Skeleton Women (8 page)
7
Temple Celebration
O
ne evening, in my living room, I was sipping tea and savoring its warmth slowly soothing my Heavenly Songbird throat. I enjoyed the warmth that I never received from human beings, except maybe Madame Lewinsky. My gaze wandered out the window at nighttime Shanghai glittering like an enormous multifaceted diamond. People must be enjoying their youth, beauty, and wealth out there, I mused. I knew I was getting sentimental, something I could not allow myself. Then, for no reason at all, the face of Jinying, Lung’s son, flashed into my mind. As if on cue, the telephone beside me rang like a barking dog who’d just lost sight of its master.
ne evening, in my living room, I was sipping tea and savoring its warmth slowly soothing my Heavenly Songbird throat. I enjoyed the warmth that I never received from human beings, except maybe Madame Lewinsky. My gaze wandered out the window at nighttime Shanghai glittering like an enormous multifaceted diamond. People must be enjoying their youth, beauty, and wealth out there, I mused. I knew I was getting sentimental, something I could not allow myself. Then, for no reason at all, the face of Jinying, Lung’s son, flashed into my mind. As if on cue, the telephone beside me rang like a barking dog who’d just lost sight of its master.
I picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Camilla?”
I immediately recognized the voice that had sung “Looking for You” to me at the Bund. “Yes, Young Master?”
“Please, I beg you, Camilla, call me Jinying. I really don’t like to be addressed as Young Master.”
My voice switched to the teasing mode. “Do you have a choice?”
As the father was imprisoned by his own suspicion and superstition, the son was confined by his father’s wealth and power.
“I ... really don’t want to go into this.”
“Why don’t you like the title of young master?”
“Because I don’t like to be thought of as superior to you or other people.”
I almost chuckled out loud. Of course. He had been educated in America, a country that supposedly advocated liberty and equality. So his mind was liberated, or poisoned, depending on how you looked at it, by this ridiculously unrealistic concept.
“But you are,” I cooed into the receiver.
“Please, Camilla.”
“All right, Jinying, what do you want?” Of course I knew exactly what he wanted, the same thing as his father—me. Did he think his father would share with him?
“May I come to visit you now?” The tone was plaintive, like that of an orphan desperate to be adopted.
That was an unexpected and daring request. But of course he was, after all, the indulged, privileged son of the most powerful gangster in Shanghai. At least he was courteous enough to ask before coming.
I inhaled deeply. “But why would you want to come here?”
“Camilla, since I heard you sing at Bright Moon and at the Bund, I just can’t shake you from my mind. You sing like an angel.”
If only I were one. “Don’t you know that I am your father’s woman?”
An uncomfortable silence passed before he spoke hesitantly. “Yes, of course.”
“You’re not afraid?”
“No.”
“Maybe you’re not, but I am.”
“My father won’t hurt you.”
This time I laughed out loud. Was he that naive?
“Please don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m sorry. But do you know who your father is and what he is capable of?”
“Yes.”
“Then what makes you think he won’t harm me—or you?”
“Because he loves me the most, and he’s superstitious.”
My ear perked up at the word
superstitious.
Though it was not news to me that the gangster head was a believer in
fengshui, Yijing
divination, physiognomy, palmistry—the whole gamut of Chinese ways to attain good luck—his son could be a source of other useful information about his father.
superstitious.
Though it was not news to me that the gangster head was a believer in
fengshui, Yijing
divination, physiognomy, palmistry—the whole gamut of Chinese ways to attain good luck—his son could be a source of other useful information about his father.
So I immediately curtailed my sarcasm and replaced it with a warm, tender tone. “Jinying, yes, please do come up to my place so we can chat over a glass of wine.”
In a mere five minutes, Jinying was at my doorstep.
I opened the door and asked, “Were you downstairs?”
He nodded, looking anxious.
“Please take a seat on the sofa, and I’ll ask Ah Fong to fix you tea and snacks.”
He looked around, his expression disappointed. “You have someone else living here with you?”
“She’s my amah.”
Moments later Ah Fong came out with a tray of tea, coffee, and sandwiches.
