Songs of Willow Frost (37 page)

She felt invisible as she walked to the mansion’s entrance. Until the doorman said, “Hey, the servants’ entrance is on the east side of the building. Go out the gate and circle around the block …”

“I don’t work here,” Liu Song said.

“Well, you sure ain’t a member.”

“I was hoping to speak with Mr. or Mrs. Van Buren if they’re here. My name is …” She held William’s cold hand as he leaned toward the open door, the warmth, and the smell of garlic, onions, and roast beef. “Tell them Willow is here. Willow Frost. I once performed here for the members.”

The doorman looked her up and down and then told her to wait while he checked. When he returned, he presented Mrs. Van Buren, who seemed confused.

“I’m sorry, do I know you?” the woman said as she raised a cigarette holder to her lips. The doorman flashed a lighter, and Mrs. Van Buren blew a long stream of smoke into the cool air that swirled as she absently touched the string of pearls around her neck.

Liu Song felt naked in her faded dress and tattered shoes that had once barely passed for elegant. “I’m … Willow. Willow Frost. I performed here once …”

Liu Song watched as the woman’s eyes narrowed when she saw William. Her pleasant smile disappeared. “You were with that Colin fellow, weren’t you? He left abruptly last year for the Orient. I know some of the members here had unfinished business dealings with him. Looks like he left you in the lurch as well. I’m afraid if you’re a friend of his, there’s nothing we can do for you …” The woman shook her head and glanced at the doorman, who took Willow’s arm.

“But you said I could perform here anytime,” Willow said as she
and William were led away. “I need work. I’m begging you. You said …”

“I say a lot of things. Now I’m saying goodbye.”

T
HAT NIGHT
L
IU
Song curled up in bed, hungry and cold; her body ached. And her threadbare sheets were old and dirty. She couldn’t bear to put the fresh linens from the Jefferson Laundry on her bed. Her denial wasn’t merely her pride. She’d tried the sheets once and had terrible nightmares; unlike William, who slept peacefully, his head resting on her shoulder, his arm across her belly, his tiny fingers moving slightly as though he were catching butterflies or tadpoles in his dreams. She regarded her son’s sweet face as he snored—so relaxed, so untroubled, so perfect.

I
N THE MORNING
she bathed William and fed him the last of their rice, which had previously been an offering in their family shrine. She still felt ill and run-down from not eating enough, not sleeping well enough, from worrying, or perhaps just from loneliness and a broken heart. Whatever her maladies might be, she knew she couldn’t provide for William. So she stared into the mirror and cried. For years she hadn’t been able to cry, and now she couldn’t seem to stop. She sobbed until the muscles in her stomach hurt and her nose was red and her cheeks were wet and her collar damp. She cried until she was exhausted. Then she sat on her worn sofa, breathing, trying not to think, trying not to feel anything anymore. The only time she let her guard down was when William would look at her and smile. He walked over, arms outstretched, and she knelt on one knee, hugging him. When she let go, he regarded her tears and asked, “Ow, Ah-ma?” He touched her tears. “Owie?”

When her nose was no longer puffy and her eyes no longer swollen from crying, she let William play as she dressed, slowly, meticulously, as though preparing for her own funeral. She regarded her tiny apartment and her son. She held William’s hand and walked
down the stairs, descending slowly into the cold. Out on the street she wrapped her arm around William—they needed winter clothing. They needed a lot of things.

“Where going?” William asked. His breath fogged the air.

Liu Song didn’t answer as she led her son across the street.

“Ah-ma?” William asked again. “Bakey?” He pointed to the Mon Hei Bakery.

Liu Song feasted on the heavenly scent of fresh pork buns. Months had passed since she’d tasted something so delicious. She led William down the street. She couldn’t speak. She was afraid that she’d burst into tears, and it took all of her energy to contain her sorrow. She stopped at a flower cart and, with trembling fingers, handed over the last of their money and pointed to a bouquet of white peonies.

