China Dolls

  “It’s hard to learn to move well without music,” Grace said. “What if I show you something my dance instructor choreographed back home? Every so often, she’d bring out a record of novelty songs. Our favorite was ‘Let Me Play with It.’ ” She started to sing and do the simple routine her teacher had put to the tune. “You let me play with your little yo-yo. I’ll let you play with mine.”

  I grinned at the lyrics, but Helen and Grace seemed to take them at face value. The song was about as easy as could be, though, with those two cracked lines repeated again and again. Helen practiced with steely determination. Aided by the melody, she followed along, pointing her right index finger at an imaginary audience and then at herself at the appropriate spots, putting a little enthusiasm into her footwork, even smiling. And she had a swell voice. In fact, we harmonized quite well together. By four, we’d reached the end of the song—“I’ll let you play with mine. I mean it! I’ll let you play with mine”—and Helen had learned a passable three-sound tap called the riffle and slurp. And still the mothers who came through the park turned away, muttering under their breath. So what? I was used to that kind of thing.

  We sat on a bench and changed out of our taps. Through the open windows around us came the clatter of dinners being prepared, the whines of musical instruments being practiced—badly—and squalls of colicky babies. Men sat on their haunches on fire-escape landings—drinking tea from used jelly jars, smoking cigarettes, and watching us with expressions that combined disdain and desire. I was used to that too.

  After Helen fixed my collar—“so you look nicer”—she led the way to Fong Fong. The streets were lively. Laundry workers and waiters, dressed in their Sunday best, took advantage of their one night off, strutting to poolrooms, burlesque shows, and dime-a-dance halls. Helen said some of those men visited the open-air herb shop to buy deer antler, bear gall, and shaved rhinoceros horn to improve and prolong their potency in case good fortune—in the form of a woman—should shine on them in the coming hours. Other men, in business suits, gathered to blab about politics on corners. Women roamed the shops.

  Helen pulled us into Fong Fong and bought three Coca-Colas.

  “You two have helped me so much,” she said. “Thank you—”

  Grace and I spoke over each other.

  “No thanks are necessary—”

  “We were happy to help—”

  Helen held up a hand. “Listen.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve heard of an apartment close to here. It’s not too big or too expensive. If you two become roommates, the rent won’t be bad, especially if I negotiate it for you.”

  “An apartment?” I squinted, doubtful. Hanging around with girls wasn’t my idea of a clambake. Especially with either of these two. Grace was a knockout, but so sweet and innocent she hadn’t yet kenned onto using what she had. And Helen? She was pretty, like I said, but something was off with her. How could she be so swift on the effect Chinese herbs had on men when she supposedly lived such a sheltered life with her family? Beyond that, I wasn’t sure I liked the way she stared at me.

  “It’s not the cleanest,” Helen went on, “but it’s not the dirtiest either.”

  “In Chinatown?” Grace asked nervously.

  “Of course it’s in Chinatown.” Helen sure could be bossy—a regular Miss Know-it-all. “You two need a place to live. The YWCA is full. Cameron House is right around the corner, but that’s not right for you. Donaldina Cameron rescues bad girls.” She lowered her voice. “If you become roommates, you’ll be close to where I live, and you’ll be even closer to the telephone exchange.”

  “You won’t be working there much longer,” I said, confident.

  “What if we aren’t hired? How will we pay the rent?” People could probably smell Grace’s fear all the way in Timbuktu.

  “You’ll be hired,” Helen told her. “You’ll be hired before I am!”

  Helen didn’t mention me, but I had to be a sure thing after the little visit I’d paid to Charlie Low in his office. Nothing happened, and he did a bang-up job of acting like he wasn’t thrilled—not with his wife in the building, but she wouldn’t always be there. A man is a man is a man. Yeah, I’d wised up after not getting hired at the other auditions. This time I’d get the gig and the dough.

  “Do you want to share an apartment?” Grace asked me.

  My mother always said it was rude for someone to be so direct, but I answered anyway. “Why not?” Because, really, why not? There had to be a first time for everything. “Anyplace would be better than staying with my aunt and uncle in Alameda. It’ll be good to get away from my little cousins too.”

