done, she smoothed it out. Still, she was angry. He had not called; it was the longest silence since they had begun seeing each other. He had said something about going to Beihai, but that was no reason not to call her. It would be better if I did not find him attractive, Wu Yi thought, but the truth is, he is a handsome man who learns quickly what I like in bed, and sometimes he is like a sweet little boy, and he has a wife, which means he is not slathering to get married.
And he has good connections and soon will be rich.
She glared at the saleswoman, sitting at the telephone. Hurry up, she thought. I want the line clear for when Sheng calls.
The saleswoman held out the telephone. "The lady's name is Ye Meiyun. I told her you had definite ideas about what you want."
"Yes, yes." She waved toward the door. "I won't need you anymore today." She turned her back. "I am looking for unusual dresses," she said into the telephone. "I do not want to see others wearing my clothes when I walk down the street or go to restaurants, and especially not when I am on television next month to receive the Magnolia award." She waited for the woman to exclaim over the award, but the woman said nothing. "Tell me what you have," Wu Yi said after a moment, a faint thread of annoyance in her voice.
"It would be best if you came here, or, failing that, I could send you photographs." The woman's voice was cool. Impertinent, Wu Yi thought. Saleswomen do not speak that way to me.
"Describe to me what you have. If you will not, I will speak to the owner of your shop."
"I am the owner and the designer. The lady who called said you are Wu Yi, the actress. Is that correct?"
"Of course it is!" She should have recognized my voice, Wu Yi thought.
"Well, since this sounds like a matter of some urgency, I will tell you about a few of my dresses, but it would be best if you came to Xi'an."
"Tell me what you have!" Again, the woman said nothing, and Wu Yi remembered that she was the owner. She softened her voice. "If you would tell me what you have .. ."
The woman described a number of evening dresses, daytime suits, and blouses, and as she spoke, Wu Yi sat straighter, her eyes brightening. Clothes were what she thought of most of the time, so she was as knowledgeable as a designer, and she could picture clearly the fabrics the woman was describing, the cut of the skirts and tops and jackets, the look of the buttons and braid trims. Yes! she thought. Yes, yes, yes!
But her voice was casual as she said, "These sound promising. Bring all of them that you have described to Beijing so that I may try them on and choose. I may want them all."
There was a pause. "Ordinarily I would not do this," the woman said.
But you will Wu Yi thought, because I am a good client to have.
"But there is someone in Beijing I wish to talk to. So this once I will come to you." She listed the dresses she was bringing.
"And a cape," Wu Yi said. "To wear with an evening dress, perhaps the gold one. It is cool now in the evenings."
"I have no capes, but—" Again there was a pause. "I could have one made. For the gold dress. Black cashmere with gold silk flowers, perhaps magnohas, since that is the award you are getting."
"Yes!" Wu Yi cried before she remembered to be casual. "Have it made and bring it—" She caught herself. "VTiat would it cost?"
"I do not know. I would think two to three thousand yuan."
Wu Yi picmred herself on stage, making an acceptance speech after receiving the Magnolia award for best actress in a television film, seen by everyone in China in a gold gown with a black cashmere cape scattered with gold silk magnolias. She could not resist it. "If it is no more than three thousand, I want it. How soon can it be made?"
"I think ... it could be rushed through in three days."
"Then bring it with the dresses."
There was no response. Wu Yi heard the echo of her voice, and once again reminded herself that this woman—she had forgotten her name—was the owner of the shop, and the designer, as well. "Please," she said, forcing the unfamiliar word through her lips. "Please bring it when you come. I think I may be buying many things from you and it would be good for us to meet."
"Yes," Meiyun said, still cool and distant. "I will see you in four days. Your address, please?"
Their goodbyes were formal, and when she hung up, Wu Yi felt as if she had been the supplicant, and this woman—Ye Meiyun; that was her name—graciously dispensing favors. She did not like it. But she could ignore that when it was a question of new clothes.
She gazed at the telephone. Where was he? She was supposed to meet friends for dinner but that could easily be canceled if he called. Ring, she said to the telephone. Ring. Half an hour later, it did.
She pounced on it. "I have thought of nothing but you," said Sheng's smooth deep voice.
Wu Yi smiled, but once again kept her voice casual, almost indifferent. Not for nothing was she an actress. "But you had many things to think about, many activities to fill your days."
"Annoyances that took my thoughts from you," he said.
"Yes? And are the annoyances gone?"
"I left them in Beihai."
"And you do not have to return?"
"No. At least, not for a while. I solved some problems"—Wu Yi heard satisfaction swell in his voice—"got rid of someone who was trying to blackmail us into paying extortionate fees, and signed someone new to watch out for our interests."