The man who was selling the flowers said, “I’m sorry for your loss—death is a terrible thing,” as he handed her the symbolic arrangement. Liu Song thanked the man with a stoic whisper and slowly walked away. She led William down the street, past a music store that was playing a sad song she didn’t recognize. From there they cut through an alley and ended up in front of the Jefferson Laundry.

“Smell bad,” William said as he pinched his nose. “I go home.”

They walked inside, and Liu Song rang the service bell on the counter quickly, as though doing so would lessen the discomfort—like swallowing a spoonful of rotten cod-liver oil. She tried not to recoil when Auntie Eng stepped through a pair of wooden swinging doors. The stout woman smelled of detergent and yesterday’s sweat. She snorted and forced a smile, revealing a graying tooth that had died at the root. Then she took the flowers and barked out something in Chinese, but her farmland accent was so thick even Liu Song had no idea what the woman had said.

She turned and walked into the back of the laundry, and Liu
Song heard a conversation erupt, quickly turning into a heated argument.

Liu Song looked at William, who was fidgeting as he held her hand, looking back toward the door and the restaurant across the street. As she waited she hoped the desperation and surrender in her eyes weren’t as contagious as her cold. She tugged on William’s hand. “I’m your ah-ma. I will always be your ah-ma. Do you believe me?”

William nodded, but he was confused. He probably would have nodded at anything if it meant going to the bakery on the way home.

When Liu Song looked up again, Auntie Eng had stepped out and was untying her waist apron, cursing at her in Cantonese as she threw it on the floor. She paused for a moment as she looked up at Liu Song, then spat in her face. Liu Song recoiled and closed her eyes while the warm, foul-smelling spittle ran down her cheeks and nose. She heard Auntie Eng storm out as she felt a rough hand place a soft towel in her hand. She wiped her face clean, trying not to gag as the disgusting smell lingered.

When she opened her eyes, Uncle Leo was standing there. He slicked his thinning hair to one side. His face was wet from perspiration and steam. He took the towel, sniffed the cotton, wiped his forehead and cheeks, and then neatly refolded it. He placed the soiled cloth atop a stack of fresh towels. He didn’t say a word. He just smiled at Liu Song as if to say,
I knew you’d come back
.

Sing-Song

(1926)

A week later Liu Song stood on a cracked slab of mossy sidewalk outside the Bush Hotel, urging William to avoid the landscape of mud puddles and overflowing gutters. The heavy rain had stopped an hour ago. The afternoon sun was shining, but the water was still flowing downhill from Washington Boulevard all the way to Pioneer Square, washing away a week’s worth of litter, cigarette butts, and vermin.

William laughed as he tossed a pinecone into the muck and followed it downstream until an emerald-colored automobile ran it over.

Liu Song felt as though she were watching a ghost as the old tree-green landaulet glided up to the curb. “It’s time to go,” she said to William as she checked her reflection in a compact mirror. She looked like her mother, the young woman she’d once seen in an old sepia photograph. But the sadness in Liu Song’s eyes echoed the pain her mother had been burdened with in the years before she’d died.

This is just another role. I’m just playing a part
, Liu Song thought as she put on a brave smile while William hopped up and down with excitement.

“Horses?” he asked. “We go ride them?”

Liu Song shook her head. “No, we just watch. It’ll be so much
fun, I promise.” She looked at the new suit William was wearing. New shoes as well—a pair that fit, instead of having to squish his little toes into old, worn leathers with holes in the soles.

William frowned as he pulled at his tie and stiff, starched collar.

The driver honked, and Liu Song quickly opened the door and nodded as if in agreement to Uncle Leo. Then she helped William into the back before she sat down next to her former stepfather. He spat out the window and then grumbled, “We’re late.” He patted her thigh and revved the engine, pulling away before she’d even closed the door.

