The Misfortune Cookie

“So this morning, your aunt wanted to help the young woman?” Max mused. “Yet this evening, she attacked her when she showed up here.”

I said, “I guess all that weeping over the casket gave the game away, and Aunt Grace realized the woman was more than just a grateful employee.”

“Maybe,” Susan said with a shrug. “Or maybe someone blabbed. Half of Chinatown knew what Uncle Benny was up to. He kept Aunt Grace in the dark, but he wasn’t discreet.”

“Telling her about the affair now would so unkind, though,” I said. “She’s a new widow, after all.”

“Even so,” said Susan, “people gossip.”

“How true,” Max said gravely.

“Anyhow, Esther, you flinging that awful woman into the coffin like that—it was the best thing I’ve seen all year,” Susan said with a grin.

“Well, the year’s only a few days old,” I said modestly.

“Your year,” she said. “But ours is nearly over.”

“Oh, right,” I said. “That’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “Two weeks.”

The traditional Chinese calendar is lunar, like the Jewish calendar, and none of the annual milestones coincide with the Gregorian solar calendar that’s used throughout the West. Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, usually occurs in September, but occasionally it falls in October. The Chinese New Year is sometimes celebrated in January, sometimes in February.

So as Susan had just noted, in the Chinese calendar, the old year was in its final days now.

The Lunar New Year is always a big event in Chinatown. It kicks off with the firecracker festival, in which impressively costumed lion dancers roam the streets, accompanied by musicians. They go from shop to shop throughout the neighborhood, dancing outside the doorways (and sometimes going inside) to demand “lucky money” in red envelopes for the New Year. They’re also fed big heads of cabbage, which they “chew” up and “spit” out at the gathered crowd, to share the good luck and abundance that the green vegetables represent. If you don’t mind getting cabbage and firecracker confetti in your hair, it’s a fun day out. The famous Dragon Parade, which is usually on television, wends its way through Chinatown a week later.

Given what a bust the recent New Year had been for me, starting off jobless and in jail, maybe I’d aim for the Chinese New Year as my chance to start over, shed bad habits, and get a certain man out of my system.

“So how did you two know Uncle Benny?” Susan asked us. “If you’re two of his dearest friends, then, boy, am I embarrassed. But, no, I guess I’d have seen you around before now, if you were close to him. Did you do business with him or something? I know he did business with a lot of people,” she added, looking around at the dense crowd.

Max and I exchanged a glance, realizing at the same moment that we hadn’t prepared an explanation for our presence at this wake. Susan had just handed us a good reason for being here, but I wondered what sort of business we should say we had done with Benny.

Then inspiration struck me. “I’m an actress. Benny told me he was backing a film and there might be a part in it for me.”

“Seriously?” Susan rolled her eyes. “Oh, no.”

People in New York often react that way to meeting actors, so I ignored it. “He said there’s a female Caucasian character, about my age, in the story. I guess the actress who originally had the role recently broke her leg?” I hoped I was right in thinking that had happened before Benny died, rather than after.

“Believe me, Esther, you don’t want any part of my brother’s piece-of-crap film.”

“All the same,” I said, “I’d like to talk to him and see—”

“Forget it. If you’re serious about having an acting career—”

“I have an acting career,” I said defensively.

“—then working on this film would be a complete waste of your time.”

Some distance behind her, I could see John now. He had returned from evicting Benny’s mistress and was mingling with the Yees. He checked on Mrs. Yee, who grimaced a little as they spoke but didn’t seem to need emergency medical care. Then he zeroed in on Ted, who was still sitting apart from the others and looking like he wished he was somewhere else.

Susan continued, “Anyhow, now that Uncle Benny’s dead, there won’t be a film. Benny was Ted’s only backer. And my cousins didn’t approve of the investment, so my aunt won’t continue throwing good money after bad.”

“Because her kids will tell her not to?”

“That’s right.”

I tried to picture what it would be like to have a mother who did what I told her, but my imagination just wouldn’t stretch that far.

“Esther,” said Max, “I think John is trying to get our attention.”

“You know John Chen?” Susan asked in surprise, looking over her shoulder at him.

“We have a friend in common with him,” I said.

“Is that how you met Uncle Benny?” she asked. “Through John?”

“In a manner of speaking,” I said. “You’re right, Max. John’s waving at us. Let’s go see what he wants. Please excuse us, Susan.”

“And please accept our heartfelt condolences on your bereavement, Miss Yee,” Max added. “Come, Nelli.”

8 Face

Social credit; crucial to reputation and status, for oneself and one’s family.

When Max and I reached John’s side, I smiled gratefully at him, since he obviously intended to introduce us to Ted. I was even more pleased to discover that John had already broken the ice for me.

“So John says you’re, like, an actress?” said Ted. “And you’re interested in reading for my film?”

“That’s right.” I nodded eagerly.

“So, like, have you done any acting?”

I gave him a verbal rundown of my resume, which included some TV roles—the best of which had been on The Dirty Thirty—as well as a long list of stage credits, including playing one of the two female leads in the Off-Broadway production of The Vampyre in autumn.

“Whoa, that’s awesome,” said Ted. “You’re, like, a real actress.”

“That’s exactly what I’m like.” Fudging a little, I added, “And I gather you need to cast someone quickly so you can continue production.”

“Well, um . . .”

First I’d get him to offer me the part. Then I’d get Thack to make sure I got paid as much as this production could afford. It was obviously non-union, so this would be a matter of finesse and negotiation.

“I’m free tomorrow,” I said to Ted. “When can we meet?”

“We’re burying my uncle tomorrow.”

Feeling gauche, I said, “Oh, of course. I’m sorry. Maybe a day or two after th—”

“No, no, tomorrow’s cool,” he said absently. “I’m just wondering how long this funeral thing will take.”

John was right; Ted would apparently miss Benny’s money more than he’d miss Benny.

“Mom?” Ted called. “Hey, Mom!”

“Ted, this is a wake,” his mother admonished as she approached us. “We should keep our voices down.”

“Oh, come on, Mom. Aunt Grace and that hooker from Benny’s office just went at it right in front of the coffin like—”