Songs of Willow Frost (33 page)

Liu Song swallowed hard as she watched William. “When my father died, my mother remarried another man, out of necessity—out of desperation. But later she fell ill as well and passed away. And this fellow, this man my mother married, he kept me for a while as a servant …” Liu Song looked down at her empty hands, her fingers appearing aged and wrinkled beyond her years. “He was my stepfather. His last name was Eng.”

The point of Mrs. Peterson’s pencil broke, and she stared at the broken lead and the blemish on her paper. She adjusted her spectacles and wrinkled her nose. “And as far as you know this Eng person doesn’t even know he’s fathered this …”

“His name is William,” Liu Song said. As she watched Mrs. Peterson, awaiting her reaction, she noticed that the woman’s hands seemed to shake and her fingers trembled ever so slightly. “And no, I don’t think he knows, nor do I think he cares.”

Mrs. Peterson closed her ledger and drew a deep breath. She reached for the nearest teacup and took a long sip. Then she removed her glasses and folded them carefully, stowing them in a brass case. “Well, when your mother died he stopped being your
stepfather and you stopped being his stepdaughter. Legally, I’m going to have to tell him. He’s still the father, and he still may want the child.”

The woman frowned at William as though he were a stain on the carpet, a mess she had to clean up. Liu Song chewed her lip as the social worker removed her gloves and placed a hand on William’s head, brushing his dark cowlick to one side. The stern woman cocked her head as she observed him playing, then looked up and wiped her hand on her knee. “He’s the spitting image of you.”

Liu Song wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or an insult. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and saw how pale she looked. Her hands were wet and clammy, and her eyes welled up with hot tears, but she refused to cry in front of this woman; she didn’t want to be pitied and she didn’t want to beg.

“I think we’re done here. I have all I need,” Mrs. Peterson said as she donned her gloves and stood up. “I wish you the very best of luck. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear back from Mr. Eng. But, considering the circumstances, I don’t think he’d want the child. Most men don’t—at least until the diapers are done with.”

But Uncle Leo wasn’t like most men. Liu Song thanked her and picked up William, who waved goodbye. “But what if he does?”

“Then I would offer a suggestion, Miss Eng, the same one I offer to all girls in your situation, though usually I do it right after the child is born.” Mrs. Peterson paused at the door. She looked down at her ledger and then at Liu Song. “It’s an unfair world, filled with vile men and hapless women, but none of that matters to me at this point. I just want whatever is best for the child, and in this case, your son is still very young.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means a child doesn’t always have to know who his mother is—but a boy needs a father,” Mrs. Peterson said bluntly. “You’ve made your bed. I suppose you’ll just have to lie in it. But William doesn’t have to lie there with you. Good day.”

The Eyes of the Totem

(1924)

Chinatown had always been a place of comfort for Liu Song, despite her detours around Uncle Leo’s laundry and the gaming halls where she feared his shadow. But now that fear had an aspect of inevitability. He would know about William. Liu Song shuddered.
He won’t want anything to do with us
, she’d reassured herself. He was a superstitious fool, and her mother’s ghost had scared him away. But in broad daylight she felt less certain. She had tried not to panic. Instead, she took Colin’s encouragement to heart and followed him to every casting call, every audition, every chance possible, from films for the Communist Workers’ Theatre to government-sponsored shorts like
Fit to Fight
that warned soldiers about the perils of venereal disease. She lingered with Colin outside local studios hoping to be seen and suffered through bullpens of extras hoping for a few dollars for a day’s work. She hoped to find work that would take her and William away from this city. And with each outing she gave serious consideration to changing her name. Not creating a stage name. The name she found herself desperately pining for was Liu Song
Kwan
. She thought the name had a magical ring to it, and if Collin married her, he could adopt William. But she also knew that as much as he cared for her, and she for him, marriage could present other problems. How long could he stay in this country under the pretense of being a merchant? And
when he left, she and William would have to go with him. But even that was better than losing her son.

She tried not to think those thoughts as she walked along, holding William’s hand while he stumbled over cracks in the sidewalk. But each morning she dreaded going to work. Butterfield’s was a steady source of income and safer than dancing at the Wah Mee, but the music store was the one place Uncle Leo would know to find her.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she found Colin waiting for her at Butterfield’s. She’d shied away from having him stop by in the past because his presence while she performed made her nervous—more timorous than singing before a busload of tourists. Yet here he stood in a linen suit, hat in hand, chatting amiably with her employer, much to her surprise and slight embarrassment. In the crook of his arm, Colin held another bouquet of bright blue flowers.
That’s what a wish fulfilled looks like
, Liu Song thought as she walked in and said hello; the two men smiled, beaming conspiratorially at the sight of her and then at each other.

“Good morning,
Willow
,” Mr. Butterfield said. “Master Colin was just telling me about your stage name. I think it’s wonderful—simply marvelous. Much easier for the locals and tourists to understand. We should use it here at the store, don’t you think?”

Colin nodded in agreement. “He does have a point.”

She set William down, and he went to plunk away on a tiny piano. “I didn’t know that I needed a stage name.”

“You do now.” Colin winked. “I finally did it. I got you a part in a movie. It’s a small part, but it’s a huge production, called
The Eyes of the Totem
. It’s starring Wanda Hawley—she’s as big as Gloria Swanson. And best of all, we’ll appear on-screen together. I was just working out the details—”

“Your beau here …” Mr. Butterfield cheerfully interrupted, almost blushing.

Liu Song’s imagination tripped over the word
beau
, which
sounded official—committed. The word carried with it a sense of belonging, of possession. She thoroughly enjoyed the sound of that word.

