Teddy seemed thirsty, so she stopped to give him water, using the palm of her hand as a bowl and pouring from the bottle she'd tucked in her purse before coming out. Otis watched with interest as Teddy slurped at the water.
“He's literally eating out of the palm of your hand,” Otis said with wonder, crouching down to squat next to her.
She smiled and said the equivalent of, “I am merely the servant to His Royal Highness Emperor Theodore, the Demander of Food and Maker of Stinky Farts.”
Otis gave her a serious nod. “You take good care of him.”
She replied again in Mandarin, “He repays my kindness by occasionally humping my Coach bag.”
Otis gave her a sidelong look. “Coach? Hey, I know that word. Are you talking about a sports coach?”
She patted her purse. “Coach.” She folded back the opening and showed him the label.
He leaned in close, as though looking for treasures in the dark recesses. They bumped foreheads, and he apologized, grinning. Again, their faces were so close, his nice lips so near her own. Her head began to swim.
He leaned in more.
She pulled back, suddenly remembering her promise to herself that she wouldn't kiss him until she told him the truth. Right about now would be a good time for a confession, in fact.
Unfortunately, she'd been so captivated that she'd forgotten her body position. She was still squatting, with her hand forming Teddy's water bowl. She lost her balance and tipped over, grabbing Otis's arm a little too late. Once again, the two tumbled into each other. She went limp and fluttered her eyelashes. He was above her this time.
Someone shouted, “Get a room!”
They both sat up and looked around guiltily.
Over on the park bench sat a pair of old men, laughing to themselves.
“Get a room, you two,” one of them said.
“Or not,” said the other one, chuckling. To his friend, he said, “This is better than whatever's on TV.”
The other agreed.
Otis waved to the men. “Hi Darryl. Are you following me?” To Piper, he said, “Darryl is a regular at the restaurant.” He mimed holding a plate with one hand and eating with a fork. “I know Darryl from the diner, from the Roadrunner. He's just a harmless old goofball.”
Piper got up, dusted herself off, and fastened the plastic cap back onto her now-empty water bottle. It was getting dark. The sun had set already and the lamps over the pathways were flickering on.
Otis stood next to her, leaning toward her in a way that felt protective. Teddy stood on the other side, also leaning in. She had two bodyguards now.
Over on the bench, the first man, still laughing, said to them, “You two carry on. Pretend we're not even here.” He pointed to his friend. “This is Wilbur. He does the world's greatest duck calls.” He turned to Wilbur. “Do your duck call. Do it.”
Wilbur sat up straight and made a soft hooting sound. When he was done, he grinned and looked directly at Piper. “That was Peking duck,” he said, licking his lips. “Very tasty.”
Otis gave Piper an embarrassed look and spoke softly. “Listen, I don't know if these old goofballs are being racist or just weird, but either way, I apologize.”
She blinked and pretended to not understand, but she did. Sometimes people who didn't have many friends from other cultures didn't know how to interact. But Piper had learned patience and open-mindedness from her parents, who made it a policy to assume someone was joking rather than jump straight into being offended. Anyway, the mention of Peking duck was pretty harmless.
She cooed back at Wilbur, repeating the duck call. “Peking duck,” she said in English, much to his delight.
Otis used his arm across her back to get her walking again, and they moved away from the two chuckling men.
“I am so sorry,” Otis said again.
Don't be, she wanted to say in English, but instead she said nothing. His arm was still along her back, his fingertips resting lightly at her hip, where her purse thwacked against his hand with every step. Sandwiched between her two bodyguards, she'd never felt so safe. She could relax and be Coco for a little longer.
The cool slate sky turned midnight blue.
Piper kept peering around, watching for George to step out from behind a tree. If he didn't show up tonight, that would be two nights in a row. Was he gone now? Had she offended him that much by asking about his ghostly powers? Or had something transformative happened the night before at his childhood home? Or had he left when his body turned to ashes.
