'Pleased to meet you,' she said primly, as if by rote.
I tried to think of more to say. 'Do you like chess? Bobby Fischer won the U.S. championship in January. He's only fifteen.'
She was silent, still looking down the street.
'I'm sixteen,' I added, lamely. 'How old are you?'
'Fifteen.' Her voice was distracted.
'I think it's great, having a teenager as chess champion.'
'I bet Bobby Fischer is a secret ace.' She turned back to me.
'You think so?' I had never thought about that before.
'All aces should be exposed,' said Flo, sharply.
I had never considered that before, either. 'I don't suppose it matters much. I think they do whatever they want.'
'Do you live in Jokertown?'
'Yeah. My family lives right on the edge here.' I hesitated. 'We're Japanese Americans. We wouldn't be at home in Chinatown.'
'How well do you know Jokertown?'
'Fine.'
'I mean, really well?'
'Sure I do. I live here.'
She nodded, looking up at the buildings.
'Where are you going?'
'Oh. …' She shrugged.
'I get off soon. I could take you there.' I was sweating heavily again, now from tension as much as from the heat.
'I don't know exactly where I'm going.'
That sounded like a brush-off. Disappointed, I expected her to say goodbye. I looked at her pretty brown eyes, waiting.
'And now,' the radio blared faintly. 'Here's a golden oldie from 1956! Here's Johnny Mathis!
Flo just stood there. It wasn't a brush-off after all. I got the idea that maybe she wanted me to take the initiative.
The door from the warehouse office squeaked. Startled, I turned to see my driver, Peter Choy, coming out. He was in his mid-twenties and had the short, stocky build common to many of the Cantonese in Chinatown. His khaki driver's uniform was stained with sweat under the arms.
'All finished, Chuck?' Peter asked.
'Uh — almost.' Belatedly, I turned to get the last crate of shrimp. I had left it too long and it was starting to smell.
'Say, Chuck, this one's about to go bad! What have you been — ' Peter stopped suddenly, seeing Flo. 'Oh, pardon me.' He winked at me and picked up the crate himself 'Hey, not bad, pal. You go on. I'll punch out for you.'
'Thanks!' I grinned. 'Thanks, Mr. Choy.'
'G'wan, get outa here!' Peter carried the crate back inside.
'He's not a joker, is he?' Flo asked softly.
'No!' I shook my head, still grinning. 'He's a great guy. And he's the only one who calls me Chuck.'
'What does everyone else call you?'
I paused, regretting that I had brought up the subject. 'Aw, nothing. Look — you want me to show you around?'
'Yes, please.'
'Okay.' I looked down at my sweat-darkened t-shirt and faded blue dungarees with the cuffs rolled up, both of which emphasized how chubby I was. 'Sony about the way I look.'
She shrugged.
'Well … I'm getting awful hungry. Would you like to have dinner?' I opened the gate and stepped out.
She backed away, keeping her distance. 'Um — in Jokertown?'
I knew of a little Chinese dive just up the street that I could afford. A girl dressed as she was might not like the atmosphere, but the only other choice within my budget was Biffs Burgers in the heart of Jokertown, where too many of my friends would be hanging around. I wanted to be alone with her.
'There's a Chinese place up the street, right on the border.'
'Okay.' Flo looked at my clothes pointedly. 'Can you really take me out to dinner?'
'Aw, sure. Come on.' I gestured and she came with me, walking well to one side. 'I have money. I was planning to go to the hobby shop to look for some Slug Maligne baseball cards.'
'Who?'
'Slug Maligne. He's the big, slimy joker who signed this spring as the Yankees' new backup catcher when Elston Howard got hurt. Somebody's got to spell Yogi. Slug's only got the one rookie card, but in Jokertown, it's real expensive already. A bunch of them would be a good investment.'
'A joker? On the Yankees?' She grimaced.
'Aw, he'll do okay. Slug's not much on the base paths, but he can
'Oh.'
I decided she wasn't a baseball fan.
The Twisted Dragon was only a narrow storefront, but I held the screen door open for her, watching her pretty face anxiously. I was afraid she would turn up her nose and leave. Instead, she stepped inside, clutching her little purse in front of her.
A couple of old, green ceiling fans creaked slowly over our heads. The hardwood floor had been worn clean of varnish years ago. None of the tables matched each other in shape or height, but they were covered with clean white tablecloths. The muffled sound of a t.v. came from the kitchen.
'Hi, Chop-Chop! How you?' The owner of the Twisted Dragon, a chubby little joker in a black suit that was too big, grinned broadly. His face was that of Chinese dragon, large and scaled and whiskered. Inside his baggy suit, his body was twisted and angled weirdly. He spoke with a heavy Cantonese accent. 'You want early dinner today, eh? You come this way.'
I winced at the use of my street name and glanced at Flo. She said nothing. I gestured for her to follow.
The owner limped to a small table under a ceiling fan, with straight-backed, wobbly wooden chairs. I sat facing the door. Our host handed us food-stained menus and started to leave.
'How's business?' I asked quickly. I wanted to prove to Flo that I was really part of this neighborhood.
'Business good! Really good, Chop-Chop. Couple year, maybe I sell out. Or, maybe move to bigger place, fix up real nice.'
'That sounds good.'
'Hokay, Chop-Chop. You decide, I send somebody back.'
'I already know what I want,' said Flo. She was holding her menu gingerly by the edges, as if it was a phonograph record.
'We'll order right away,' I said. 'What do you want?'
'Won-ton soup and sweet and sour pork,' said Flo.
'Make it for two,' I said.
The guy nodded, taking our menus, and hurried away.
Flo was sitting rigidly in her chair. Her dark brown ponytail quivered slightly from side to side behind her, betraying her tension. Her eyes shifted around the nearly-empty restaurant. 'Are there other jokers here?'
'Uh — ' I glanced around. 'No, not yet. But it's early. The Twisted Dragon brings people from both sides of the street.'
She nodded. Her face was covered with sweat. It wasn't
