Incensed (21 page)

Nancy nodded. “Yes,” she said. “She's not in a good place.”

We began walking again and soon came upon the triangular plaza between Hanzhong Street and a side lane of Emei Street. This was the prime stage in Ximending for a band to set up on the sidewalk and play.

When I was a kid, right here at this intersection was where I saw bands from all over the world playing everything from Mandopop to American country to reggae. As a self-righteous and all-knowing young jerk, I stood there and scowled even if I liked the music. I had to maintain my cool, after all.

Not so long ago I stood at this triangle and watched a band of middle-aged men covering the Moody Blues. The singer would have looked like my father if he had only stopped smiling. During the long instrumental breaks in “Nights in White Satin,” he continued to stand front and center, waving his hands in the air and staring up at the stars.

One wouldn't think that a bunch of old farts in suits trotting out the songs of the ancients would play well to smoking teenagers but the audience was fully engaged. Boys with their ties pulled loose and shirttails out. Girls with their skirts rolled up at the waist. Me in my long London Fog trench coat with the belt and belt loops ripped out and “HATE” scrawled on the back, just like Ian Curtis. I stood in the Doc Martens boots I was still breaking in.

Julia had stood at my side. When I think about her, I think about her looking like she did that night. Pupils big, dark and mysterious as black holes, a small smile on her face, dark red lipstick that she would rub off before going home. She pulled her hair back over her ears and wiggled them slightly.

“Okay,” I said. “You win.”

“I knew I could make you smile!” she said, as she punched my arm. “You don't have to frown to impress me.”

“I'm doing it for me.”

“I know you're happy inside, though, and that you like this music more than you think.”

“Why?”

“I see your head moving with the music.”

“Ha, that's my head nodding because it's putting me to sleep!” I crossed my arms. I knew the band was playing the full album version—almost eight minutes long—rather than the edited version that was released as a single. I nudged closer and took her hand. This is a daring thing to do in public but the crowds provided us cover.

“Are you scared?” Julia asked.

“No way, baby.”

“Your hand is sweaty.”

I twisted to the side until I felt my shoulder bones crack. “I'm really hot in this coat.”

She squeezed my hand. “Yes, you are.”

“This is odd, isn't it?” I asked her. “Of any music we could be hearing tonight, it would be this.”

Julia laughed. “What would you rather hear? Maybe the Sex Pistols would be better?”

“No, they wouldn't be.”

“At least this music is kind of sexy.”

I let go of her hand, pulled out the key to the love hotel and pressed it to her side. “Well, if you think it's so sexy, why don't you offer your virginity to that stud who's singing?”

She stepped on my foot, right on a blister right between the big and second toes. These damned new Doc Martens!

“Oh, fuck!” I yelled out in English, making the audience gasp. The singer was a pro, though. He improvised a long cooing sound and the crowd was lulled back into his fuzzy world.

“What's wrong?” asked Julia.

I wiggled my toes. The sock felt wet. “You popped my blister,” I said through clenched teeth. “I think I have to sit down.”

“Maybe we should go to the room now,” she said casually. I nodded and we walked away.

I couldn't help limping. “This fucking blister's right where the shoe creases. How the hell am I supposed to walk?”

Julia slid under my right elbow and helped me walk. “Think of it this way. It's only fair that I popped your blister because you're going to pop my cherry.” We both laughed and shuffled our way to the love hotel.

“You know,” I said, “when we're old, you're going to have to help me into bed. Men's bodies fall apart faster.”

“That's a long time from now,” she said. “We're going to have the rest of our lives together.”

“Dammit. I think the hotel's a walkup.”

“No elevator?”

“No.”

She supported me as we staggered up five flights of stairs. I wobbled like a drunk. I looked down at her face and when our eyes met I knew that we would be together forever.

Nancy asked, “Are you
hungry, Jing-nan?”

“No, not really.”

“Why do you keep staring at that McDonald's?”

“It wasn't there before. Something else was.”

“What do you expect?” she said as she snapped open her purse and began to rummage inside. “Nothing stays the same, especially not in this neighborhood. Gum?” I shook my head and she popped into her mouth a block of Japanese gum, a brand that is more artificial color and flavor than sugar.

“Those are so bad for you,” I said.

Nancy waved my words away. “They taste good and chewing helps me think. Hmm. Now why was Mei-ling so interested in Ximending?” she asked herself.

We continued down the street and found ourselves approaching The Red House.

The octagon building was built by the Japanese more than a century ago, yet it looked futuristic and edible. A gigantic layered red-velvet cake with white icing.

