Typical American (20 page)

What if Ralph had found it? Chagrined, she looked first for an eraser, then for other signs — as Grover no doubt intended. All day, she searched. In the beginning, properly shocked. Then, secretly delighted — the search becoming a game. Sugar in her pocketbook. She swore she detected sugar in the milk. Everything

made her think of him. Things out of place, especially — a canister swivelled out from the wall, an umbrella come partly open in the closet. The house tantalized. At lunch, in the twinkling noon light, she found what looked to be a faint heart traced into the grime of the kitchen window. Was it really there? She examined it from several angles before washing the pane, thoroughly. While she was at it, she washed the rest of the window too. She wore rubber gloves.

When she went to bring in the mail, though, and found the mailbox full of lilacs, her heart flooded. If only, right after that, she hadn't found one of her small bushes stripped! She trimmed the broken twig ends, so that the cuts would be cleaner, less apt to harbor disease.

Why hadn't she told Ralph right away? She could hear him accusing her, You hide things. But it was the difference between having something and having nothing. Plus she had hardly expected that anything would come of it. This man had stripped her lilac bush! And hadn't she shaken her head for hours when she heard about Theresa and Old Chao? People did things like that, of course, but not people like Theresa. Not people like her. She had thought she'd never take it in.

That finally she had, though, was probably no more amazing than, say, a snake's being able to swallow a rat. One day Callie had explained to her all about how the snake unhinged its jaw for the job. "Is this what your teacher teach you?" Helen couldn't believe that at first either. "Waste of time!" But then xi guan le — she'd adjusted. The strange became familiar. The utterly inconceivable lost its massive inconceivableness.

As Theresa would probably be horrified to hear. Another woman might have looked on that first moment Grover touched Helen — bumping a thumb up her spine — and felt comradery. Theresa would have been pained. She would have told Helen to move away; Helen should have moved away. Instead, she had held still, shivering, heady with the scent of the lilacs, which she'd brought in from the mailbox and arranged in a large vase.

"7

Grover was always satisfied; she was the one who, with time, wanted. What stopped her was an image — naughty Mona, nosy Callie, padding sleepily to the doorway, only to be jarred wide awake. "What are you doing?" Maybe understanding, maybe not. It was easy to forget many things in Grover's arms, but not the children, so impressionable. They remembered all kinds of things — the jars she kept in the cupboard, the jars she kept in the icebox. The exact spot on the bridge table the gold vase belonged. Who knew what they would learn if they caught her with Grover? Bu yao fa feng, she used to tell them all the time — stop acting crazy. Now she grew more specific. "Don't make faces," she told them. "Don't shake." "Take your hands off your hips." She grew stricter by the day. "No need to shout." "Talk something nice." "Don't stand in front of the icebox."

trick is good taste." They had nodded, nodded, nodded. "It's all accounting." "It's all location." "Above all, watch the overhead." Everything was, as Grover said, hunky-dory, until Ralph had his idea.

"There should be some place for people sit down."

Grover, listening, snitched two packets of sugar from behind the counter. It was late. Rain dribbled down the storefront window, the watery lines pink with the light from Sam's Pizza across the street. Half of Grover's face glowed pink too; half swum in shadow.

"When nice, sunshine, people come to buy because they eat in the park. But when rain comes, they go to pizza. You should see them this afternoon, packed inside like sardine can. What's going happen to our business when snow's coming?"

"Good thinking," said Grover absendy, lighting a cigarette.

"Customers need some place for sit."

"Hmm." Grover slipped another two sugar packets into his back right pocket. "Good thinking."

"You supposed to ask, Sit where? No room, right?"

"Sit where."

"My idea is, build one addition."

"One, not two?" joked Grover. He flicked his cigarette ashes onto the floor. "An addition, you mean."

Ralph nodded earnestly. "On top of roof."

"On top of the roof."

"The roof."

"Anyway, forget it, pal. You can't."

"Fools say impossible. Wise men think, how?" Ralph drew pictures on a napkin. "Raise roof. Look here."

Grover gazed fixedly at the wall. "Forget it."

