Buddha Baby (28 page)

Not that she had spent that much time with Dustin, but so far, nothing like that had happened. Moreover, she began to wonder, hypothetically speaking, if she did marry Dustin, maybe some things might be easier. If they were a couple she wouldn't have to explain certain customs to his family as she sometimes had to with Michael's, and she could revel in a certain level of Chinese acceptance that she would inevitably garner from her relatives. Yeah, her family loved Michael, but that marry-a-Chinese vibe was so strong and ran so deep, she still felt a twinge of guilt, as if by marrying Michael she would always undoubtedly be disappointing one ancestor or another, even dead ones she never knew and didn't care about.

Funnily enough, in several ways—except in looks—Michael was far more Chinese than Dustin could ever be. Michael had come a long way since she had first met him, and now he even knew more about Chinese food and customs than she did. When using his chopsticks and selecting from a shared plate, he knew to turn them over and use the clean ends. He was an expert at cracking pumpkin seeds between his teeth, and loved
mui
. He had even learned a few phrases in Chinese, and in his spare time read books about Chinese history. He was more kind, helpful, and respectful to Lindsey's parents than she or Kevin had ever been.

Dustin, on the other hand, was nothing like the usual Chinese Number-One Son. He called his parents "workaholic assholes," but lived off their money while acting as if his motorcycle, cool clothes, and slacker lifestyle made him better than they were. Although his family owned the second-largest chain of Chinese fast food restaurants in the United States, he sometimes made fun of it. He had said, "I don't eat any of that msg shit," and was unapologetic about knowing hardly any Chinese words. He even pronounced food names like white people did—
chow mein
as
chow
"mane" and
won ton
like it rhymed with "Juan" instead of "one."

And talk about a hollow bamboo—Dustin was the
jook-sing-

iest ABC she had ever met. He looked unmistakably Chinese on the outside, but he didn't know anything about Chinese customs, and didn't even hang out with his relatives or celebrate Chinese New Year. Also, his over-the-top preppie style suggested that he was always trying a little too hard. His Aber-crombie & Fitchiness was somewhat repellent.

And also attractive. Maybe because he was so damn whitewashed and unabashedly proud of it she didn't feel so bad about herself. She too, had once claimed not to like Chinese food, but that was back in the nineties. Dustin's lack of cultural acceptance struck her as
so
1999, but maybe she liked feeling superior to him for that.

She had to admit that his saying he didn't relate to Chinese people and things made her feel less alone. She was on her own path to accepting her Chinese self, and maybe Dustin was just a couple of changes behind her. In any case, it was comforting to know that he could relate to the feelings she had been working through, and because of that, she was beginning to feel more than fond of him in spite of herself.

Lost in thought for several blocks now, she realized they had finally reached her doorstep.

"It's early," Dustin said. "Eight o'clock. Gonna invite me in this time?"

"Um, I don't have air-conditioning."

"This ain't Dallas. It's not even that hot. Come on, open up."

She opened the door and they went up the stairs. Dustin walked in like he owned the place. Running ahead a little, Lindsey shut the bedroom and bathroom door, then met up with Dustin in the living room, where he had taken the liberty of sprawling out on the sofa.

"Would you like something to drink?" she asked.

"Glass of water, thanks."

In the kitchen she listened for the sounds of Dustin rustling through any of her stuff, but instead she heard him turn on the television.

"You got cable?" he called out.

"Yeah, it's the silver remote, not the black one."

"Got it."

She came out with two glasses of water and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw what Dustin was watching. The actress who played Cherry Valance in
The Outsiders
was humping some unshaven guy in a bathroom stall.

"
Unfaithful
," Dustin said, taking his glass of water from her hand and placing it on the coffee table.

Mercifully, the sex scene ended, and she sat down next to him, leaving a safe distance between them.

After ten minutes of awkward movie-watching, Dustin said, "So… what do you think?"

Lindsey sipped her water. "I think there's no way Diane Lane and Richard Gere could have a kid that funny-looking."

"I'm not talking about the movie."

"Then I don't know what you're talking about." She shifted uneasily.

"You and me," Dustin said, bouncing closer to her. He put his arm around her and gave her a teasing look. "Don't you want to show me some of your
Kama Sutra
moves?"

She laughed. "The
Kama Sutra
isn't even Chinese, Dummy."

"Aren't you even curious about me? C'mon, I'm
La Bete Jaune
."

She pushed away from him, but his hand still touched her shoulder.

"Then what does that make me?"

"I don't know," he said, laughing. The fact that he didn't seem nervous or serious made her unsure if he was really put ting the move on her or just joking around. She actually felt fairly comfortable, sitting there on the couch with him. That is, until he suddenly leaned over and tried to kiss her.

She blocked his face with a pillow.

He laughed, and snatched it from her grasp. After she pushed him away, he shoved her back a little too hard, and sent her flying off the couch with her legs in the air.

"Don't look at my underwear!" she yelped, scrambling upright.

Dustin laughed. "I already did. They're pink."

She straightened her clothes and said, "It's time for you to go, Loverboy. You're gonna get me in trouble."

"Oh, come on. Let's just do it and get it over with."

Just then, the telephone rang.

"Go ahead," Dustin said. "I'll wait."

Lindsey could hear the phone's muffled ringing from underneath a sofa cushion.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Babyface." It was Michael. "Whatcha up to?"