It's one of those places I visited on a field trip years ago but haven't been inside since. Tourists love it, particularly the combination of Eastern and Western elements in the architecture. Which is which, I couldn't tell you.

Its former lives included stints as a public market, an opera house, and a movie theater. Now it was a city-owned teahouse and tourist shop in the main rotunda with a series of artist shops in the cruciform wing attached to the octagon.

Nancy and I were compelled to enter the building.

Two bored young women behind the counter of the teahouse acted like the government employees they were, chatting away and chasing off potential customers with scowls.

“Excuse me,” I asked the meaner-looking one. “Have you seen this girl recently?” I held up my phone, the display screen facing her.

She jutted out her chin. “Maybe,” she said, rubbing her nose. Her fingers had an inordinate number of rings on them and a tattoo along the index finger.

“Could you keep an eye out for her?” asked Nancy.

“No, I can't,” said Mean Girl. The other employee giggled. “Want to order something?”

“That's funny,” I said. “You two don't seem the type to take orders.”

Other Girl said, “What's that supposed to mean?”

Nancy and I walked away.

“What a bunch of awful kids,” said Nancy.

“I used to hate customers when I was young,” I said, looking over the teahouse's empty tables. “This is a bust. I can't imagine young people coming here to this government-run dive and I really doubt Mei-ling had any interest in this place.”

We found ourselves standing in front of several bars that were hidden from the main streets by The Red House itself. A few of them proudly flew the rainbow flag.

“Whoa!” I said. “Is there a gay pride parade coming up?”

“Those flags aren't up for a parade, Jing-nan,” said Nancy. “These are gay bars. Lesbian and transgender, too. Hey, you seem a little jumpy there.”

“I'm not jumpy.”

Nancy smiled. “Tell me about your first gay experience, Jing-nan.”

“I've never done anything, but one time this guy tried to pick me up at the Eslite bookstore.” It's a flagship bookstore open twenty-four hours a day, a mandatory stop for tourists.

Nancy laughed and the gum shot out of her mouth onto the sidewalk. “Oh, shit.” She worked a tissue out of her purse and promptly picked it up. “Wait, so how did you know this guy was trying to pick you up, Jing-nan?”

“I was looking for Peter Hook's memoir of the Joy Division days. I wanted it in hardcover because I knew I'd be rereading it a lot. I would have worn out the spine of a paperback. I found the book and I had to start reading it right away. I couldn't even sit down. I was leaning against a bookrack and this guy sidled up to me and started reading over my shoulder.

“I thought it was a little odd but I was so into the book, I couldn't look away. It seemed like he was really into the book, too. After a few pages, I closed the book because I wanted to head to the cashier. Then the guy said to me, ‘Should we finish reading it in bed?'”

Nancy smiled. “What did you say?”

“I was honest. I said, ‘I never read in bed.' Then I walked away.”

“You know that Eslite is a big cruising scene, especially after midnight.”

“I had no idea! I thought 228 Peace Memorial Park was for cruising.” The park commemorated the victims of Taiwan's most infamous massacre, which began on February 28, 1947. It was still a sore point between mainlanders and yams, but it was created with the idea that all of Taiwan could come together and learn from the experience so that it never happened again. At the very least quite a number of people were coming together in the park's restrooms.

“The guy selection is much more refined at Eslite,” said Nancy. “They don't have the rough edges that park encounters have.”

“Makes sense,” I said as I watched a man in a black food service uniform moving chairs and wiping off tables at a bar/restaurant named Magic Wand.

Even though I knew Mei-ling wasn't a lesbian, she had been active on TaiPride and also interested in Ximending. She had to have known about these queer bars.

“I'm going to ask that guy for help.”

Nancy unwrapped a new stick of Japanese gum and looked at me mischievously. “What are you going to do if he hits on you, Jing-nan?”

“The first thing I'm going to say is, ‘That's my girlfriend over there and I have sex all the time with her.'” She opened her mouth slightly and made snapping noises with her gum.

I put my hands in my pockets and walked over to Magic Wand.

The man was bigger than I'd thought. He was built like Dwayne with a trimmer waist. “Hello,” I said to the man. “I was wondering if you could help me.”

He folded up the towel he had been wiping tables with. “I'd be glad to help,” he said. “What's going on?”

“By any chance, have you seen this girl?” I held up my phone.

“Hey, come in closer,” said the man. “You're too far away.” I took two steps forward. “I don't think I've seen her. Has she run away?”

“Yeah.”