She gazed up at the heavens, at the moon and sparkling stars, wondering if he was up there.
“You're cold,” Otis said.
Piper came out of her daze. She had goose bumps on her forearms. It was November, sweater weather in the evenings, but she hadn't thought to bring a sweater, and Winnie had been too concerned with picking the perfect shade of lip gloss—while acquiring Piper's teal-blue jeans—to mention it.
When she glanced back up at Otis, he was giving her a sidelong, suspicious look.
What?
There was tension in his expression. She mentally replayed the last minute. Otis had been tossing a stick for Teddy, laughing at how the dog wanted the stick to be thrown, yet without having the stick taken away from him first. No take, just throw! They'd walked in silence, completing their third lap of the park. Then Otis had pointed out she was cold. And then… she'd looked down at the goose bumps on her arms, just like someone who spoke English and understood his words would do.
This realization of her slip-up knocked the wind from her sails. Her knees went weak. She knelt down, avoiding eye contact with Otis. She whistled for Teddy and clicked his leash back onto his collar. Now what? Her cover was blown. Coco was a liar, and she wasn't even Coco. She could volunteer the truth now or wait for Otis to begin the interrogation.
“Tea,” he said, which was not at all what she'd been expecting.
She looked up to see him pretending to drink from an invisible cup of tea, his left hand miming the saucer. He repeated the question. “Tea?”
She smiled and nodded. She could tell him everything over tea. It would be nicer to chat somewhere with bright lights and walls and chairs. The night had brought menacing shadows to the park, and though she couldn't see George—or any other ghosts, for that matter—she sensed something watching. The two old men had disappeared, and they were alone in the park, yet not alone. A shiver ran down her spine like a drop of mercury over the tines of a comb. She still couldn't recall what had happened the night before, down on the bottom floor of the Morrison home, but she knew it hadn't been good.
She grabbed Otis's hand and smiled broadly to force away the darkness. Yes to tea.
He looked down with surprise at their hands. He squeezed her fingers tentatively. Their hands fit together perfectly, and his palm radiated pleasant heat. He was the warmth in the cold, the light in the darkness.
“This way,” he said. “I know a spot.” A few paces later, he added, “For tea.”
She gave him a blank look. She didn't know of any place in the area that served tea, other than her house.
A few blocks later, all was clear. They were heading to the Roadrunner Café, the diner he ran and the first place they'd met.
The place was still open for another two hours, but Otis didn't take her in the front door. He led her around the old painted-brick building to the back, past an open metal door and two women in hairnets sitting on overturned plastic buckets and sharing a cigarette.
The older of the two women cooed, “Mr. Boss Man! On a date!”
The younger grinned at Piper and asked, “Is Otis bringing his A game? Busting out the good moves?” She winked.
Otis said, “This is Coco, and she doesn't speak English, so your brilliant-yet-subtle wit is wasted on her.”
The two women laughed uproariously until one said, “Wait. Are you serious? No English? None at all?”
Piper gave the woman a blank look. Inside, she died about seven
hundred times. This no-English thing had gone on way too long.
Thankfully, Otis switched gears, asking the women about the night's dinner service. They reported that the new cook was working out fine, but they were out of olives. And then the conversation was over, and Otis was tugging Piper's hand, leading her up a fire escape.
Piper and Teddy followed Otis up the creaky metal stairs.
Teddy was more focused than usual, his ears perked right up and his tail on high alert.
Chapter 15
Piper and Teddy followed Otis through the weathered door at the top of the fire escape and into a dim space that was either a luxurious staff lounge or a spartan apartment.
Otis flicked on the lights with a practiced swipe over a three-levered wall switch, and dropped his keys into a red clay bowl near the door.
Spartan apartment it was.
He gestured for Piper to take a seat on the teak-armed, mid-century-modern sofa. The orange vinyl cushions wheezed as though exhaling when she sat. Teddy stuck to the floor like a good boy, parking his butt on top of the toes of Piper's left foot, which was his typical position when visiting a new place. She and Teddy silently looked around. The walls were white, but with the vintage furniture and minimal decorations, the apartment had the intentionally blank look of an art gallery.
