They’d decided instinctively that this idea was scary. “They’re freaks,” Tuyen would scream, describing her father’s outstretched hand telling her, “You get along, yes! Join up and get along!” Tuyen’s imitations of Tuan would send them all into fits of laughter, though afterward Tuyen would feel slightly disloyal.
“Anyway”—Tuyen wanted to get back to Carla—“fine, fine, Jamal’s in jail. What about Carla? What do we do?”
“What can we do, Tuyen? She’s saddled with the little motherfucker.”
“He’s not a ‘motherfucker,’ Jackie, he’s just a young black man-child who’s fucked just like the rest of us. He’s trying to find his way. But they won’t fucking let him.”
“Well, I’m just a young black woman trying to find my way, and I ain’t in jail, all right? Who the hell is ‘they’? Don’t bring me that endangered-species shit ’cause I’m the most endangered species, all right?”
“Black men have no power, Jackie.”
“Fuck! And I must be the queen of England. Oku, don’t front that lame shit, man.”
“Yeah, black women don’t have to deal with this crap, you know. You’re strong …”
“Oh fuck! Oh Christ! Spare my ass that bullshit, please! You mean like your mother? Like mine? You see any strong anything there?”
“Anyways”—Tuyen tried again to keep the morning on track—“guys! Carla, remember?”
“Well, you won’t have that problem, will you? With Nazi boy.”
“Oh, you did not go there, you did not fucking go there!”
“Fucking heterosexual dystopia.”
The snarling stopped abruptly. Tuyen had finally gotten their attention.
“Heterosexual dystopia,” she repeated. “God save me from heterosexuality. All that bullshit about men and women, all that raw hatred, all that mayhem, even jail, for what? And you two, why don’t you just fuck and get it over with?”
They were both stunned, but as usual Jackie had the comeback.
“Don’t get your shorts in a twist, honey, just because the love of your life, who doesn’t notice you, by the way, is in shit.”
Oku was quiet. Then, “Be serious, Tuyen. I’m talking about serious shit out there.”
“So am I, Oku. Why do you guys have such a stake in keeping the bullshit going? Why don’t you strike?”
“ ‘Strike?’ ”
“Yeah, a ‘fucking,’ like Jackie would say here, a ‘fucking’ labour action. On … on … masculinity. If you don’t like it, if it’s so tortuous, why don’t you strike? Like quit.”
Jackie couldn’t hold it, she sputtered, spraying her coffee, and breaking into her broad, rippling laugh.
“Girl, you’re so funny, you’re killing me,” Oku said dryly. He looked at Jackie with a mix of jealousy, annoyance, and desire. “Funny as hell, you are.”
“I’m serious,” Tuyen laughed. And when the laughter subsided she asked, “Can you all stay till she comes back?”
“I gotta make money, girl. I’ll check you later.” Jackie was on her way to her afternoon shift at the store. “Look”—she stopped at the door—“that kid will always be in trouble. He’ll never get it straight, and Carla has to figure that out and get on with her own shit. And you, you stop waiting for her to notice you. Talk about dystopia!” She raised an eyebrow at Tuyen, then smiled mischievously and left.
Oku leapt across the room, following Jackie out the door. “Yeah, Tuyen, I gotta go to class.” Tuyen heard him plaintively calling after Jackie, “Hey, Jacks, wait up, I didn’t mean …”
Jackie’s last words struck Tuyen uncomfortably. Yes, she had been waiting for Carla to come around. She had humoured Carla’s depressions, her faraway attention. All in hopes.
Carla had made it clear to Tuyen that she was straight, but Tuyen could not quite believe her. If she made herself useful enough, if she listened and coaxed enough, maybe Carla would come around. Straight women were never as straight as they put out, Tuyen figured. She had, after all, slept with numerous straight women. They merely had to be convinced. And there had been a few times, after one of their parties, when she had found herself in Carla’s bed, cuddling on the pretext that they were both high and drunk. Which was pretext enough for Carla to pretend that nothing had happened and to pull herself away from Tuyen’s sleeping body quickly in the morning. Tuyen was cautious with her, knowing that if she pushed too much, Carla would run scared. She was always afraid Carla would move, would cut her out completely. She knew Carla was capable of this. She had cut off her father and stepmother. She had preoccupied herself solely with her brother, leaving no room for other intimate relationships. They’d been friends, but there had always been a space of leave-taking when Carla would abandon their friendship to some region in her brain, which Tuyen found impossible and at the same time alluring.
Carla had abandoned Tuyen to her explorations of sex, telling her, “I’m not interested. I’m just not. It’s not my thing, all right,” when Tuyen tried to entice her to go to the clubs on Church. Innocently, Tuyen would say to her, “Fine, I’m talking about going dancing. Straight people dance, right? It’s just dancing.” Tuyen also left books like Rubyfruit Jungle carelessly around Carla’s apartment, hoping they would spark some latent interest in Carla, but so far her entreaties had been rebuffed and she’d had to settle for near-unconscious probings and feels when Carla could claim drunkenness or drug-induced forgetfulness.
Tuyen would try on these occasions to stay as alert as possible, as unimpaired as possible, so she could make note of and memorize the details of Carla’s body, the responses to her touch, the meter of Carla’s breathing, and the precise sounds of her murmurs. Carla always said her hands were lovely and begged her to massage away the knots in her back from riding all day long. Tuyen