“It's a real shame. There used to be a drop-in center here with counselors, a library, and HIV testing. But it closed. If it were still open, I would say check there.”

“She had help in running away,” I said. “From a guy.”

“That's a little different.” He took two chairs from a tabletop, flipped them, and set them down. He sat in one and invited me to sit in the other. “Was it an older man?”

“I don't know,” I said as I lowered myself into the seat.

“The runaways I see are gay youth leaving home—often because they're kicked out.”

I held up a hand. “She's not a lesbian.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, she had a boyfriend.”

He smiled sadly at me. “That doesn't mean she's not gay, and besides, why are you looking for her here?”

“Well, I know she'd been looking at the TaiPride site, but only because she's interested in music.”

The man nodded and gave me a little smile. He still thought Mei-ling was a lesbian. “I wish I could help you more. I actually feel relieved whenever I see a runaway because it means they didn't fall into the clutches of pimps.”

“Do you think my friend could be in the hands of a pimp?”

He raised an eyebrow. “She's your sister, isn't she?”

“She's my cousin. Her name's Mei-ling.”

“What's your name?”

“Jing-nan.” I shook his hand automatically and held on as I asked him his to show how sincerely I appreciated his help.

“Omi.” It sounded like an aboriginal name but I wasn't crass enough to ask if it was. “Jing-nan, if you email me the picture I can post it and ask the community to keep a lookout for her.”

“She had a boyfriend.”

“And she's not with him.” Omi leaned back and crossed his right leg. “I've got a question for you, Jing-nan. Why haven't you gone to the police? Because you're afraid your family will be embarrassed when it becomes public knowledge.” He nodded to confirm that he was right.

As forthcoming as I intended to be with Omi, I couldn't just start telling him about her murdering father and all the associated ugliness in my family. I put my hands up. “Couldn't fool you, Omi,” I said.

“Don't get me wrong,” said Omi. “I appreciate what you're doing because when I ran away, nobody came looking for me.”

I emailed Mei-ling's picture to him. Maybe she'd see herself online, feel guilty, and text me.

Chapter Fourteen

We continued down one
of Ximending's main streets, Zhonghua Road. Like most places in Wanhua District, recent years of renovation still haven't offset decades of neglect. The familiar rusty brick facades, outdated and flaking billboard ads, and mismatched window frames made me a little nostalgic for my old illegal residence in Wanhua, the toaster house. As we walked, Nancy seemed as enraptured as I was.

“There used to be red-envelope clubs on this street,” she said. “This was before Zhonghua Road was widened and repaved, of course. It was a lot smaller in the nineties.”

“You're too young to know about red-envelope clubs,” I said. “I'm too young, too!”

I'd never actually been to one. I only knew about them from bad seventies gangster films. Fairly often there'd be some scene where a middle-aged woman on stage would be singing old sappy Chinese songs as the audience of lonely old mainlander men mouthed along. Then some young punks would burst in and try to gun down the gangster who owned the red-envelope club. If they didn't get him, it was the beginning of the film because he'd be out for revenge. If they did get him, then the film was almost over because the club owner was the elusive bad guy all along.

The clubs got their names from the red envelopes of money the old mainlander men would hand over to tip the singers. The men, most of whom were old soldiers, had nothing else to do with their money and the singers would be obligated to talk and maybe dance with them.

“Some clubs are still here,” said Nancy. “There's one.” She pointed out a red sign above the walk-up entrance to the Empress of China. We walked up to the battered steel frame of the entrance door.

I was about to remark to Nancy how crappy it looked when a woman's voice called out from the intercom. “Hey, you two! Come on up here!”

I looked around but I couldn't see the hidden camera.

“You're open?” asked Nancy.

“We're always open!” The buzzer went off and Nancy pushed the door open.

“We don't know what we're walking into,” I said.

“There's nothing to be scared of!” declared the voice. “Special early-bird price is only one hundred NT—it's usually three hundred NT!”

I wanted to say that it still didn't seem worth it, but I didn't want to be overheard. At the same time, though, maybe someone here would know if a young singer were going around Ximending looking for a gig. Mei-ling could have been lured in the same way as we were.

Nancy pushed the door open. “Here we go,” she said with some apprehension. She must've been thinking the same as me.

The flights of stairs turned tighter than a whelk shell and the handrails were bolted on too low for me to conveniently hold. I had to put my hands on the walls between faded framed pictures of singers, all women pouting with their bloody lips.

Nancy clambered ahead of me and didn't pause to admire the empresses of the past.

