Songs Of Willow Frost: A Novel Part 17

She tried not to think those thoughts as she walked along, holding William's hand while he stumbled over cracks in the sidewalk. But each morning she dreaded going to work. b.u.t.terfield's was a steady source of income and safer than dancing at the Wah Mee, but the music store was the one place Uncle Leo would know to find her.

She breathed a sigh of relief when she found Colin waiting for her at b.u.t.terfield's. She'd shied away from having him stop by in the past because his presence while she performed made her nervous-more timorous than singing before a busload of tourists. Yet here he stood in a linen suit, hat in hand, chatting amiably with her employer, much to her surprise and slight embarra.s.sment. In the crook of his arm, Colin held another bouquet of bright blue flowers. That's what a wish fulfilled looks like, Liu Song thought as she walked in and said h.e.l.lo; the two men smiled, beaming conspiratorially at the sight of her and then at each other.

"Good morning, Willow," Mr. b.u.t.terfield said. "Master Colin was just telling me about your stage name. I think it's wonderful-simply marvelous. Much easier for the locals and tourists to understand. We should use it here at the store, don't you think?"

Colin nodded in agreement. "He does have a point."

She set William down, and he went to plunk away on a tiny piano. "I didn't know that I needed a stage name."

"You do now." Colin winked. "I finally did it. I got you a part in a movie. It's a small part, but it's a huge production, called The Eyes of the Totem. It's starring Wanda Hawley-she's as big as Gloria Swanson. And best of all, we'll appear on-screen together. I was just working out the details-"

"Your beau here ..." Mr. b.u.t.terfield cheerfully interrupted, almost blushing.

Liu Song's imagination tripped over the word beau, which sounded official-committed. The word carried with it a sense of belonging, of possession. She thoroughly enjoyed the sound of that word.

Mr. b.u.t.terfield kept yammering, waving his hands as he spoke. "Master Colin wanted to make sure you were available for the days they need you on the set. I thought it was a fabulous idea. This is great publicity for the store. And who knows, dear, this could be the start of something-something big."

Liu Song suspected a polite form of collusion between her boss and her beau as she watched the men glance at each other knowingly.

"Well, I'll leave you two alone," Mr. b.u.t.terfield said as he stubbed out his cigarillo and disappeared into the storeroom, humming a cheerful tune.

Colin handed her the flowers. "How did your meeting go?"

"Fine." She hated lying but couldn't bear to tell Colin about Uncle Leo. She didn't want to scare him away, burden him with her shame, or lure him into something more than he was capable of. But she didn't stop hoping.

"I'm sorry. What's this about a movie?" she asked, changing the subject. "And how did you convince Mr. b.u.t.terfield ..."

Colin confirmed what Liu Song already knew-that her boss had earned much at her expense. She was the songbird that kept laying golden eggs. As much as she worried about losing her job, Mr. b.u.t.terfield was much more concerned about her leaving him, especially with radio sales booming and music sales on the decline. She wondered if b.u.t.terfield's could even sell a player piano these days without her promised performance as the kicker. Having her around was more than just a point of pride-it kept the store going. She had more power than she realized-more freedom and more opportunities. Why not make the most of them? Why not try new venues? She didn't have to hide anymore. Leo would find out about her sooner rather than later.

"The entire production is being filmed in Tacoma," Colin explained. "Most of the scenes have already been shot at the new H. C. Weaver Studios. They spent fifty thousand dollars building that place-you should see it; there are fifteen star dressing rooms, separate greenrooms for extras, a projection room; it's quite amazing. I went to the dedication earlier in the year. But the best news is that part of the movie takes place at a Chinese cabaret. I pulled a few strings at the China Gate Theatre, offering props, silk costumes, and set pieces to the studio in exchange for a minor role. That's where we come in. I'm on-screen for most of the scene, but there's a great opportunity for you as well. More than a stand-in, more than an extra. We have a scene together. It's a small part, but it could be the start of something greater." He smiled. "And since Mr. b.u.t.terfield is your employer and your second-biggest fan, I thought it was only proper form to make his acquaintance and ask for his blessing."

"Blessing?"

"I'm sorry," Colin said. "Perhaps it's my English. I wanted to ask for his permission. Is that how you say it?" Liu Song furrowed her brow, smiling.

Colin switched to Chinese. "I have something important to ask you."

