by Lisa See
Although David had tried these last two days not to read too much into their last phone call, he wondered what Hulan hadn’t told him. When he’d said he was coming and she’d asked, “What for?” it had momentarily taken his breath away. Then he’d decided to take her query at face value. He hadn’t told her his plan from the beginning, thinking that if it didn’t work out she’d be disappointed. But as their conversation went on, he couldn’t help but hear her wariness. Maybe that was just Hulan. She was always so guarded, always afraid of the ways that good things could be ruined by bad. Despite this, he convinced himself she was glad he was coming. He knew he could make her happy. In a few more hours they would be together with no ocean or secrets between them.
When he’d last flown out of Beijing it was March 1. The sun had just begun to warm the city, but the vacant land between the runways had still been frozen hard and the airport had been cold and damp. On July 10, at a little before midnight, as the plane taxied to the terminal, David looked out the window and saw men working under the lights wearing only loose shorts, sandals, and earphones to block the noise. When the door of the plane swung open, a wall of heat and humidity flowed into the first-class cabin.
David took a place in line for passport control behind another business traveler and watched as the back of the man’s shirt quickly darkened with sweat. An officer dressed in a drab green short-sleeve shirt took David’s passport and leafed through the pages. He briefly looked up, compared the photo to David’s face, stamped the book, then handed it back without a word. David grabbed a luggage cart, loaded his bags, passed through Customs, then pushed his way through the exit and to the curb, where a man dressed in a black suit stepped forward and extended his hand.
“I am Investigator Lo,” he said in heavily accented English. “I am here to drive you to Inspector Liu’s home. She arrived a short while ago and is waiting for you there. She has instructed me to take you to your appointments tomorrow.”
A few minutes later Lo threw the car into gear, honked his way through the airport, and roared onto the toll road. This route didn’t offer all the sights of the old road, which ran parallel to this one, but within twenty minutes Lo had reached the city. Even at this late hour the streets were awash in neon, filled with people walking and on bicycles, and aromatic with the rich smells coming from street vendor carts. Soon the car began snaking its way through the narrow alleyways of Hulan’s hutong neighborhood. The car pulled to a stop before a simple wood door set in an austere gray wall.
Lo unlocked the gate, handed David his bags, and said good night. David stepped over the threshold into the first courtyard, and his nostrils filled with the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine. He wandered farther into the compound, past the first, plain courtyards, then into the more elaborate courtyards, past colonnaded buildings that had once housed the many generations of Hulan’s mother’s family, and finally to the door of Hulan’s quarters. It was unlocked and he walked in.
He very much felt her presence in these rooms. Her scent hung lightly on the air. There was a bowl of oranges on the table and a silk blouse draped over the back of a chair. David’s longing for Hulan was greater now than during all the months of separation. He stepped into the bedroom and saw her in bed, waiting for him. He stripped, sank onto the bed, and wrapped his arms around the woman he loved. She nuzzled into him. Her body was warm and her words were tender. Soon their murmured words were replaced by soft groans of pleasure.
David marveled at the changes in Hulan’s body. Her breasts felt larger under his fingertips. Her stomach—always hard and flat—had a gentle swell. He let his tongue and lips move lower, constantly aware of her breathing, listening to the changes that would signal she was ready for him. Finally her hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him back into her arms. She wrapped her legs around him, guiding him into her. Her eyes met his, and he knew he was truly home.
David was wide awake at three the next morning. He nudged Hulan. Without opening her eyes, she kissed him and snuggled closer. He listened until her breathing deepened again, then slipped out of bed, made himself a pot of tea, pulled out his laptop, and checked his e-mail. Just before dawn, he put on trunks and a singlet, and set off for a run. By six, he was back at Hulan’s. At about the time he stepped out of the shower, the yang ge troupe began banging its cymbals and drums somewhere in the far distance. Despite Hulan’s grumblings by phone, her descriptions of the troupe had sounded colorful and quaint, but David didn’t go out to investigate, knowing his appearance would attract too much attention. So he made another pot of tea, rummaged through cupboards for crackers, and peeled himself an orange.
At eight, when Investigator Lo arrived to take him to his appointments, Hulan still hadn’t wakened. David kissed her gently, then quietly left the compound. Lo drove him to the Kempinski Hotel in the Chaoyang District. In the lobby he was met by a pert young woman, Miss Quo Xuesheng, a Chinese national and until now the only employee of Phillips, MacKenzie on Chinese soil. She wore a bright red suit hemmed well above her knees. Four-inch high heels brought Miss Quo to a still petite height of five feet two inches. To David’s eyes she looked very young. In a few questions he determined that she wasn’t a lawyer by training, but she did have a lot of experience with foreign companies, for which she’d worked for several years, perfecting her English and working her way up from tea girl to secretary to personal assistant.
“Our first appointment is to look at an apartment and office space in the Kempinski’s business complex next door,” she said as she led the way back outside and across the hot asphalt to an adjacent high-rise.
“I don’t need an apartment,” David said, but he was about to have his first lessons in doing business in China. First, Miss Quo had very strong ideas about what foreigners wanted and needed. Second, she was not easily swayed by his opinions or, as he would later find out, direct orders. Third, foreigners who wanted to set up businesses in Beijing were easy marks for every manner of scheme and bribe.
