But a union with Sassoon would never happen. For I knew well of this: a marriage between a Chinese and a foreigner would be a cautionary lesson, not a fairy tale. “Sir Sassoon, are you seducing me?”
“Is it successful?”
“I don’t know, but I’m serious. If you were Chinese, I would marry you.”
He chuckled. Rejections were rare for him, thus intriguing. “How disappointing, darling. I do hope you’ll change your mind.” He took a bottle of absinthe from his entourage member’s hand, poured the green liquid in a mixer, and shook it expertly.
I eyed the bottles of brandy, cura?ao, cream, and green absinthe on the table; the strong scent of alcohol was intoxicatingly heady. “Between you and me, Sir Sassoon, I’m having a difficult time filling my customers’ orders. There is no alcohol for my club. I’m sure you know the reason why.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of several men in suits. The Japanese, whom I could identify with one glance, raised their heads toward me. I quickly looked away.
Sassoon leaned over me and said in a low voice, “Those militants. They’ve been ingratiating themselves at the council. I loathe them.”
For that, I would overlook all his flaws. “What’s their business at the council?”
Sassoon, a powerful man, had the ear of the chairman of the Shanghai Municipal Council, the governing body of the Settlement, which consisted of British, American, Japanese, and Chinese members but was largely controlled by the Britons and Americans. When the Japanese conquered Shanghai, they had left the Settlement untouched, and the council was still firmly controlled by the same members. Sassoon poured some green mixture into two stemmed glasses and placed one in front of me. “Some very annoying business. But they won’t dare to do anything foolish.”
“Of course they won’t.” I picked up my glass. The first sip gave a sharp sting to my tongue. Strong brandy. I hadn’t tasted anything like this for months. It would sell well in my club. “I have a favor to ask. Would you sell me some of your alcohol stock? Say, some gin and whiskey? Ten cases each. Or any amount you’re willing to part with.”
He leaned closer, the shoulder pad of his fine suit licking my shoulder. “Darling, I shall be happy to help you. But what do you say you come visit my studio first?”
I pulled back. He hadn’t forgotten.
“Well, darling.” He poured himself some more of the Cobra’s Kiss. “May I remind you again. You have a perfect figure, and you’re young and beautiful. Why not show it off now? Nude photography is art.”
It was awkward. Nude photography, no matter how tasteful he claimed it was, for me, was just another name for pornography. I would never agree to it, not for hundreds of dollars, and definitely not for some gin. I also had a feeling that it was more than my photographs Sassoon was after, womanizer that he was. But I was a woman with good morals. While I would be glad to tango with him in a ballroom, I would not tumble with him in the bedroom.
However, if I refused him outright, displeased him, I might as well forget about the alcohol.
“Well?” His black eyes were close, too close.
I smiled. “Let me see, Sir Sassoon. You’re Asia’s richest man—of course, you always get what you want.”
“I do.”
So did I. “Sadly, I’m a businesswoman, not a model.”
He groaned, slapping his hands on the silver-crusted cane, his mustache sagging. He would be grumpy and morose for a while, and I would give him some grace, some time to think, mollify him, and then negotiate the alcohol. I stretched out my legs and turned my head to the side, and that was when I saw, through the hazy air, punctuated by wafts of pale smoke and pearls of light, a man at the entrance of the bar who raised a gloved hand and waved at me.
7
ERNEST
It was the girl he had helped the other day. She looked up at him, her wide black eyes dancing with surprise, her face glistening with light. She had one elbow on the table, her body turning slightly, showing off a slim and curvy figure wrapped in a long green dress embroidered with bamboos, a slit near her thigh revealing a sliver of her pearly skin.
He snapped upright and strode toward her. Such a pleasure to see a familiar face. His job hunting had been a disaster. Who would have known the music halls, theaters, and cabarets were closed? Several cinemas and dance clubs were open, but as soon as people saw him, the doors were shut.
He had learned that there were about eight thousand Britons, two thousand Americans, and another few thousand Russians and other Europeans in Shanghai, and now the city was overrun with thousands of Jewish refugees. Each day, Ernest walked past grim-faced European refugees spreading their valuables on the street, shawl-wrapped German hausfraus selling their fur scarves or necklaces to middle-aged Russian women who seemed to have established themselves in this city, and desperate Austrian men peddling sausages and knocking on people’s doors. It dawned on him: war-torn Shanghai, with a flood of Jews and thousands of displaced Chinese refugees, simply didn’t have jobs left for a newcomer like him.