“It is our agency’s policy not to allow clients to bring their own photos. People do anything to make themselves appear attractive. In the past, we had folks who brought glamorous shots touched up with an airbrush. It looked nothing like the actual person. And it backfired.”
“But I look absolutely unattractive in your photo,” I said. “I wouldn’t want to date me if I were a man.”
“Our business is based on reputation and word of mouth,” Robin insisted. “We must present people as they are.”
A few days later, the dating agency called and reported that two men had left me “invitations.” With excitement, I went in. I sat down with the inviters’ profiles. To my greatest disappointment, these were men in their seventies, one with obviously false front teeth. I told Robin that I wanted to cancel my membership.
I thought I must have had less market value than I’d imagined. If I had ever had self-esteem issues before, they were about to be revived. I had written in my application that I preferred men “between forty and fifty years in age,” but grandpas had approached me anyway. I found myself reeling from the shock.
Robin said that she would let me quit if I promised to try for one more week. I agreed. The next day Robin called saying that she had a “super match” for me. I told her that it would be a waste of time if the super match was a seventy-year-old.
Robin said, “He is not seventy. That’s for sure. But he does not exactly match the age you described in your application. Are you willing to be a little flexible? I assume you are?”
“How old is he?”
“Fifty-two.”
“What is his name? What does he do for a living?”
“Why don’t you come in, and we can talk?” Before I answered, she hung up.
I didn’t bother until a week later when Lauryann went on a two-day school trip and I was alone. I figured that my strained eyes needed a rest from writing anyway. It wouldn’t hurt to check out the “super match.”
Robin was taking a coffee break with the receptionist outside her office building when I pulled into the parking lot. She waved at me and cried joyfully, “Anchee Min, today is your lucky day!”
His name was Lloyd Lofthouse, a former US Marine, a Vietnam vet, and an English teacher. “Lloyd has been calling to make sure we passed you his invitation,” Robin said almost breathlessly. “We told him that we already had, but he said he hasn’t heard from you. He called in and checked with us three times today already. He wanted to see if you left him any message. Unfortunately, I had to tell him that you had not responded. I told him that it’s in your hands, and there’s nothing more we could do. Anyway, Lloyd is six foot four. A handsome guy. He’s been teaching English for twenty-five years. What I meant by a ‘super match’ is that he is extremely interested in you! Wait—I forgot to tell you that he’s a writer, too. I can see you two discussing the art of writing together!”
“No writer, no artist, please. I said I wanted an average man.”
“Well, Lloyd is an average man who happens to love writing. He admires and appreciates what you do.”
I thought of all the profiles I had checked. No one had appealed to me. I must have crossed Lloyd off already.
“Is this Lloyd Lofthouse a new member?” I asked.
“No, Lloyd has been with us for two years. He hasn’t been lucky in finding anyone to his liking. His membership is expiring, and he has already notified us that he will not renew. To tell you the truth, he came in today to sign off the membership. God bless him—he has discovered you!”
“I think I already passed him.”
“Do me a favor, Anchee, go and check out Lloyd Lofthouse one last time. Maybe you missed him. It happens. You never know, the love song you heard on the radio on your way here might have put you in a better mood. The song might have influenced your brain chemistry. Maybe you had a good sleep last night. I can see that you are cheerful today.”
I shook my head. “Thank you for being sweet, Robin, but—”
“Trust me, human beings are strange creatures,” Robin continued. “Lloyd deserves a chance. He is a serious member, and I like him personally. He paid for two years, over six thousand dollars. A lot of money for a man like him. He means business. He wants to find love. He has called and called regarding you. The man is making his best effort. Would you give him credit for that—for trying so hard?”
“I’ll think about it,” I said. “But I have to go now. I’ll take it slow. Like you said, it’s only my first chance.”
“But it’s his last chance! Lloyd is leaving the service. I wish there was more I could do for him. Since you are already here, it wouldn’t hurt to take a final look.”