The next three hours were spent going in and out of buildings, up and down elevators, listening to the attributes of particular complexes and neighborhoods. The buildings followed one of two models: either separate structures within the same compound for housing and offices, or both together in the same building. After the Kempinski they got back in the car and drove a few blocks and into a motor court that looked uncomfortably familiar. “This is the Capital Mansion,” she said. “Again, you can have housing and office space. I believe this is best for you.”
“I don’t want to be here,” David said, vividly remembering the body that he and Hulan had found here not so long ago—the intestines splayed out, the blood, the smell.
“Because of what happened before,” she said amiably. “This I understand, but I have already begun our arrangements.”
“Undo them.”
“See the rooms, then we’ll decide.”
David followed Miss Quo, but he barely paid attention to her or the building’s director of real estate. When David stepped back outside, Miss Quo stayed behind to talk to the realtor, who was obviously agitated. David wondered just how far the negotiations had gone and if they had gone as far as he suspected, why? As Hulan often said, there were no secrets in Beijing. Certainly Miss Quo seemed to know a lot about him. Clearly she knew about the murder of Cao Hua in this very building. Wouldn’t she know this place would upset him?
At last Miss Quo came through the revolving door, got in the car, and snapped out some orders to Investigator Lo in Mandarin. Their next stop was the Manhattan Garden residential complex next to the Chaoyang Golf Course. David explained once again that he didn’t need an apartment, but Miss Quo smiled, pretended she didn’t understand him, and went on to show him the Manhattan Garden, followed by the Parkview Towers in downtown Beijing, the North Star Commercial and Residential Community, where a thousand foreign families lived and many more worked, and the Bright China Chang An Building, which housed numerous foreign enterprises including Citibank, Sam
sung, and Abdul Latif Jameel Co., Ltd.
At this point Miss Quo took him to the coffee shop in the Palace Hotel. Miss Quo waved away the menus and ordered in Chinese. Hoping for dumplings or noodles, David was disappointed to have a club sandwich with some limp french fries placed before him. Miss Quo seemed to know almost everyone here, and she waved friends over to meet David and explain that he was opening an office. Each time before they left, she said, “Attorney Stark is a good friend to China, as I’m sure you already know. If you ever need help with business transactions, he will be happy to assist you.” She placed a business card with David’s name and that of Phillips, MacKenzie & Stout in English and Mandarin into each palm. “We will have our office soon,” she said. “Until then you know how to reach me.” Then there were more handshakes, words of congratulation, and promises of receptions and banquets.
After lunch, he was taken out as far as the Woodlands. Billed as “villas in a resort-like setting,” they seemed to David more like tract housing in the San Fernando Valley. Then it was on to something called Beijing Riviera, which boasted luxuriously furnished resort homes complete with central air conditioning, steam showers, Jacuzzis, and heated towel racks. From here they swung back to central Beijing and the Evergreen Gardens.
“This is a wonderful place for families,” Miss Quo explained.
“I don’t have a family,” David said.
Miss Quo’s face crinkled. Between her giggles he ascertained that rentals were $18 U.S. per square meter for lease or $1,188 U.S. per meter if he wanted to buy. He would have needed a calculator to figure this out, but it seemed expensive. But all the prices seemed either confusing or staggering. At the Beijing International Friendship Garden, David was told that he could make “a fifty percent investment and realize a hundred and twenty percent realization of aspiration”—whatever that meant. During the day, as he’d tried to pin down actual prices, he’d heard everything from a low of $6,000 U.S. to a high of $12,000 U.S. a month for a suite with one office and a reception area for Miss Quo.
“You’re telling me that in a city where the annual income is—what?—about a thousand dollars, that I have to pay this much for a couple of rooms?”
Miss Quo smiled prettily. “These are your choices. Which one do you want?”
But this was nothing compared to the exorbitant sums that were thrown around for what he considered basic office necessities. Installing a phone line ranged from a paltry $20 to an outlandish $1,400. A fax line cost even more. If he wanted a telex machine, one could be brought in, he was assured, but this too could range anywhere from $100 to $2,800. Even basic essentials like electricity weren’t fixed and depended on the building, on the development company’s representative, and on Miss Quo’s rapport with that person. And they hadn’t even gotten to the question of a car and driver.
At four, Lo dropped Miss Quo back at the Kempinski, then edged into the thickening late afternoon traffic. David closed his eyes and dozed off into a jet-lag nap. The next thing he knew, the car had pulled to a stop and someone had opened his door. He felt cool breath on his cheek, then heard Hulan say, “Wake up, David.”
As soon as they were inside the compound with the door closed behind them, David took her in his arms, burying his face in her neck. He pulled away and looked down into her face. She was beautiful. She took one of his hands, and together they wordlessly walked to her quarters at the back of the compound. In her living room they kissed. There was no need for words: they were desperate for each other’s touch. Hulan pulled at his shoulders, edging him quickly into the bedroom.