Liu Song suddenly felt underdressed, unprepared. She knew that Colin was a modern fellow, but tradition and convention called for some sort of gesture-a proposal, perhaps? She tried not to hope, but her thoughts ran away with her.

She imagined standing in the dark, behind a velvet curtain, listening as a packed house falls silent when the orchestra begins playing a rousing overture. She can almost feel the breeze on her bare shoulders as she envisions the curtains parting.

Liu Song held her breath as she watched Colin fumble with something in his suit pocket. He looked nervous and fl.u.s.tered.

From the stage all she sees are the footlights as her eyes adjust to the gloaming.

Colin paused and took a deep breath.

She feels the warmth of the spotlight, brighter than the noonday sun.

Colin held up a telegram from Western Union. "My father is coming next week."

Suddenly Liu Song is standing alone onstage as the houselights come on. She hears the solemn clapping of a single man, a janitor, wedded to his broom.

Liu Song tried not to look crestfallen as she regarded the paper. She'd lingered on the periphery of his affection, his attention, their shared pa.s.sions, lost in the hopeless decorum, waiting for Colin to declare his intentions, which seemed plainly, painfully obvious. Yet they had been perpetually unstated.

"I've waited a long time for this moment," Colin said as he took her hands in his. They felt warm, soft, gentle. "I've waited to speak with my father, for him to see what I've become, and for him to see what's possible. I want to introduce you as well. This is the start of something big for both of us, in every way possible."

"But what about your ... duties ..."

Liu Song watched his every gesture, trying to decipher meaning from every word, every pause, seeking answers to questions her pride wouldn't allow her to ask.

Colin hesitated as though he were considering his past obligations for the first time. It was as if he'd been so engaged in his career that the possibility of failure, of rejection, had never once been considered. "I'm sure he'll have some critical things to say, but when he sees me on the set, when he sees me with you-I know he'll come around. He's always wanted me to take the reins of the family business, to settle down and give him grandchildren. This is as close as I can get. Please tell me you'll be there."

Liu Song hesitated. She was a young girl in a city of lonely men-outnumbered ten, twenty, one hundred to one. She knew that even as a single mother she could find a suitor if she really tried. But she also knew that she didn't want any of them. She didn't want to be the wife of a cabdriver, the mother of a laundry runner, the stepmother of grown children who would regard her as a maid and a short-order cook. She had William's unconditional love-she wanted more but refused to settle for the warmth of some strange man's bed. She didn't want to be a subservient wife, a silent prisoner. If there was anything she had learned from her mother, it was the painful understanding that cages come in all sizes-some even have white picket fences, four walls, and a front door. Liu Song loved performing-that was her true self. The lonely girl who danced with strangers was the actress. Deep inside her bruised and battered heart she knew that she wanted what her mother wanted, what her father dreamt, what they sacrificed for. She wanted to perform, not just onstage but in the arms of someone who would truly love her. She didn't care what she had to endure. She only cared whom she'd be sharing that spotlight with.

"Please tell me you want this as much as me," he asked.

She looked at Colin, wondering where her hesitation had gone. "I do."

IF COLIN WAS nervous about seeing his father for the first time in nearly five years, Liu Song couldn't tell. She wasn't sure if his optimism was a by-product of his uncanny acting ability or a reckless brand of fearlessness-the kind she suspected she would need to succeed in this business. Her mother had possessed that kind of courage, before illness stole her resolve, along with her husband, her dignity, and her dreams. Or was that courage all an act too? Liu Song wondered how flexible the truth must be to performers who were always pretending to be someone else.

She felt Colin's arm around her as he bought two tickets for the Puget Sound Electric Railway's trolley to Tacoma. She felt warm and safe as she leaned into him. She reached up and straightened his tie, wondering how long it would be until he kissed her. She was certain that meeting Colin's father was some sort of vetting process. But she also suspected that she was a buffer between the two men. They were meeting on location, in a public place, where the condemning eyes of a disappointed, angered father might be distracted by the grandiose spectacle of filmmaking, where his stern voice might be softened by Liu Song's polite smile. If all goes well, Liu Song thought, there will be nothing between Colin and me. And sweet William will have the father he deserves.

