Last Night at the Telegraph Club(75)
The toy planes made her think of Kath. It had been three days—well, three mornings—since they had parted on the dark corner of Columbus and Broadway. They had hugged each other quickly, and Lily realized then and there that they’d never be able to kiss goodbye in public. (A tightening in her chest as she reluctantly turned away.)
They hadn’t seen or telephoned each other since then, but that wasn’t unusual. Lily still didn’t know Kath’s address or phone number. They only saw each other at school—or on the nights they went to the Telegraph Club. In retrospect, it seemed so obvious that their friendship had always carried the added weight of something that neither of them was equipped to address openly. It was easier and safer to pretend that their friendship was merely a casual one. But the time for pretending was over, and Lily was painfully aware of the responsibility that came with admitting how they felt about each other. It was risky to share this secret.
Lily turned the airplane over in her hands. On the bottom of the plane a sticker read MADE IN JAPAN. She ran the edge of her fingernail beneath it, and it lifted off so easily, as if it had barely been there to begin with. But a sticky residue remained, a trace of the plane’s hidden origin.
She heard Shirley and Flora break into laughter at the back of the shop. She put the airplane back on the shelf and went to rejoin her friends, walking past an American woman in a camel-colored coat who was examining a display of marked-down jade figurines.
“Excuse me,” the woman said, “can you help me with these?”
“I don’t work here,” Lily said.
The woman was middle-aged and wore horn-rimmed glasses through which she gazed short-temperedly at Lily. “Can you find someone who does?”
Taken aback, Lily said, “Of course.” She went to find Flora’s father, who was behind the jewelry case on the other side of the store, taking an inventory of unsold Christmas items. “Mr. Soo, there’s a lady over there who wants someone to help her,” Lily said.
Mr. Soo looked over the top of his black-framed glasses at Lily. “Where?”
She pointed, and he huffed and went off to find her. Lily paused for a moment in front of the Christmas leftovers, her gaze drawn to the wall behind the jewelry case. It was a notice board where advertisements for Chinatown events were posted: a hodgepodge of Cathay Orchestra concerts and YWCA charity raffles and Christmas potlucks for the needy. On the right side was a poster that Lily couldn’t remember seeing before, emblazoned with a large dark headline: PLEDGE OF LOYALTY. She went around the jewelry counter so she could read what was printed below:
1. We Chinese-American citizens pledge our loyalty to the United States.
2. We support the nationalist government of free China and her great leader, President Chiang Kai-shek.
3. We support the United Nations charter and the efforts made by the United Nations troops who are fighting for a united, free and independent Korea.
4. The Chinese communists are the stooges of Soviet Russia. Those who are invading Korea are the Chinese communists, not the Chinese, peace-loving people of free China.
The paper was slightly yellowed, and by the thumbtack holes in it, Lily realized it must have been hanging there for some time, hidden beneath other posters. The bottom third of it was mostly obscured by an ad for a New Year’s Eve concert. Curious, she unpinned the concert ad, and beneath it she read: “Pledged by patriotic members of the Chinese YMCA and YWCA, 1951.”
She had been in junior high school then. It was only a few years ago, but it felt much longer, as if she had been an entirely different person than she was now. She barely knew Kath then, and only as one of the few girls in her math class. She hadn’t yet secretly skimmed that book in the back of Thrifty Drugs. She hadn’t yet gone to the Telegraph Club or Lana and Tommy’s apartment—or stopped on the way home in a dark alley and kissed a girl. (The way her body had fit against Kath’s; the exquisite ache it had caused.)
Behind her the shop door opened, the bell jingling, and she heard Mary’s voice. “Shirley? I’m sorry I’m late!”
Lily spun around, irrationally certain that someone had read her mind, but she was quite alone. There was Mary hurrying through the store, her hair windblown and the umbrella she was carrying damp from rain, and there were Shirley and Flora emerging from the back room, pulling on their coats. Lily had to force herself to go meet them, tamping down the hot, panicky feeling that bubbled inside her, as if something sordid might spill out of her against her will.
“What took you so long?” Shirley asked Mary.
“My brother was sick this morning, and my parents— Oh, forget about it,” Mary said. “Let’s just go!”
34
Shirley pulled a dress out from an overstuffed rack in the juniors section of Macy’s bargain basement. “This is the one,” she declared. Lily came over from the rack nearby as Shirley held it against herself. “What do you think?”
It was two pieces, instead of one: a pale blue halter-neck blouse tucked into a matching full skirt, and accented by a wide darker blue belt. “It’s pretty,” Lily said, “but I thought you wanted a strapless dress?”
Flora came over with an armful of wraps. “You have to try it on. It’s very Hollywood.”
Shirley glanced around. “It’s my size. Where are the dressing rooms?”