Liu Song felt trapped, speeding along from Chinatown to Georgetown, past the Rainier Brewery, which was on its last legs, relegated to bottling soda and near beer. And she felt a crushing wave of loneliness as they passed King County Almshouse and Hospital, which sat on a one-hundred-acre stretch of farmland. Liu Song remembered her family being turned away on the stone steps of that brick building. But back then the property had been packed with tents. She touched her nose as she recalled the entire greenbelt redolent of wet canvas and night soil as people lay dying of the flu. She missed her family. A part of her wished she had died at home along with her father and her brothers, and in a way, part of her had. With every mile, she sank further into her regrets, but she’d thought about her desperate straits, and like her mother, she had no choice. She was doing this for William, who sat in the back and laughed and smiled as if this were the best day he’d had in forever, and sadly, it probably was. He smiled all the way to Meadows Race Track.

“I will introduce you as Liu Song—no last name,” Uncle Leo informed her.

That’s fine with me. I’m finally free of your name, but now I belong to you again
.

“We’ll be meeting with men—colleagues from the Chong Wa Association, a hotel owner, a labor foreman for the Alaskeros, all very important men.”

Liu Song nodded.

“You’ll come and go with my permission,” Uncle Leo said. “You might sing for them sometime, but you’ll perform for me and no one but me.”

That was their arrangement, which even Auntie Eng had accepted. Liu Song had agreed to be Uncle Leo’s
xi sang
. She’d escort him to social occasions, grace the room for his business meetings, and entertain his associates at his pleasure. But she knew that wasn’t all that was expected of her. She was his, a sing-song girl in every way.

She watched William’s head bob in the backseat as he nodded off. She drew a tired breath, struggling to keep her composure. She’d given herself to Uncle Leo in order to keep William fed, clothed, cared for—this was what she had to do to keep him by her side. She was like Margarita Fischer in
The Sacrifice
, taking someone else’s burden to protect a member of her family.

L
IU
S
ONG HAD
been to the Meadows only once, as a little girl. She recalled trainloads of people, dressed in their weekend finery, packed into open cattle cars. She remembered the smell of grass and hay and the sight of the muddy, mile-long track, surrounding a placid pond, cattails swaying in the breeze. There must have been ten thousand people in the grandstand that day, screaming, cheering. Everyone had been so excited on the way down but seemed drunk and dejected on the ride back.

She walked holding Leo’s arm, about to direct William to the grandstand when Leo barked, “This way!” He pointed to the opulent clubhouse and then cleared his nose, wiped his hand on his pants, and straightened his tie. He looked out of place as they sat on the lower porch at a wicker table where tuxedoed waiters brought them pitchers of ice water, peeled oranges, and lemon slices with honey. Two white men and a Filipino man joined them and talked about his laundry, unions, contracts, promises, and the startling
beauty at Leo’s side. Liu Song smiled politely and kept an eye on William as he stood behind a painted rail near the track, watching horses parade by before heading to the starting gate.

Liu Song listened and regarded the wealthier patrons as they passed Leo’s table and headed upstairs to the veranda. These men and women were all furs, jewels, laughter, and smiles—not haughty, just oblivious to those with less. Though a few men paused and smiled at Liu Song, kissing her hand and chatting with Uncle Leo as he smiled back and nodded. That was when she understood the value of a
xi sang
. Leo was too controlling to give her to other men (she hoped), but he wasn’t above using her to attract their favor. Leo grinned and was about to speak when all eyes turned to the entrance, where everyone was fawning over a handsome couple as they made a dramatic entrance. Even Liu Song recognized them as they swept into the clubhouse and ventured upstairs, pausing for photos and autographs.

Uncle Leo furrowed his brow.

“That’s Molly O’Day and Richard Barthelmess,” Liu Song gushed to Leo and his associates. “I read that they’re filming
The Patent Leather Kid
at Camp Lewis, south of Tacoma.” The other men smiled and pointed, in awe of the stars and somewhat impressed with her knowledge, which only seemed to irritate Uncle Leo.