China Mountain Zhang

THREE FRAGRANCES (San-xiang)

It is a terrible thing to go to work with a new face. I finger my new jawline and chin. Do I wear make-up? Is it right to try to look prettier? But now that I have a nice face, isn't it right that I try to do something with it? To not wear make-up, isn't that saying that I think I don't need it?

Everyone at Cuo knows that I have a new face. All those cards, 'San-xiang! A sweet girl! May your new face match your heart!' I mean I should have had my face fixed a long time ago. I would have if my father hadn't spent my face money trying to make guanxi, connections, so that we could get back to China. As if there was any chance when America went crazy during the Great Cleansing Winds Campaign. If we had been in China we would have been safe from that, too. China is too old, too well established to have indulged in anything like the Great Cleansing Winds.

When I look in the mirror I think of all those weeks, while the virus told my bone cells to divide. I was so frightened. They told me everything that would happen, but I would be awake at night and I would think, what if it doesn't stop? Long lines of jaw grew down from my ears like curving ridges, and my teeth ached and shifted like old stones in a mountain. I would imagine my jaw grown long and heavy until my head resembled a long-faced baboon, a praying mantis. And then they injected another virus, carrying it's cargo of RNA strings materials, it's molecules to tell my bone cells to turn off, and it all stopped.

I think it is a beautiful face. Really, Mama says I am pretty now. I am normal, she says, not a vid star, but when I look in the mirror I can't believe it is there. My eyes are bigger-not waiguoren big, of course, but bigger. I have such a nice oval chin. This won't be the first time I've been out, Mama and I have gone shopping and people are so different. Sometimes they aren't as nice; it's wonderful, no pity.

At Cuo, everyone will stare at me. And even though I know I'm not ugly anymore I'm afraid to have them all look at me. They'll be thinking about my old face and comparing it to my new one. I don't want to be the old San-xiang anymore. Poor, ugly San-xiang who had no jaw and had little squinty eyes and who looked like she was congenitally stupid. This is it, my chance. I'm going to change my life. I'm going to look for a new job, have new friends, be a new person.

I'm going to put on make-up. When I get a new job no one will ever know that I was ugly and I'll wear make-up there, so I might as well start now. Practice, so when I change jobs, I'll be accustomed to my new face, and no one will ever suspect that I once looked ugly and stupid. I put on new clothes, I have a new haircut to match the shape of my new face. My temples are shaved back and my bangs fall like a horse's forelock. Very how can, as they say.

The world is new.

All day long people have been saying to me, "How beautiful." "Come out for a drink," Celia says. "Come celebrate, we won't stay late."

So after work we all troop to The In-Between, the place where everybody goes after work to get a drink and I order a beer. Celia and Carol get those neon looking drinks with sprays of those plastic fibers with glowing ends sticking out of them. I only see them in drinks, where do bars get them? Tim and Qing Yang get baijiu, man-type drinks, no-nonsense drinks. I only drink beer. I didn't even used to like beer but I learned to like it.

"Such a good Chinese girl," Tim says, teasing, "sipping your beer."

"Baijiu makes me dizzy," I say and he and Qing Yang laugh although it's the truth. They laugh at a lot of things I say and at first it makes me nervous, but then I think that they're just being nice. They act as if I am clever. They laugh when I say that I have to call my mother and tell her I'll be late.

"Mama," I say in Mandarin, "Tonight I will be late. I'm at a bar with some people from work."

"Hao, hao," she says, nodding complacently. Looking at her double chin I think with surprise, I am prettier than my mother.

"Qing ni gaosu baba," I say. "Please tell papa."

"Meishi," she says, "ni gen nide pengyou, wanba." "Don't worry, have a good time with your friends."

It's a funny thing to say, Chinese words in an English way. She does not seem to care at all that I am sitting in a bar. I go back to my seat. There is the bar, then the space for the bartenders, then a counter with rows of bottles and rising above the bottles is a pretty Chinese woman in a business suit.

She looks a little nervous, but she is still having a good time, you can tell.

Qing Yang asks me to The In-Between on Thursday. I have my political study meeting but I say yes. Then I call Gu and tell him that I can't make it, I have to work late.