"Why forget it? Is good idea. 'Think like the customer.' 'Sky's the limit.' 'A man afraid for take risk is no man.' " Ralph took the drawing back and added a large sign above the door: Ralph's house of chicken. "A new name."

"Chicken house. Not house of chicken."

"But chicken house is ... you know. Dirty place."

"Look—"

" 'The whole trick is advertise.' "

"Listen—"

" 'A man is only so big as his dream.' "

"I'm telling you. You can't do it. Believe me."

"Believe me! I'm engineer. All you need is one big beam. Those steel beams are something, mister!"

"Listen— "

"We can double business. I'm sure." The more Ralph thought about it, the stronger his hunch became. "Can do, can do, can do!"

All the next week Ralph went to bed thinking of his idea. He woke up thinking of his idea. He drew pictures of it. A man besotted, he calculated what it would weigh, calculating again and again that the building could support the load easily. He drafted plans, elegant plans, in eighth-, quarter-, and half-inch scale. He contacted six contractors about estimates. How much more profitable the store would be! Enough to make the mortgage payments and more. "And the next thing I know, I'm millionaire." Ralph could hear himself telling this story to some lost soul in a diner. He straightened the lapels of his bathrobe, a big shot.

The store began to feel too small. When business was good, he yelled at the employees as usual. "Mike, are you blind? That chicken's not brown, inside is probably raw." Or, "Otis, open your ears up. Buzzer going off!" But when business was slow, he paced back and forth in front of the store window, monitoring Sam's Pizza. He admired their blue canvas awning, taped together on one side though it was; also he thought the soda machine a good idea, and the ceiling fan for summer. He calculated some more. Profit, loss, payback. How long for his addition to pay for itself? If business doubled, say. Or what if business tripled? Quadrupled? The numbers began to take on a life of their own, which was at the same time the life he gave

them. More and more, as he paced, he found he could make them come out however he wanted. He could predict business to go way up. He could predict business to go through the roof. If only he had room for a parking lot! Or what if he cut down on the income he reported? He figured out how much money would be saved if they reported half of their intake. A third. A quarter. A tenth.

He had to build the addition. He told Helen, "I'm right." He scrawled out a page of numbers and showed them to her. "What do you think?"

Helen frowned, her delicate features rucked together.

"It's a good idea" He tapped his mechanical pencil. "I don't understand why Grover keeps saying no. He's willing to discuss it. He'll even make special trips here to talk it over. But in the end, no results. What do you think?"

Helen bit her lip.

"Maybe he doesn't want to put any more money out. But why doesn't he just tell me?" Now Ralph frowned too, concentrating. "Will you say something?"

"Maybe he doesn't tell you everything."

"Maybe." Ralph pocketed his pencil with the lead unretracted. "Tell me more. What are you thinking? You must be thinking something. Tell me."

"Not here," Helen told Grover. "Please."

"Not here?" With mock surprise, he settled into the love seat, draping his arms along its top. He reached easily from one end of the sofa to the other.

"Ralph suspects something wrong. I don't like him right downstairs. Too dangerous. Please."

Grover crossed his legs.

"I'm afraid."

"Time to find a better place?"

"No better place."

"No?" He circled her waist, pulling her toward his lap.

"Please no."

He laughed, releasing her. "Okay. But I brought you some flowers." And he had — five June peonies, all pink petticoats, just like the ones the Kennedys were growing across the street.

" 'Borrowing flowers to offer the Buddha,' " said Helen. "You know that expression?"

"What?"

Downstairs, she could hear the cash register. Wha-ingg! Wha-ingg!

He uncrossed his legs, edged forward on the couch, and clamped her knees between his. "You've got me. I'll do whatever you say." He stroked the backs of her knees with his hands, then inched upward, under her skirt. "I'm your slave."

She softened. "Be careful my stockings. I don't want to get runs."

"I'll do anything."

"Okay. Just tell me one thing. Where did you get these flowers?"

He laughed, releasing her again. "Why, gosh darn. I plum forgot. Better put them in water, though." He sank back into the pillows, hooked his thumbs in his belt. His shirt rippled over his torso in smooth, expensive rolls. "Something the matter today? Ralph bothering you?"