Lindsey hesitated. On the TV set, Cherry Valance had resumed screwing her lover. Since the sound was on mute, Lindsey was aware that Dustin would overhear anything she might say.

"Just watching a movie," she said, neglecting to mention that she wasn't alone.

"I miss you, Baby," Michael said with a sigh. "What did you do today? I want to hear all the details. Even the mundane ones, so I feel like I'm at home with you."

Lindsey nervously glanced at Dustin who was watching the onscreen humpage. She could hardly think. "Uh… I went grocery shopping after work."

"What did you buy?"

Dustin turned and glanced back at her, but she looked at the wall and tried to concentrate on talking to Michael.

"Um… garbage bags, laundry detergent, and toilet paper…"

"What kind?"

"The quilted kind with the flowers."

"Just don't get that brand that dissolves and turns into dingle fuzz…"

Dustin was making faces at her now, and she was afraid she'd start to laugh. She said to Michael, "Sweetie, I'm really tired. Can you call me back tomorrow?"

"Oh, sorry. Okay," he replied, sounding a little disappointed. "I love you, Baby."

"Yeah, me too," she said, and hung up quickly.

No sooner had she pressed the "end" button did Dustin blurt out,

"Boy, that was the sexiest conversation ever. You two are separated for weeks and all you can talk about is toilet paper. Could you get any more boring?"

He really enjoyed egging her on. "Hey, let's jump on my Norton. I'll take you down to Auto Row and we'll find a minivan showroom so you can pick something out. You're gonna need an extra-roomy model to fit that thirty-six pack of toilet paper."

"You're really asking for it," she said, feeling the electricity between them.

"Yes," Dustin replied with a flirting challenge. "I certainly am."

The next thing Lindsey knew, they were out on the street, walking back to the ice-cream place, where he'd parked his motorcycle. The air was warm, and she felt strangely free.

"Wanna go for a ride?" Dustin said.

Lindsey knew she should go back home. She should brush and floss, get into her nightgown, and if she wasn't sleepy, the best use of her time would be to go online and browse wedding websites.

But spontaneity seized her. Without further thought, she threw her leg over the seat, and she and Dustin zoomed off toward downtown.

Speeding past the trees, cars, apartments, and houses, Lindsey watched the city go by. Looking up into the darkened windows, she imagined couples already asleep, tucked in safe and thinking about bills, taxes, and potluck dinners. On Van Ness Avenue, they flew past the auto showrooms. At one point, Dustin threw out his arm to point out a Ford Winstar, and she was fairly certain he was laughing at her under his helmet. She considered pinching him when suddenly he cut across a lane and barely missed colliding into the side of a parked Volvo. Her heart skipped. Nearly getting creamed on the back of Dustin's motorcycle was definitely thrilling.

In the Marina District, Dustin careened through the winding streets until they finally stopped in front of a modern, glass-fronted house with sleek, clean lines. Lindsey hopped off the back and pryed the helmet from her head. Dustin, already at the front door, called over to her, "If we get married, this is where you'll live."

"Do I get my own servant?" she quipped.

"No, but you could be mine. I've got a French maid's outfit that would fit you just right."

Walking through a stainless steel gate, they passed a stand of bamboo and went up some steps. He unlocked the door and touched a panel that set off a chain reaction of lights in the house.

"Check it out," he said. "Everything is automatic. As soon as I come in, even the stereo and TV go on."

Lindsey stepped inside the bachelor pad extraordinaire. Everything looked straight out
of Metropolitan Home—
brand-new, and designed within an inch of its life. She recognized tables by Eames, and Le Corbusier armchairs upholstered in pony hide. She walked over to a zinc-topped bar and watched an angelfish as it floated within a wall-sized aquarium.

"Hey," he said, beckoning her over to the stereo. He reached up to a shelf and handed her a CD.

"Here, I burned this for you," he said. "Eighties classics."

She took it and smiled. "Don't you think I know what it means when a guy makes a tape or burns a CD for a girl? It's a serious get-in-your-pants maneuver."

"That's what I'm talkin' about," he said. "Do you want a tour of the bedroom?"

Lindsey was suddenly nervous. It was one thing to be in public places with Dustin, or even at her own house where she felt in control. But being at his place was totally different.

"I should probably go," she said, turning around. Just then, the state-of-the-art, plasma-screen television hanging off the wall caught her attention. It was hard not to miss. In all its 52-inch glory, a pornographic movie was playing.

The images were so big, they were almost abstract. Unable to stop staring, she finally made sense of what she was seeing. It was a close-up shot of a woman's hands clutching a guy's butt and spreading his ass-cheeks. Horrified, she continued to look, and could see little flecks of toilet paper stuck in the porno guy's butt. Earlier that evening she hadn't been sure what Michael meant when he mentioned "dingle fuzz," but now she knew. The TVs picture was remarkably clear and sharp.

"Oh, oops…" Dustin said, searching around the room and fumbling desperately for the remote control.

Lindsey was aghast. Without thinking any further, she walked straight out the door and down the steps. Amazingly, as she reached the sidewalk, a taxicab was dropping off a cou—

Kim Wong ple next door and she ran into the street to catch it. Hopping in, she slammed the door and told the driver her address.

"Don't go!" Dustin called, running after her.

But she was already safe inside the cab, thinking about flossing, brushing, and getting into bed.