I located Lloyd Lofthouse in the members photo book. I had been right—I had passed him. He was a plain-looking man with bottle-thick glasses and a grin on his face. He was obviously awkward posing for the camera. His expression reminded me of a Halloween pumpkin. Many years later, after I became his wife, I learned that Lloyd was “photophobic.” He would tense up in front of a camera. It was the one thing he would never do well. Unless he was unaware of the camera, in every family photo he posed for, the Halloween-pumpkin grin was there. The more Lauryann and I tried to get him to relax, the stiffer he would become. It was so hopeless that he would run the moment he saw a camera aimed in his direction.
Lloyd must have believed that his hairstyle was attractive. Heavily gelled, his hair was pasted flat over his skull and appeared so thin that he looked as if he was balding. He was dressed in a dark-blue three-piece suit with a rainbow-striped tie. He reminded me of a car salesman.
I turned over the page and read his personal information. To my surprise, he had divorced twice! He must be a “habitual walker,” a term I had come across in a relationship advice book. For the question “Is it okay if your partner smokes?” he wrote a capital-letter “NO!!!” A man of strong will and opinion, this Lloyd must be. I also sensed that he could be extreme in his views.
Lloyd’s self-introduction was straightforward and clear. He certainly wrote well. He described himself as both an introvert and an extrovert. For “introvert,” he explained that he was a “lover of books” and “enjoyed quiet time by himself.” For “extrovert,” he mentioned that he enjoyed the company of friends. If his friends had one word to describe him, it was loyal. For his “passion,” he wrote, “A commitment to a healthy lifestyle.” For “hobby,” he wrote “hiking” and “movies.”
What he was looking for in a woman sounded peculiar. While other men put down “reasonably good-looking, a lady who enjoys companionship, romantic evenings, and candlelight dinners,” Lloyd wrote, “A woman who is health conscious and who would welcome (or at least accept) vegetarianism, and who is, or has been, working toward keeping herself in good physical shape.”
When asked the preference of a personality type, where other men wrote “kind and caring” or “easygoing and fun-loving,” Lloyd wrote, “A strong sense of family and personal responsibility.” I wondered why he had underlined “personal responsibility.” What had happened to him that moved him to underline that phrase?
Although I wasn’t attracted to Lloyd’s appearance, his personal statement intrigued me. I was impressed by this unyielding character. It was obvious that Lloyd Lofthouse was a man who knew exactly what he wanted, and that he wasn’t shy about making that known.
I thought, Too bad he has that awful Halloween-pumpkin grin. As I was leaving, Robin asked me if I had watched Lloyd’s video.
Although I was sure I’d be wasting my time, I needed an excuse to let Robin know that I had done everything I could and that it was not meant to be.
I could use the expression “falling out of my chair” to describe the moment I saw Lloyd in a video interview conducted by the dating service. Here was a completely different man from the character I’d seen in his photos. He didn’t have that Halloween-pumpkin grin. This man had thick, curly, and untamed beautiful gray hair. He must have missed his last appointment to get
his hair gelled, or he had decided not to bother grooming himself for the videotaping. If he had been an animal, the video caught him in his natural state. Instead of the dark-blue suit, he was in an off-white T-shirt and blue jeans. Behind the glasses his deep-set eyes showed intelligence, honesty, and kindness. He had a long, narrow—what he would later describe critically as “English”—nose and a mouth that smiled affectionately.
Unlike the man in the photos, the man in the video was at ease and self-assured. He was articulate and soft-spoken. In less than five minutes, he accomplished a thoughtful and thorough self-introduction. He was born in Pasadena, California, and served in Vietnam as a US Marine. With the GI Bill, he earned a degree in journalism, and he had been a classroom English teacher ever since. He said he loved teaching, then paused to add, “for the most part, though it can be a challenge from time to time. It’s a consuming job, or I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to a camera …” He lowered his chin as he smiled.
