Читать книгу The Nine Fold Heaven - Mingmei Yip - Страница 16

5

Heavenly Tune Café and Bright Moon Nightclub

Edward Miller led me to where his driver was waiting in his car; then we rode to the café on the busy Nanking Road. I didn’t feel very comfortable exposing myself in this popular café, but I didn’t want to suggest somewhere else in case he got suspicious why I’d turn down such a generous offer.

The open-air rooftop café provided a panoramic view of Nanking Road—Xin Xin department store, Intercontinental Hotel, the China Peace Insurance company, and the famous horse-racing track nearby. I looked around; to my relief, there were only a few customers, probably because it was still early for high tea. All seemed absorbed in their own business—or their own troubles—or both.

Since I was pretending that I’d never been here, I had to feign excitement. I inhaled deeply the fresh air and exclaimed, “Ambassador Miller, this place is like heaven!”

He smiled his American naive smile. “Glad you like it here, Jasmine.”

Then he led me to sit down at a corner table. Good. Less likely anyone would notice us, that is, me. We ordered—him black coffee, me orange juice, then mini sandwiches for both of us.

After the drink and food arrived, he raised his cup to tap mine. “To our encounter.”

I smiled back but remained silent.

The Consul General took a generous sip of his black coffee. “Now tell me why such a pretty young girl would be crying inside an alley.”

If only he knew what I’d been doing!

I suddenly remembered I should be hungry. So I took a big bite of my sandwich and washed it down with an equally big gulp of my orange juice.

After that, I asked an irrelevant question: “Mr. Ambassador, do you like Shanghai?”

“I can’t really tell yet; I’ve just been here for a few weeks.”

Good. Since he was new here, maybe he hadn’t heard about the gang war three months ago and all the juicy gossip about Camilla the Heavenly Songbird.

He went on. “Now, Jasmine, tell me about yourself. Why were you crying?”

Quick! Think of a good answer.

“Ambassador Miller—”

“Please call me Edward.”

“But—”

“There’s no but.”

“Edward, I live in an orphanage.” I lowered my head to stare at my hands, exuding sadness and humiliation.

One of his bushy brows was raised in question.

I went on. “But I’m not an orphan in the sense that my parents abandoned me. On the contrary, my parents loved me very much. My father was a high-school teacher, but he died four years ago when I was fifteen. A year later, my mother, a kindergarten teacher, also passed away. That’s how I ended up living in an orphanage.”

He covered my hand with his. “What about your relatives, why didn’t they take you in?”

“I’m already too old. Besides, my grandparents were all dead. An uncle from my father’s side has eight children himself.”

“Jasmine, I know I cannot take away your pain, but if I can help you in any way, please let me know and I’ll try my best.” He tenderly squeezed my hand one more time before withdrawing it.

I smiled coyly. “Edward, I’ve been very independent after spending two years in a heartless institution. So I think I’m doing all right. But I appreciate very much your kind offer.”

“I believe you. But don’t hesitate to call on me.”

I nodded.

He took a bite of his ham sandwich. “Did the orphanage also pay for your study?”

“Yes, I graduated from its own high school. The school is not good, but its library is, though rarely used, because the girls don’t like to study. They only like to flirt, hoping to be adopted into a rich family.”

I went on. “But I also learned to cook, sew, even dance and sing. And I’m very good at the latter.”

“I hope I have a chance to hear you sing someday.”

“I hope so too.”

He thought for a while. “Jasmine, why are you still living in the orphanage?”

“I left the orphanage last year for a while. At eighteen, we’re considered adults, so we’re expected to leave.”

I took a year off from my age so I was now nineteen instead of twenty. I hoped I’d seem more vulnerable and innocent, although I was anything but.

“Then what do you do?”

“The orphanage found me a job as a live-in private tutor and babysitter for a well-off family.” I put up a sad expression. “But the master . . .” I stopped, as if unable to go on.

Of course, he already guessed what I was to say. What else besides being harassed or even raped by the lascivious master? Maybe even getting pregnant with an illegitimate child and being ruined.

He leaned toward me from across the table and looked into my eyes. “Jasmine, don’t be shy. You can trust me and tell me.”

Was this naive, nice-looking American already falling for me—or my made-up story? But what I’d told him were not exactly lies, were they? Since I was an orphan growing up in a horrible orphanage, and the truth about my life was even more appalling than what I’d just told him.

I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. He immediately took a white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to me. I buried my face in the ambassador’s scented silk.

“Please tell me, Jasmine.”

I gradually raised my brown eyes to meet his blue ones, remaining silent with a somber expression. I peeked around me; fortunately, no one seemed curious about us. An old couple leisurely sipped tea or coffee while appreciating the breathtaking, panoramic scene below. Two pairs of expensively suited men talked intensely with animated gestures. Children ate ravenously under their parents’ doting eyes.

He asked hesitantly. “Did he . . .”

I again dabbed my eyes without replying.

