Текст книги "Mambo in Chinatown"

Автор книги: Jean Kwok

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

Five

I fidgeted in Mr. Song’s shoebox of an office at the middle school, waiting for him to appear and wondering why he’d asked me there. He was Lisa’s guidance counselor. Lisa was never in trouble. When she was younger, she used to have anxiety attacks when she didn’t get a perfect score on a test or when she couldn’t understand how to do something, but that hadn’t happened for a while now. His desk was cluttered with stacks of folders. A few books on the shelf partially covered a ribbon with printing on it. I nudged them away to read “Cornell.” Mr. Song had a photo of a beautiful Asian woman in a bridal gown on his desk, probably his wife. I patted my own puffy hair, trying to tame it.

He stepped into the room, dark and handsome, and I understood why he needed that picture. It must have been to keep the swooning teenage girls away. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

I blurted out, “Is Lisa in trouble?”

“Oh no! I hope I didn’t worry you.” He sat in his chair and rocked back. “Due to Lisa’s test scores coming into our sixth grade, we’d already flagged her as a student to watch. I know she’s just settling into our school now but something her English teacher showed me really gave me pause and made me think we ought to sit down and discuss her future.”

He pulled out one of his folders and flipped through the loose handwritten pages. “The teacher asked the class to describe snow to someone who lives in the desert, someone who has never seen or felt snow before. Let me read you a few typical responses. ‘Snow is white, cold and fluffy. It forms a blanket over everything. You can find it in your freezer.’ Or ‘Children jump and play in snow, bundled up in their winter clothing.’”

I was tense. “What did Lisa write?”

He took out a page he’d marked with a yellow Post-it note. “Light snow is like a dance of fairies: wild, chaotic and free. Heavy snow is sorrow, blanketing your eyes until you are blinded by it. Melting snow is a long glide of tears for the loss of someone you never had the chance to know.”

I blinked the emotion from my eyes, keeping them averted so Mr. Song couldn’t see. And I’d thought Lisa didn’t care about not having a mother. “I’ll get her to rewrite it. The teacher probably wanted—”

“No.” He leaned forward. “Lisa is extraordinary.”

I exhaled. “Yes, she is.”

“We have our own honors program and she’s already enrolled in it. However, I can’t help but feel that a child like this could truly blossom in the right environment. We are only a middle school. She’ll need to leave in a few years anyway. Have you ever heard of Hunter?”

“Hunter College?” Lisa couldn’t be that advanced.

“No, Hunter College High School. It’s a laboratory school for intellectually gifted students.”

I swallowed. “We couldn’t afford—”

“It’s free. The school’s from seventh to twelfth grade. The test for admission is this coming January and is extremely competitive. The kids need to already be in the top percentages in both math and reading before they’re allowed to take the test. Lisa qualifies. Out of about thirty-five hundred kids who take the test, less than two hundred are admitted. The admission rate is only about six percent.”

Lisa was such a perfectionist. If she tried and didn’t make it, she would be crushed. “Is it worth it? She’s just settling in here.”

“I know. It’s just that Hunter is such a special place, offering her all of the support and facilities to develop her gifts. She’d be among bright, creative kids. I have a feeling she’d thrive at Hunter.”

I studied his glowing face. “Did you go there, Mr. Song?”

He coughed into his hand. “I see Lisa is not the only intelligent one in your family.”

“Oh no. I was a hopeless student when I was here.”

He looked sad. “Then I believe we failed you.”

I’d never thought of it that way. “How long have you been here, Mr. Song?”

“Just a few years.”

I was still puzzled about what a man like this was doing in our Chinatown school. “Are you Chinese?”

“Korean. You’re trying to figure me out, right?”

Taken aback, I nodded.

“I want to make a difference to the kids here. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not the only one.” He stood and extended his hand. “Please talk to your parents about allowing Lisa to take the Hunter test. A few of her peers have qualified as well. Just give her the chance.”

–

I managed to get to Pa’s noodle restaurant before the noontime rush. When I gestured to Pa from the back alleyway, he nodded at his assistant to take over and stepped outside to talk to me.

“What did the teacher want?” he asked.

“He thinks Lisa is gifted. He wants her to take a test for a special school.”

“Where is this school?”

I knew what Pa meant. “I think it’s not in Chinatown.” He wanted to keep us close and protected.

He shook his head. “Is this necessary?”

“She doesn’t have to take the test but Mr. Song felt it would be a great opportunity for her if she got in.”

“How would she get to this school? Take the subway alone? Now she can just walk. This city’s not safe for such a young girl.”

