“What is your story about?”
“Well, it’s based on a set of poems by Shakespeare. Sonnets.”
Leah nodded, trying to imagine what that must be like to sit down and read poems and set them to music. That sounded no different to her from magic or alchemy.
“That must be very rewarding,” she said.
What could he say to this? She was idealizing his work. He smiled at her, and Leah flushed deeply.
“It’s what I do,” he said. “I am a better composer than a singer, a better composer than a choir director.”
“Oh no. You’re a wonderful choir director,” Leah said with great feeling.
Charles dismissed this. He poured ketchup on his plate, salted the ketchup, dipped an onion ring in it, then popped it in his mouth. Leah was amused because this was how her younger daughter ate her onion rings, too.
“It keeps me from having too much salt. I have high blood pressure.”
“Oh,” she said, embarrassed to be caught staring. “You don’t look unhealthy.” She blushed again.
Charles nodded. “Looks are deceiving.” He’d said this in English, and seeing her confusion, he translated it loosely into Korean, and she nodded. It felt intimate to speak to her in Korean, and it reminded him of how it was with the Korean women he’d slept with before he’d married his white wives, who didn’t speak it or have any interest in learning. There were so many things you could say in a native language that made the moment immediately private.
“I make you nervous.” He smiled and took another bite of his burger.
Leah picked up her soda glass.
“How old are you?” he asked.
“Forty-three,” she said.
“Quite young,” he said. They were only five years apart.
“I’m a grandmother,” Leah said. “My younger daughter just had a boy.” She smiled shyly. They were coming to visit soon. “My grandson—”
“Unbelievable.”
Leah didn’t know what to say. What was unbelievable about her being a grandmother? She cut her burger in half.
“When is your birthday?” he asked. Charles’s second wife had a keen interest in numerology. She’d left him on the day generated by her numerology software.
“February.”
“Mine too. Valentine’s Day.”
“But, that’s my birthday,” Leah said, surprised. “The fourteenth.”
“No, our birthday. We’ll have to celebrate it together next year.”
He was kidding her, of course. That would be impossible, Leah thought. She couldn’t help wondering, however, what they would do to celebrate their common birthday. It felt special to share this day. She took another small bite of her meal.
“Maybe that’s why my songs are about love.” Charles laughed. “Though I must admit, I know nothing really about love. Or how it lasts.”
Leah could hardly breathe.
When the waitress slapped down the check, Charles picked it up.
Leah pulled out her wallet.
“Put that away. I never thanked you properly,” he said. “For coming by. I felt like dying that day, and when you and the doctor came, I was so. . . grateful. And you cleaned up my house. Then you brought over the milk and fruit . .” He smiled at her. “Thank you. I’ve been meaning to get you two something, but didn’t know what exactly.”
Leah shook her head slowly. “Oh no. There’s no need for that. I. . . should thank you for being such a good teacher.”
There was such an obvious sweetness in this woman, he thought. She also had some infatuation for him. This happened when you were a teacher. Students fell in love with you. He’d had schoolboy crushes, too, but he was a man now, and there was a lot you could do about a woman if you found her attractive. You could chase her and take her home, or if she was unattainable, you could picture her in your mind as a lovely fantasy. He didn’t think Leah got crushes often, and he guessed accurately by her discomfort when they were seated that she had never had dinner with a man alone who wasn’t her husband. He wanted to say to her, You’re not doing anything wrong. It seemed a shame that a woman this beautiful with such talents had this quiet life impoverished of feelings and experiences. She was born to be an artist, but she had to contend with a few solos a year at a small Korean church in Queens. Her stage was too small. He would’ve bet a thousand dollars that she had slept with only her husband. And more likely that she’d never climaxed.
Charles was a modern man, and the lives of Korean women, in his view, were far too narrowly circumscribed. And religion made it even more so. His own sisters-in-law, very nice women and very wealthy in contrast with Leah, were just grown-up girls. They were hardly women in terms of how they spent their time and what they were allowed to do without penalty. The first married woman he’d slept with had enormous sexual passion. In bed, she would occasionally bite him so hard that skin broke. When Charles ended the relationship, she’d attempted suicide twice without explanation to her husband, who’d almost had her committed to an asylum. Charles had to throw all her letters away because they were too violent. The last he heard, she was doing better after she’d had some children.