As they traveled the southern spur of the interurban line, Liu Song counted the minutes and the miles, growing more anxious. She took deep breaths, exhaling slowly, relaxing her shoulders and calming her mind-the way her father had shown her once before he took the stage. She was so excited about being on the set of a major production, but still worried about meeting Colin's father. She knew so little about the man, but she expected him to be a traditional Chinese father, more entrenched in old-world customs than her uncle Leo. She imagined Mr. Kwan as the opposite of her own father in every possible way, which left her perplexed as to how Colin could be so hopeful. Then again, she thought, maybe Colin isn't hoping for reconciliation-for acceptance. Maybe this would be Colin's last goodbye-a cutting of the cords, where he'd declare the two great loves of his life. Three if he counted William. She hoped. She indulged her imagination. She dreamt shamelessly.

She was still daydreaming as they stepped off the train at Tacoma's Union Station. Colin led her across the busy street and around the corner, past ticket scalpers working the alley by the sparkling Pantages Theatre. Two blocks up the steep hill she saw a line of people outside the Rialto, waiting for the evening show. But by far the largest crowd had ama.s.sed in the street to the north.

"Most of the filming will take place at Weaver's big studio near t.i.tlow Beach," Colin said. "But tonight they're shooting at the Grand Winthrop Hotel."

Together they waded through the throng of people-hundreds of onlookers hoping to catch a glimpse of Wanda Hawley. Liu Song recognized the starlet immediately. She was hard to miss as she stood on the front steps of the hotel, wearing an enormous fur coat, flanked by two stout policemen, who kept the horde of autograph seekers at bay. The uniformed officers had to shout to be heard over the thrumming of a generator truck parked in the alley. Long cables snaked up and through a pair of open second-story windows. Enormous movie lights stood like sentinels, illuminating the lobby of the hotel. Liu Song marveled at the elaborately constructed facade, which had transformed the stately hotel into the Golden Dragon-a palace of indulgence, a den of temptation, where they'd be performing alongside dozens of other actors and Chinese extras. The setting was daunting.

"Now I know why you told your father to meet you here," Liu Song said as they showed their IDs to a production a.s.sistant who kept track of actors and scenes on a blackboard. The man directed them to where parts of the hotel had been repurposed as staging areas for crew members and makeup artists, and a storage pen for a.s.sorted props.

"My father is a rich man," Colin said. "But still, how can he not be impressed by all of this? They hired the scene painters from the World's Fair." Colin paused as they saw the main set, where the hotel's grand ballroom had been turned into a glittering Oriental nightclub, complete with fine linens, bamboo trees, hanging lanterns, and tuxedoed waiters. "Weaver's studio is the third largest motion picture production stage in the United States. The other two are in Hollywood. This business is no trifle-no pa.s.sing fancy. I'm not an opera singer traveling from town to town hoping for a free meal." He smiled at Liu Song. "And how can he not be impressed by you?"

Liu Song tried not to take his words as a slight toward her father. She knew Colin was merely excited-lost in the moment. She wished she shared his confidence. And as a seamstress guided her to the ladies' dressing room in the bas.e.m.e.nt and Liu Song was fitted with an elaborate ball gown, she felt emboldened by the dress, by the part, by the memory of her parents. She thought about Mildred and William sitting at home-she wished they could see her now, but then she remembered that they'd be able to. One day she'd take them to the nearest movie house and she'd surprise them.

Liu Song studied her part as a makeup artist dusted her face, complimented her smooth skin, and outlined her eyes with thick, black eyeliner. Their scene was simple the way Colin had explained it on the ride down from Seattle. He was the dashing young proprietor of the club, and she was his wife. She'd flit about the scene, speaking with Colin and other guests before being sent away for her protection as the stars of the film made their grand entrance and Colin was subsequently arrested. Liu Song knew that her part was small, but she found comfort in that. She preferred to dip her toe into the tepid pool of cinema instead of plunging in headfirst.

Then the waiting began.

"This is all part of the process," Colin said, as he looked at his wrist.w.a.tch and glanced at the door. "We wait and wait and wait ..."

Liu Song nodded. She'd learned to a.s.sociate Colin with the virtue of patience. She watched as he was called to the set on three different occasions. Each time he took his scenes in stride. She stared spellbound as he reacted to the lights, the camera, even the other big-name stars like Tom Santschi and Violet Palmer, who seemed beyond the reach of the rest. He fits in. He belongs here. He's born for this. Surely his father will see this. Such talent is obvious.