“This is where you live,” she said in Mandarin.
“Home sweet home,” he said.
In Mandarin, “Very comfortable. Plain but good, like rice pudding, or vanilla yogurt.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling.
He couldn't understand her words, but their interactions that evening had given Piper a new view on humans, and how the actual words they said didn't matter so much, as long as the tone was right.
She stroked the scarred teak armrest of the sofa. In Mandarin, she said, “You like things that are very old. Objects with a history. Some people are superstitious about secondhand objects. My parents believe cupboards and such can be haunted by their previous owners.”
“Two hundred dollars,” he said, answering a question she hadn't asked. “From a flea market.”
She stifled a giggle. Okay, sometimes the words did matter.
Otis started making tea in the kitchen, which was little more than a few cupboards and a tiny sink set in the corner of the room. She watched him move around, letting her gaze linger on the bumps of his biceps and his muscular calves. He was slim, but had the legs of an athlete. It had been ages since Piper had been on a date, let alone had a boyfriend to cuddle with. Nobody else had interested her until now. Otis was like the perfect shoes that you didn't even know you wanted—no, needed—until you stumbled across them in a display window an hour after the store had closed. Except Otis was even better than perfect shoes. She'd never had a vision of the perfect guy before, but she certainly did now.
Otis moved with deliberate, efficient motions, as though aware he was being watched. He leaned sideways to watch the gas burner under the tea kettle as the igniter went SNAP SNAP SNAP before the blue flames lit with a WHOOSH.
He held up a box of tapioca pearls and made eye contact with Piper for the first time since they'd entered his apartment.
He asked, “Boba?”
Piper felt her heart go SNAP SNAP SNAP and then WHOOSH the way the burner under the kettle had. “Boba!” She nodded. Yes, please.
At first, she was surprised Otis hadn't called the milky tea with tapioca pearls bubble tea, like the few Arizona cafés that served it. The word boba was used in other parts of the world regularly, but boba was slang for boobs—slang for big boobs.
But perhaps it wasn't so surprising he'd used the Asian lingo. Otis might have had some chef training, exposing him to foods from around the world. Perhaps he watched the Food Network on his tiny, vintage television. Underneath that wavy brown hair was a brain full of stuff. What else did he know? How exciting it was to Piper that this young man held a pool of knowledge just waiting to be dipped into.
But then, another thought came to Piper. By the time he'd made the tea and set the mugs on cork coasters atop the teak coffee table, Piper was watching him with suspicion. Did he know about boba tea because he regularly dated Asian girls? Was it a fetish for him? Some guys were like that. As she leaned forward to pick up the mug, she moved slowly, as though suddenly ten times heavier. She wanted Otis to like her for who she was, not this exterior shell of a pretty Asian girl who didn't speak English, didn't talk back, didn't disagree.
It was time for the truth to come out.
“Otis,” she said.
“More sugar?” He jumped up from the armchair to get the sugar bowl.
“Otis, I have —” She was interrupted by a knock at the door.
Teddy, who'd been relaxing at her feet, jumped into Piranha Mode, circling the vicinity and looking fierce. He let out a few test barks, big brown eyes on Piper to gauge the situation and his appropriate level of Piranha.
Otis answered the door, cracking it open but not inviting the person in. Piper couldn't see who it was or hear their words, but the voice was female, possibly one of the prep cooks from downstairs. After a moment, Otis paused in conversation and looked over at Piper. He frowned, moved his upper body in a sort of awkward bow toward her, and excused himself. He stepped outside and closed the door. The conversation continued, muffled by the door.
Piper sipped her tea. She used her fingers to pull out two shining tapioca pearls to feed Teddy. He was too concerned with glaring at the closed door to beg for a third pearl. After a few minutes, Teddy made a keening sound, low and almost subaudible.