Qing Yang is an ABC. I would like him to ask me out. He is not too handsome, he has a round bald spot, like a monk, only small. He is not as handsome as Zhang, another ABC I went out with a couple of times. Zhang is the only other person I have ever dated and he only went out with me because he worked for my father and my father asked him to. I wonder what he would think if he saw me?

Qing Yang is nice. Handsome men are usually not very nice, they usually can't be bothered. So we go to the In-Between and I have a beer. I don't know what to say to him. At first we smile a lot and things are very uncomfortable, but then we get talking about his job and he starts telling me about all the people he meets and the people he tries to sell systems to. I never really knew what Qing Yang did. I suppose I thought that people who needed systems came to Cuo, I never realized that some people in Cuo actually sold them. Which is pretty naïve of me, I realize.

Qing Yang sounds like he's a pretty good salesman, all his stories are about how he found some trick that would make the person who bought the system like him, like the woman who didn't like ABC and didn't like Qing Yang, of course, until she found out that he grew up in West Virginia, just like she did. "We were neighbors then, you see?" he says. "It's that personal identification, you have to draw the client in to you."

I'm sure I could never do it, I mean, what if he hadn't been from West Virginia? I've never even been to West Virginia.

Qing Yang goes to the bathroom and I look at my watch. It's an hour after work. I don't know when I should go home, actually I'm getting hungry. He comes back. "Want to get something to eat?"

"Okay," I say.

We go to an Indian restaurant on Seventh Avenue. The sign says that it's been there over one hundred years. "Have you ever had Indian food?" Qing Yang asks.

"Is it like Thai?" I ask.

"Sort of." Inside is old-fashioned brick walls and tables with silver and white linen tableclothes. It doesn't seem very Indian. It's one of those antiquey places that has two glasses and three forks at every place; it doesn't look like there would be enough space on the table to put our dinner. Qing Yang orders for me, something called tandoori chicken. It's chicken baked with a yogurt covering, but it doesn't seem very yogurty. It's all right. I tell him it's very good. The bread is called poori, it puffs up like a pillow. We use it to scoop up red and green spicy sauces from a server in the middle of the table. I really like the bread.

I have a beer with my dinner, too. It's an Indian beer called Golden Eagle, but it just tastes like beer to me. Beer is beer is beer. I can't tell much difference.

After the restaurant he takes me to this place he knows where we can listen to music, "Just for an hour or so." At the place they are pattern dancing. Qing Yang tries to get me to dance, but I don't know any patterns. Finally he shows me a simple one. It's only twelve steps, well really fourteen if you count the curtsey/bow at the end and then he kisses my hand. When I curtsey, the tails of my suit brush the ground. If I start to go wrong, Qing Yang kind of pulls my hand to show me the correct way. "I'll teach you the quad," he promises. "What those people are doing."

The man holds the woman's hand in the air, she is wearing a ring that sparkles blue and white. They take two steps together, and make this kind of slithery glide, then a turn so that somehow she ends up in front of him, then he puts his hands on her hips and they lean sideways, bending away from each other like graceful trees, like tall courting birds. It seems to be very complicated, there's more after that. I don't think I could ever learn it. But it's so pretty. Pattern dancing music just seems to ripple along, at first I can't really tell the beat in it, but after a bit I realize it's very easy.

At nine Qing Yang says he'll be right back, and then he'll walk me to the subway station. I wait by the bar.

"Excuse me, what time is it?"

I don't realize that the man is talking to me until he repeats himself. "Excuse me, miss? Do you have the time?"

"Oh," I say, flustered. I look at my watch, although I just did. "It's a little after nine."

He is a waiguoren. He smiles at me and I smile back. He has light brown hair, very thick, that he wears in a queue. He reminds me a little of Zhang, the ABC I dated. He is wearing a burgundy sweater with a little cape, not a suit like he came from work.

"Your boyfriend?" he asks, gesturing towards the bathroom.

"No," I say, "just a friend." How casual it sounds. I like the sound of it. Qing Yang could be my boyfriend, but he is not, he is just a friend.

"What's your name?"

"Qian San-xiang," I say.

"San-xiang," he says, "that's a pretty name. What's it mean?"

"It means 'three fragrances'."