“Jasmine, how can I help you? If you tell me his name and address, maybe I can use my position to do something.”

“No, I’m all right, Edward. He bothered me, but never . . . more.”

He looked a little relieved. I was pretty sure he’d already fallen for me even further—just in less than an hour. So my flair for scheming and lying had not turned rusty even though I’d stopped practicing for three months. Now I might as well make the most of his compassion. As the Chinese saying goes, “When there is wind, open your sail to its fullest.”

I went on. “The master threatened that if I dared tell anyone, he’d tell his wife that I’d tried to seduce him.”

“Oh, how horrible. I’m so sorry . . .”

“So I just left without saying a word to anyone.”

Again, he reached to squeeze my hand with his big one. “What were you doing when I saw you?”

“I had just finished an interview for another tutoring position. Then when I walked back to the main street, a man robbed me.”

“Are you hurt?”

I pathetically shook my head.

“Poor girl, how sad you had to go through all this!” He hesitated before he blurted out, “Do you have a place to stay?”

Would he invite me to stay at his place? But I didn’t want that, because then my freedom to go anywhere anytime would be limited.

“Don’t worry, Edward, the orphanage is housing me while I look for another job.”

“There’s plenty of room. The house provided by the consulate is huge. Besides, I have my son, Henry, and my governess, Emily, who’s a very nice lady and takes very good care of me and my little boy . . .” He paused for seconds, then continued, “Since my wife left me.”

I was curious to know about his son and what had happened with his wife, but didn’t want to seem too inquisitive.

He spoke again. “I’m thinking . . . would you consider teaching Henry Chinese?”

I was not going to waste my time that way, but I couldn’t think how to turn down what for “Jasmine” would be a generous offer. So I gave an evasive answer. “Thank you, that’s a very nice offer. But I’m afraid I would do a bad job. I’ve never taught a foreigner Chinese.”

He looked disappointed and was silent for a few moments. He sipped more coffee, then asked, “Can you give me the name and address of the orphanage so I can take you back later?”

I quickly made up a name. “It’s Compassionate Light, a few miles outside Shanghai. So you needn’t bother to take me all the way home. Besides, I can’t be seen coming back with a man, especially a foreigner. But if you like, I can contact you.”

“Please, I’d love to see you again, Jasmine.”

Just then my favorite Western song—Carmen’s “Habanera” taught to me by Madame Lewinsky—wafted into my ears.

Without thinking, I sang along softly with the lyrics.

While I sang, the Consul General looked at me as if I’d transformed into a different person, or maybe even an immortal descending onto this Red Dust.

When I finished, he exclaimed, “Jasmine, I didn’t realize you have such a beautiful voice! How did you learn to sing so well?”

“Thank you. From my father. He was an English and music teacher. In the orphanage, musicians also come to coach the girls singing and dancing so they can perform for charities during holidays and festivals. Since they think I have a good voice, I’m the only girl they allowed to sing solo.”

He took a long, meditative sip of his coffee, then said, “I have a garden party next week. Would you like to come and sing for us?”

“But—”

“Don’t worry, if you can come, I’ll make sure you’ll feel at home.”

Should I accept the invitation so I could meet some more important people there? But I might also run into someone I didn’t want to see!

Before I made up my mind, my head was already knocking like a pecking bird. “Thank you, Edward. I am honored to be invited to sing at an ambassador’s house.”

“Ambassador or not, I’m also like anyone else. Good, so it’ll be next Wednesday at six in the evening. I’ll ask my driver to pick you up. But you have to give me the address of the orphanage.”

“Please don’t. I can go to your place by myself.”

“Can you at least give me their phone number in case I need to contact you?”

Reluctantly, I wrote down the phone number on a napkin and gave it to him. “But, Edward, please don’t call and get me into trouble. I’ll call you two, three times a week, how’s that?”

He didn’t look very happy. “All right, if that’s what you want.” Then he wrote down a phone number and the name Emily Andrews. “If you call, dial this number. Emily is the governess and takes care of my personal stuff.”

“Thank you. But, Edward, I don’t have any decent clothes to wear. . . .”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell Emily to find a dress for you. Just arrive an hour early at four-thirty and show the guard my card.”

He picked up the card, signed it, then gave it back to me.

Back in the hotel that night, I couldn’t decide if it would be good luck or bad luck to sing at this ambassador’s party. But I knew it wouldn’t be bad to know someone that important. Anyway, if it turned out that I didn’t need him, I could just waft away from his life like a summer breeze. And he’d find another girl, possibly on the street like me, or wherever his karma led him.

After my encounter with Edward Miller, I kept thinking I should disappear from his life now when he was unlikely to go looking for me. But the opportunity seemed too good to pass up, so I decided I’d go sing at his garden party and hope my luck would hold.

