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mallorys_cameraChapter Four
(v)
Next night, I watched the Chinese girl dance with a sailor. She swayed slowly to the music. Slid her hands down his pants. Into his pockets. The trick is to keep them coming back. Right?
When I left the Orpheum, the Chinese girl was hurrying down the stairs just in front of me.
“Wait!” I said.
She rolled her eyes, but she stopped.
“What do you mean you use coins?”
“She’s interested,” the girl announced to an imaginary audience.
“What’s your name?”
“Annie.”
“Annie can’t be your name!”
“Why not? You think my name should be Serene Lily Beneath the Mysterious Moon? In Cantonese, of course.” And she laughed.
Her laugh sounded foreign. Staccato like rapid gunfire and veering off into a high frequency that only dogs might hear.
“My name is June.”
“I know who you are.”
“Do you smoke?”
“I smoke.”
We stood under the awning of the shuttered and closed Child’s Restaurant and blew smoke rings. Across the street, I saw a man who looked like Henry Miller but as soon as the light turned green, he looked like someone else and walked away.
“You might want a second opinion,” Annie said. “Otherwise your little girlfriend is dead in six months. You saw it. I saw you see it.”
“You don’t sound Chinese.”
“What does Chinese sound like? You sound Yid. I bet my people have been in this country longer than your people.”
I let that slide. “So that second opinion.”
“Five dollars. I’m never wrong.”
I wasn’t sentimental. I wasn’t tenderhearted. The stuff I did with Florrie when I couldn’t sleep meant no more to me than Mr. O’Flaherty’s stealthy fumblings, Nestor’s journeyman thrusts, the things I let Marder’s friends do to me while he watched.
But I was interested in the future, I told myself.
“You’re on,” I said.
The only place open after 2am was the Third Avenue automat where I’d meet Sammy. We walked there. Once you leave the enclave of nervous hustlers that is Times Square, there’s a beautiful pragmatism to Manhattan’s grid: The east-west blocks are long; the north-south wests are short. You glide effortlessly through a late-night world of mathematical perfection. There aren’t any shadows because there aren’t any street lamps.
The automat was very bright. I walked up to one of the little cages that held the food. Slid two dimes into the slot. Released a serving of creamed spinach.
I took it to the table where the Chinese girl sat waiting for me.
She stared at it.
“You want something to eat?” I asked. “I’ll buy.”
She did something with her nose and her eyebrows. “Never worked food service, huh, sister? Don’t you know what they do to the food behind all those little little glass windows? They spit on it. They piss in it.”
She had a clutch made of scarlet silk embroidered with peonies. She removed six pennies.
“What are those for?” I asked.
“I told you. We use coins.”
“Don’t you have to use Chinese pennies?”
She made another one of her faces. Said something in Chinese. “Ask the question,” she demanded. “My feet hurt.”
“What?”
“It answers specific questions. It’s not some kind of illustrated book where you get to see pretty pictures of the future.”
“What will happen to us?” I asked.
“Us?” she asked.
“Florrie,” I corrected.
But she shook her head. “Too late. It has to be the very first question.”
One by one, she flipped the coins. Looked at them. Scribbled lines on a napkin. After she was done, she sat there staring at them for a very long time, her face expressionless.
“So?” I asked. “What do you see?”
“Nothing,” she said.
Her fingers drummed the table. I already knew she was a good liar, so apparently, she didn’t think I was important enough to lie to convincingly.
“I know you see something,” I said.
“I see nothing,” she said. Her voice had become stilted, formal and for the first time, I heard a chillingly foreign inflexion in it.
“I’m not going to pay you if you don’t tell me—“
“You can keep your money.”
Then she lunged for the red clutch and fled.
When I saw Annie the next night in the Orpheum, I approached her. She was in the company of the two other Chinese girls, standing by the bar where I’d first seen Henry Miller. One of the girls looked at me, touched her nose, and laughed.
“I want to know what you saw,” I said, putting menace into my voice.
Annie looked at me and said something to the other girls in rapid-fire Chinese. One of them laughed, but the other put her palm to her mouth and gasped. Annie made a palms-up shrugging motion.
“I want to know,” I said.
“No speak-ee Engrish,” said Annie. “Solly.”
The next night, the Chinese girls were gone.
“What happened to them?” I asked Dr. Dao.
Dr. Dao smiled his inscrutable smile. “Proportion,” he said. “It means golden mean, yes? Like Confucius. What rhymes with this word?”
“Extortion,” I said. “Contortion. Abortion.”
The disappearance of the Chinese girls didn’t matter, though: It was spring again, and business at the Orpheum Dance Palace had finally begun to pick back up.
(v)
Next night, I watched the Chinese girl dance with a sailor. She swayed slowly to the music. Slid her hands down his pants. Into his pockets. The trick is to keep them coming back. Right?
