Ghosts of Chinatown (12 page)

Hilarity abounds as Harlan pours drinks for Cam and himself.
 

Liang remains stoic.
Your time will come too.

***

In the living room, the unknown person holds something long and thin in its hand. It resembles a long, thin dagger—or is it a knitting needle? It’s too indistinct to know for sure.

The figure runs its fingers along the doorframe and pulls out some hidden wires at its bottom. It takes out a soft substance and presses it into the strands.
 

The silhouette hugs the wall and navigates soundlessly along the perimeter of the room to the writing desk.

The figure takes something out of its pocket—it’s a live mouse. The mouse gets pushed in the direction of the door.

***

Liang’s playing creates an evocative, mystical mood—a complete contrast to the drunken bacchanalia that Cam and a pie-eyed Harlan indulge in as they sit on the sofa drinking Fen Jiu.
 

None notice that on the television screen a mouse scurries across the room to the door.

Harlan does notice, though, that Liang’s playing is getting stronger, more intense. “How about a little quiet, Liang? That damn thing is driving me nuts.”

Liang stops playing. “The erhu has a history of over a thousand years. It has the soul of thirteen centuries of China.”

Cam guffaws. “Sounds more like thirteen centuries of a cat with diarrhea.” He mock sings, “Yeow, yeow, yeow, yeow...”

Liang prepares to resume playing but Cam interjects and points to the TV. “Check it out!”

On the screen, the mouse bites into the soft substance in the wires. The mouse starts quivering crazily, then starts smoking and then the picture goes black.

Cam, roaring with laughter, points to the dark screen while Harlan offers, “I told you to call the exterminator but no, you didn’t want to spend the money.”

Liang puzzles, “It makes no sense. There’s no food, nothing tasty. Why would a mouse want to bite into those wires?”

The drunken Harlan yowls, “To get to the other side.”

The rowdy duo howl in laughter at the moronic joke.
 

“Yum, yum. Barbecue mouse,” taunts Cam. “You can have it along with Chinese fried dog and sweet and sour cat.”

***

The figure takes a quick glance at the smoldering electrocuted mouse...then glides across the room into the kitchen.

Through the subdued light, the shadow quietly moves across the soft linoleum floor.

***

Harlan points to the blank television monitor as he and Cam guzzle more Fen Jiu. “Hey, check out those boobies and the booty. Duh, is it black-and-white or in color?”

Liang gets up. “I’ll fix it now.”

Cam pulls at Liang. “Piano Man’s had enough Fen Jiu to sleep for three days. Keep us company.”

“I’d rather not hang around barbarians.”

Cam yanks the aged director down. “Duh, why don’t you look at the mirror then?”

Harlan bursts out, “There ain’t nothin’ doin’ in the mirror.”

“Duh.” Liang glares at the undynamic duo.
 

***

The dark alien figure flows into the bedroom and stands still.

The shadow looks at the sleeping musician. The item it is holding is now clear—it is a single long-stemmed red rose.

The figure’s hand comes into view. It is feminine with long fingers like a pianist. The shadow’s identity is revealed—it is Angela.

She stands over Todd and puts the rose beside the unconscious pianist on the bed.

She kneels down, takes off his socks and places them onto the floor.
 

Eyes always glued on his face, Angela tenderly removes his pants, lingering for a moment on the groin area. Todd groans but does not awaken.

A genuine look of happiness crosses her face. She folds the long, worn jeans and places them by the socks.

With utmost caution, she undoes each button on Todd’s shirt, playfully tapping his chest after each button.
 

With an easy strength, she lifts his torso and slips the sleeved garment off and gently lays the pianist back down.
 

She folds the shirt neatly and places it on top of the pants.

She tenderly takes his face with her hands.
 

Her breathing quickens slightly as her fingers dance from his face down to his chest.

Her index finger makes small circles on his bare skin, caressing the area around his heart.

She slides herself onto the bed, her body next to Todd’s, kissing him.
 

She unbuttons her blouse, takes his hands, and uses them to fondle her breasts.