“Seems a little campy, huh?” I called up at her.

“We'll see,” she said. The first and second floor exits were walled off. At the third floor a woman in a shiny red
qipao
was leaning against the door frame, sipping a Diet Coke through a straw. Her body was frozen at twenty. Her face was about forty.

“Well, hello, there, young people,” she said. “You climbed up here so quickly!” She looked me over thoroughly without a hint of shame. “He'll do,” she said, patting Nancy's shoulder. “For now.”

The woman walked into the club and we followed.

“Don't we need to pay for admission, miss?” I asked.

“It's so gauche to speak of money before a show!” She put her lips to her straw and the soda can responded with a death rattle. “Don't worry. You'll get the check before you leave.”

The room was wallpapered in metallic red roses and black velvet. Half the floor was empty. A dozen two-seater tables were crowded near the stage. Three men sat alone at three different tables, spaced out to maximize the distance from one another. There was some movement behind the heavy red-velvet stage curtains.

The woman brought us to a table in the front and to the left. “You kids are just in time for the end of intermission.” She jerked out the chairs and we sat down.

“Chiang Kai-shek sat at this very table in 1951,” the woman said as she lightly traced her finger along the edge nearest me. “The Generalissimo brought his entourage and closed the club to the public. A German shepherd dog sat on either side of him. Chiang requested that our youngest girl sing ‘Forever Suzhou.' She sang it in the Ningbo dialect, Chiang's dialect, and by the end of the song, his face was in his hands and he was crying. He gave her a red envelope from his gloved hands. Instead of money, it contained a gold necklace.”

Nancy shifted in her seat. “Chiang was asking her to be his mistress,” she said.

“I honestly don't think so,” said the woman. “I think he was so moved that to give mere bills wouldn't suffice. He gave her the most valuable thing he had on his person.”

“What was he doing with a gold necklace in his pocket?” I asked.

“Everywhere the Generalissimo went people voluntarily donated money and other goods,” said the woman. “When he inspected a market, his soldiers would come out with armloads of fruit and freshly killed chickens. When he inspected a factory, he'd drive out in a new car. When he inspected a jewelry store . . .” She paused to crimp her empty soda can. “Well, the Generalissimo could not be denied.” The woman patted the backs of our chairs and began to walk away.

“Could you tell me something?” I asked the woman.

“After,” she called back without breaking her stride.

Nancy touched my shoulder. “Do you think you're sitting in Chiang's chair, or am I?”

“Let me check,” I said as I covered my face and pretended to sob. She slapped my hands.

“Have some respect!” she said, laughing.

The lights dimmed and an off-center spotlight lit up. A singer who was probably about sixty but holding up great sauntered out from the wings in a long black dress that complimented her dark universe of dyed hair. Synthesized strings began to play from speakers in every corner of the room.

The singer waved her microphone like a magic wand as she waited for the music to build to a crescendo and wash over her.

  

I know you've been lying

About who you really are

I've followed you so faithfully

From here to who knows where

Someday you're going to miss me

Someday you'll be truly sorry

I'll be free from all your lying

Free from every worry

  

There were only five of us in the audience but we gave her rousing applause as she bowed demurely and stepped down from the stage as the lights came back up. One of the men seemed to know her personally. He stood up and handed her a rose and a red envelope. The man, who had a full head of white hair, leaned into her ear. She nodded and sat with him.

We heard a sharp snap behind us and we turned. The hostess was back, holding a new can of Diet Coke.

“What do you kids think of the show so far?' she asked, licking a finger.

“It's great,” I said.

“Just like I remembered,” said Nancy.

The hostess raised an eyebrow as she shucked the wrapper and stuck the straw into the can. “You've been here before?” the hostess asked. “When?”

“It's been years,” said Nancy. “My mother sang here, sometimes. She sang in Taiwanese. It was exotic to the mainlanders.”

“How interesting,” said the hostess. “And before my time. I bought this place after a bank foreclosed on it three years ago.”

“Why would you want to own a place like this?” asked Nancy.

The woman glanced at the singer, who was done milking the first man and moving on to the second. The hostess pulled out a chair and joined our table.

“I didn't plan to own a club,” she said. “I was going to renovate this whole place and turn it into an office. But I sort of fell in love with it. It's a step back in time. I felt like I had been here in a former life. More importantly, this place is breaking even—for now.” She sipped soda and looked us over. “I like you two. You're not like these rabble-rousing students, venting their sexual frustrations by starting up a ruckus.”

Nancy twitched and I put a hand on her shoulder. “Have you hired any new singers?” I asked the proprietor.