Sometimes it felt as if Pa was still living in China, while Lisa and I were in America. “It’s for her future. Things are very competitive in this country. She could maybe get into a top college, and the right preparation could change her life. And Mr. Song said that she might not be accepted at all.”

Pa bristled, as I knew he would. “Lisa is very smart!”

“There are a lot of bright kids. Other students from her middle school will try for a spot too. There’s a good chance she won’t be admitted. But Pa, we need to give her the opportunity. Otherwise, she might end up as a dishwasher like me.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, waving his hands. “Let her try. Then we will decide what to do.”

–

I tried my hardest at my new job. I made a copy of the phone instruction sheet and took it home to study. For the first time, I understood how all of the buttons worked and made sure I could connect people and put them on hold. It worked most of the time until I was under stress, with students in front of me and someone on the phone line, and then things would go wrong.

My main problem was the written work. Somehow, I would mix up times in the schedules. I checked and double-checked whenever I could, which meant I caught most of my own mistakes, but when I had a student on the phone who was in a hurry and dictating the changes to their appointments at lightning speed, I didn’t always manage to correctly record what they’d said. Even when I repeated it back to them right, I sometimes wrote it down wrong. I started to come to the studio early on a regular basis so I had more time to make up the sheets for each of the dancers with their schedules for the day. I filled them in twice: first in pencil, then after double-checking with the main appointment book, I finally put everything in pen.

Several times, Simone had stormed up to my desk. “Where is this student I’m supposed to have now?”

“I’m so sorry, let me check.”

“You are supposed to get it right the first time! Why else are they paying you?”

She normally didn’t waste too much time on me, thankfully, and stomped back into the main ballroom, where she could practice again. Although I made mistakes with the others’ schedules as well, everyone else remained quite kind to me, even Estella.

Adrienne managed the business part of the studio while Dominic was its artistic soul. He taught most of the dance sessions for the professionals, except when they’d have a guest coach come in from outside the studio. Adrienne gave coaching sessions as well, but Dominic was the world-famous choreographer. He went through the studio making small adjustments to student and professional alike.

“We are so lucky to be at Adrienne and Dominic’s studio,” Katerina told me once. “They were the reason we came from Russia. Every day, we can be trained by them.”

Whenever I entered the studio, I breathed in the smell of it: air-conditioning, cologne and perfume. No food smells, no garlic oil, no dirty dishes waiting for me. I loved that my clothing no longer smelled like food. I smeared my hands with moisturizer every night and the skin began to knit together, the ridges in my nails filling out.

When a student came in, he or she would report to me, then sit at one of the tables in the ballroom until the teacher was available. When I saw a teacher correcting a student’s body, moving a hip or shoulder back into place, I thought of Ma, and how safe I’d felt when she’d done that for me. I knew I would never be able to afford the lessons, and yet I spent as much time as I could watching at the glass doors to the ballroom, struggling to decipher the mysteries of dance.

Mostly what I learned instead was the rhythm of the studio. Dance session was held daily in the early afternoon for any professional who wasn’t booked, and the sessions were taught by Adrienne, Dominic or an outside coach. I learned many dancers retired in their thirties or early forties. The ones who had won national or international titles became coaches and judges. The bulk of the student lessons were taught in the evenings, after people got off work.

Social dancers came in for a small set of lessons or to reach a goal, like learning how to salsa in time for a party. Wedding couples usually wanted to avoid the “clutch and sway” syndrome for their first dance. Serious students, on the other hand, returned regularly. Some of these were social dancers, people who loved being at the studio every week to dance together. Most were competition students. Mateo’s Japanese student, Okina, booked double lessons several times a week with him. I heard that she had been winning competitions for years. Keith was Simone’s competition student and he was by far the best male student in our studio. Katerina and Viktor trained regularly with their serious students as well.

I also finally figured out that Mateo and Nina weren’t a couple off of the dance floor.

“You see him?” Mateo asked me when a good-looking guy wearing a T-shirt underneath a leather jacket strode into the ballroom. Estella greeted him and they stood chatting near the glass doors.

“Is he one of Estella’s competition students?” I answered.

“Oh yes, and she’s possessive too. Rushes to put on more makeup before he comes. He’s a big television producer, does half of the daytime soap operas. But he just doesn’t know that he’s gay yet. I can tell. If he ever got a chance to try me, he’d leave her skinny butt in a second,” Mateo said. He stood up and walked deliberately toward the pair, swinging his hips. As he passed, I saw him turn his head and catch the guy’s eye, giving the man a long wink that made him flush as red as his T-shirt. Estella’s lips thinned. Mateo glanced back at me through the glass and pretended to fan himself.

