The Misfortune Cookie

14 Loyalty

After Max and Lily parted company with us, John asked Ted, “Was that Mary on the phone? How is she?”

“They don’t think they’ll have to operate again,” said Ted. “But she’s looking at a long recuperation.”

“Just how bad was the injury?” I asked.

“Bad,” said John. “She slipped going down the stairs of her apartment building. Broke the leg in two places.”

I winced. “What rotten luck.”

“You said it.” Ted nodded. “You never met anyone with worse luck than Mary.”

“It was one thing after another,” said John—which I remembered someone saying at lunch today, too. “First, she got mowed down by a runaway food cart on Broadway.”

“What?” I blurted.

“Such a weird freak accident. Nothing broken, just superficial injuries,” Ted said to me. “But she was so bruised and banged up, I postponed the start of the film for a week. She couldn’t work on-camera in that condition.”

“Then a few days after we started shooting,” said John, “she got this virulent chronic rash. Very uncomfortable. I was afraid the makeup had caused it, even though the rest of the cast was fine.”

“I still don’t see how it could be the makeup, John. The only place you were using it was on her face, which was just about the only place Mary didn’t have that rash.”

“After that, she went into anaphylactic shock one day.”

“Oh, my God,” I said. “That could have killed her.”

John asked Ted, “Did they ever figure out what caused it?”

“I don’t know,” said Ted. “I don’t think I’ve asked about it since she broke her leg.”

“Man, it really was one thing after another, wasn’t it?” I said in amazement. “That poor woman.”

“It was like she was cursed,” Ted said.

“Cursed?” I repeated with sudden dread.

“But the surgery on her leg went well and it sounds like she’ll be all right,” he added. “Well, as long as nothing else happens to her for a while.”

I took a breath to steady myself. When Ted said curse, he was just using a figure of speech—a very apt one, given Mary’s run of bad luck. Max had said the death curse would work quickly and couldn’t be mitigated; and, obviously, Mary wasn’t dead. She also didn’t have anything to do with Joe Ning. Or with Benny Yee, apart from being in his nephew’s film.

“Are you all right?” John asked me. “You look a little . . . I don’t know.”

“Oh, I’m fine,” I assured him. “Mary’s story is just really upsetting, you know?”

“In that case,” said Ted, a big grin starting to spread across his face, “let me take your mind off it with some good news! My new backer has stepped up to the plate. We can keep filming after Uncle Benny’s investment runs out!”

“Hey! That’s great!” In the spirit of the moment, I gave Ted a big hug. “I’m so glad.”

“Great news, Ted. Congratulations!” John shook his hand, patted his back, then turned to give me a hug.

I was so pleased I’d be working for a while longer, and so grateful to John for introducing me to Ted, I squeezed hard.

When we let go, he murmured, “You smell nice.”

I laughed. “I think that’s crab in spicy sauce. Or maybe Nelli.”

“It’s definitely not Nelli,” he said with a smile. “I remember what she smells like.”

“Who’s Nelli?” Ted asked.

“Never mind,” said John. “So who’s your new backer?”

“I can’t really say.” Ted made a vague gesture. “He wants to be a silent partner. For the time being, anyhow. At least until we get more details worked out.”

“But he’s investing enough money for us to finish the film?” I prodded.

“That’s one of the details we have to work out,” said Ted. “Exactly how much money he’s putting in. He wants to see a budget and, well, I don’t really have one. Well, not like a detailed, formal one. Most of it is in my head.”

Somehow this didn’t surprise me. And since there seemed to be a hole in Ted’s head . . .

“Still, it’s good news,” I said, determined to look on the bright side. For a while longer, I could keep eating and continue saving toward next month’s rent, and I was acting instead of waiting tables or office temping. So it was all good.

“I have good news, too,” said John. “Since you’re not sure how much of the, um, budget your new backer will cover, I think I’ve got a plan for raising additional money.”

“Really?” Ted was suddenly alert. (Indie filmmakers are always alert when someone says they might be able to raise money.)

“Since I’m pretty much carrying my lab partner through this term, he owes me a big favor,” said John. “The upshot is that his girlfriend, who does something in NYU’s film school, says she can help us host an investor event. She’s done this before, and it worked, so she knows the ropes.”

John explained that Ted would need to prepare a short sample reel from the movie—a full scene or two, plus a short montage of some other scenes and shots. Then he’d rent a hall and invite a few dozen venture capitalists to come to view the reel. Among them, there should be a few people who’d be willing to invest in the movie. John’s NYU acquaintance would help us stage the whole evening for maximum effect and best results.

“Oh, I know what to use! I’ve got some great footage of a speech that Jianyu makes to Brian about Confucian values. Archie delivers the whole monologue while working with his nunchaku.” Ted demonstrated by waving an imaginary version of the flailing weapon all around his head. “It’s really cool.”

“Archie doing his moves might work better in the montage,” said John. “He does look impressive doing his thing.”

I shrewdly sensed that John might not be a big fan of Jianyu’s tedious speeches.

“Hmm.” Ted thought it over.