  I watched as they took in those nuggets of information. We’d bumped gums some, talking a bit about this and that. Nothing serious. Nothing too revealing. It was fine by me if we practiced “Oriental silence”—hanging on to information that was no one else’s business—but things were bound to leak out.

  “You’re sure you want to do it?” Grace’s voice rose with expectation.

  “I’d love to,” I answered. “And thank you, Helen. Thank you so much.”

  “I’m happy to help,” she responded. “It will be good to have you nearby.”

  THE NEXT DAY, Grace and I met Helen at the Forbidden City, where we big-eyed the new girls who’d made it through the weekend auditions. We were back up to forty or so girls for the eight spots, which knocked some of the wind out of my panties. We auditioned in groups of six, and we sang something we’d all learned in elementary school—“Oh My Darling Clementine”—which put us on equal footing and made it instantly clear who could carry a tune. A quarter of the girls were gone by noon. Then Walton—no man was a mister to me—introduced us to the tap routine, which was a lot easier than anything we’d shown Helen over the weekend. He wanted to see how we moved onstage. Did we have presence? Could we hit our marks? Did our simple taps sound crisp or muddled? Did we have nice smiles?

  “You, you, and you are in.”

  Helen, Grace, and I made it through to the next round.

  At the end of the day, we found Monroe on the sidewalk. We were physically tired but also exhilarated. We were so close to getting chosen as the Forbidden City’s first ponies … and now the apartment. Monroe walked with us to a run-down building on Waverly, a block from the playground where Grace and I had taught Helen to tap. Mrs. Hua, the elderly manager, showed us the tiny two-room furnished flat, which had a hot plate and a sink. If we got the place, we’d have to take turns sleeping on the sofa and the bed. Showers would be courtesy of the YWCA. We searched the cupboards and found four plates, three cups, a frying pan, and a wok. It all looked good to me.

  I was grateful when Helen took charge. She knew the ins and outs of Chinatown—a place where Grace and I were total strangers. And it turned out she was great at bargaining.

  “You want to charge ten dollars a week? For this?” Helen asked Mrs. Hua. “Impossible!”

  “Nine dollars,” Mrs. Hua countered in heavily accented English.

  “It isn’t worth five.”

  “Eight fifty.”

  “Five. Take it or leave it.”

  Monroe regarded his sister with embarrassment tinged with grudging admiration. Grace seemed eager for Helen to accept the asking price.

  “Eight dollars. No lower,” Mrs. Hua came back.

  Helen shook her head. “Let’s go.”

  Monroe, Grace, and I started for the door. Mrs. Hua grabbed Helen’s sleeve. “Six dollars. Okay?”

  Helen pursed her lips as she thought about it. Finally, she said, “All right. Six dollars a week. But I’m not going anywhere until I see the contract. I don’t want you changing things after I leave, Mrs. Hua.”

  As soon as the manager left to get the paperwork, Grace squealed and jumped up and down. “Helen! I can’t believe you just did that! My hotel room costs a dollar a day. This is a lot better and for a lot less money.”

  “Really, Helen, that was pretty neat,” I agreed. “Thanks again.”


  Helen waved us off. “It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

  Yes, we’d scratched her back, and now she was scratching ours. That’s how people get ahead … and make “friends.” But Helen and Grace were making a mistake if they thought I was “nice” too. I was nice enough, but I was ambitious. I wanted the adoration that comes from being famous and not just a pretty girl from the islands.

  Mrs. Hua came back through the door and set the contract on the table. Grace picked up the pen, hesitated, and turned to Helen. “Would you like to live with us? Maybe Mrs. Hua has an even bigger apartment.”

  Helen nipped the idea in the bud, glancing at her brother. “It’s safer for me to be in the compound with my family.”

  I wasn’t sure how she’d be “safer” there, but maybe she could do only so much. She could defy her father by walking through Chinatown with Grace and me, and tempt fate by learning to tap in a very public place, but being on her own—away from her family—might have been the one line she couldn’t cross. I might not cross it either if I lived in a “compound”!