My favorite time of day was before the studio opened, when the professionals were rehearsing. I thought to myself that this was when their true selves were revealed. When they were lounging around in the waiting area during the day, they were diminished, as colorless as the rest of us ordinary people. But then they stood up as dancers and started to move, and it was as if a light shone from within them. I held my breath at their swiftness, strength, grace and power. They were dressed in their rehearsal clothing then—sweats or plain T-shirts—but were all the more breathtaking for it.

I realized that the professionals were not physically flawless. Nina really did have a perfectly proportioned face but Simone had bad skin underneath her makeup and her features were oversize. Estella’s nose was very sharp. Viktor had a long awkward face with uneven teeth. Mateo’s head was completely square and Katerina’s features were as full-blown as the rest of her.

Yet when any of them walked into a room, heads turned. Their attractiveness had more to do with how they moved, how they held themselves, than how they looked. Sometimes I would see Viktor on break, slumped in a chair like a puppet without a master, but then later he would flow across the dance floor with the controlled power of a storm. I began to see beauty as something that could be unleashed from within a person rather than a set of physical features like a perfect nose or big eyes. This was true of the students as well. It didn’t seem to matter whether they were tall or short, fat or thin, they all transformed within a few lessons. Something to do with the magic of coordinated movement, the choreography of two people together, the achievement of control over their bodies.

Ma had said to me, “In the west, they believe in separation of body and soul. They think that the soul separated from the body will find enlightenment, but for the Chinese, we strive for unity. If you look at a child, you can see they are still struggling in their bodies, trying to master them. It is when you become one with your body and soul, that is when you will be whole. That is beauty.” I’d never fully understood the truth of that the way I did now.

Later, for lessons, the male dancers would change into shirts and ties that they kept in the teachers’ room and the women would put on skirts or tailored pants, but during their own rehearsals, they were free to be as they were. They weren’t trying to be polite or charming. Viktor and Katerina cursed each other in Russian across the floor when parts of their routine didn’t work.

I said once to Nina, “You and Mateo look different when you’re on the floor together. It’s like you are more.”

She nodded. “When we dance together, we are at the edges of who we are. We have to push our own limits to find out who we can become, together.” Then she’d shaken her head and said, “Now I desperately need some more coffee.”

Sometimes Simone practiced with her professional partner, Pierre, who was from Haiti. They were a breathtaking couple, with her white-blond hair against the ebony of his skin. Most of the time they rehearsed at his studio down in the Village. Simone, Pierre, Nina and Mateo were mainly Latin dancers, while Katerina and Viktor specialized in the smooth dances like waltz or foxtrot.

Every day, I watched the dancers, hungry for something I hadn’t known I wanted, holding my breath for the day I would make a mistake so great I would be asked to leave.

–

As Estella and Simone lounged on the chairs in the reception area, I kept myself busy checking the appointment book. They were whispering to each other. I usually enjoyed it when the dancers hung out in my area but this looked serious. I’d seen Estella called into Adrienne’s office earlier and Dominic had followed them. I wondered what was going on.

The doors to the ballroom opened and Nina stepped in. “I’m going out now. You want me to grab you some pizza, Charlie?” I was surprised by the type of food most of the dancers brought back to the studio: Chinese takeout, burgers and pasta. Nina had told me that the amount of exercise they got burned off the excess calories. Simone and Estella were the only ones who always purchased salads from the deli on the corner.

“I brought something from home.” I’d hidden a box of rice and leftovers in the fridge.

“Smart,” Nina said. “I should do that more. It’s hard planning ahead like that with the little guy at home.”

I stared at her. “You have a child?” Nina appeared so young.

She smiled. “Here, look.” She came around behind the desk, pulled out her cell phone and started showing me photos. “That’s Sammy.” There were pictures of Nina making funny faces with an adorable toddler who had her thick-lashed eyes. None of them included anyone who looked like he might be the father. I still couldn’t believe she was a mother. She didn’t look like any other mom I’d ever seen.

“He’s wonderful,” Nina said. Her eyes lingered on my stocking feet. I often removed my heels behind the desk when no one else could see. I’d been flexing and pointing my feet automatically because the shoes hurt so much, but now I stilled them. Would she notice how old and worn my one pair of pumps was?

Nina flipped her hair out of her jacket. “Sure you don’t want anything?”