Mr. Butterfield kept yammering, waving his hands as he spoke. “Master Colin wanted to make sure you were available for the days they need you on the set. I thought it was a fabulous idea. This is great publicity for the store. And who knows, dear, this could be the start of something—
something big
.”

Liu Song suspected a polite form of collusion between her boss and her
beau
as she watched the men glance at each other knowingly.

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone,” Mr. Butterfield said as he stubbed out his cigarillo and disappeared into the storeroom, humming a cheerful tune.

Colin handed her the flowers. “How did your meeting go?”

“Fine.” She hated lying but couldn’t bear to tell Colin about Uncle Leo. She didn’t want to scare him away, burden him with her shame, or lure him into something more than he was capable of. But she didn’t stop hoping.

“I’m sorry. What’s this about a movie?” she asked, changing the subject. “And how did you convince Mr. Butterfield …”

Colin confirmed what Liu Song already knew—that her boss had earned much at her expense. She was the songbird that kept laying golden eggs. As much as she worried about losing her job, Mr. Butterfield was much more concerned about her leaving him, especially with radio sales booming and music sales on the decline. She wondered if Butterfield’s could even sell a player piano these days without her promised performance as the kicker. Having her around was more than just a point of pride—it kept the store going. She had more power than she realized—more freedom and more opportunities. Why not make the most of them? Why not try new venues? She didn’t have to hide anymore. Leo would find out about her sooner rather than later.

“The entire production is being filmed in Tacoma,” Colin explained. “Most of the scenes have already been shot at the new H. C. Weaver Studios. They spent fifty thousand dollars building that place—you should see it; there are fifteen star dressing rooms, separate greenrooms for extras, a projection room; it’s quite amazing. I went to the dedication earlier in the year. But the best news is that part of the movie takes place at a Chinese cabaret. I pulled a few strings at the China Gate Theatre, offering props, silk costumes, and set pieces to the studio in exchange for a minor role. That’s where we come in. I’m on-screen for most of the scene, but there’s a great opportunity for you as well. More than a stand-in, more than an extra. We have a scene together. It’s a small part, but it could be the start of something greater.” He smiled. “And since Mr. Butterfield is your employer and your second-biggest fan, I thought it was only proper form to make his acquaintance and ask for his blessing.”

“Blessing?”

“I’m sorry,” Colin said. “Perhaps it’s my English. I wanted to ask for his permission. Is that how you say it?” Liu Song furrowed her brow, smiling.

Colin switched to Chinese. “I have something important to ask you.”

Liu Song suddenly felt underdressed, unprepared. She knew that Colin was a modern fellow, but tradition and convention called for some sort of gesture—a proposal, perhaps? She tried not to hope, but her thoughts ran away with her.

She imagined standing in the dark, behind a velvet curtain, listening as a packed house falls silent when the orchestra begins playing a rousing overture. She can almost feel the breeze on her bare shoulders as she envisions the curtains parting
.

Liu Song held her breath as she watched Colin fumble with something in his suit pocket. He looked nervous and flustered.

From the stage all she sees are the footlights as her eyes adjust to the gloaming
.

Colin paused and took a deep breath.

She feels the warmth of the spotlight, brighter than the noonday sun
.

Colin held up a telegram from Western Union. “My father is coming next week.”

Suddenly Liu Song is standing alone onstage as the houselights come on. She hears the solemn clapping of a single man, a janitor, wedded to his broom
.

Liu Song tried not to look crestfallen as she regarded the paper. She’d lingered on the periphery of his affection, his attention, their shared passions, lost in the hopeless decorum, waiting for Colin to declare his intentions, which seemed plainly, painfully obvious. Yet they had been perpetually unstated.

“I’ve waited a long time for this moment,” Colin said as he took her hands in his. They felt warm, soft, gentle. “I’ve waited to speak with my father, for him to see what I’ve become, and for him to see what’s possible. I want to introduce you as well. This is the start of something big for both of us, in every way possible.”

“But what about your … duties …”

Liu Song watched his every gesture, trying to decipher meaning from every word, every pause, seeking answers to questions her pride wouldn’t allow her to ask.

Colin hesitated as though he were considering his past obligations for the first time. It was as if he’d been so engaged in his career that the possibility of failure, of rejection, had never once been considered. “I’m sure he’ll have some critical things to say, but when he sees me on the set, when he sees me with you—I know he’ll come around. He’s always wanted me to take the reins of the family business, to settle down and give him grandchildren. This is as close as I can get. Please tell me you’ll be there.”

Liu Song hesitated. She was a young girl in a city of lonely men—outnumbered ten, twenty, one hundred to one. She knew that even as a single mother she could find a suitor if she really tried. But she also knew that she didn’t want any of them. She didn’t want to be the wife of a cabdriver, the mother of a laundry runner, the stepmother of grown children who would regard her as a maid and a short-order cook. She had William’s unconditional love—she wanted more but refused to settle for the warmth of some strange man’s bed. She didn’t want to be a subservient wife, a silent prisoner. If there was anything she had learned from her mother, it was the painful understanding that cages come in all sizes—some even have white picket fences, four walls, and a front door. Liu Song loved performing—that was her true self. The lonely girl who danced with strangers was the actress. Deep inside her bruised and battered heart she knew that she wanted what her mother wanted, what her father dreamt, what they sacrificed for. She wanted to perform, not just onstage but in the arms of someone who would truly love her. She didn’t care what she had to endure. She only cared whom she’d be sharing that spotlight with.