  The next morning, Helen was sitting on the stairs outside the apartment when I arrived. She had a bag of groceries and some flowers wrapped in butcher paper. Once upstairs, she got straight to work—putting the blooms in a vase she’d brought with her and setting the bouquet on a doily she’d tatted herself. Next, she shelved the groceries. When Grace thumped into the room with her suitcase, the apartment already looked more livable. Grace and I divvied up the space in the closet and dresser. (When Grace thought I wasn’t watching, she put five sawbucks in an envelope and tucked it under a sweater in her drawer. Emergency money, no doubt.) Neither of us knew how to cook, so Helen scrambled eggs and toasted bread by holding it over the hot plate. After breakfast, Grace and I brushed our teeth in the sink. Then we went together down the hall and waited in line with tenants from the other five apartments on our floor to use the toilet.

  At 10:00, we beat it to the Forbidden City for final auditions. I had this in the bag. Walton asked to see the routine we’d learned the previous week, but this time we had to sing another old-fashioned song—“Let Me Call You Sweetheart”—while we danced. A cinch. Helen did well too. What she lacked in dance experience, she more than made up for with her pretty singing voice. When we finished, a few girls were asked to step forward, thanked, and dismissed. The remaining twelve of us rearranged ourselves onstage. I took a place in the front row, wanting to be seen. Walton signaled for the music.

  We were making the third turn when Grace came to a dead stop. We were still in the opening part of the routine! I shot an encouraging look in her direction. Dance! She struggled to fight back tears. By the time I made my next turn, they were rolling down her cheeks. I liked Grace—my roommate now—but if she were dismissed, then my spot would be sealed for sure.

  Eddie Wu bounded onstage, took Grace’s hand, and pulled her stage front. “Five, six, seven, eight,” he counted loud enough for all of us to hear. “Let me call you sweetheart …” They danced the last half of the routine together, adding a flourish or two. They were spectacular, outshining everyone else. When the music ended, Walton and some of the others clapped. Eddie dropped Grace’s hand, chucked her chin, and then went back to his folding chair.

  Walton, Charlie, and Eddie conferred in low voices, while everyone else tried to cover their apprehensions by adjusting the trim on a sock, going over a move again, or fluffing curls. I stayed perfectly still, with one leg slightly bent and a hand on my hip. Walton asked us to form a single line. Grace stood with her head bowed.

  “Irene Liu,” Walton said. “Congratulations. You made it.”

  The second spot went to May Bing. Helen nodded when her name was called. (She’d never be one to show excitement.) Other girls were dropped or accepted until just three of us were left for the last two spots. Grace, another girl, and I held hands.

  “Grace Lee, you’re in—”

  She made it after freezing, then lucking in to Eddie helping her?

  “You’re our best dancer,” Walton added as she walked offstage to where the other new hires clustered together. “Today your nerves showed. Never let anyone see you’re scared. Never let anyone guess you’ve messed up the dance or forgotten the lyrics. You have the potential to be a star, Grace. Act that way, and it will come true.”

  Only two of us were left standing.

  “Ida Wong, step forward please.” Walton looked at his clipboard. “Congratulations—”

  My stomach lurched, and the room whooshed with shocked exhales. How could Ida have been chosen over me? No one could believe it, not even Ida, who was pretty in that cute-as-a-button kind of way. I glanced at Charlie out of the corner of my eye. He lifted a shoulder in halfhearted acknowledgment. My attempt to cozy up to him—a married man—had completely backfired. He must have seen me as trouble. Well, nothing to do about it now. I hopped down off the stage, packed my things, and beat it for the door.

  “Abyssinia!” I called to Helen and Grace. Silence. “I’ll be seeing ya,” I translated.

  Grace started to come toward me, but she was stopped by Charlie’s call. “You’re my glamour girls now. Please gather around …”

  My eyes swept across the room one last time, and then I left the Forbidden City. I waited for Grace and Helen on the sidewalk, wondering what in the hell I was going to do now. And I’ll be honest. I hurt like mad, and I was scared.

  Soon enough, Grace and Helen came down the stairs.

  “It doesn’t make sense,” Grace said when she saw me. “You should have gotten hired too.”

