Siren Queen(74)

We left the car on the street and walked down a narrow alley behind a row of dark theaters. There was a group of roughly dressed men and women enjoying the late night seated on a collection of milk crates and upturned buckets, and when we walked up, they looked at us, curious but not unfriendly.

This was where the map led, and I stepped forward into the only illumination, an orange lamp hung over the backstage door. I opened my mouth to ask for my sister, but I was interrupted by a low whistle.

“Holy shit, it’s Luli Wei.”

Suddenly I was surrounded by men and women who looked like me, something that hadn’t happened in years. They wanted to know what I was doing in the city, what it took to get into costume as the siren, if I was really related to Su Tong Lin, if it was true that I was born in Guangzhou.

I’d never had an interview like that one, where every question was edged with a kind of hunger and possession. It fed me even as it frightened me, and I answered as best I could, smiling automatically and unable to focus on any one face. Tara had faded to the background, a skill that had always served her well. I was actually signing a scrap of paper (With Love, Luli W), when my sister finally appeared in front of me.

“Ma said you were coming to see me, not to conquer San Francisco’s Chinatown,” she said with a small smile, and the people around us fell back, murmuring in interest.

My sister sighed. She was dressed in a man’s shirt, trousers and braces, a boy’s cap cocked on her head. She was taller than me now, and her forearms, bare beneath her rolled-up shirtsleeves, were sleek with muscle. Despite her men’s clothes, her hair was braided long and straight down her back. She would have been popular at the Pipeline.

“Okay,” she said, and it took me a moment to realize that she was speaking to the avid crowd around her. “I’m heading out, and I’m taking the Star of All the East with me. She’s my sister, we haven’t spoken in years, and that’s all you’re getting, all right? Talk among yourselves.”

A tall and handsome man with a narrow face dressed much as my sister was stepped up to her, whispering something in her ear.

“Well, you’ll get the rest of it. Maybe. If you’re good.” As casually as she might brush back her hair, she reached up to plant a kiss on his lips, and then she turned to me.

“All right,” she said, the smile falling off her face. “Let’s go.”

I fell into step beside her, slightly envious of her sturdy boots. I was just as fast on heels these days, and I kept pace with her while Tara trotted behind.

“Where are we going?” I asked, more pettishly than I wanted to, and she gave me an indifferent look.

“We’re grabbing some food. I’m starving, and then I promised Hai I’d go watch his act at the Silver Moon.”

“I came all this way—” I protested, but my sister only rolled her eyes.

“If you wanted me to roll out the red carpet, you should have given me some notice. I don’t entertain many movie stars.”

I bit back my first retort, which was that I wasn’t asking to be entertained, but the truth was that I didn’t know why I was in San Francisco except for the fact that I couldn’t be in Los Angeles right then. My sister watched to see if I would argue, but when I didn’t, she gave a short nod, as if satisfied.

“Wait a minute.”

She ducked into a narrow restaurant that was still busy this time of night, and when she came out a minute later, she had something steaming wrapped in newsprint, already bleeding grease through the gray paper.

“You want some?” she asked nonchalantly, and held the packet out to us.

At first, tired as I was, I thought she had offered us worms, thick and red and laid out in bundles in her hand. A second look revealed not worms, but fried chicken feet. They were thickly drenched in sauce, the skin puffy and crisp from the oil. The nails hadn’t been clipped, which made them seem cruel, and I frowned.

“Ma never let us eat this kind of stuff from the restaurants. She said it was dirty.”

“Ma’s not here,” my sister said. It wasn’t a fight, but it wasn’t not a fight either.

“I’d like to try one,” Tara said cautiously, and my sister turned to her in surprise, as if she’d forgotten her. Whatever point she was trying to make dissolved as she held the packet out to Tara, ready to be defiant and defensive.

“Watch out for the claws, they’ll scratch you if you’re not careful,” I said, plucking out one of the feet for myself. It was sweet and spicy, more sauce than meat, and I stripped the fried skin with my teeth. It was good, very good, and as I reached for another, my sister watched me.

“You want to know it’s me,” I said softly. “It is.”

My sister’s face closed, and she expertly spat the tiny bones into her hand.

“Of course I know it’s you. I can see your face at the Balboa every Sunday I have off.”

“You’ve seen the siren movies?” I asked, oddly touched. It had never occurred to me she would.

“Everyone has,” she said shortly. “Come on.”

The Silver Moon had a beaten tin sign over the door, a crescent of cheap glinting metal that was the only indication that it was anything at all.

“Looks like a speakeasy,” Tara commented, and my sister grinned, opening the door as if she belonged there.