Several hours later they lay entwined in one another’s arms. They were parched, exhausted, and happy. Finally Hulan got up, slipped on her silk robe, wandered out to the kitchen, and came back with glasses of cool mineral water and a tray laden with grapes, slices of watermelon, and slivers of orange. She placed the tray on the sheet, puffed up the pillows, and propped herself up next to David.
“So,” she asked, “how was your day?”
He told her how he’d been pushed in and out of buildings by a highly organized little demon named Miss Quo.
“You’re very fortunate to have Quo Xuesheng,” Hulan said, breaking off a piece of watermelon.
“You know her?” David asked rather dubiously.
“Since she was a baby. She’s the daughter of the minister of the Foreign Enterprise Service Corporation. You were assigned someone very high up. You must have very good guanxi,” she said in mock serious tones, then popped a grape into her mouth.
“You arranged this?”
“You have to hire someone. You might as well have a friend. After I got off the phone with you, I called Miss Quo’s father. The minister was very happy to place his daughter with you.”
“Do the people at Phillips, MacKenzie know?”
Hulan shrugged.
“And she’s a Red Princess?” David asked.
“In two ways. Her grandfather was on the Long March, while her father has made millions in his government position.”
“So she knows who I am.”
Hulan smiled and nodded.
“And she knew perfectly well that I didn’t need an apartment.”
“Um, I don’t know about that. That may have been a test for both of us.” She leaned over and reached for another grape. As she did this, her robe fell open, exposing the curve of her breasts. “It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to take a small apartment just to keep gossip down.”
“Will it be better for you?”
She closed her eyes and played out different scenarios in her head. When she opened them, she said, “Take an apartment, but you’ll live here.”
“She showed me space in the Capital Mansion.”
Hulan shook her head and laughed. “That’s because she lives there, just like Guang Henglai and Cao Hua did. It’s very popular with the young crowd.”
“Well, I’m not going there.”
“No, of course not. I know a good space for you. It’s not fancy, but it is close by. We’ll look at it tomorrow.”
“Okay, but I don’t want to pay through the nose.”
Hulan smiled. “It’s not you. It’s the firm.”
“Still, I don’t like to be treated like a sucker.”
“You’ll be treated like a foreigner no matter what.”
“Which means getting fleeced?”
David told her about the prices that he was expected to pay for a fax line.
“That’s not so bad,” she said. “Consider this: Until a couple of years ago, foreigners could only send faxes during the day because the government surveillance people who monitored the lines all went home at five.”
“But that’s no longer in effect?” he asked, relieved.
“No, it’s still in effect. We just have people working all night now.”
“They can’t possibly monitor every fax!”
Hulan shrugged again, and a little more flesh was exposed. “Believe what you want to believe.” She pulled another grape from the stem. This time she slipped it and the tip of her index finger into David’s mouth. “If you think that’s unfair, think about what you—or rather the firm—must be paying your Miss Quo.”
But David didn’t respond with words, overcome as he was by the reflexive stirring he felt in his loins. Hulan let her finger languidly trace a path from his lips, down across his chest, to where the cotton sheet edged against his skin. Her voice was husky as she said, “The typical translator makes about seven hundred dollars U.S. a month of which the state-run agency receives about six hundred and thirty dollars. Then you look at someone like your Miss Quo, a Red Princess, very well connected. Phillips, MacKenzie is probably paying her a hundred thousand dollars a year.” But David had heard enough. He covered her mouth with his, and they continued a far more intimate conversation.
8
ON DAVID AND HULAN’S FIRST FULL DAY TOGETHER, SATURDAY, Investigator Lo picked them up and took them to a building not far from her home. The corner o
ffice suite was simple. The walls were painted white; the furniture was restrained; there was a phone, a copy machine, a fax, and a television set. The view presented a panorama of Beijing. Looking behind him, David could see into the courtyards of Hulan’s—and his—hutong neighborhood. Stretching out in front of him were the red burnished walls of the Forbidden City. After looking at the office, they rode the elevator up four flights to see an apartment, which came fully furnished and with the same spectacular view. Miss Quo arrived and she and Hulan carried on a lively conversation in Mandarin. At the end of it, Hulan switched back to English. “Good, then everything is taken care of. Attorney Stark will be here Tuesday at nine.”
On Sunday and Monday, they stayed home. While Hulan puttered around the house, David continued familiarizing himself with the Tartan-Knight paperwork and the list of prospective clients given to him by Miles Stout. On Tuesday, July 15, they both rose to the sounds of the yang ge troupe. David showered, shaved, and dressed in a lightweight suit. When he came out to the kitchen, Hulan was standing over the stove, stirring a pot of congee. David ate, then it was time for him to leave. Arrangements still hadn’t been made for a driver, so Investigator Lo took David down to his new office.
At this point Hulan should have showered, dressed, and gotten on her Flying Pigeon bicycle to go to the Ministry of Public Security. She did none of these things. Instead she went back to bed, took a nap, got up just before noon, then rode her bike down to David’s new office and took him out for lunch. That afternoon she went to the open-air market, bought some greens, ginger, garlic, salted black beans, and a little fresh pork, carried them home, and prepared dinner. When David returned, she asked him about his day.
