“Let’s go to the club again,” Lily said softly, looking at their joined hands. She had never noticed before that Kath’s skin was so white that it made her own look almost golden brown.
There was a pause, just long enough that Lily’s heart began to sink, and then Kath said hesitantly, “Do you . . . do you think you’ll have any time over Christmas break?”
“I’ll have time!” Lily looked up in excitement, and Kath’s fingers tightened over hers. “When do you want to go?” Lily asked.
Kath looked like she didn’t quite believe her yet. “Jean wanted to go New Year’s Eve, but it’s too expensive. There’s a cover charge. I asked her if she wanted to go on December thirtieth instead.”
“What did she say?”
“She hasn’t decided yet. I was going to ask you if you wanted to go, but I didn’t know if . . . Do you want to go then?”
Kath’s hair was short enough that Lily could see the tips of her ears now, the pinkness of her skin darkening, like color coming into a rose. Lily knew she was blushing too, but for an exhilarating moment, she didn’t care.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes.”
29
When Lily was younger she’d thought of Shirley’s house as a marvelous kind of maze. All of the rooms, large and small, were crowded with Chinese knickknacks: jade statues in all sorts of nooks; ink-brush paintings of faded yellow and brown landscapes; silk hangings and screens shoved into the back corners. Over the years, various members of Shirley’s extended family had lived there—uncles and aunts, grandparents and visiting cousins—but now it was only Shirley’s immediate family. Since Shirley’s older sister, Rosie, had gotten married and moved out, there were only six of them occupying the two floors above the Eastern Pearl.
Today Shirley led Lily, Flora, and Mary into the living room on the third floor. Its windows overlooked Sacramento Street, and Lily and Shirley had spent many an hour leaning out those windows, surveying the activity on the street below and keeping an eye on who came to the restaurant. It was too chilly for the windows to be open today, though, and Shirley had to turn on the lamps for light. It was a formal room, outfitted with a set of rosewood Chinese furniture and a trio of Ch’ing dynasty vases on the mantel over the cold fireplace. A family altar was set up in one corner, with small black-and-white photos taped to the wall above the bowl of half-burned incense sticks. The faint, sweet scent of incense lingered in the room, above the aroma of fried noodles that always clung to the Eastern Pearl.
Today’s task was to work together on Shirley’s speech. Mary shuffled through her notes while Flora proudly reported that her father was going to buy a couple of hundred raffle tickets.
“That’s wonderful,” Shirley gushed. “You have some competition, Lily.”
Lily was startled. “I do?”
“I’m sure the hospital board will buy a thousand tickets,” Flora said smoothly.
Mary almost smiled, but hid it by reaching for some of the dried cuttlefish that Shirley had poured into a bowl on the coffee table.
Shirley opened her notebook. “All right. What should I say in my speech to the judges? It’s supposed to be about why I’m the right candidate to be Miss Chinatown.”
“Well, why do you want to be Miss Chinatown?” Mary asked.
“Because you’re ambitious?” Lily suggested.
“She can’t say that,” Flora objected. “She has to be modest.”
“Because you’re beautiful,” Mary said.
“She can’t say that either,” Lily said. “What did they say last year? Miss Chinatown has to be good, serene, and industrious. Well, you are industrious.” She popped a strand of cuttlefish in her mouth; it was chewy and salty and fishy, with a slight spicy bite.
Shirley batted her eyelashes. “I’m serene as well!”
“Then you’ll just have to lie about the good part,” Lily said.
“I’m perfectly good!” Shirley said.
“Depends on what you mean by good,” Mary joked.
Lily laughed while Shirley pretended to be hurt. Flora held a hand over her mouth as she giggled.
“I heard that Donna Ng is dancing at the Forbidden City now,” Mary said, eyes wide to show she was scandalized by the rumor. Donna Ng had been last year’s runner-up.
“I heard Miss Chinatown Los Angeles is auditioning for movies,” Flora said.
Shirley struck a pose in her chair, head tilted back as if she were gazing into the distance. “Do you think I should audition for a movie?” she asked.