"My name's Bobby." He shrugs, "Unfortunately, it doesn't mean anything."

I giggle, he's funny.

"Are you from around here? I've never seen you here before." He has very nice, big eyes. Like a puppy. He isn't comparing my new face to my old face.

"No," I say, "I work for Cuo, down on Water Street. I live in Brooklyn." Just then I see Qing Yang coming back from the bathroom and I wonder if I'm supposed to be talking to Bobby if I'm with Qing Yang. But Bobby just smiles and turns back around, understanding. Just goes to show that all handsome guys aren't jerks.

I can feel my new life opening, like one of those paper pills you put in water that open out into flowers.

At work I have a letter from Aron Fahey. Aron Fahey is a Martian Settler, I contacted him because of an interview I saw in Xin Gongshe, a political theory magazine I subscribe to. The interview was about commune management and he was talking about political infrastructure in his commune. My political study group hopes to eventually establish an urban commune, and he had some interesting things to say about a community's politics versus a larger society's politics, and he also talked about the difference between a small commune's politics and a larger commune's politics. His commune has over 200 families, our commune might have only sixteen or so, so I wrote him a letter.

I get letters through the Cuo System Mailbox, I couldn't really afford the interplanetary rates on my own. I gave Aron my access, so he can afford to answer me. His letters are really interesting, it seems strange that I've never seen his face or heard his voice, but I know all about him. I know about his wife and his daughter, and about his farm. His life seems so straight-forward, he knows what he has dedicated his life to. If it wasn't on Mars, I'd probably ask him if I could join his commune.

I save the letter until my mid-morning break, but I'm just sitting down to enjoy it when Celia overrides my system shunt to tell me I've got a personal call. I imagine it's mama, calling to ask me to stop and get something in the city on my way home. I'm really surprised to see the guy from the bar, Bobby.

"Ah," he says, "it is you. I thought I remembered you saying you worked for Cuo."

"Hi," I say, startled.

"I'm really sorry to bother you," he says, "is this a bad time?"

"No," I say, "I'm on break."

"Oh, good," he says. He smiles, really nice. "I felt really bad about calling you at work, usually I never call anyone at work, you know? But I didn't know any other way to get in touch with you. You seemed so nice at the bar last night and I've just kept thinking about you. I bet you don't even remember me? Hell, I'll bet you get calls all the time."

I am blushing, I can feel how hot my face is, and I can't help laughing although it comes out all high-pitched and silly sounding. "Oh, no, I remember who you are. You were sitting at the bar. You asked me what my name meant."

"'Three Fragrances', right?"

"Right," I say.

He says that he's never seen me there before, although he adds that it isn't like he goes there all the time. I tell him it was my first time there.

"Hey, maybe I could meet you there? Buy you a drink? I'd really like a chance to get to know you. Although," he looks downcast, "on a Friday night, you're probably busy."

I almost say that I am, I mean, I don't know him or anything, but I think about it. I can just have a drink and then go home. I don't have to stay. It would be nice to meet someone. And he doesn't know anybody that I know, and he only knows the new San-xiang. He thinks I'm the kind of girl who has dates all the time, and he's handsome. "No," I say, "I'm not busy tonight. I'd love to have a drink."

He brightens up. "Great! What's a good time? How about seven or so?"

I have a date. I'm going out with this guy. Just like any normal girl.

The rest of the day goes so slow. And then I have to do something until seven. I can't really go home, I would just get home and have to turn around and come right back. So I get something to eat, and then I go shopping. I want to be late, I want to get there about five minutes after seven so I don't have to be sitting there when he gets there, but I start walking over too soon, and I get there at almost ten minutes of. He's not there.

Seven. He's still not there. I wait by the door because I don't want to sit down until he comes. People keep looking at me. I know I look silly, standing there.

Finally at ten minutes after seven the door opens and it's him. He's frowning as if he's thinking about something but when he sees me he suddenly has this great big smile. He looks like a little boy when he smiles.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he says. "Have you been waiting long?"

"No," I say, "I just got here." I don't want him to feel bad.