"Of course he bothers me. He's my husband."

"Ah, yes. Your husband."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you deserve better." He sat up and grabbed her roughly, as if knowing that he had her this time. Did she deserve better? She admired her peonies — they were flecked with crimson— as Grover unbuttoned her blouse. "Just one button. That's all." He unbuttoned two.

"The girls," she protested.

"I understand." He stopped where he was. "You love those litde half-pints."

"I do."

,

"So much that you would continue on with your matrimony just for their sake. If you had to."

She didn't answer.

"Ralph is one lucky guy. How'd he get so lucky?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, that you agreed to marry him to begin with."

Helen struggled up from Grover's lap, replacing herself with the flowers. "I don't want any more of this."

But a week later, three buttons undone, she was listening.

"I know what transpired," Grover said. "Shall I tell you?"

"What?"

"You married like a good girl. I know." He nuzzled her stomach and, through her bra, her breasts. "You married because he was your friend's brother. A friend of your family's. You figured your parents would want you to. It was the right thing to do."

"I'm proud I did the right thing."

Grover pushed her gently backward, opening her blouse more, easing it back over her shoulders so that her arms were pinned. "You did the right thing. You did not think, This is America, I can marry who I want." He laughed. "You did not think" — he mimicked an American girl — "I'll choose. I'll pick."

"Stop."

"You were a nice Chinese girl."

"Stop."

"It was the right thing to do."

"Stop."

"You did not moon about love. You kept your eyes on duty." He chuckled. "Duty. Very important."

She tried to sit up, but his hands were on her shoulders, and all his weight. She strained with her neck.

"What's the matter?"

"The girls."

"The girls are asleep. The day is over. You can relax now." He lay on top of her, reaching under her skirt.

"Stop!"

"Shh. Do you want to wake up the girls?"

"Ralph," she called then, softly. Then, loudly, "Ralph!" But all that came from downstairs was wha-ingg! wha-mgg!

"What's the matter? You uncomfortable? Here, come on. Sit up."

She began to cry.

He produced a fresh-pressed handkerchief. "Relax. You got this all wrong. Listen, I just wanted to inquire of you one thing."

She shook her head, but he kept talking.

"I just wanted to inquire of you, do you realize you could leave that Ralph?"

She did not answer.

"Listen," he said. "You and me, maybe we've got a future. I mean, I have this big house, but not much in the way of inhabitants."

"What do you mean?"

"We'll talk about it," he said, and then he had eased her backward again.

"I've got to get going," Grover said.

"Oh, no, no!" Ralph protested. "Stay here! Fold out the sofa." His face was flushed with drink and with talking about the addition, to which Grover appeared about to agree. All night he had been warming — except for the times he seemed to have forgotten ever having discussed the subject before. "So you think it's a good idea?" Grover asked at one point.

Are you kidding? Ralph almost said, but instead answered, "I do."

Grover turned to Helen. "What do you think?"

"Getting late now. Time for you go home."

Grover and Ralph exchanged glances; and later, in the kitchen, Ralph reprimanded her. "You don't know what you're saying. You don't know what you're doing."

She said nothing. In the end Grover not only stayed, he even discussed what color the letters of the new sign should be. "Red,"

"5

Ralph said. "From far away you can see it. Stands out better. Also we should have a light, so at night it will show nice too. And did I tell you I have a new idea for the store name?"

Grover shook his head.

"Chicken Palace! Ralph's Chicken Palace. What do you think?"

Helen lay with Grover in the dark, on the sheets of the folded-out love seat. "No," she said. "No."

He wheedled. "You were intended for better things. A mansion. Servants. Pretty clothes."

"No."

"You weren't meant to live like this. To struggle."

Helen didn't say anything.

"You were made to be loved."

"Ralph loves me."

"Ralph!" Grover snorted.

"And you don't love me either."

"Now how do you figure that, miss? What do you know about love? What you read in magazines? Why do you think I set your husband up in business, eh? Why do you think I got involved?"