and broccoli,” Stan said, in the even voice of an executive accustomed to delivering news without any commentary or explanation. His face remained impassive as a corporate logo.
“Oh,” Bill said. Pointing at other pans on the steamer, he asked the server, “What’s that and that and that? Are they hot? MA LA TONGUE? I want MA LA TONGUE.” Linda had taught him the Chinese words for hot, spicy soup, when she was in a good mood one day, and he used the term mistakenly for any spicy food.
Ignoring his questions, the server put a portion of the three dishes he pointed at onto his place, next to a mound of rice. “Mala tang” she said, correcting his pronunciation. “Seese dallas.”
Bill understood the last part of what she said perfectly well. “Six dollars,” he nearly shouted. “The lunch special is five dollars. The sign outside says five dollars.” Bill gestured repeatedly toward the door and drew the shape of the sign with his two hands in the air. He then counted on his fingers for all to see. “One, two, three, four, five. Five dollars. Not six dollars.” He kept shaking his head no.
The server thought to herself that capitalists are just like communists, and people like Bill would be properly disposed of in jail if they were in China, but she only said, “All meat. Seese dallas.”
“No, no, no,” Bill said, raising his voice. “The sign says five dollars. Five dollars.”
Before East-West tensions could rise any higher, Stan intervened. “She’s right. Five dollars is for two vegetables and a meat dish, and you have three meat dishes. I can pay for you. It hardly costs anything.”
“No,” Bill said, still huffy that he was denied the special price. “I’ll buy my own. She never told me what they were. She never said they would cost more. All she said was ma la tongue.”
“Mala tang,” the server corrected him loudly, daring to show the glimmer of a smile. “Seese dallas pleese.”
Flustered, Bill searched for his wallet, which was in his briefcase.
“Do you want a drink?” Stan asked him.
“I brought a bottle of water in my briefcase,” Bill replied. Stan was surprised enough to raise his eyebrows. He knew Bill was a tightwad, but it was a slight shock to see that he might be becoming a miser, someone who wouldn’t even spend money on a drink. Bill finally found his wallet and grudgingly paid the server six dollars. To her cheery “Tank you,” he nodded his head in assent, although his face was dark and gloomy.
While Stan paid for his lunch special and drink, Bill waited with his tray, looking for an empty table.
“Let’s sit there,” he said to Stan, pointing to empty seats on the far side of the crowded dining area. On the way to the table, Bill accidentally hit a few customers with his briefcase, which was hanging over his shoulder, because of the lack of space in which to navigate. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. Excuse me.” Bill left a path of discontent behind him, but as soon as he sat down, he began wolfing down his food, oblivious to anything that had happened since they had come in.
Without hesitation, Stan also began to eat, since he knew that Bill would finish his food quickly, even if he had a choking fit, as he sometimes did from shoveling food in his mouth too fast. Bill never let a choking fit stand in the way of a plate of food for long. Occasionally, Bill would relax and talk for a while after eating lunch, but usually he was impatient to go. Stan tried to accommodate Bill’s dining quirk as much as he could, but he was only a moderately quick eater.
It soon became apparent why Bill had chosen the seats they sat in. In between huge scoops of rice and mala meat dishes disappearing down his throat, he said to Stan, “Take a look over there.” Bill pointed toward a good-looking, young, Chinese woman sitting behind Stan. “I’d like to get my hands on that Asian dish,” he said.
Looking behind, Stan observed, “She’s the most attractive thing in this filthy hole. How did you find this place?”
“I walked by one day,” Bill replied.
“And thought it was the imperial palace, I bet,” Stan said.
“It seemed worth trying,” Bill responded. “Not everyone makes your salary.” Gazing at the Chinese lady, Bill’s eyes took on a dreamy expression, and his fork stopped moving for several seconds. “She would make me forget all