In the future, I’d learn that Lloyd’s family ancestry led to England and Ireland on his father’s side and Scandinavia on his mother’s side. What impressed me about the man in the video was that he was completely comfortable in his own skin. He sought nobody’s approval. As a teen, he had sold door-to-door for the Fuller Brush Company. He’d worked as a grocery boy and a dishwasher. After returning from war, while going to college, he worked part-time as a JCPenney stock man, Sears janitor, a McDonald’s three A.M. cleaner, a landscaping trench digger, and a maintenance clerk at a truck company. “I do my best, although I don’t think of myself as particularly special.” He smiled in the video. In years to come, I would think of Lloyd Lofthouse as a well-trimmed tree who enjoyed the sun, rain, and all the seasons, and who shared his canopy. I valued the fact that Lloyd was a man who lived an existence equal to mine. I was also pleased that he had strong and broad shoulders, a good-looking head on a fine neck.
Lloyd Lofthouse called and said, “I’ve just returned from a hiking trip and am thrilled that you called. May I invite you out for dinner? When would be a good time for you? Do you have time tonight?”
“I can’t,” I responded. “I need time to arrange a babysitter for Lauryann, my daughter.”
“Why don’t you bring her along?” Lloyd said.
“Are you sure you don’t mind? She’s seven years old.”
“No, I don’t mind at all.”
“But …” I hesitated. I did not want Lauryann to be with me on my first date. I was at a disadvantage as a single mother and didn’t want to emphasize that. I imagined Lauryann becoming bored and disrupting our conversation. I didn’t want to be seen disciplining her.
“I’d rather arrange a babysitter,” I said.
“Please, I really would like you to bring Lauryann,” Lloyd insisted. “I’d like to meet her, and I can assure you that it will not be a bother. I’ve taught kids her age in the past. I know what they’re like.”
Later on, Lloyd confessed that he was not just being nice. It was his dating tactic. He wanted to get as much information as possible about the woman on the first date: “It’s easier to move on when you are barely involved.” Lloyd had learned that the best way to find out about a woman’s true character was through her children.
“Children reflect their mother,” Lloyd said. He once fell for a seemingly perfect woman who had “rotten children.” “They had no manners, because the mother didn’t demand any. She let them raise themselves. They jumped all over me like monkeys in the wild.”
I wasn’t prepared for Lauryann to be on her worst behavior that evening. I had taught her manners. But it turned out to be her worst night.
At 5:30 P.M., the doorbell rang. Lauryann was excited. She rushed to open the door and greet Lloyd. “Hi, I am Lauryann!” she said, offering a handshake.
The towering figure under the eaves pronounced my name in a hesitatant tone. “Anchee, I am Lloyd.”
“Pleased to meet you!” I shook his hand and was a little disappointed. Lloyd was back to his photo look, with his hair pasted to his skull. He was dressed in the same blue suit he wore in the photos.
We got in his car. Although Lauryann sat in the back, she started to take over the conversation. She had a habit of doing this to me in front of strangers. She believed that I needed her help. Often, Lauryann corrected my English in front of others. For example, she would say, “Mom, it’s Chinese accent, not accident! Don’t say your bone is brutal, Mom, it’s brittle! Mom, our neighbor is a yoga teacher, not a yogurt teacher! Grandpa Ness teaches children astronomy, not astrology!”
As she grew, Lauryann became more confident. “Excuse me,” she would say to a reporter who came to our door looking for an interview, “my mom’s English is not good. Why don’t you ask me questions because I know what she wants to say.”
My awkwardness in asking for help irritated Lauryann. Once, I was lost on a Southern California freeway. It wasn’t until I saw a sign that read “Las Vegas” that I knew I had gone too far. From then on, whenever Lauryann sensed that I was driving in circles, she would roll down her window and ask a driver at a traffic light, “Excuse me, sir, my mom is lost. Can you help?” She would then turn to me. “Mom, come on, talk to the man!”
Lauryann told Lloyd about her favorite subjects at school and her favorite music. Lloyd told Lauryann the places he had lived, about his car and his favorite things to do, like reading and wood carving. I was amazed how quickly and comfortably they connected.