“Anyhow, I think you should definitely use one of Esther’s scenes. I know it’s mostly a Chinese story, but I think it’ll get investors interested when they see how good she is in the movie,” John said. “And you’d need to prepare some comments about the film, Ted. A short introduction, talking about the themes and the story, its meaning and message, why it will appeal to audiences. You know the sort of thing.”

Ted nodded and recited, “ABC is a coming-of-age story about a first-generation American-born Chinese guy torn between his attraction to Western culture and its emphasis on the individual, as represented by Alicia, and traditional Chinese culture, with its emphasis on family, duty, and the importance of face, as represented by Mei.”

“Well, you’ve got time to work on the speech,” John said tactfully. “You’ll also need to prepare a package to hand out. It should include a written summary of the film—”

“A treatment,” I supplied.

“Oh, right, that was the word.” John nodded. “And you’ll have to provide the attendees with a copy of the budget—so, um, it’s just as well you’ll be working on that for your silent backer.”

“Oh, right . . . A budget . . .”

“After we show the film clip, there could be a question-and-answer session with the actors. The investors would probably like to see the cast.”

“We could come in costume,” I suggested. “Archie could do a martial arts routine. Cynthia and Brian could talk about their characters. And I . . . um . . .” I could fight off hypothermia in one of Alicia’s costumes.

“You can charm the investors,” said John. “Just be yourself and say funny things, the way you do.”

Without being immodest, I had to agree that being myself would be more charming than being Alicia.

I said, “So it sounds like this event would cost time and money, but it could really pay off if done well, Ted.”

“We’d need to supply refreshments, too, obviously.” John added to me with a smile, “You can’t host anything in Chinatown without providing food.”

“In that case,” I said, “count on me being there.”

“We should make sure we invite a lot of Chinese and ABC investors,” said Ted enthusiastically. “After all, this is their story.”

Who knew? Maybe they’d see it that way, too, and sink money into Ted’s flaccid script. At any rate, it was a good idea, and I said so to John.

Ted agreed and gave him a hearty handshake, thanking him for making the initial contact that generated this idea. John offered to introduce Ted to his lab partner’s girlfriend as soon as possible, to get the ball rolling.

“Man, the morning started off so bad, and now just look at where we are tonight!” Ted said happily. “I’ve secured a new backer. John’s contact can help us find more investors. And your detective friend, Esther, will help us get our location permits. Our luck is really changing!”

As if to punctuate that statement, his cell phone rang.

“Detective friend?” John said to me while Ted looked at his phone to see who his caller was.

“Oh, no,” Ted said wearily. “It’s Susan.”

His sister probably couldn’t leave the front of the store untended, and phoning him certainly made more sense than bellowing a conversation through the multi-floor maze of this building.

“She has really been on my back lately,” Ted grumbled, with the first sign of irritability I’d ever seen in him. The phone went on ringing, with Ted obviously reluctant to answer it.

“I’ve noticed,” said John.

So had I.

“Why don’t I help more in the store? Don’t I realize Mom wants me to take it over someday? Blah, blah, blah.” Ted shook his head. “A shopkeeper? Come on. Don’t they get it? That’s not who I am.”

The phone rang again.

“And Susan keeps saying she’s sure I’ll wind up quitting the movie, anyhow, so why not give up now and stop ‘wasting’ everyone’s time and money?” Ted said resentfully, “Why can’t she just give me a break and back off?”

John said, “While I was downstairs waiting for Esther to get here, I told Susan about my NYU contact and my idea for the investors party. I thought it would get her to lighten up. You know, the idea that we could get some real money for this project. But . . .”

“She didn’t seem noticeably light when I got here,” I said.

“No.” John shrugged. “Well, Susan’s always been pretty intense.”

“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.

“Yes,” I said, seduced all over again by those memories. “Of course.”

In my head, I ran his lines.

Seeing you today made me realize I would do anything to get you back. To be with you again. To make it all up to you.

That was good. He could start there and then segue into how sorry he was, how he’d rather die than ever hurt me like that again.

“I’m meeting my old partner first thing in the morning,” said Lopez. “The guy who’s in department’s movie unit now.”

“What?”

“And reading this thing, I’ve got a bunch of questions. Because I know he’s going to have a bunch of questions.”

“What?” I said sharply.

“I’m talking about Ted’s script,” he clarified. “ABC.”

“What?”

“Um . . .”

There was a pause.

So I filled it. “You’re calling me about Ted’s script?” I said in outraged disbelief.

“Yes. That’s right.” Lopez sounded relieved, as if we were getting on track now. “And the thing is—”

“Why are you calling me about this?” I demanded shrilly.

“Because I can’t get a hold of Ted. Every time I call him, I get his voicemail. I just tried him again.”

I glanced across the floor, to where Ted was still pacing and talking with his sister, trying to placate her and convince her of . . . whatever.

Lopez continued, “And I really need to get some answers about this script before my meeting tomorrow morning.”

“What?”

“There are a couple scenes here that seem to be set in a city location, but the script doesn’t specify—”

“What?”

“Um . . .”

There was a pause.

I was beside myself. After weeks of not calling me—not after hours of steamy sex, not after I left a message asking him to call me, not even after he’d arrested me . . . This was why he finally picked up a goddamn phone and dialed my number?