After she laid it on the table, I smiled. “You can leave now, Ah Fong.” And I took some coins from my purse and pushed them into her hand.
She looked at me appreciatively. “Thank you so much, Miss Camilla.” Then she cast the young master the same look and left.
Delicately sipping my fragrant tea, I asked the fine-featured, intense face across from me, “Jinying, what is the purpose of your visit?”
He looked surprised and pained. “Camilla, I ... wanted to see you. I am hoping you will sing for me again.”
I studied his eager eyes and their two brows. Unlike his father’s, they were smooth and unscarred, like two distant mountains shrouded in the mist. “Jinying, you have the money for casinos, nightclubs, anything you want. So why are you so interested in music?”
His smile showed a trace of bitterness. “That’s exactly what displeases my father about me. That I would waste my time on something so decadent and worthless.”
This seemed ironic. Wasn’t music the reason the old man came to Bright Moon?
Lung’s son’s face softened under the gentle light of my chandelier. “My passion began when I visited New York and a friend took me to see
Madame Butterfly
at the Metropolitan Opera. Since then I’ve been hooked. I used some of the money Father sent me for singing and piano lessons. At Harvard I even performed a few roles in musicals.”
Madame Butterfly
at the Metropolitan Opera. Since then I’ve been hooked. I used some of the money Father sent me for singing and piano lessons. At Harvard I even performed a few roles in musicals.”
“When you were in America, you must have heard the most famous singers of the world.” My curiosity was piqued.
“I did, but I like your voice the best. I’ve heard all the famous singers, and of course they’re all first-rate, but in my opinion, they all have one basic flaw... .”
“What’s that?”
“Too much training and not enough being.”
“What do you mean?”
Maybe he thought I feigned not understanding, but it was true that I didn’t. For “too much training, not enough being” was exactly what Madame Lewinsky seemed to criticize in my singing. But of course neither she nor the young master had any way to know that I’d been trained
not
to have feelings.
not
to have feelings.
“They are so conscious of their fame and status that they gradually lose contact with their heart. In my opinion, they should strip away their mannerisms and let the audience in.” He picked up his cup and took a long sip as he studied me intensely. “Camilla, I’m amazed that you don’t need to use technique or posture to hide your vulnerability. You just let your goodness shine through.”
I suppressed a smile of relief. He was completely fooled by me, or, to be exact, by my training! This showed that he was the one who was naive.
Wonderful.
Wonderful.
On the surface I stayed calm. “But you have only heard me twice. How do you—”
“I go to hear you sing almost every night. I sit in a corner seat in back so if my father’s there, he won’t see me.”
He shook his head, then downed more coffee. “My father is getting old and wants me to start in his business so I can take over someday. But so far I’ve stayed away. I’m just not interested. Also, well, his business is just ... not right. I wish I were someone else’s son.” He put down his coffee cup with a loud
clink.
clink.
As I studied his anxious expression, I felt a perverse relief rising inside me. “I’m sorry that’s how you feel, Jinying. Can’t you explain to Master Lung how you feel?”
“That would not matter. He loves me, but I am his only son, and so there is no one else to take over. And he considers me his good-luck son.”
“Oh, yes? How is that?”
“Because since the day I was born, his business has boomed, and it has lasted until today. The Red Demons have tried but failed to kill him many times. So he believes my lucky star shines on him to protect him.”
Now I was glad for his interest in me. I was also getting an idea.
The Chinese say, “If you want to shoot the person, first shoot his horse; if you want to capture the bandits, first capture their chief.”
What if I seduced Jinying—the boss behind the boss—and set father and son against each other? Of course it might end up that Lung would kill his son, but that sort of possibility was why I had been trained to have no feelings. If it ended up the other way around, then my mission would be successfully completed even without my having to get my hands dirty.
I looked admiringly at the young master’s angelic face. To lie under the owner of this face would be a much better deal than being fucked by his monkey-faced, split-browed old man.
I tried to hide my smirk by downing more tea, but I burned my tongue and choked myself.
The angel dropped from heaven asked, “You all right, Camilla?”