Lloyd took us to a Mexican restaurant he had selected because it had an evening performance by an Elvis Presley impersonator. Lloyd had noted my interest in learning about American culture through my dating profile. I noticed that Lauryann was filling herself up with chips. I whispered to her, “Save some space in your tummy.” But Lauryann got too carried away in her eating. She took advantage of the fact that I was chatting with Lloyd.
When the waiter came to take our order, Lloyd wanted a vegan plate. Lauryann ordered a burrito, and I had fish with vegetables. By the time the dishes arrived, Lauryann was stuffed with chips. She declared that she was too full to eat anything else.
“You ordered the burrito, you can’t waste it!” I said.
Lauryann shook her head as she pushed the plate away. I gave her a “Don’t you dare rain on my parade” look and her eyes filled with tears. We ate and watched the impersonator’s performance. Although I wasn’t impressed by the fake Elvis Presley, I clapped to show Lloyd my appreciation. Lloyd told me that he grew up with such songs. As he hummed along, I noticed that he sang off-key.
In the middle of one song, Lauryann began to complain about a stomachache. By the look on her face, I knew that she wasn’t faking it. Lauryann begged to go home. When I asked her to wait, she threw a tantrum. It was impossible to calm her. “My daughter is never like this,” I said to Lloyd, embarrassed.
“Well, she seems to be in great discomfort,” Lloyd replied. “Let’s go.”
Lauryann was asleep in the backseat by the time we arrived at my house. I apologized again for her misbehavior.
“If that was her worst behavior, she is an angel,” Lloyd said as he parked on the street.
“I am supposed to say good night,” I said.
“Let your daughter sleep a bit longer,” Lloyd suggested, and then added, “I’d love to just sit and talk.”
It felt strange sitting in front of my home in a car with this man. A sense of peace came over me. I was grateful that Lloyd didn’t seem a bit upset about the interrupted dinner. We sat in the shadows of the streetlight looking at each other, and we both smiled.
“This is better than the restaurant.” Lloyd said what I was thinking.
{ Chapter 31 }
When I was a Mao’s Little Red Guard in China, he was a US Marine fighting in Vietnam. My dream had been to “liberate the proletarians of the world” so that poor children in America could eat; his mission was to prevent Vietnam from falling into the hands of the Communists and so bring peace to Asia and end starvation i
n the region.
Inside the car, under the shadowy streetlight, with Lauryann sleeping soundly in the backseat, Lloyd Lofthouse and I talked into the night. I was fascinated and chilled at the same time as he described how the marines were trained to kill instead of trained to fight. In turn, I shared the meaning of “the glorious Communist martyrdom”: To achieve a meaningful death in the fight for Communism was the ultimate honor. I described how my generation was afraid of Americans, who had turned Vietnam into a killing field. We believed China would be next, and we had prepared for the American invasion. Our leader, Chairman Mao, described our relationship with Vietnam as “teeth to lips.” He famously asked, “Can the teeth survive without the lips?” Mao also taught us, “A person of humanity will refuse to preserve his life for the benefit of that humanity.”
Lloyd remembered a day when the Vietcong launched rockets at his camp and killed his fellow marines. He said death was on his mind every day.
I had always wondered what it must have been like to be on the “other side.” At the age of eleven, I was trained to throw grenades. We practiced throwing fake grenades made of wood and iron. I earned high scores because I threw farther than any girl in my school. During class, we were shown documentary films featuring our Vietcong comrades and their children fighting and dying as they engaged the enemy.
“You have a high nose,” I said to Lloyd. “An enemy nose to a Chinese child.”
“I have an ugly nose.”
I told Lloyd that my biggest wish as a teenager was to be drafted to Vietnam. “My misfortune was that I was a female. I was so envious of my male classmates who got to go. They came to say good-bye wearing brand-new green army uniforms with two mini red flags on their collars. I waited for my turn to serve my country, but the call never came.”
I told Lloyd how I fell in love with a propaganda movie titled The Heroes, in which a soldier named Wang Cheng demonstrated martyrdom. “Fire in my direction, now!” he shouted through his radio to his command center before pulling the fuse to the explosive. From a high rock he jumped into a group of US soldiers, blowing himself up and taking the enemy with him.