Then she heard her name called. She didn't even recognize it at first.

"Willa Eng," a man said. "Is there a Willa Eng on the set?"

"It's Willow," Liu Song called out, grimacing at the sound of her last name. She stepped into her heels and found her place beneath the lights. The last time she and Colin had done this it had been a silly affair-all in nonsensical fun, playacting, like charades. But now the cameras would roll on them.

"Are you ready?" she teased Colin as he slicked his hair back and b.u.t.toned his suit jacket. She noticed him looking nervous for the first time as he glanced at the clock.

"He'll be here," Liu Song said. "He's probably here already, out in the crowd ..."

"You don't know my father," Colin said. "He'd be early to his own funeral."

Liu Song touched his arm as she looked into his eyes and then toward the camera, where she saw a strange, upside-down figure reflected in the lens. Then she noted that the director, the cinematographer, the bulk of the crew were all looking toward the entrance, wide-eyed. Liu Song glanced up at Colin and saw him grow pale. She turned around and saw a beautiful Chinese girl, not much older than herself. The girl wore a tight-fitting cheongsam made of shimmering red silk. She appeared nervous and strangely out of place. Liu Song presumed the girl to be an extra, lost in the confusion. Until she saw the way the girl looked at Colin-searching, recognizing. Her eyes were filled with something Liu Song knew all too well-longing.

"This is a closed set," a producer snapped. "Miss, you can't be here. Somebody get her out of frame. If we need more Chinese extras, honey, I'll let you know."

"Colin." Liu Song looked up, not wanting to ask.

"I can't believe she's here," he whispered. "I can't believe he sent her."

Liu Song felt a crushing weight on her heart as the director shouted, "Places!"

She stood before him, listening to the clatter and din of cast and crew.

"It was ... an arranged ... marriage," Colin muttered, distant, as though he were speaking to himself, reminding his conscience of forgotten labors.

Liu Song felt her heart bend across the anvil of his words. The blows of the hammer kept coming, kept pounding.

"Arranged ... by my father. I haven't seen her since she was maybe fourteen years old-so long ago. I thought that she would be married by now-that my father would have released me from that obligation. That everyone had just moved on without me."

Obligation. Liu Song thought she knew the meaning of the word. She looked down, not wanting to see the girl, or the regret-the guilt in Colin's eyes.

"She's my ... fiancee," she heard him whisper. The words were ice.

Liu Song felt his hands on her shoulders. He was speaking, but she didn't hear a word as his lips moved like an actor's in a silent film. Then he let go and she watched the scene unfold from the inside out. She watched Colin walk toward the comely visitor as crew members threw up their hands in frustration. Liu Song blinked as he touched his fiancee's hand, exchanged words, and then the girl left. By the look on Colin's face as he returned, Liu Song knew that something terrible had happened, and not just to her.

Colin looked horrified, fearful-the way Liu Song felt. "My father is on his deathbed," he said. "And my brother has become a drunk and a gambler. My mother sent my fiancee here to bring me back. I'm so sorry, Liu Song. I have to go home. I have to leave tomorrow. I'll return if I can. I promise. This isn't how I planned to ..."

"Quiet on the set!" the director yelled. "We've got a movie to shoot."

As the camera rolled, Liu Song looked at the stranger Colin had become beneath the halcyon lights. And in her place, Willow made her appearance. Her ears were numb, ringing, silencing his dialogue-his heartfelt gestures that he somehow managed to perform. Willow stared up at him, her eyes welling with hot tears, her lower lip trembling as she tried to patch the cracks in the emotional dam that was bursting with each of Colin's gestures, with each silent soliloquy. She struggled with how she'd explain this to William. He was little, he would adjust, but he'd feel Colin's absence. Perhaps more keenly, more completely than she'd feel the emptiness in her own heart as she cried helplessly for the first time in years.

Colin kissed the tears on her cheeks, then he touched his lips. He looked at the wetness on his fingertips as if the warm residue were blood from a weapon. Then he kissed her lips, gently, before exhaling, catching his breath, and walking out of the scene as Liu Song heard the director mumble something about keeping the camera rolling-that this was a golden moment. She heard the flickering of the shutter, the hum of the lights, and the silence punctuated by the sound of Colin's footsteps, fading.