She climbs on top of the pianist, moaning as she manipulates his hands on her face, her breasts, between her thighs.

“I’m not dead, Todd. I’m so very much alive. Do you see me now? Do you feel me now? A real, live woman.”

She murmurs passionately as Todd stays still.

CLICK! The sound of the front door opening startles her. She grabs the rose and rapidly darts into the closet.

Quiet footsteps thunder loudly in Angela’s ears as she watches anxiously.

Liang, carrying the electrocuted mouse, enters the room. His eyes explore the sleeping pianist.
Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow.

He places the mouse on Todd’s chest, then quietly leaves.

Angela waits until his footsteps stop and the front door clicks shut.
 

She goes back to Todd, takes the mouse from his chest, and replaces it with the red rose.
 

She gives him a single kiss on the lips, then stands up for a final look.
 

Eyes full of emotion, she turns to the window, opens it and tosses the mouse as far as she can heave it.

Chapter 22

Now what? A new day brings a new terror.

Water drips from the bedroom ceiling onto a quasi-catatonic Todd.

Clad only in his birthday suit, Todd, shivering fitfully and looking like hell, huddles against the wall staring at the red rose that he clutches in his hands. “Hello. Do I know you? Maybe from somewhere.” His mind is fuddled, his speech childlike.

He snickers, ignoring a pool of water beside the bed caused by the dripping water from the ceiling.

His dimwit gaze switches from the flower to the neatly folded pile of his clothing. “Oh. That’s nice. Funny. I don’t remember taking them off but I guess I must have.”

He arcs his head upward to see the drip from the ceiling.
 

He squeezes the flower stem really hard, then opens his hand to see a little blood on his skin where a thorn has pricked him.

“I’m alive... what a novel concept.”

He puts the rose next to the thorn prick and notes the colors are the same. “Wow. That’s so cool.”

BANG. BANG. BANG. The loud knocking from the living room door startles Todd back to reality. Like Adam in the Garden of Eden, he cringes as he sees his naked body. “What the…”
 

He sees the folded pile of clothes—he never folds his clothes.
 

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Coming, coming.”
 

He quickly pulls on a pair of pants and shirt, doing up the buttons as he makes his way through the living room.

As he passes, Todd tosses the rose inside the grand piano. “Don’t need that.”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Keep your panties on. I’m here.”

He opens the door to see Angela.
Well, maybe don’t keep the panties on.

“I’m… surprised. Thought I saw… Were you… ” Reflecting over the time at the Ho Inn confuses Todd and he’s not sure what’s what and what he should say and if he should say it. Was she there or was it Fen Jiu or is he really going nuts?

“Can I come in?”

“Of course. My bad.” He motions her in.

Angela looks morosely at Todd. “I’m sorry I disappeared. I had to hide.”

“Your mom explained to me about your sister. I understand.”
But what about the Ho Inn?

“No you don’t. No one can understand.”

“I’ve been to hell. I’ve taken people to hell. Try me.”

 
“I was mortified.” Angela scuffles her feet, hesitating. “I felt that you were seeing inside me... I didn’t like... I don’t like being vulnerable. Guess you think I was pretty stupid.”

“Don’t think that at all.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”
As a matter of fact, I hope we do a lot more than talk.

“I had the weirdest dream last night.”

The hairs on the back of Todd’s neck rise.

“Yeah? What happened?”

“I was in this crazy little retro restaurant in Chinatown talking to some guy I never met. He showed me some Chinese newspaper and neither of us knew what it said. And then you came along and screamed at me. Pretty weird, eh?”

“Yeah. What happened after that?”

 
“Nothing. I woke up and I was in my room. No you, no stranger, no restaurant, just me.”

“What was the name of the restaurant?”

“I think… no, I just don’t remember. Is it important?”

“No, it’s no big deal.” Todd’s off kilter but trying to regroup. “Listen. Why don’t you play the piano?”

“I have an oddball dream and you want me to do what?”

“Play the piano. It’s therapy, you know what I mean?”

“No.” Angela begins stroking Todd’s face, dancing her fingers through his hair sensually. “I want to play something else if that’s okay with you. A different kind of therapy.”