He puts one hand in the small of my back and takes my arm and directs me towards the side where there are some tables. I get a whiff of his scent; the leather ties of his sweater and a curious smoky smell that is a mixture of his cologne and him. No one has ever touched me that way. It's a little scary, but Bobby does it so it must be very normal. How would I know, I haven't had many dates, and Zhang never touched me except to kiss me good night.

We sit down and he says, "I feel like I know you."

I don't know what to say so I don't say anything.

"You know what I mean, don't you, don't you feel as if we know each other?"

"Yes," I say, because it's what he wants me to say.

"I'll bet you drink Chrysanthemums," he says.

"I do," I say, even though I don't and I feel a little uncomfortable.

"See," he says, "I know you."

He orders drinks. He is so handsome, and I feel so pretty, people must look at us and envy us.

Bobby asks me about my job and I tell him, although it's really very boring. He asks me if I'm from China and then why am I living here? A Chrysanthemum is a bright, clear fuchsia with one of those light sprays in it. It tastes sweet, but a little hot, like cinnamon. It's good. While I am telling him how my father caused us to come here and about how old-fashioned my father is and how my cousins in China think my father is terribly feudal, he buys me another. At first I think he is just being polite, but he keeps asking me questions, how did it feel to leave my friends, did I feel out of place here? "You're like an aristocrat," he says, but he is serious, not trying to flatter me. "Your breeding shows, when you were young you were accustomed to finer things."

I never thought of myself as aristocratic. It's true that mama and I buy some things from China, and mama keeps the apartment looking like China. Not shabby, the way people do here, but finished, with a system that changes the wall color and dims the windows. We have all our old furniture from China, not like the new furniture in China that ties into your system so you can change the color to match your decor, but still much better than anything you can find here.

"Someday I will go back," I say, although until this moment I didn't really think I would. But saying it I realize it is true, I must go back. I don't know how I will do it, but I am a citizen. "This job at Cuo, it's just for now. I'm going to change my job."

"Good for you," he says. "So you live with your parents?"

Just the way he says it, the way it sounds, makes me wish I didn't. Here I sit, drinking a Chrysanthemum, wearing my suit from China, with this handsome man. I should not live with my parents. I cannot say I live with my parents, he'll think I'm a child. "No," I say, "I have an apartment."

He is surprised. His eyes grow wider, respectful. "Really. Alone?"

"It is only for awhile," I say, "a group of my friends and I plan eventually to establish a commune out in Brooklyn, down by Brighton Beach or Coney Island." I look casually down at my drink. It is true, the part about my friends, although I have often wondered if we will really ever do anything except talk. Surely everybody must feel that way when they start something as difficult as establishing a commune.

Then it occurs to me that some people disapprove of landlords. Perhaps he is disappointed in me. I add quickly, "I don't really condone the landlord system. It is just that the only other alternative is living out in Pennsylvania or West Virginia. And it is only temporary."

He nods, looking thoughtful.

I want to ask him if he condones landlords, but what can he say after I have said that I have an apartment?

"Where do you live?" I ask.

"New Jersey," he says, "but right now I am staying with friends. San-xiang," he pauses and smiles, "I love to say your name, it is such a pretty name, so old fashioned. San-xiang. I've been invited to a party later tonight, would you like to go with me?"

"I'd love to," I say, feeling worldly.

I feel funny when we get to the party. It's in a very small apartment that doesn't have much furniture. Not even a bed. Then I realize that the couch thing on the floor is a futon. The apartment is painted white; floor, ceiling, walls, pipes, even the bricks that make up a kitchen wall. But the paint is old and has black scuff marks in places.

Everybody knows Bobby. Nobody is wearing a suit. Some of the people at the party might be from the University, although it is hard to tell. There is no place to sit. Some of the girls are very strange looking and one of the boys is wearing a dhoti. I think dhotis look funny, very pre-industrial revolution. Why would anyone want to look pre-industrial revolution?

The music is weird, too. All that harmonic tonal stuff and complicated percussion. We walk towards the second room. A girl is saying, "… people as musical instruments, rather then the homocentric view that people are foreground and instruments background-hi Bobby."