Lullaby.

(1924).

Liu Song paid sixty cents for a return ticket and sat by herself in the back of the 525 Limited, bound for Seattle with short stops in Kent and Auburn. She didn't wait for Colin, nor did she bother to look for him. She didn't know if he had another scene or another unscheduled performance with his long-lost fiancee-she chose not to linger and find out. All she wanted now was her son and the comfort of her tiny home.

As she sat in the near-empty railcar, watching the gray-green blur of another train zoom past the arched windows, she tried to think of nothing but William, but she couldn't forget the look on Colin's face or the tears that finally caught up to her. She could have cried for hours. All of her pain and struggles and loneliness had overwhelmed her the way Colin's fiancee-his past-had caught up to him, crashing his big night. Liu Song struggled to reconcile the secret he'd kept, the growing list of commitments he'd run away from-his father, his family's business, the responsibilities of a firstborn son, and a betrothal. That was the worst. But the girl in the red cheongsam, his fiancee-none of this was her fault. He'd been unfair to that poor girl as well. She was merely an innocent bystander, but now Colin was standing by her, leaving with her, conscripted into marrying her. Where does this leave me? Liu Song anguished. I'm alone at the bottom of a deep well of doubt. And at the murky bottom of that cold spring, Liu Song realized that it wasn't just Colin who had misled her-she had betrayed herself. She'd followed her heart, her hopes, without questioning him. Now those hopes were tangled. She remembered learning about the Greeks back at Franklin High-about the Gordian knot. That was her heart, a thicket of longing, misgiving, rejection, and disbelief. There was no way to untie so many twists and coils. The only solution was to do what Alexander the Great had done, and cut through the mess, severing all ties-all but William.

He said he'd come back for me. Liu Song was haunted by his words. He said he'd come back for me if he could. Not when. Reality stripped of the armor of optimism was nothing but naked truth-pale and weak.

Liu Song cursed herself for needing someone. She hated herself for introducing William to a man who had run away from his family. Her hopes were an emotional mistake, burdened with a heavy price, one that she couldn't afford to pay again.

As she gazed despondently out the window, she saw the moon's reflection ripple across the Duwamish River and felt the train begin to slow. She heard the coachman ringing the bell at each street crossing, warning pedestrians and drivers alike. Liu Song stared through the gla.s.s at the blinking radio towers that seemed to be everywhere, the sparkling marquees. The city had been reborn during her short lifetime as streetlights and electricity transformed each block into a carnival of neon. Men walked the streets with purpose, with lacquered canes and polished shoes, and women crossed the streets in bobbed hair and sequined gowns that shone pink, lilac, and periwinkle beneath gas lamps and the sweeping headlights of shiny automobiles. The city had grown up around her; she was a mother, but she still felt like a lost little girl.

As she walked from the train station, her heels clicked on polished marble. She pa.s.sed wives who threw their arms around their husbands, but all she embraced was the creeping loneliness of tomorrow. Her only comfort was in knowing who waited for her-her baby boy, who would always wait for her, always welcome her with outstretched arms that reached beyond petty judgment and unmet expectations. As she waved to the manager at the Bush Hotel, she thought she detected something strange in the man's eyes. Was it surprise, or sorrow? She felt her cheeks, where her tears had long since dried, realizing that her makeup-her mascara-streaked face-must be the calling card of the newly brokenhearted.

When she reached her door, she fumbled in her purse for the key, stopping as she heard Mildred slide back the dead bolt.

When the door opened, her friend nearly jumped. "It's you," she exclaimed in Chinese. "You're back early. I wasn't expecting you for hours ..."

"I told you," Liu Song huffed as she saw Mildred's guilty expression. "I don't want you bringing any boyfriends over while I'm away. It's not just for William's sake. The man downstairs is always giving me sideways looks-I can't chance ..."

"There's no one here but me."

"And William," Liu Song said with a weary, accusatory tone. I just want to curl up with my boy and sleep for a million years, Liu Song thought. "I'm too tired to argue ..." She looked in the mirror near the door. Her mascara wasn't too bad.

"No," Mildred said as she fidgeted with her tiny wrist.w.a.tch. "It's just me. William isn't here. Your uncle came by for a visit-he offered to take William out for ice cream. He was dressed nice and seemed like such a likable fellow ..."

