He held her shoulders and gave her a firm squeeze. “Believe me, Miriam. I won’t miss it for the world. If Mother and Father were here, they would come too. They would be so proud of you.”
Miriam’s smile broadened, and she climbed into Mr. Blackstone’s gray Packard. Ernest watched her and waved as she turned to him from inside the car, waved when the automobile began to drive away, and waved until its red taillights were replaced by honking Packards and racing rickshaws.
He looked at his hands; he was not used to this, the emptiness of his hands, which had grasped Miriam’s since they’d boarded the ocean liner. But he shouldn’t worry. Miriam would be happy and safe at school. There was nothing more satisfying than knowing he had taken care of his sister.
He turned around, humming. When he came to the Cathay Cinema with flashing neon lights, he stopped. Sassoon’s cinema was advertising Gone with the Wind, boasting it had the best picture quality with English subtitles. Aiyi loved to read magazines with movie stars, he remembered. He wanted to get something for her.
He squeezed past the boys selling cigarettes and legless beggars scooting on the ground and reached a glass frame. Inside were magazines in English, French, and Italian, and near them were posters of the beauty Marlene Dietrich in Shanghai Express and the American movie stars Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh in Gone with the Wind.
Then he saw it. A magazine with a picture of—him! “Shanghai’s Newest Sensation: The Pianist of the One Hundred Joys Nightclub,” the headline said. Beneath the headline: “The Chinese club overtook Ciro’s to become the most popular spot in Shanghai.”
He laughed. He had never been featured in a magazine before, and side by side with the glamorous Marlene Dietrich. What more could he ask for? Miriam was in school, and he was featured in a magazine. He had found a stage in this city. All because of the girl with a name of love.
The next day he went to the club early and walked straight into her office. She was alone, sitting on a tufted high-backed chair. Facing her were two ornate black antique chairs, a framed jade carving, and a bust of Buddha in the corner. The office appeared androgynous, with a serious air of the imperial dynasty’s flair, but it carried her scent.
“There you are. Have you seen this?” He gave her the magazine he had bought.
“Ah. Emily actually wrote it and took a picture of you.” She held the magazine. “I didn’t know. But that’s her style. She does it her way. Now you’re famous, Ernest.”
“Will you go to the movies with a famous pianist? I have tickets. Gone with the Wind. I see the posters and murals of it everywhere. The star is not Hepburn, it’s Vivien Leigh, but I think you’ll like her. She’s beautiful, like you.”
She swept her bangs to the side and smiled.
He loved to see her like this, and he held her gaze, his heart humming. A space filled with infinite happiness seemed to grow between them, transforming into a bridge of delicate, unsung notes.
“But I can’t, Ernest.”
“Why?”
“My fiancé will kill me.”
He shrugged. “It’s just a movie.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen it. I hear the main character was married more than once. It’s quite unusual, isn’t it? Chinese movies would never feature a divorcée, or even a widow remarrying. People here like innocent heroines.”
This was another lesson on Chinese perception of women and beauty, he supposed. “Who cares. I’d still care for you even if you married a hundred times.”
“Don’t say that. It’s bad luck. I’d be stoned by my brothers if I married twice. Also, I’ll be honest with you. We can never go to the movie theater together. It’s almost like a taboo.”
“That’s disappointing.” But he didn’t want to leave her yet. He picked up a picture frame on her desk; inside was a black-and-white portrait of a woman wearing a tunic. She had a small face, her expression serene. “Who’s this?”
“My mother.”
“She’s beautiful. You’re beautiful, like her.”
“Are you trying to get a raise?”
He chuckled. “Will she come here? Will I meet her?”
“I lost her a few years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’ll meet her again in another form.”
“What do you mean?”
“Reincarnation. She was a Buddhist.”
“Buddhist. Do you go to church?”