Sweat (4 page)

“It'd be good for you. Take your mind off things.”

“I'd love to, but I can't.”

“Suit yourself. But if you aren't going to go, at least let me buy you a beer,” Tim said, motioning toward the bartender.

The evening turned into a blur. The guys crashed the bachelorette party and led them on a pub-crawl up Connecticut Avenue past DuPont Circle. They stood back and watched the ladies get nine of the ten items on the bachelorette scavenger list. Then they added another ten X-rated tasks on the back of her t-shirt in permanent marker.

In the middle of the action, with an early nineties disco remake pumping in the background, Jake magically took off his boxers without removing his shorts, a feat no one at the packed bar had ever seen before. The drinking lasted until just after midnight, when a member of the bachelorette's party didn't return from a trip to the restroom. A waitress approached the group and asked if they knew a redhead in a black skirt. Tim and Aaron helped drag the semi-conscious, kamikaze-loving girl from the tile floor and put her in a cab.

In the midst of the commotion, Jake and Kate made their exit. No one noticed their departure until they were in a taxi of their own, making out in the back seat.

Lee Chang made his daily call to the bank, and with the afternoon wire transfer settlement, the money poured in. He transferred the money to a bank in Shanghai under a different name and closed the account in Hong Kong. He moved the money to two other accounts, which he also closed behind him with zero balances. By the time his cousin withdrew the funds from a bank in Beijing, the person at the end of the money trail was a gray mist.

Like taking candy from a baby.

Lee Chang took out two more pictures and smiled. Certainly a man who is willing to pay one hundred thousand dollars would be willing to pay five hundred thousand, he thought. Maybe even a cool million.

Jake woke up before Kate, his bare ass facing the ceiling uncovered. He looked over at the girl he had met the night before and was thankful she looked as good as he had thought with alcohol surging through his veins. He fought the natural male desire to quietly slink out of the apartment, but had no idea where he had left his clothes. The sun was up, but it was still too early for someone with a hangover to try getting vertical. For the last year, he had been trained to wake up at dawn to care for his mother, and he was still re-learning how to sleep in. He put his head under the pillow and fell back into a fitful sleep.

When he opened his eyes again, Kate was sitting on the bed wearing only a t-shirt, her back against the headboard.

“Good morning, Jake,” she said sheepishly, flipping through the latest issue of
Cosmopolitan
.

“Good morning,” he answered, pulling himself slowly into a seated position next to her.

Both of them wanted to say something mature. Kate took a first stab at it.

“Jake, you know I've never slept with someone on the first date before.”

“Technically it wasn't a date,” Jake replied.

So much for maturity.

“You know what I mean. I'm not the type of girl who goes around having one-night stands,” Kate said.

“Well believe it or not, neither do I,” Jake replied honestly. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. It seemed like the right thing to do.

Kate went to the fridge and returned with two glasses of orange juice.

“Do you need some aspirin?” she asked.

“No, I'll suffer through the pain. It'll remind me why I don't drink.”

They sat on the bed and talked, Jake still naked beneath the bed sheet wrapped around his waist.

“So you're a medical student?”

“Third year at GW.”

“Med school sounds like a lot of studying.”

“The first few years were hard. It gets easier. Or maybe you just get used to it.”

“I'm starting back to school in the fall. I took a couple of semesters off.”

“For fun?”

Jake stumbled. “No, definitely not for fun. My mom recently passed after a long battle with cancer. I spent most of the last year and half taking care of her. I guess you can say I learned a little about nursing and oncology.”

Kate listened to Jake without interrupting and when he was finished, she spoke. “I'm sorry for your loss. And though you may not want to hear it, I'm sure the experience will make you a stronger person.”

Jake shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Thanks.” Feeling a somber mood seeping into the room, he stood for the first time, still clutching the sheet against his groin. He tried not to blush and wasn't sure if he succeeded.

“It's a little late to be bashful. I pretty much saw it all last night,” Kate said. “Besides, I'm going to be a doctor; I've seen a few naked bodies.”

“As true as that may be, I'm the only one standing here without clothes.”

Kate stood and took off her t-shirt, joining Jake in his natural state.

“Now what do you have to say?” the cute brunette asked with a combination of conviction and sarcasm.

Jake turned a deeper shade of red. Kate enjoyed the moment and his embarrassment.

“Have you seen my shorts?” he asked.

“They are in the living room, on the floor in front of the sofa.”