When I left the Orpheum, the Chinese girl was hurrying down the stairs just in front of me.
“Wait!” I said.
She rolled her eyes, but she stopped.
“What do you mean you use coins?”
“She’s interested,” the girl announced to an imaginary audience.
“What’s your name?”
“Annie.”
“Annie can’t be your name!”
“Why not? You think my name should be Serene Lily Beneath the Mysterious Moon? In Cantonese, of course.” And she laughed.
Her laugh sounded foreign. Staccato like rapid gunfire and veering off into a high frequency that only dogs might hear.
“My name is June.”
“I know who you are.”
“Do you smoke?”
“I smoke.”
We stood under the awning of the shuttered and closed Child’s Restaurant and blew smoke rings. Across the street, I saw a man who looked like Henry Miller but as soon as the light turned green, he looked like someone else and walked away.
“You might want a second opinion,” Annie said. “Otherwise your little girlfriend is dead in six months. You saw it. I saw you see it.”
“You don’t sound Chinese.”
“What does Chinese sound like? You sound Yid. I bet my people have been in this country longer than your people.”
I let that slide. “So that second opinion.”
“Five dollars. I’m never wrong.”
I wasn’t sentimental. I wasn’t tenderhearted. The stuff I did with Florrie when I couldn’t sleep meant no more to me than Mr. O’Flaherty’s stealthy fumblings, Nestor’s journeyman thrusts, the things I let Marder’s friends do to me while he watched.
But I was interested in the future, I told myself.
“You’re on,” I said.
The only place open after 2am was the Third Avenue automat where I’d meet Sammy. We walked there. Once you leave the enclave of nervous hustlers that is Times Square, there’s a beautiful pragmatism to Manhattan’s grid: The east-west blocks are long; the north-south wests are short. You glide effortlessly through a late-night world of mathematical perfection. There aren’t any shadows because there aren’t any street lamps.
The automat was very bright. I walked up to one of the little cages that held the food. Slid two dimes into the slot. Released a serving of creamed spinach.
I took it to the table where the Chinese girl sat waiting for me.
She stared at it.
“You want something to eat?” I asked. “I’ll buy.”
She did something with her nose and her eyebrows. “Never worked food service, huh, sister? Don’t you know what they do to the food behind all those little little glass windows? They spit on it. They piss in it.”
She had a clutch made of scarlet silk embroidered with peonies. She removed six pennies.
“What are those for?” I asked.
“I told you. We use coins.”
“Don’t you have to use Chinese pennies?”
She made another one of her faces. Said something in Chinese. “Ask the question,” she demanded. “My feet hurt.”
“What?”
“It answers specific questions. It’s not some kind of illustrated book where you get to see pretty pictures of the future.”
“What will happen to us?” I asked.
“Us?” she asked.
“Florrie,” I corrected.
But she shook her head. “Too late. It has to be the very first question.”
One by one, she flipped the coins. Looked at them. Scribbled lines on a napkin. After she was done, she sat there staring at them for a very long time, her face expressionless.
“So?” I asked. “What do you see?”
“Nothing,” she said.
Her fingers drummed the table. I already knew she was a good liar, so apparently, she didn’t think I was important enough to lie to convincingly.
“I know you see something,” I said.
“I see nothing,” she said. Her voice had become stilted, formal and for the first time, I heard a chillingly foreign inflexion in it.
“I’m not going to pay you if you don’t tell me—“
“You can keep your money.”
Then she lunged for the red clutch and fled.
When I saw Annie the next night in the Orpheum, I approached her. She was in the company of the two other Chinese girls, standing by the bar where I’d first seen Henry Miller. One of the girls looked at me, touched her nose, and laughed.
“I want to know what you saw,” I said, putting menace into my voice.
Annie looked at me and said something to the other girls in rapid-fire Chinese. One of them laughed, but the other put her palm to her mouth and gasped. Annie made a palms-up shrugging motion.
“I want to know,” I said.
“No speak-ee Engrish,” said Annie. “Solly.”
The next night, the Chinese girls were gone.
“What happened to them?” I asked Dr. Dao.
Dr. Dao smiled his inscrutable smile. “Proportion,” he said. “It means golden mean, yes? Like Confucius. What rhymes with this word?”
“Extortion,” I said. “Contortion. Abortion.”
The disappearance of the Chinese girls didn’t matter, though: It was spring again, and business at the Orpheum Dance Palace had finally begun to pick back up.
no subject
Date: 2020-02-15 08:06 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2020-02-15 08:17 pm (UTC)Thank you! 😃
no subject
Date: 2020-02-21 10:49 pm (UTC)Liked the exchange w/Dr. Dao at the end. Dark hints.