"It sounds quite successful. You must tell me all about it."
When he was silent, Wu Yi smiled again, imagining his brief confusion. It was seldom that she gave him such an opening, a virtual invitation. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I would like to. I was going to suggest dinner."
"Tonight?" Her voice rose in incredulity.
"Of course you are busy, I know how busy you are, but I cut short my trip because I could not wait to see—"
"I think I can have dinner with you tonight," Wu Yi said smoothly. "It is possible that I can change my schedule." She paused, letting him absorb this great news. How like a little boy he was! It was one of his charms: the little boy seeking reassurance, inside the sh
rewd businessman. Both sides drew her to him. "Shall we say seven o'clock? I would like to try the new restaurant, Lao San Jie."
"Oh." He was disappointed; she could tell. He always liked to go to one of his own clubs, where he could count how many tables were filled, and feel like a boss. But not tonight, Wu Yi thought; he must be punished for going away from me. "Fine," he said. "I will come for you at seven o'clock."
The walls of Lao San Jie were covered with photographs from rural China, and magazines and newsletters from the years of the Cultural Revolution. In a spirit of nostalgia for a time none of them would want repeated, the kitchen served country food, beginning with tea poured by a waitress from three feet away, the hot liquid arching the distance from a long snout to a small teacup filled with dried leaves and fruits.
"I like this place," said Wu Yi. "Different."
Sheng was contemplating the photographs on the walls. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "My father was in one of those places." He lifted his chin toward a picture of huts huddled at the base of jagged mountains. "He said it was a hell hole. A death trap."
Wu Yi glanced at the photo. "It was a long time ago."
"I didn't beheve him," said Sheng, his eyes still on the bleak village, and the gaunt men squatting in a doorway, staring at the camera. One of the men held a carving knife and a wooden figure. "I told him he
didn't care about me, he hadn't even tried to take me with him. He was so quiet—he looked like those men in the picture—and he made wood carvings, too, when he was there; he still has one, of a woman looking at the sky. I was terrified of his silence, and the way he looked, like a skeleton, and so desolate, and that made me angrier and I would not talk to him." He looked at his hands. "That was when we stopped being friends."
Wu Yi felt a strange pang, almost like pity. It startled her and made her nervous. Sheng was supposed to be strong. It was what she demanded: that she feel admiration for a man, not pity.
"He's in Xi'an," Sheng added, a statement that made no sense to Wu Yi.
Why does he keep talking about it? she thought. I came from one of those places, poor and filthy and miserable, and my father and mother both starved to death, but it was a long time ago. We turn our backs on the bad times; we look at what we can grab now. That is how we climb out of the past and soar far above the little people who are trapped in memories of their own weaknesses. I will not have anything to do with any of them.
The waitress served a platter of pork with sweet potato noodles, and a large bowl of beef and potato chunks in a sauce pungent with soy. Sheng roused himself and tasted them. "Good. Very good."
"I ordered one other dish," said Wu Yi, just as the waitress brought a large platter with roasted kebabs of lamb rolled in spices. "I had heard of this," she said, tasting a tiny piece of lamb. It was tender and sweet and when the owner came to their table, asking if they were pleased, she smiled her approval. "Very good, excellent."
"I am grateful that you have honored us with your presence," he said, his eyes admiring her.
Wu Yi breathed deeply. How wonderful it was to be beautiful! And famous! People sought your approval and did your bidding and smoothed away obstacles. What a good time this was to be young in China!
They ate and talked of small things. Sheng, relaxed now, told amusing tales of his trip, as if it had been simply a small jaunt to straighten out some minor snags. He made Wu Yi laugh with his descriptions of Beihai's provincial ways; he made her eyes sparkle with his oblique references to important business deals; he took her hand at the end of the meal and told her how much he had missed her, with such sweetness that Wu Yi completely forgot that she had been worried about pitying him.
"I have a gift for you," he said. "But it requires privacy."
Wu Yi smiled broadly. By now she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But, as always, the timing had to be hers. "May we stop at your club for a drink first? I always enjoy that."
What fun it was to force him into a dilemma. He wanted to check on his club; he wanted to be in her bed. But in fact he had no choice. Simply by stating a preference, Wu Yi had decreed what they would do. Sheng could have both, as long as he was patient.
This time they went to his second club, a long, narrow, smoke-filled room with tables on raised platforms along the walls, giving the patrons a good view of the rock group and the dance floor. Automatically, Sheng looked for empty tables. Finding only two, he ordered drinks and mmed his attention to Wu Yi. And as she felt the heat of his body close to hers, she knew that he was more interested in her than in his club, that focusing on her brought his desire to a boil again, and her own, in response, rose to a pitch that pleased her. How wonderful to enjoy sex! How excellent that they lived in a morally flexible time!