Jake waddled through the bedroom door and Kate smiled at the half-moon that peeked out from under the sheet. He found his shorts on the floor, his shirt on the counter in the kitchen, and his belt near the balcony door. The evening must have been more interesting than he remembered. He dressed and sat down on the Italian leather sofa to put on his shoes. Nice apartment, he thought. Granite counter tops, crown molding, and large windows that ran from the floor to the ceiling.

Kate came out from the bedroom back in her t-shirt, running shorts completing the outfit.

“So can I have your number?” Jake asked. “I did forfeit my boxers after all.”

Kate laughed. Nice teeth, great smile, he thought.

They exchanged numbers and Kate finished the conversation with, “You'd better call.”

“I will,” Jake answered, doing a final check of his personal inventory—phone, keys, wallet. Preparing for his walk of shame, he took a quick peek into his wallet and cringed at the emptiness. “Where are we?”

“What?”

“What's your address?”

“1750 P Street. The Commodore.”

It was a fifteen-block walk home, but he wasn't about to ask for money for a cab. He gave Kate another kiss, this time on the mouth, bad breath and all.

Kate shut the door and smiled. She liked him. He was charming. He was strong and serious, yet shy and sweet. He had potential.

Her parents were going to hate him.

The nausea came on like a locomotive. Wei Ling flung herself from her perch on the top bunk and landed on the thin carpet with a light thud. She doubled over, grabbed her stomach with both hands, and stomped her way to the community bathroom at the end of the hall. The tight confines of the sleeping quarters assured that Wei Ling's departure didn't go unnoticed by her three roommates. But it was five in the morning, sleep was at a premium, and the alarm wasn't set to start screaming for another half an hour.

Shi Shi Wong slept in the bunk under Wei Ling and the light aluminum frame of the two-story bed made every movement of either occupant a shared one. Through a half-closed eye, Shi Shi watched Wei Ling bend over and dart from the room. It wasn't uncommon behavior. The food served by the sweatshop kitchen haunted all the ladies from time to time. Shi Shi tossed and turned for twenty minutes before slipping on her bright green flip-flops and going to check on her bunkmate.

Wei Ling was curled in the fetal position, clutching her stomach on the floor in front of the toilet in the first stall. The remains of last night's sesame noodles painted the floor between her body and the intended porcelain target. The longest strands of her hair mixed with the nastiness on the dirty tile floor. Shi Shi pulled her bunkmate up by the armpits and half-walked, half-dragged her friend to the shower stalls on the opposite end on the room. She fetched a wet hand towel and pressed the cool cloth to Wei Ling's face and neck.

The foreman in charge of the morning headcount came up two seamstresses short in workgroup B. He demanded an explanation, and when no one volunteered information, he started swinging. When he reached the third girl, he closed his hand and landed a full-speed punch to the side of her head, sending her ninety-pound frame flying off the wooden seat onto the floor. Chinese curses flowed from the foreman's mouth and he ordered everyone to get to work before stomping off in the direction of the seamstresses' quarters. Every girl knew what was next.

Wei Ling was sweating profusely, and Shi Shi Wong was trying to coax her out of bed when the foreman stormed through the door.

“It's six-thirty, you lazy pieces of shit. Get your asses to work.”

Shi Shi looked up and risked her face. “She's sick. She needs to see a doctor.”

The foreman looked at Wei Ling and back to Shi Shi. “You have five minutes to report to your work area,” he said without sympathy.

On cue, Wei Ling sent a shower of vomit onto the foreman's opened-toe sandals. The foreman's need to cleanse himself overpowered his urge to use the girls as punching bags, and he limped to the shower to wash his foot. He yelled over his shoulder down the hall to Shi Shi. “Take her to the main building, have Chow Ying call the doctor, and get to work. You have four minutes.”

The large room on the first floor of the administrative building served as Chang Industries' doctor's office, sickbay, and hospital. The four-bed room was well equipped. It had to be. Employees who were injured or too sick to work cost the company money. There was no time to be sick, not on Chang Industries' dime.

The doctor strolled in, black bag in hand, thirty minutes after he received the call on his boat. Wei Ling was on the bed in the far corner, half asleep. She had thrown up two more times after blasting the foreman's foot and was feeling as bad as she looked.

The doctor was American and competent. He had graduated from NYU before attending UCLA medical school. He was in his mid-forties, with sharp looks and a serious, but kind, bedside manner. He lived on Saipan as the physician for both Chang Industries and the local hospital. He could have worked anywhere, but after his first month on the island, he found himself unable to leave. The snorkeling, fishing, and sunsets were addictive. Living near the beach had spoiled him. He vowed never to return to the rush of a big city. He had spent twenty years of his life in downtown New York and LA. and had endured enough smog and congestion to last a lifetime.

