were rushing to get ready.
* * *
I’d never worked a Saturday afternoon before; it was crowded and the band played more local dances like joget. The music was cheerful, and forgetting my worries briefly, I quite enjoyed it, though I didn’t see any of my regulars. I’d miss this: the waxed dance floor, the sweating faces of the band members whom I now knew well enough to nod and smile at as we went by. The smell of cigarettes and sweat, my aching calves, and Hui’s bitingly funny remarks. As I slid into the cordoned-off dancers’ pen after a turn with a plump government clerk, I felt a stab of regret. Perhaps I shouldn’t quit after all.
I knew only a few of the other girls today since we were usually on different shifts, but Anna had come in. I hadn’t seen her since the night of the private party.
“I saw something good just now.” Anna always had a sleepy, heavy air about her and today it made her tall figure somehow more voluptuous.
“What?”
“A really handsome fellow. He was waiting outside for a friend. I made him promise to dance with me when he came in.”
The other girls giggled. I listened with half an ear.
“What do you mean by really handsome? You’re always saying that!”
“But he was! He might be an actor from Singapore or Hong Kong.”
There was a lot of eye-rolling, but we were all rather curious, myself included. Many Chinese opera stars were bombarded with love letters, home-cooked meals, and money from frenzied female fans. The only person I knew who looked as though he ought to be in pictures was Shin. Then a dreadful thought occurred to me: perhaps it was Shin.
“He was tall, with nice shoulders. Narrow hips,” said Anna, “And he had this northern Chinese look, with a high nose and cheekbones.”
Alarm was spreading; a swarm of fire ants pouring down my back.
“Look, there he is!”
My stomach plummeted. It was indeed Shin—and with him were Robert and Y. K. Wong. The three of them threaded their way through the crowd, Y. K. Wong leading them. His narrow face with its elongated jaw was alert as he searched the faces of the girls. Our eyes met. I had nothing, not even a fan, to block his triumphant gaze from where I sat, a large rosette and number pinned to my breast, like merchandise for sale. Panicked, I willed my frozen legs to jump up. A dull roaring rose in my ears as they came closer. Even if Y. K. Wong had spotted me, it meant nothing as long as Robert and Shin didn’t. Run!
With a gasp, I was out of my chair, stumbling past the other girls with their cries of surprise. Y. K. Wong grabbed my wrist. “I’ve been looking for you.”
I stared past him at Robert’s shocked face. I couldn’t bear to look at Shin. Robert’s eyes were wide, showing the whites around them. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Ji Lin—are you working here?”
I dropped my head wretchedly.
“You’re really working here? Like a prostitute?”
His voice was incredulous. Too loud, like a slap in the face. Time slowed to a nightmarish crawl. I saw Shin’s jaw tighten, the telltale shift of his shoulders. I knew the danger signs when my stepfather snapped. Could see the future unravel in a gritty, jumping newsreel: Shin would hit Robert in the mouth, break his teeth and nose, and go to prison all because of my stupid, stupid choices.
I flung myself in front of Robert. There was a glancing blow to the side of my head, hard enough that my ears rang, though Shin must have held back at the last instant. I fell over, a tangle of limbs with Robert. Screams, a mad scramble. Discordant trumpet notes as the musicians wavered, then manfully started playing again. Shin was holding my face in his hands. “You idiot,” he said.
Hui was shrieking like a harpy, “What are you doing?”
“It’s all right.” Gasping, I struggled up. “He’s my brother.”
I tugged at him. Desperation numbed my stinging ear. The bouncers were heading over purposefully. In the corner, the Mama’s face was like thunder.
“Ji Lin!” Robert called, but I was running, slipping through the crowd that parted, surprised faces, mouths gaping in ohs and ahs. Dragging Shin with me, his hand in mine. Behind us, Kiong barreled his way through the dancing couples, colliding and apologizing. Through the side door, down the mint-green corridor marked private. The dressing-room door banged open. I grabbed