To talk about Ted’s script?

“Are you okay?” Lopez asked hesitantly. “You sound a little . . .” He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?”

I wanted to kill him. I wished he were here right now so I could commit a heinous crime of passion—for which any sane jury in the land would surely acquit me!

“I can’t believe you!” I raged.

“What?”

“What did I ever see in you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re calling me about Ted’s script?”

“Well . . . yeah.”

“What’s the matter with you?” I demanded. “What could you possibly be thinking?”

“There’s nothing the matt . . . I’m thinking the script . . . I mean, I thought . . .” He sounded absolutely lost. “Wait. Hang on. I thought you wanted me to help you. Didn’t you? Or has that changed since lunchtime?”

“Don’t use that tone with me,” I snapped.

“I’m not using a tone, I’m just trying to under . . .” He took a breath and tried again. “Do you want me not to help now? Did something happen?”

“Oh, my God,” I said wearily, sitting down on a cushioned stool, suddenly drained of energy. “I am such a fool.”

“Esther?” When I didn’t he respond, he prodded, “Esther, what’s going on? Where are you?”

“I’m trapped inside Yee’s Trading Company,” I said, feeling exhausted. “Don’t send help. You’ll never find me.”

“What?”

“You’re calling about the script. About the locations.”

“Yes.” He asked hesitantly, “Is that all right?”

“I’m an idiot,” I muttered. “I’m pathetic, and I’m an idiot.”

“Are you drunk?” he asked, sounding puzzled.

“That’s a good idea,” I said vaguely. “Maybe I should try it.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, good grief.” I sighed, shaking my head.

Lopez had said he would help with the movie, and so he was helping. That was the kind of guy he was. He did what he said he would do.

With one notable exception.

The one I couldn’t get over. The one I wanted to kill him for. The one that was turning me into a crazy person.

I sighed. “Look, you should talk to Ted about this, not me. I’m not sure what he’s got in mind for each scene.”

“I tried to talk to Ted, but—”

“He’s right here with me,” I said, feeling ready to go home and have a long hot soak in the tub, followed by an early night in bed. Alone. Again. “Ted’s talking to his sister right now. It’s a phone call I think he’d welcome any excuse to end. So I’ll tell him to get rid of her so you can talk to him. Okay?”

“Okay, good. Thanks. Because this meeting tomorrow will be a waste of time if I don’t have the answers I’ll need.”

“Call him in five minutes,” I instructed.

“Will do. And, um . . . I mean . . . This is what you want, right?” When I didn’t answer, he said, sounding as tired as I felt, “I’m trying to do what you want, Esther. But I don’t know what . . . Sometimes you . . . I can’t . . .” He sighed and said, “I’m just trying to make it right.”

Of course. He was a man.

He had come to my home, had his way with me, left, never called, arrested me, still didn’t call . . . and this was his way of trying to make it right.

Of course.

“Are you there?” he asked.

Yin, yang, Mars, Venus, men, women . . .

“Esther?”

“We’ve got a new backer,” I said, “so we’re going forward with filming. Thanks for your help. We appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome. I want to help you.”

“It’s the honorable thing to do,” I murmured.

“Well . . . if you say so.”

“And you’d like to get laid again.”

“Whoa,” he said in surprise, “that kind of came out of nowhere.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Of course you’re not wrong.” He said quietly, “But I’m not going to ask for payment in kind.”

“Not if you value your life.”

“Well, yeah,” he replied, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “I know who I’m dealing with, after all.”

“And now it sounds like you need to deal with Ted.”

“Not that way. He’s not my type.”

“Ted!” I called. “Ted.” I caught his eye and pointed to my phone. “Detective Lopez says he’s been trying to reach you. It’s important. Get off the phone right now so he can call you, okay?”

“Oh, excellent!” Ted gave me a thumbs-up. “Gotta go, Susan. Detective Lopez has news for me!”

I had a feeling their conversation would take a while. Which was fine, since I decided I was by now in no mood to try on slutty dresses. I’d tell Ted to concentrate on Lopez tonight, and I’d go home. Choosing a costume from the store’s stock could wait a few days, since the scene where Alicia would wear a Chinese-style outfit wasn’t in the coming week’s shooting schedule.

“Mission accomplished?” Lopez asked me.

“Yeah, Ted’s off the phone now,” I said, watching the director disconnect his sister. “And I’d like to find my way out of this place before dawn, so I’d better set off on my expedition now. Especially since I need to find Max, first.”

“You’re with Max?” he asked, his tone carefully neutral. Max had often been a subject of discord between us, and I guess Lopez was trying to avoid more conflict at the moment. “Is he involved in the film, too?”

“Yes, I’m with Max. No, he’s not involved in ABC. And I’m not answering any more questions tonight, officer.”

“Just one more question. Please? So I’ll know.”

“All right, one. What is it?”

“Are you speaking to me?” he asked. “Seriously. I really don’t know, and . . . Well, I’d like to know. Just for informational purposes.”

“Am I speaking to you?”

“Yes.”

I thought about it for a moment.

“At this point, I don’t even know,” I said honestly. “I just don’t know.”