The Misfortune Cookie

“Not exactly tactful, either,” I noted.

John said, “It’s best just to let her roll off your back, if you can.”

We looked at Ted, whose phone kept ringing. After a lifetime of trying to let Susan roll off his back, he obviously still felt her weight there.

“You’d better answer,” John said to him. “She knows where you live, after all.”

Ted nodded, sighed, and took the call. “Yeah, Susan, what is it?” He listened for a moment, then said, “I am going to help Mom with that, but right now I’m in the middle of . . . No, it’s not . . . I . . . You . . .” Ted rolled his eyes and gave up trying to speak. He turned away from us and started pacing as his sister reamed him a new one over the phone.

“So you have a detective friend?” John asked me again.

“I know a guy in the NYPD,” I said vaguely. “He . . . I guess you could say he owed me. So he’s going to help us.”

“A cop, then?”

“Yep. Those are the people who usually become NYPD detectives. Cops.”

I was watching Ted, who looked liked he might need a stiff drink by the time his sister got through with him. I could understand Susan’s (and Lily’s) irritation with Ted. I really could. But it nonetheless seemed to me that his sister was way too harsh with him—and too invested in how his daily life was (or wasn’t) working out. I wondered if it was because of the strong bonds within a Chinese-American family? Or perhaps because their father was dead, and Susan was trying to fill that void?

Or maybe, I thought, Susan was just an interfering bitch who liked to pick on her little brother—who wasn’t any good at fighting back. I had an older sister, and we didn’t get along that well—though we were certainly never as bad as this—so I knew something about sibling tension and friction. I’d always stood up to my bossy older sister, which was why she knew where the line was and seldom crossed it. Ted had apparently never drawn that line for his bossy older sister, and as a result, even in adulthood, she was riding roughshod all over him.

Given what I had seen of the family, I didn’t think it seemed healthy for these two to keep living under the same roof together. They were adults. Maybe it was high time for Lily to shove them both out of nest . . . though I had a feeling that wasn’t how things were done around here.

“So is he . . .” John cleared his throat. “Um, I mean, would he be the same cop who . . .”

I looked at John now, realizing he seemed uncomfortable about something. “Hmm?”

“I’m just wondering . . .”

“Wondering what?” I looked back at our companion. “Poor Ted. I know he’s—well, an airhead. But does Susan have to keep laying it on so thick? What’s her problem, for chrissake?”

“Oh, family, duty, and the importance of face, blah, blah, blah,” said John, which made me laugh.

“Well, it’s really none of my business.” I reminded myself of that by saying it. After a moment, I added, “Sorry, were you asking me something?”

“Um, yeah . . .” He looked uncomfortable again, but pressed on. “Is this cop the same guy who . . . I mean, well, Uncle Lucky said you went through a bad breakup recently.”

“He said that?” I blurted in surprise.

“Well, no. Being Uncle Lucky, what he said was more like, this no-good bum done ya wrong, and a girl like you deserves better than some two-faced cop.”

“He talks about my personal life to you?”

John blinked at how sharp my voice was. I was thinking about my fight with Lopez at Bella Stella, in which we—well, mostly I—had revealed very private things in a very public way. I had no doubt that someone had eventually repeated the juiciest details to Lucky after being released on bail, but it had never occurred to me that he would repeat the story to someone.

“No, no, Esther, we weren’t gossiping.” John paused. “Well, actually, I guess we were. I mean, I was. Not Uncle Lucky. I mean . . .” He took a deep breath. “Let me start over. I asked Lucky if you’re seeing anyone, and he said, no, but you might be feeling fragile because you’ve just had a bad breakup with a cop who didn’t treat you right.”

“Oh. Okay. I see.” I calmed down, understanding the situation better now. And then I felt a little amused as I pictured Lucky reluctantly explaining my love life to his honorary nephew. “I doubt he said fragile.”

“No, it was more colorful than that. But very respectful,” John assured me. “He really cares about you. In his tough-guy way.”

“I know,” I said fondly. “I really care about him, too. Which is kind of a weird position to be in.”

“Tell me about it,” John said wryly. “I’ve never known a more law-abiding man than my father, Esther. He wouldn’t jaywalk.” He continued in a low voice, so that there was no chance of Ted overhearing, “But now he’s concealing a fugitive. And he would have been offended if this notorious Mafia capo hadn’t come to us for help when he was in such serious trouble.” John smiled as he concluded, “That’s the effect my uncle has on people who get close to him. Even knowing what we know about him.”

I smiled, too. John had pretty well nailed it. Then I remembered my idea for liberating Lucky, so to speak, by providing him with a disguise. I suggested it now to John.

“It’s a good idea,” he said. “I can probably come up with something. And he’d sure be glad to get out of the building for a little while now and then. He’s starting to bounce off the walls. I think that’s why he’s so fixated on Benny’s death.”

There was a lot to say about that, of course . . . but I decided to let Lucky tell it to John. He had time on his hands, after all. And, really, I thought it should be up to Lucky, anyhow, to decide how much he wanted any of the Chens to know about this business. Given how dangerous we now knew a misfortune cookie was, Lucky might well want John to stay in his NYU lab rather than help hunt down the next accursed cookie.

“Anyhow, Uncle Lucky only told me about you and that cop because I asked. And he didn’t say much.” After a moment, John prodded, “So the cop who’s helping out Ted now . . . is it the same guy?”

“Same guy.” But I didn’t want to talk about Lopez. It was too complicated. Too raw. Too tender. Too something. So I said, “Hey, aren’t you going to be late meeting Bill?”

“Oh, my God, I forgot! Bill.” He looked at his watch. “Damn, I’m already late. I’d better call and tell him I’m on my way.” John looked around. “If I can find my way out of here. We should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.”

I pointed behind him. “I know we came from that way . . . I think.” Now I wasn’t sure. I felt disoriented again.

“I’ve got go. I’ll see you soon, Esther.” John waved at Ted, who didn’t see, and then headed out.

I looked around, wondering which dresses Ted wanted me to try on. I gazed longingly for a minute at a beautiful emerald-green kimono with gold, violet, and indigo embroidery. I certainly couldn’t afford something like this, but Alicia could. It was so gorgeous, I let myself fantasize for a few moments about wearing it . . . then I moved on with a resigned sigh. During my first couple of days on the set, I had argued with Ted about his costume choices for Alicia, but I gave up after that. As much as I disliked her outfits, I was coming to realize they suited her shallow, one-dimensional, sex-obsessed character, so I might as well go with the flow.

And speaking of being obsessed with sex . . . my phone rang, and when I looked at the LCD screen, I saw that Lopez was calling. My heart gave an unwelcome but undeniable leap.

Maybe he was finally calling to apologize and explain. I wondered if Detective Quinn had advised him to adopt the alien abduction story when pleading with me for forgiveness. I was by now just so glad he was phoning me, I admitted to myself with a conflicted mixture of self-disgust and relief, that I might be flexible about his explanation (i.e. something less extreme than dismemberment or abduction might be acceptable), as long as he was humble and remorseful enough in his apologies.

“Hello?” I said into my phone.

“Oh, good, I’m glad I got you,” he said, his familiar voice flooding my whole system. I remembered him whispering against my skin as we made love, murmuring into my ear as I drifted off to sleep, talking softly with me at dawn as he dressed for work . . .

“Can you talk?” he asked.