  I looked away. I wasn’t about to start busting out the waterworks. I had a little money, but when that ran out and I couldn’t pay the rent on my new apartment, then what? Stand in a soup line? Sleep on the street? Beg? Go back to my aunt and uncle’s place with all their bawling brats? “It’s all right. I’ll try at one of the other clubs—”

  “Finally,” Helen muttered, interrupting me.

  It took me a moment to realize she wasn’t speaking to me. I followed her gaze and saw a middle-aged Chinese man approaching. He wore a well-tailored suit and carried a copy of The Chinese Digest folded and tucked under his arm. He reminded me a bit of Charlie, actually. Black hair, neatly trimmed. Well fed. An air of importance.

  “So what the gossips say is true,” he said, stopping before Helen. “My daughter has disgraced me.”

  “I haven’t disgraced you, Ba—”

  “No? Then what do you call not showing up to work at a job I arranged for you? What do you call dancing in the playground? And then there’s this!” He pointed at the entrance to the Forbidden City.

  “It’s a better job. Besides, how can I disgrace you any more than I have already?”

  Next to me, Grace looked frightened, like she thought he was going to wallop her. I sensed she might bolt, so I grabbed her arm and held her in place. Helen’s father stood there—dignified, his hands clasped before him, aware that people—white pedestrians—watched us. And the way he stared at me? I understood it right away, because he wasn’t the first person to see me for what I was, even if it was rare. The disgust in his eyes made me want to push right back. I struck a pose—a hip thrust forward, my eyes staring defiantly into his face, the fingers of my left hand barely caressing the petals of my gardenias. Grace was a quivering mess, but I wasn’t afraid or intimidated at all. And Helen?

  “I’ll still put my earnings in the family pot,” she said matter-of-factly, as if her disobedience and lying would mean nothing to her father. “Now I can give more toward Monroe’s tuition.”

  “If you dance here, you will be one notch above a prostitute,” he proclaimed. “Is that how you want people to regard me in Chinatown—as the father of a no-no girl?”

  Next to me, a light flipped on in Grace’s eyes as she finally put two and two together.

  “I won’t be hurting the family,” Helen insisted calmly. “I’ll be helping more than before. And besid
es, this isn’t a reflection on you—”

  “Don’t be stupid! You have a choice to bring shame or honor on your family. Which is it going to be?”

  Helen met her father’s disapproval with surprising stubbornness. “You always say you expect me to maintain the proprieties, recognize right from wrong, and not bring embarrassment on our family.”

  “That’s right. Embarrassment!”

  “I’m going to make twenty dollars a week,” Helen said.

  Her father blinked. “Twenty dollars? A week?”

  “Are any of my brothers making that much?” she asked.

  He grumbled a bit more—“What will our neighbors say?”—but it was clear Helen had won. I guess the money had convinced him. Still, he’d gone down a lot easier than I expected.

  “You can do this on one condition,” he said, acting like he’d once again gained control over his daughter. “I won’t have you walking all over Chinatown … at night … unescorted. Monroe will drop you off and bring you home.”

  “Yes, Ba,” she answered, sounding both contrite and disappointed, as though he’d failed a test she’d given him.

  “All right,” he said. “I expect you to be home in time for dinner.” As he gathered himself to leave, he ran his eyes over me again. “And, Helen …”

  Here it comes, I thought. Now my new friends would know the truth about me. I didn’t have a clue about how they would take it.

  “One word of warning. Watch out for this one. She’s a Jap,” he said, nodding in my direction.

  Helen acted unimpressed. She gave him a bland look: As if I didn’t know.

  Faced again with his daughter’s coolness, he squeezed the newspaper a little more tightly to his ribs and continued down the street. It was a moment of triumph for Helen, utter bewilderment for Grace, and the icing on what had already become a crappy day for me. Grace was the first to speak.

  “Why would he say that about Ruby?”

  Helen frowned. “You really are a bumpkin,” she said. “Ruby is Japanese. Can’t you tell?” She pointed to the sign above our heads. “It’s the Forbidden City. Like Charlie said, it’s for Chinese. The Japs have invaded China, so no Japs allowed. Naturally, Baba wouldn’t want me to spend time with someone like her.”