“Couldn’t be better.” I smiled, still choking.
Two days after Jinying’s visit, I got an invitation from the Eternal Luck Temple to participate in a celebration, but of what, it did not specify. Then Mr. Zhu, Master Lung’s right-hand man, called.
“Miss Camilla, be prepared to accompany Master Lung to the Eternal Luck Temple.”
“Mr. Zhu, may I know what is the purpose of this event?”
“To celebrate the opening of the temple’s new wing. Gao will pick you up next Saturday at one in the afternoon. Dress your best, and be ready on time. We cannot miss the most auspicious moment meticulously calculated by the temple’s
fengshui
master. You got it?”
fengshui
master. You got it?”
“Of course, Mr. Zhu.”
“Good,” he huffed, then hung up.
For the temple event, instead of a
cheongsam,
this time I picked a white silk Western dress embroidered with pink camellias and light green leaves. The hem was slightly below my knees, revealing just enough of my high-heeled, hundred-dollar-silk-stockinged legs. A red camellia, pinned above my ear, echoed my matching pink high heels and purse.
cheongsam,
this time I picked a white silk Western dress embroidered with pink camellias and light green leaves. The hem was slightly below my knees, revealing just enough of my high-heeled, hundred-dollar-silk-stockinged legs. A red camellia, pinned above my ear, echoed my matching pink high heels and purse.
To bring out the green, I put on a jade necklace and a matching bracelet. To set off the jade, my huge diamond ring was perched regally on my middle finger, demanding attention.
Whenever I was invited to an important occasion, jade and diamonds were always my favorite choices. Jade’s cool nature conveys a reserved, Oriental sophistication, like a woman’s silent declaration: “I am beautiful but coy, so please don’t stare.” On the other hand, a diamond is fiery and Occidental, like a tall, voluptuous woman strutting confidently and exclaiming, “Come, see how sexy I am!”
However, today my most exciting feature was neither the jade nor the diamond but my dress’s heart-shaped neckline cutout, revealing my undulating two half-moons. I knew I succeeded in creating an intriguing presence. But disturbingly, as I felt happy looking at the beautiful face that stared back at me from the mirror, now, for the first time, I wanted to avoid looking deeper at what was within.
Gao arrived to pick me up in a black Cadillac. As we drove to the temple, I caught his eyes wandering off the road to look into the rearview mirror at me or, to be specific, my bulging half-moons.
Finally he blurted out, “Miss Camilla, you look gorgeous today.”
I smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Gao. Glad you like my outfit.”
“I don’t mean only your outfit.”
I could say, “Of course I know what you meant,” but I was not going to chide him by telling him to keep his eyes on the road instead of on me. I didn’t want to completely discourage his interest. One never knew; someday I might find him of use on my path to defeating Lung.
So I said, “Thank you, Gao, whatever else you mean.”
I studied the bodyguard’s face in the mirror and found myself liking it. He took his job seriously and was good at it. He was also a martial artist and Thai boxing expert, and I had heard that on a bet he had shot right into the red heart of an ace from forty steps away. I knew him to be alert, careful, and, unlike Zhu, gentle and courteous.
But Gao had his weakness: his huge crush on me.
I realized that because I often noticed his gaze traveling downward from my face to my chest, waist, and legs. Didn’t he realize that even a split second of his distraction could cost his and his boss’s lives? But of course he was a man, and he couldn’t help it. That’s why there are skeleton women. We use men’s lust to turn them into skeletons.
With Mr. Zhu, the situation was entirely different. He was impatient, ferocious, and even more bossy to me than his boss was. However, this was, in fact, a good thing. Because the less attention I received from this ruthless man, the better, lest he see through my pretense and detect my true intentions.
A few minutes later, the car pulled to a stop in front of the Eternal Luck Temple and awoke me from my reveries. Gao opened the car door for me, and my ears were instantly filled with the buzzing conversations of the important-looking guests. He helped me out and led me into the temple’s front yard. I enjoyed the envious glances of the women, beautiful and otherwise, as I was escorted by the handsome, muscular man ready to serve my minutest need.
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