The doctor asked Wei Ling a few questions and Lee Chang needlessly translated them into English. Wei Ling answered honestly. He took her pulse and blood pressure, and felt the glands on her neck. He tapped her stomach and asked what she had eaten in the last twenty-four hours.

“Are any of the other girls ill?” the doctor asked Lee Chang.

Lee Chang looked at Chow Ying and re-asked the doctor's question.

“Not that I know of,” Chow Ying answered. “Everyone else reported to work on time.”

Lee Chang and his new main henchman watched the doctor finish the cursory examination in silence.

The doctor went to the huge storage room and unlocked the door. He turned on the light and dug through the shelves of medical equipment and medication. Wei Ling could hear the soft clanking of glass and the squeaking of the metal shelves. The doctor reappeared with a small box, sat down on the stool at the side of Wei Ling's bed, and told her what to do.

The initial pregnancy test read positive. A second test was administered and the results came up negative. The doctor drew blood and marked the small glass vial with Wei Ling's name. He would take the blood to the hospital and settle the “pregnant, not-pregnant” confusion once and for all. His instincts told him the girl was pregnant. The blood test would confirm what Wei Ling already knew. She was as regular as clockwork and had missed her period by ten days and counting. There was nothing to do but pray for a miracle.

The doctor told Wei Ling to get some sleep and ordered a day of rest. Lee Chang agreed to one day. She was expected back at work tomorrow.

Lee Chang and Chow Ying finished wolfing down a lunch of stir-fried rice when the doctor called back with the official prognosis. Wei Ling was pregnant.

Lee Chang went ballistic.

Chang Industries' seamstresses were kept on a tight leash. They were forbidden to fall in love, much less become pregnant. Trips off the company grounds were limited to groups of four, with a company-sponsored chaperone. But the workers were creative, a blind eye could be bought with the right favors, and once in a great while a seamstress showed up pregnant.

Lee Chang would handle it as he always did. There would be a dock in pay and the seamstress would have an abortion whether she wanted one or not. The cost of the abortion would be added to the seamstress's overall debt to the Chang family.

Lee Chang and Chow Ying stormed into the infirmary. With a level of anger reserved for the most blatant company infractions, Lee Chang approached the side of the bed and violently shook Wei Ling from her light sleep.

“Who is the father?”

“What?” Wei Ling answered, still groggy.

“Who is the father?”

Wei Ling didn't answer.

Lee Chang slapped her on the face, his thumb catching the corner of her mouth, drawing blood. An immediate red impression of four fingers appeared on her otherwise unblemished skin.

“You should know, you sent me,” Wei Ling said, breaking into tears.

“Peter Winthrop? Is Mr. Winthrop the only man you have been with? If it's one of the company guards, you had better tell me now. I'll find out eventually anyway.”

Wei Ling looked up at Lee Chang's face. A vein pulsed visible in his forehead. Her hatred for him was justified, and yet somehow she felt sorry for him. He was more than just cruel. He ruled with an iron fist because he wasn't smart enough to rule with his head. He was a bastard, but he was also pathetic, hopelessly lost in a family of brilliant businessmen and politicians.

“I didn't sleep with Mr. Winthrop,” she said, tears of shame rolling down her face. “I slept with the other American.”

“Senator Day?” Lee asked, looking first at Wei Ling and then at Chow Ying.

The word “senator” caught Wei Ling by surprise. She looked at Lee Chang's face, his anger now mixed with excitement.

“I only knew his name was John.”

Lee Chang's heart beat faster. His throat became dry and he felt faint. He was delirious with possibilities. He may have been the low-man on the family totem pole, but he was cunning enough to see the opportunity lying in the bed in front of him.

Lee Chang's personality thawed, and Wei Ling heard him speak with compassion for the first time in her two years on the island. “It's okay,” he said, touching the crying girl's head. Wei Ling flinched and then pushed herself to the far side of the mattress.

“Get some rest,” Lee Chang continued. “Everything will be fine.”

Lee Chang stepped outside, pulled out a cigarette with shaking hands, and lit up. Chow Ying followed his boss through the door and pulled out his own almond-flavored brand of domestic Chinese smokes.

The child of a U.S. Senator! Lee Chang couldn't believe his luck. What an opportunity! To hell with blackmail for money. He had much bigger plans. The girl was his ticket off the island.