Liu Song dropped her purse and hurried to the room she shared with her son. His crib was empty. His carriage was gone. She felt light-headed and held on to the doorjamb. She'd never told Mildred who William's father was-just that he was a married man, out of reach and beyond her reckoning. And she'd never shared the details of how she and her stepparents had parted ways.

"I'm so sorry, Liu Song." Mildred grew pale as she gushed her apology in English and Chinese, as though for emphasis of her sincerity-her anguish. "I didn't see the harm. He said he was just going down to the soda counter at Owl Drug. But ..."

Liu Song noticed the kerchief in Mildred's hands-the linen was a damp clump of worry. "How long ago-when did he leave?" Liu Song was practically shouting. She was standing on the precipice of panic, trying not to look into the abyss.

Mildred's eyes glossed over. Her mouth began to tremor, but the words wouldn't come. Liu Song held her friend's hands, which were cold and shaking. She spoke slowly, acting as calm as she could. "Mildred. This man, when did he leave ... with my son? How long ago?"

"I'm so sorry." Mildred shook her head. "It was four hours ago. I'm so sorry, Liu Song. I'm so sorry. I didn't think anything bad would happen. He said he'd be right back, but when he didn't come back I ran up and down the street looking for them. I even went to the drugstore and asked the clerk and the soda jerk, but they hadn't seen them. I don't know where they went, or why he'd take your boy. You're family ..."

Liu Song's estrangement from Uncle Leo must have weighed upon Mildred more with each pa.s.sing hour. The discord of strained familial relations-of things left unspoken-must have been blaring like a police siren by the time Liu Song had returned. Stepparents were often the villains in fairy tales, and Liu Song had rarely mentioned Uncle Leo or Auntie Eng. Now she wished she had, as a warning.

"Please, don't tell my mother," Mildred pleaded. "Please ..."

"Go," Liu Song said. "Go and look everywhere you can. If you find them call for the police until I get there. Do you understand? Look as long as you can." She watched as Mildred nodded through her tears and ran out the door. Then she noticed her mother's opera mask hanging on the wall. The painted heirloom had been moved, slightly.

IN THE HOTEL lobby Liu Song begged to use the telephone. She spoke with the local operator and asked to be connected to Leo Eng, but no one picked up on the other end. So she ran out the door and into the darkness in the direction of the Jefferson Laundry on South Jackson, a place she'd avoided for two years. Leo's father had lost the original business when the white unions boycotted all of the Chinese laundries twenty years ago. And if that wasn't enough, the Knights of Labor ran everyone else out of town. But like a c.o.c.kroach, Leo had returned ten years later with fifty cents in his pocket and won a two-thousand-dollar lottery, enough money to reopen the laundry. This time he named it after an American president. Now he made a handsome living taking in the sheets and the towels of the local workingman's hotels-the Northern, the Panama, the Milwaukee, and the Ace. Liu Song knew the laundry would be open until at least midnight-she'd start there. Then visit the gaming parlors, one by one, until she found her stepfather. She doubted William would be with him, but finding Uncle Leo was the key to finding where he lived; then she'd deal with Auntie Eng if she had to. Liu Song pictured blood dripping in the alley, but there would be no feathers this time.

Liu Song found her uncle at the laundry, smoking and chatting with a handful of workers. He didn't seem surprised to see her. In fact, she detected a wry smile as he stubbed out his cigarette and cleared his throat. She winced as he spat on a brick wall in the alley. His excrement slowly crawled down the side of the building. He shooed away his employees and removed the white laundryman's cap he wore. He tossed it in a bin.

"Where's my son! Where is William! You had no right to take ..."

"He's not here," Uncle Leo said. He spoke in a casual tone-as though this were a poker game and he already had the winning hand. "But I do have every right to take my son. When I got the letter from the Peterson woman, I just had to see for myself. I saw you parading that carriage up and down the street months ago-little did I know you had a surprise in there for me. I didn't believe it at first. But then I saw him, so handsome, so strong-he takes after your mother and me. I even went to the King County Clerk's Office, just to be certain. When I saw my name on the birth certificate ..."

"What do you want?" Liu Song said. "You can have anything I have-anything but him. He's my son. I gave birth to him. I nursed him. He will never know who you are-he'll have nothing to do with you-I promise ..."