“Yeah.”

“You should come out with us sometime. Leave that desk behind.”

Warmth rushed through me. I nodded, then looked away as the phone rang.

That afternoon, I stepped into the teachers’ room to find Estella huddled by the fire escape at the back, crying. Simone had her arms wrapped around her.

“What do you want?” Simone’s lip curled.

“Estella has a phone call,” I said. “It’s from her competition student. He said he couldn’t get through on her cell.”

Estella ran a tissue underneath her smeared mascara, powdered her face quickly and then stepped out.

–

Later that week, I was handing Nina a mug of coffee when my fingers slipped and I spilled it. It didn’t burn me but splashed across my orange shirt.

“I’m so sorry, Charlie,” Nina said, dabbing at me with a paper towel.

“It’s not your fault. I did this to myself.” We tried wetting the stains. They didn’t budge. I rubbed at them with all my strength. What would happen when the others saw me? “I can’t go through the whole day like this.”

“Come with me,” Nina said, and led me to the teachers’ room. She pulled a light cotton cardigan out of her locker. “I use this to warm up before rehearsal.”

When I slipped off my wet shirt, I caught a shift in Nina’s face, a widening of her eyes. I quickly changed into her cardigan and buttoned it up all the way, conscious of my worn T-shirt underneath. It even had tiny holes in it. I hadn’t intended for it to be seen by anyone. Even though she was a bit shorter than me, her cardigan fit me fairly well.

Nina didn’t say anything about my clothing and just gave me her usual smile. “I like that on you.”

–

The biting October rain cascaded over the small yellow and green canopy of Zan’s cart. It hit the back of the plastic poncho Zan was wearing and poured off of her in a constant stream. When I could, I tried to stop by her cart before I left for the studio. Despite the weather, several customers stood in line, huddled underneath their black umbrellas. I watched her as I waited for my turn.

She wore fingerless gloves, which she used even during the bitter New York blizzards. If her entire hands were covered, she couldn’t get her work done quickly enough. She brushed oil on the rounded indentations of the hot egg cake molds, then ladled in the pale golden batter she kept in a large plastic tub. Deftly, she flipped the molds as the batter started to set. When the cakes were crispy, she eased them out with a fork onto a scratched steel pan. Then she jabbed at the egg cakes with tongs to separate them and counted them with lightning speed one by one into waxed paper bags. One dollar for twenty egg cakes. Then it was on to the next customer and she would do it all again.

When I finally stood in front of her, I said, “Hey, you want me to take over for you so you can take a break?”

She smiled. “Thanks, Charlie, but I’m all right.” Zan and I had this interchange every time. She always refused whatever I offered. I didn’t know how she managed to use the bathroom or eat lunch.

“Do you want my umbrella?”

“I don’t have a hand free to hold it but it’s nice of you.”

I glanced behind me. There were only three other customers in line. I stepped around her and held my umbrella over her. “I’ll wait until you’re done with the others.”

“You’re a pal.” Zan turned her attention to the next man in line. I looked around. The fried tofu cart was a few yards away from us. The man who ran it dumped more tofu into the hot oil as I watched. The smell of grease mingled with the damp musk of Zan’s wet clothing. Her cart was sandwiched between the fried-tofu guy and the steamed-food lady. That cart offered rice noodle rolls, pig skin, fish balls, beef tripe and lo mein. It worked out, since people would get their lunch from the steamed-food cart, then come to Zan for egg cakes for dessert.

As Zan was serving a well-dressed woman, a man in a rain poncho stuck his head in and hissed to Zan’s customer, “Chanel, Gucci! Just like the real thing!”

“Get out of here!” Zan snapped.

Finally, there were no more customers.

Zan said, “How’s the new job?”

“I’m barely managing not to get fired.”

She chuckled. “So what else is new?” She looked up, and for a moment, she met my eyes. “The important thing is, are you happy?”

I blinked as a horn blared and a passing car splashed us both. “I am. I love it there. It’s a whole world in itself. I can’t believe I’m free of the noodle shop. I feel like I’m going to mess up, get fired and wind up doing dishes again.”

“Well, I was pretty impressed with you in that tai chi class. I never knew you could move like that.”

“That’s just a bunch of exercises. Anyone could learn. How’s it going with your learner’s permit?”

“I need to be really ready.”

“What are you waiting for? You know that written test inside out.”

“Come on, I was never that good at tests and it’s so expensive. I’m allowed to retake it for free but if I flunk the first time, it’ll just seem like a bad sign. And you always said the driving thing was a dumb idea.”

