Love and Other Consolation Prizes(48)

Fahn is water, Maisie is fire, Ernest thought. Or is it the other way around?

He watched, enthralled and impressed, as Fahn bowed, then continued.

“Do you miss her?” Ernest asked. Those four words had been a common question often spoken at the various schools where he’d lived. “Your mother, I mean.” Ernest didn’t miss his mother anymore—at least not as much as he missed the mother he knew he would never have. “Do you ever get mad about being sold by your parents?”

Fahn shook her head. “I think about my okaasan, and my father too. I remember having younger brothers. We were starving. Because I had value, they could eat—they could live. I’m proud to have saved them. And I look forward to having my own daughter one day, because when I do, she’ll have a better life. My sacrifice is for her too.”

Ernest felt as though his heart had been recalibrated. He’d never once thought of her situation in such a light. Though he still wished he’d been able to save his mother.

Fahn smiled and changed the subject. “The ladies gave us these.” She handed him a plate of green sweets. “A homemade treat.”

Ernest tasted the chewy candy, which smelled and tasted like a cross between steamed rice flour and tea-flavored taffy. He continued to watch Fahn, appreciating each simple gesture as she ladled hot water into a tea bowl and gently stirred it with a bamboo whisk. He watched as she filled a small teacup. She finally presented the tiny vessel to him with both hands. Ernest accepted the porcelain cup and held it up, rotating it in his hand as if to ask, Like this?

She nodded, and then he sipped—tasting the tea, which was lighter, softer than the tea his mother had once made for him, or the teas Mrs. Irvine had served with honey and dried lemon at boarding school socials. He regarded Fahn as she adjusted the thin kimono she wore. She was beautiful and poised—absolutely enchanting when she chose to be, but fresh, crass, and delightfully demanding as well. He watched Fahn’s eyes as she gracefully returned the tea set to its black serving box.

“How did I do?” she asked.

“I’m utterly gobsmacked.” Ernest tried to mimic the modern expression he’d heard the maids use at the parlor house. But it didn’t feel right, so he lowered his voice and spoke elegantly, like Madam Flora. “When it comes to tea, my dear, you win the golden laurel and the silver.”

Ernest heard polite clapping and turned to the door, where the Japanese women were beaming with pride. He didn’t need to understand their words to know that they were praising Fahn.

When he turned back to Fahn, she took his hand, leaned across the table, and surprised him by kissing him yet again. He opened his eyes mid-embrace, and she opened hers as she gently bit his lower lip.

“You are lovely.” She smiled and sat back on her knees, laughing and wiping her lips with a napkin. The Japanese women looked on in awe at her brazenness.

Fahn smiled and folded her napkin as she teased. “We make a great pair, young Ernest. Are you still going to marry me?”

Ernest sat upright, trying not to blush as he nervously changed the subject. “You should show this routine to Madam Flora.”

“I plan to. I just needed someone to practice my skills on. I’ll show her when I’m ready. That’s when I’ll ask to become one of her Gibson girls,” Fahn said with a confident smile. “But don’t be jealous, you’ll always be my sweetheart.”

Ernest smiled and nodded, but he felt his brow knotting in discomfort at the idea. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing: Fahn’s life downstairs seemed so perfect, the best of both worlds. He found himself caring for her, as a friend—but also as more than a friend. The idea of watching her submit to another—to some rich businessman, a stranger—made his head spin. Although the Gibson girls might have boyfriends, Ernest couldn’t bear to imagine sharing Fahn’s affections with anyone, especially someone who had to pay for them.

That’s when he heard a familiar voice. He buttoned his jacket and stood up, quickly, as though he’d been caught in a state of undress.

“The Japanese Village. Hmmm…I knew I’d find at least one of you here.”

Ernest turned and saw Maisie standing in the doorway. She’d bought a cheaply woven porkpie hat and wore it cocked at a sly angle. Her blond hair spilled out from beneath the brim. The cavalier look wasn’t enough to hide the S-shape of her corset or the ruffled sleeves of the colorful dress she wore. She looked like one of the older girls, pinched waist, accented curves.

Maisie frowned at Fahn and said, “My turn, toots.”

“Now we’re even, young Ernest,” Fahn whispered. She stood up and turned to leave. “Your debt is paid in full.”

Ernest followed behind, quietly wondering how long Maisie had been standing there. Long enough, he reckoned.

—

OUTSIDE, A LARGE crowd had gathered at the foot of the Pay Streak on the esplanade near the Lake Union steamboat landing. Maisie pointed out a tall ship in the distance, a replica of the Mayflower that sat at anchor. But fairgoers were more enamored with the passenger in a long canoe that was being paddled ashore. The crowd buzzed with excitement as a handsome young woman was introduced as Miss Columbia, to cheers, wolf whistles, and a chorus of racy catcalls.

Ernest had heard about the lovely Labradorean Inuit who had panicked the house and beaten out a darling Seattle socialite for the title of Queen of the Carnival. He stood on his tiptoes, trying to catch a glimpse of the dark-haired beauty who wore a sealskin parka and mukluk boots.