“As in Marvin Gaye?”

Angela smiles seductively. “You got it. Sexual healing, it’s so good for me.”

“Helps to relieve my mind.”

Todd allows Angela’s caresses to arouse him. Angela pulls Todd in close to her body and kisses him deeply.

Hands begin exploring...
 

Todd begins unbuttoning Angela’s blouse...

Angela unbuttons Todd’s shirt...
 

And then they kiss. On the face, on the lips, exploring more and more…

The kisses get deeper...

Her tongue thrusts into his mouth and Todd pushes back.

Temperature’s rising quickly. It’s an inferno in here.

Todd gazes deeply into Angela’s eyes and sees that there is one blue eye, one green eye.

Todd stops and his complexion whitens with gut-wrenching fear. He recounts the detail with precision…

Catherine, carrying a long-stemmed rose, nears the top of a decrepit landing in the back of Beijing’s Double Star Theater.
 

The entrance door swings open and a panicked Todd flies out, knocking her off-balance.

He stumbles, trying to grab her, but falls on top of Catherine instead. He glares at her. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going?

Catherine hands him the rose as Todd untangles himself. “Hi, Todd. It’s Catherine. I brought this for you. Do you like it?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Todd snatches the flower and takes a quick glance at Catherine’s face—one eye is green, the other is blue...
 

... just like Angela’s.

“You’re Jasmine’s sister, Catherine.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Is that a problem?” Angela suddenly lashes out with a vicious kick to Todd’s groin that sends the pianist flying toward the ceiling with a force far beyond that of Angela’s blow.

He crashes and tumbles toward the floor, sprawling.
 

“It took you long enough.”

Todd painfully tries to struggle to his feet but he’s can’t—the agony is too much.

“Angela... Catherine... Who are you? What are you?”

Angela interrupts. “Wrong question.” She gives him a kick to the head.

Todd reels, then collapses. “Wait. Angela, Catherine...”

“I’ve waited for years to do that and you what?” Angela sneers. “It felt damn good.”

 
She buttons her blouse as she saunters away.
 

Todd fights to stand up, then stumbles.
 

Connect the dots, Todd. Connect the dots. Angela is Catherine, Jasmine’s stepsister. For years, Jasmine has been following me but never said a word, until now. Why? Catherine’s birth mother was an actress… Jasmine’s father was a set designer… They married, came to America… and were killed…
 

Forcing every molecule in his body to obey, he stands tall. “No way.”

Chapter 23

Todd bangs on the Shanghai Gallery’s door. “Liang. Open up.”

No answer so Todd tries forcing the door open. He puts his shoulder to it but it doesn’t budge. Kicking doesn’t work either.

“You cannot do this to me anymore.”

He takes a running leap at the door but it still won’t budge.
 

He glares, then huffs off down the street to Bamboo Curios.

Todd barges in and inside he encounters the “hyper-reality” existence again.

He warily confronts Susan, who watches warily as he steps up to the counter.
 

“You died before Jasmine and I met. You and your husband were murdered in this city. In Chinatown.”

“I don’t need you to tell me what I already know.”
 

“Liang was your husband, right?”

“Wrong. Liang is my husband.”

“You must know. I did not take Jasmine’s life, either intentionally or unintentionally. Why don’t the dead want to accept the truth?”

“Why don’t the living want to accept their responsibility?”

Todd throws up his hands in frustration. “It was a bloody act. All I did was everything I was supposed to do. Whatever Jasmine said to do, I did it.”

***

Jasmine sits at in the workshop at the Xing-xing Xiyuan Theatre with Todd. She is tightening screws on a metronome as Todd looks on skeptically.
 

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“Of course I’m sure. I learned it from my father.”

“Yeah but he isn’t around to supervise this.”

“Relax, Todd.”

“I am relaxed. No, I lied. I am not relaxed. This is a crazy idea.”

“Then that’s good. Ordinary isn’t good enough. Very good isn’t good enough. Excellent isn’t good enough. We have to operate outside of the box, do something special, do something crazy. That’s the only way I can stand out.”