well. She was trying to make me feel more confident in myself, guessing that I’d had a rough time. Maybe there was an element of reward in it somewhere, too? I mean, she’d probably sussed out that I was the one divvy, that Brookers Gelman, Inc., was going to make a killing in the forthcoming auction. Which was kind of her. For me, there was also that inveterate hunger, any port in the storm of life. And Lorna was such a lovely, loving port. Love is a rare commodity, so should be allowed to flourish where it will, right?
The rest lounge was still when I awoke. The lights had gentled down so the long window showed all Hong Kong like a huge gleaming crystal set against the dark-blue night. Shimmering, it seemed alive. For a while I watched, naked but entranced, at the glass before calling Lorna over to see.
She’d gone. Just like that. Vamoosh.
Except for this note on my jacket.
Darling Lovejoy,
I don’t know how to quite do this, if I can look you in the face again. I suppose I shall cope better another time. Mame told me how much you are, Lovejoy, only is it HK or US dollars? I guess ours. In your pocket. I really appreciate your understanding nature.
Love, Lorna
P.S. Our ship leaves the day after tomorrow. X
I thought, what? And dressed, a little achy after my nonstop passion. The crinkle-crinkle sounds I heard were made by a wadge of US dollars in my trouser pocket.
Then I reread Lorna’s note, where it said “how much you are, Lovejoy.” I was a gigolo.
One thing, I didn’t come cheap.
12
« ^ »
YOU bastard, Steerforth. You planned it all along!”
“Look, Lovejoy. Everybody’s for sale.”
Hong Kong isn’t for pavement racers. We moved erratically through the shoppers’
hullabaloo, dodging amongst the curb hawkers. Conversation gets in half a word every yard; probably why the lingo’s monosyllabic and deafening. As we moved, Steerforth’s puce face flicked in and out of vision like in some grainy silent film. If I could have clobbered him without hitting any six Chinese, I’d have given it a try. I was blazing.
“No! You look! It was a setup. Admit it!” I decided against clocking him one, seeing that each police pagoda was inhabited by a vigilant bobby, and a pair of scrapping tourists would stand out somewhat.
“For Chrissakes!” he gave back. He was actually indignant, can you believe. “It’s the best favor I’ve ever done!”
“Another thing, Steerforth.” A horrible suspicion arose. “What were those bloody tickets all about?”
He saw my murderous look and shrugged surrender. “It’s the local rent system. One ticket every ten minutes. Or every second tune.” He misinterpreted my shocked silence and added helpfully, “It’s called chung.”
“Rent? Chung? Who rents what?”
“Prostitutes rent restaurant space. Clients rent a bar girl. Or we rent a table when we’re…”
I clouted him. Because of the crowds I didn’t get a proper swing so it only knocked him sideways. Passing Cantonese laughed, exclaimed, paused. I pushed on and stood glaring unseeing at a pillar covered in Chinese fly- posters, the only static thing in the shambling din. It advertised a surgeon’s skill and price, complete with graphic photographs of a hemorrhoidectomy. Jesus. Rent. Me? How to make fame without really trying.
“Bloody nerve!” I found I’d been pushed by a crowd swirl into a side street. Steerforth grabbed me just as I was about to be swept upwards from the main thoroughfare. And I do mean up, practically vertical. It was the steepest street I had ever seen, steps all the way to God.
“Not that way, Lovejoy.” He yanked me back into the maelstrom, abruptly disturbed.
Curiosity can shelve fury for a while, can’t it? Intrigued, I gazed up the forbidden street.
People were drifting up and down. No vehicles, of course. Tall shorings, balconies with lanterns and greenery, signs, washing on poles stepping aloft into the dark sky. These dim dwellings were older. Curly eaves showed at the top. A temple? And all capped by the looming denser dark spine of the mountain.
“Cramped up there.” I nodded at the laddery street, intrigued by his sudden aversion.
“Come on. Not the Mologai.” Odd. Mologai? Did he have some other scam going among those stacked dwellings? Besides turning destitute antique dealers into gigolos, I mean.
He resumed, “You’re starting to gall me, Lovejoy. It’s bloody hard scraping a living here. Don’t you forget it.”
He was telling me? “Don’t flannel, Steerforth.” We were among an entire pavement of gold and jewelry shops shining bare globes onto the evening shoppers’ parade. I was becoming distracted between righteous anger and my magpie mind. Unsighted by the noisy throng, I nearly fell over a bloke doing acupuncture on an elderly lady before an admiring crowd.
“I picked you from the gutter, Lovejoy. You owe me!” He was even more enraged than I was, and I was close to murder. “I’ve booked you out twice more, you pillock.”
“You’ve what?” I gaped at him. He was a maniac. I’d heard people were driven insane by tropical heat.
“It’s money, you silly bugger. Tonight. We’ve two German ladies at eight, supper. Then two Americans, that sports convention in Mongkok. We have to. Or we don’t eat!”
I’d never even heard of women buying blokes before. It’s usually the other way round.