"In a moment," she murmured, and touched his hand and smiled at him with promise. And then she looked up and saw Pan Chao and Meng Enli approaching their table. ''Lao tian ye'' she hissed through her teeth. "Oh God." She had been sure they stayed at the other club. Now she would have to get rid of them, unless Sheng was so hot for her that he did it himself.
"What a good surprise," said Pan Chao. Uninvited, he and Enli sat down. "We were not sure you were back from Beihai."
"Late afternoon," Sheng said. "I was able to finish and leave early."
"Congratulations. Did you—? No, we should not talk business and bore Wu Yi. Tomorrow we will discuss it. Three o'clock?"
"Five. I have work to do, to catch up, since I was gone for two days."
"Five o'clock then."
Meng Enli leaned forward and spoke to Wu Yi. "Sheng is an extraordinary businessman, in All-China Construction as well as in our partnership. We rely on him gready."
"He brings expertise and wisdom to our dealings," added Pan Chao, also leaning forward.
Wu Yi nodded. She did not have to be told how fine Sheng was; she could make up her own mind.
But Sheng was beaming, she saw, in the bright light of his partners' praise.
"He will be president of All-China Construction soon," Enli said confidentially to Wu Yi. "He is too modest to tell you that, but it is true.
No one is better qualified to build the company to a major force in the years to come."
"It is not clear," Sheng protested. "My father is very active in our company and he is still a young man; it is too soon to talk about—"
"No, no, that is your modesty speaking," said Enli. "Your father did well in beginning the company but now it needs new leadership, young, dynamic leadership which you could provide if you were independent of him."
The words came so easily that Wu Yi wondered if they had been spoken before. And in fact everything Pan Chao and Meng Enli were saying had an odd air of having been rehearsed. Not for nothing am I an actress, Wu Yi thought. I can tell a script from a conversation. And as they continued to talk, it became clear to her that they wanted something from Sheng, and it sounded as if they could only get it if he were president of his father's company.
So they are using him, she thought. And they know how to get to him.
She remembered feeling pity for Sheng. Now she felt the first stirrings of scorn. He should not be so weak as to let men use him. He should not be so weak as to inspire pity.
She picked up her beaded purse. "If you will excuse me . .."
The men stood and she felt them watching her as she crossed the room and walked around the bandstand to the restrooms.
Sitting at the mirrored dressing table, she rested her head on her hand, carefully, so as not to upset her hair, and thought about what to do. She could write a note, say she was ill, and leave through the kitchen. She could tell Sheng to take her home because she was ill, and he would have to leave her at her door. She could simply vanish. But that would shame him before his partners and she would not do that to him.
That was the trouble: she liked him. And she liked being in bed with him.
And she was not positively sure what was going on with these two partners. She could be wrong. I do not
think I am, she mused, but there is a small chance.
And all evening she had thought about his making love to her.
Well, then, it was time for that. And everything else could be thought about tomorrow. If he truly was weak, she would not see him again. If he was as strong as she had thought. .. well, that would be excellent.
She put on lipstick and powder, added a touch of mascara and eye-
liner, ran her palms delicately over her hair. And then she returned to the table, making her way along the edge of the dance floor where young people were flinging themselves about to the pounding of rock music and the wailing of the singer.
"I must ask you to take me home," she said to Sheng without ceremony. "For me, the hour is late."
Sheng leaped to his feet. "I'm sorry ... I should have thought... yes, we will go right away." His partners were already standing, and there was much handshaking and smiling, and then Pan Chao and Meng Enli left.
"I took you from them," Wu Yi said.
"No, no, this is fine. I wanted to take you home, you knew—" His eyes locked on hers. "You knew that."
"And that is where we will go."
The next day, when Sheng thought about that strange night, what he remembered first of all was that Wu Yi had been more passionate than ever before, and that afterward, when he was dressing to leave, she had seemed to withdraw from him even before he had his shoes on. It bothered him all morning, at his desk, so that he had trouble concentrating. His father had returned from Xi'an and Sheng knew he would have to talk to him as soon as he came out of his meeting, but the more he thought about it, the more reluctant he became. What he really wanted was to go back to Wu Yi's apartment and make sure that everything was all right. What he really wanted was to hear from her that he was the perfect lover and that what he had seen in her as he was getting dressed was exhaustion from the vigor of their lovemaking, and nothing else.
A Certain Smile Page 18