She drank more soda and looked to the far left. “The opposite. I've had to let some long-timers go. Sometimes I have special guests hit the stage, but not often and certainly not regularly.”

“Have you seen this girl?” I asked, holding up my phone.

“No, I haven't.”

“She's a singer,” offered Nancy.

“I wouldn't have hired her,” said the hostess. “No red-envelope club would. Our customers prefer older singers. Nobody under thirty would cut it. Ladyboys do better than young women.”

Nancy stood up. “Thanks for your help,” she said as she opened her purse.

“Oh, there's no charge for you two,” said the hostess. “But tell your friends about this place and if you could, please tip the singer.”

On our way downstairs
I said, “I didn't know your mom was a singer.”

Nancy paused and let a foot dangle over the next step. “She wasn't very good, but the old soldiers liked the way she moved.”

“Is her picture on the walls here?”

Nancy glanced at me and then continued downward. “No. I looked.”

“You used to come here and see her.”

“I used to come here to find her. You know, when I thought there was going to be my mother and food at home and then got tired of waiting for both. She'd buy me something from a sidewalk stand and I'd watch her for a few songs from the wings.”

This must have been after Nancy's dad had left.

She slowed her pace. “It looks ramshackle now, but this place used to be nice. More tables.”

“Do you feel lousy being back here?” I asked.

“I don't know what I feel,” said Nancy. “Not happy, that's for sure.” The staircase thumped like a hollow wooden heart.

I knew the rest of the story. Her mom met a boyfriend here who began to help provide for the household. Nancy was sent out to the movie theater fairly often. Of course the guy had a wife and family. Nancy pointed to this period as the reason she became a mistress herself while she was in college.

I also know that it had been years since Nancy and her mom had spoken. There was a screaming match along the lines of: “You did the same thing!” and “I did it so you wouldn't have to but you went ahead with it, anyway!”

We got to the street and walked along in silence for a block.

“I think I know why you don't like food from carts or the night markets,” I said.

She shrugged. “I love your food,” she said. “It doesn't taste like a consolation meal. It tastes like it comes from a country where people genuinely love each other.”

“Could you please write that in an online review? Seriously, it's the best compliment I've ever heard for Unknown Pleasures.”

“I don't want to go through the trouble of creating an account and everything.” She twisted her mouth into a smirk and then her face slipped into a thoughtful position. “Shouldn't we be checking Mei-ling's computer? We might be able to find something in her browser history, or by hacking into her online accounts.”

“I think Big Eye has that covered. I'm sure he knows people who are looking into her social media.”

“Are you sure? You'd better call him to check.”

I called Big Eye, who said, “I don't know anything about computers. I was never good at anything electronic.”

“Have you tried to log into Mei-ling's laptop?”

“I think Whistle and Gao are looking it over.”

“Would you mind if I tried?” I couldn't hide the annoyance in my voice. Didn't he know that kids lived their real lives online?

“If you think it will help, then do it. Stop by Mei-ling's apartment. I'm sure my boys will let you in.”

Nancy left for another
organizing meeting and I went to Mei-ling's apartment alone. Two
jiaotou
-looking guys stood in the lobby, dressed in colorful shirts, shorts, and flip-flops. The typical tattoos of dragons, tigers, and girls ran down their arms and calves. I saw them check me out as I stepped into the elevator. It took forever for the doors to close.

I rang Mei-ling's buzzer. Whistle answered and hustled me in. The apartment reeked of cigarette smoke.

He greeted me by patting my left shoulder blade. I almost didn't recognize him. The slightly stooped posture was new and he had bags under his eyes. I knew he cared about Mei-ling, maybe more than her father. “Big Eye said you were coming. Are you good at computers and hard drives? I only know locks and Gao can do GPS stuff, but . . .”

I cleared my throat. “I'm not an expert but I'll give it a shot.”

Mei-ling's laptop was already sitting on the coffee table. I lifted the lid and powered it up. It was a nice machine, the latest Acer. It beeped and an error message popped up. Operating system not found.

“We didn't get too far,” said Whistle.

I nodded. So Mei-ling had had a trick up her sleeve. I was surprised that I sort of knew what to do. Our high school computer teacher had disabled the classroom laptops the same way to keep us from downloading pirated movies.

“There has to be a DVD-ROM or an external hard drive to boot up this thing,” I declared to Whistle. “Once we have the system software running, we can search the hard drive.” Nothing registered on his face. I turned around and saw Gao, who had silently moved into the room.