“Otis works downstairs,” Piper explained to Teddy. “That's probably one of his staff with a question or problem.”
Teddy tipped his head to the side and let one big black ear relax, as if to say maybe. Maybe it was only that.
Five more minutes passed before Otis returned. When he came back into the apartment, his pale cheeks were flushed with patches of red that were vaguely rectangular, as though someone had painted his cheeks with two swipes of a wide brush. He cleared his throat and came over to sit, not on the chair where he'd been earlier, but on the orange couch, right next to her. The vinyl cushions exhaled loudly. He turned to her, and she noticed for the first time that he had freckles on the bridge of his nose. The lighting in his apartment was brighter than the park, so she saw things she hadn't before. His mouth looked rigid, his lips intensely red.
Suddenly, it was all too much for Piper. The ruse. The tension. The shape of his mouth.
She leaned over, closing the space between them, and kissed him.
He immediately recoiled, as though jumping back from a hot pan of frying bacon.
“Coco!” He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand.
Waves of shock and horror washed over Piper. Her guilt over lying rose up and flooded her head, so palpable and salty that it stung her sinuses. She jumped up and ran for what appeared to be the bathroom. She yanked the door open, slammed it shut behind her, and immediately clicked the lock on the handle. Out in the living room, Teddy barked three times. His toenails clicked on the floor, coming her way and then stopping. He grumbled as he parked himself by the door.
On the other side, Otis said softly, “I'm sorry, Coco. I wasn't expecting you to kiss me, but I'm not mad. You seem like a nice girl, and I don't know why you lied to me, but maybe we can still be friends.” The floorboards creaked. He was pacing the open space between the living room and kitchen counter. “Just friends,” he said.
Piper gently released her hand from her mouth, where it had been clamped to prevent her from humiliating herself even more than she already had. She looked around the small room she'd locked herself in. The light was off, and the only illumination was a glow coming in around the edges of the door. What she wanted to do was splash some cold water on her face, but this room wasn't a bathroom. It felt arid, devoid of moisture.
She felt up and down the walls next to the door, searching for a light switch. Nothing. She squinted
up at the ceiling, where she could make out the dim shape of a light bulb. She reached up and touched a metal-beaded string hanging from the fixture. She tugged the cord, and the bare bulb came on in a shock of blinding brightness. It must have been a hundred-watt bulb.
With ghostly purple splotches in her vision, Piper rubbed her eyes and looked around. She was in a supply closet, or a pantry. On her left were utilitarian shelves containing Windex, Comet, rolls of paper towel, boxed pasta, tinned beans, and a surprising quantity of tinned dolmades—stuffed grape leaves in oil.
Otis knocked on the door. The sound surprised her, and she jumped back. He jiggled the handle. It was still locked. The sound and sight of the handle jiggling brought to Piper's mind a montage of the same panic scene in countless horror movies. Some primeval instinct of self-preservation kicked in.
Without verbal thought, she knew she wanted the door to remain locked. She took another step back from the door, watching it. Was she overreacting to the rejection of a kiss? Probably. But with her heart thudding the way it was now, she didn't care about being impolite and hurting Otis's feelings. Something weird was happening. The air inside the pantry was arid, but it was also crackling with energy—an energy that had a message for her.
He knocked again. “You don't need to be scared,” he said.
His words did nothing to put her at ease. It was like Professor Koch telling her to relax even as his groping, thick-fingered hands on her shoulders made every nerve in her body scream. She swallowed dryly and pressed her back against the wall opposite the door. She hadn't thought about Professor Koch in a long time. Almost a year. This is bad, she thought. Really bad.
Otis said, “Coco, we don't have to talk, but you can't stay in my pantry forever.” His tone became sing-song, as though he was talking to a small child. “You could survive in there a few days, eating my canned food, but only if I slip a can opener under the door.” He sighed. “And you'd get bored. I don't think I have any magazines you'd be interested in.”
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