“I guess I’m figuring out that if I can stumble along in a dance studio, you can pass that test.”

Zan grinned. “Maybe.”

“Lisa has the chance to take the Hunter test. You know, one of those special schools for gifted kids.”

“Wow.” Zan stirred her batter, not meeting my eyes. “You ever mind?”

I knew what she meant. “Not really. Sometimes. We can’t all be special.”

Rain poured off of her rickety metal cart as an elderly woman approached. Zan gave my arm a quick squeeze, then turned to help her next customer.

–

It was Monday again. All of the staff sat on the folding chairs in a circle in the smaller ballroom. Estella wasn’t there. There wasn’t even an empty chair for her.

Adrienne started to pace. “I think we already know what has happened and I want to make clear what our company policy is. There is to be absolutely no fraternizing with the students. It’s in all of your contracts. Are we clear on what that means?”

I tried to remember what my contract had said. I’d barely read it before signing since all of the tiny print had seemed to swim before my eyes.

Mateo put his hands together in a wicked gesture. “No doing the nasty.”

“Thank you for that visual clarification, Mateo.” Adrienne continued speaking, “I’ve been in this business for many years. I know how it goes. We love our students. Our students love us. We dance with them, we teach them, we care for them.”

Dominic stood up and took over as if they’d rehearsed it. “Some students will fall in love with you, especially the ones who are single and alone. This is normal. Maybe you will even fall in love with some of your students. However. We. Do. Not. Screw. The. Students.”

He paused to let us take this in. “It creates an unsafe atmosphere here in the studio if the teachers start dating the students. Our students deserve better than that. They come to be taught in a professional way. Yes, ballroom dancing has to do with fun, romance and sensuality. That is a part of its power. We are here to teach them to harness that energy. However, there is a line we must not cross. The staff at Avery Studios may not become romantically involved with the students. Absolutely all staff, no exceptions.” He turned to look at me.

“Me?” I said, confused. “Who would I sleep with? No one wants to do me.” I could feel my face turn hot.

Nina burst out laughing while a couple of people chuckled.

–

Late that afternoon, when Mateo and Nina were sitting in the reception area, waiting for their students to come, I asked them, “Was it Estella’s competition student?”

Nina answered, “They’ve been carrying on together outside of the studio for so long. It was totally obvious. I think Adrienne and Dominic were trying to give them the benefit of the doubt but she only got in deeper. She’s in love with him. She thinks they’re going to get married.”

“Don’t you think so?”

“I don’t believe in men’s promises anymore,” Nina said, tossing her head. Mateo kicked her. “Except for yours, darling.” Her tone was light but I could see the strain on her face. “I think she’s making a huge mistake. I even told her, but she wouldn’t listen. She’s lost her job, her career, all for this guy.”

Mateo put his arm around her and gave her a quick hug. “Just let out the pain, baby. And he’s secretly gay too.”

Nina laughed. “Shut up.”

Mateo said, “It’s dumb all around. She should just have made him quit taking lessons here first. Everyone knows it’s impossible to police your relationships after the student’s gone. No one cares then.”

“Are they going to replace her?” I asked.

“Of course,” said Mateo. “We’re understaffed for the number of students we have anyway. What we really need is another man.”

“No, we don’t!” Nina said. “Enough men. You’re just looking for some fresh meat.”

Mateo shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying. But I heard Ms. Simone and Adrienne fighting after the meeting.”

“Why?” Nina asked.

“About Pierre, of course.”

I had to think for a moment. “You mean Simone’s partner?”

“Sure. She’d do anything to get him in the same studio. Making a commitment . . .”

Nina pitched in. “And it’d be a lot easier for them to find time to rehearse. Plus, I’m sure he’d love to come here.”

“Why?”

“We’re the most successful studio in New York City.” Nina shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “It’s because Adrienne and Dominic are so smart. They’re good to us too. They pay a fortune to bring in people like Julian Edwards for the entire staff. So what did Adrienne say about hiring Pierre?”

Mateo struck a pose and began to imitate Adrienne. “This is ballroom, my dear. I do not need the drama, not until I’m sure you’ll stay together. Dance couples, one moment they’re all over each other, the next they’re slamming doors and refusing to appear in the same show together. So if I were you, I’d get myself to rehearsal instead of complaining to me.”

I tried to keep a straight face but then I heard Nina snorting with laughter and I couldn’t stop myself from giggling.

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Nina said.

“So who are they going to hire?” I asked.

Nina shrugged. “Beats me.”