Waiting for Wednesday’s party, I didn’t do much except lie around in my hotel room, consume food, and read the Shanghai newspapers. I was almost disappointed that there was nothing about the gangs or myself. Had even my die-hard fans already forgotten about their beloved Songbird? Or had another pretty, talented girl been discovered to take over my place at the Bright Moon Nightclub? I decided to visit my former establishment to see if I could find any news of my old acquaintances, possibly even Madame Lewinsky.

Bright Moon, Shanghai’s most fashionable and expensive entertainment establishment, was located in the International Concession between Yuyuan Road—the Fool’s Garden—and Fanhuangdu Road—the Emperor’s Crossing. The nightclub had a gaudily lit circular façade topped with a torchlike cylindrical tower. Inside was a huge hall with tables surrounding a polished dance floor. Above was a mezzanine from which the VIPs could watch those equally rich but less important.

Though three months had passed—which seemed like an entire incarnation—nothing seemed to have changed inside the fashionable nightclub. Under the chandeliers, an impeccable Filipino band was playing a waltz tune. The richest and most powerful continued to have a good time side by side with the most evil, chugging down expensive wine or liquor and scraping their mirror-polished shoes on the nightclub’s famous glass floor. But there was one curious fact. As the men aged, their women remained forever young—still beautiful, flirtatious, and scheming.

I asked to be seated in a far corner shunned by the glitterati so I could observe without being observed. That everything looked so familiar after all that happened surprised me. I was back here not as the Heavenly Songbird Camilla, but in my new incarnation as an unknown young lad. This strategy is called jieshi huanhun, “borrowing the corpse to re-instill the soul.”

Who would have guessed that the young man sitting at a dim corner was the same person who, only three months ago, had taken the center stage of Shanghai’s most famous nightclub endorsed by the most powerful gangster head?

Since I dressed like the men in a fashionable white suit with half-matching black and white leather shoes, I didn’t think I’d arouse any men’s attention. But that didn’t guarantee the many lonely tai tai, society ladies, wouldn’t harass my boyish face and delicate frame with their wandering eyes.

The main singer, who’d replaced me, was about my size and age, pretty with a goose-egg face and twinkling eyes. However, I was relieved that both her appearance and her singing were far beneath mine. Because of the narrow range of her barely trained voice, she could only sing within a single octave. To cover up this flaw, she gestured and smiled a lot, with bobbing breasts and a slutty manner that were extremely annoying, at least to me.

Obviously she was the sort of girl who cared only to attract a rich man to marry, or if he’s already married, at least become his kept woman. These so-called singers spent their time flirting and conniving instead of practicing. I did all these, too, and thanks to my spy training, I did them better. But because I genuinely loved music, I also practiced hard. So though I’d been trained to be rid of feelings, I rediscovered them through my singing.

But these feelings didn’t emerge right away, only little by little, like flour seeping through a sieve. Big Brother Wang always taught that a spy’s feelings are equivalent to an incurable disease. In contrast, having no feelings protects against danger and might save your life. But I could not help but love singing, and the emotions it evoked progressively grew within me like a baby inside its mother’s womb.

To my disappointment, after sipping my drink and listening to the girl’s meowing for half an hour, except for one or two vaguely familiar faces, I didn’t see anyone I knew. Where had they all gone? Could it be they used to come only to hear my voice and now did not care to listen to this talentless girl?

The front table in the middle was empty. Only Master Lung and his entourage dared to sit there—his right-hand man Mr. Zhu, his son, Jinying, his bodyguard Gao, and me. The table, once fully occupied with laughing and shouting, now looked forlorn, like a jilted mistress or a discarded gown after a ball.

Now I’d been sitting here for almost an hour with the lazy singer’s voice buzzing in my ears but had not detected anything useful. I was wondering if I should just get up and leave, when something happened that I could never have anticipated: my former boss Big Brother Wang was striding into the club with an entourage of eager lackeys, looming bodyguards, elegantly suited business partners, and expensive women.

In all the time I had sung here and hung out with Master Lung as his number one woman, Big Brother Wang had never once shown his face in Bright Moon. Not that he wouldn’t want to push his way into his rival’s favorite night spot, but because he wasn’t ready to set off a war. Nor could he risk Lung noticing any sign that I recognized his arch enemy.

So, what was my former boss doing here?

My heart froze. If he recognized me, a moment later I’d be a bloody corpse lying on the glass floor. Because I betrayed him during the shoot-out at Lung’s secret villa. And he may have guessed that I had stolen his rival’s money and treasures, which my boss thought he was rightfully entitled to steal himself.

Heads turned as the nightclub manager and waiters dashed to greet Wang and his people. Then, to my utter surprise, the entourage was led to sit at Master Lung’s table!

To all of us who were regulars at Bright Moon, that table was sacred and untouchable, to only be occupied by Master Lung or at his invitation. This could only mean that the configuration of Shanghai’s underworld had finally shifted. Were Master Lung and his Flying Dragons gang now just one more finished chapter in Shanghai’s unsavory history?

It was definitely time for me to leave. I tossed a few bills on the table, pulled up my collar, and hurried out.