"Hi Cara," he says, and keeps walking. He leaves me in the middle of the second room and says he'll be right back. I don't know what to do, so I try to stand out of the way and look like I'm expecting him right back. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. Some people are walking around but most people are standing in groups, talking. I hear snatches of conversation:

"… so I told him, 'Empathy is a measure of emotional maturity'… "

"… Debra, how can, how truly can. Where did you… "

"… it's all a matter of continuous consciousness, reassembled, I would not know I was not he, but that consciousness would have been interrupted and a new consciousness, identical, would replace it, and so it would be a death… "

"… simulating length to time when it flies by before it can even be recognized, if that makes any sense… "

I feel very stupid. What if somebody talks to me?

I see Bobby coming back and smile at him. "Tomas isn't here," he says, "they said he's not here yet. He's a friend of mine. Here, I couldn't find much to drink so I brought you a Grenade." He hands me a white container, then shakes his and opens it. I shake mine and open it. I take a taste, it burns. "Wait," he says, "I need to talk to someone-"

I'm alone again. I shouldn't have come. At least I have my Grenade. I hope that Bobby doesn't want to stay long, maybe-I check my watch, it's nine-thirty-in an hour I'll leave. An hour is enough time. Besides, the Chrysanthemums have made me tired.

I've drunk half of my Grenade before Bobby comes back. "Come on," he says, "there are some people I want you to meet."

So we go back towards the room that is not the kitchen. All this white, it's like a funeral. In the back room they have the lights way down and people are sitting on the floor. I am wearing my good suit-even if it is an old San-xiang suit it's still good-but when Bobby sits down I carefully sit down, too. Bobby says "San-xiang, this is Dana, Carlos," and he names four other names but it's hard to keep them all straight. Everybody smiles at me. I am wearing a good red suit and sitting on a dirty white floor. I smile back. They are all wearing tights. Dana is maybe forty and she hasn't had her metabolism monitored in a long time because she's overweight. She has large, soft haunches, but she's not dirty and she smiles at me.

I listen to people talk, they are all talking about people I don't know. I want to look at my watch but it would seem rude. I drink my Grenade. It's milky white and tastes like bitter almonds. Or maybe bitter vanilla. Everything white, except the scuff marks on the walls. In the dim light the scuff marks almost look like characters. I find "ren," people, and "xiao," small. Bobby puts his arm around me.

It feels strange, but nice. His arm is heavy, in a good way. I can feel his fingers on my collar bone. Nobody notices. Maybe they assume that I am Bobby's new girlfriend. Maybe I am.

Bobby's girlfriend. Bobby de nupengyou. I try to find the characters for girlfriend in the scuff marks; I find "nu", girl, and the second character in friend, "you". My head feels funny, too many Chrysanthemums and Grenades.

"Come on, baby," Bobby says all the sudden, "let's get some air."

He pulls me to my feet and I look around, everybody is looking at us in a bemused sort of way.

Bobby smiles at me and brushes me off, straightens my suit. I feel wobbly. Not drunk exactly, but definitely wobbly. "My head feels funny," I say, my voice sounding very small.

"Come on," he says. "No more Grenades for you."

I laugh, it sounds silly, 'no more Grenades for me.' "Blew me up," I say.

Bobby laughs, he sounds really pleased. "Yes, darlin' it sure did. Come on."

We leave the party, the middle and first room are very bright. "Blew me up," I whisper, glad to have said something clever, something that made Bobby laugh. I'm as clever as all these people. I could be Bobby's girlfriend if he wanted me to. Bobby has his arm around my waist and I lean against him. It is very nice and it is not my fault because I'm wobbly. I don't mean anything by it, I'm just wobbly.

We go down the lift and out on the street. The subway rumbles up through the grates and the trucks that make night deliveries in Manhattan growl by. A party in Manhattan. Well, it wasn't my fault that I didn't know anybody. When I am Bobby's girlfriend I'll know more people and then I'll have a good time. Bobby says we should walk and we do, left foot, right foot, both marching in step. I remember a Chinese marching song and I want to sing it but then I decide that I shouldn't because drunks sing.

We turn a corner and there is a doorway. We stop in the doorway and Bobby says, "San-xiang, listen to me. Take a deep breath of this."

He takes a piece of paper, but it is really two pieces of paper stuck together. He pulls them apart under my nose and I take a deep breath-

Sweet cold smell, like taking a fast drink of cold milk, hurts my head, bigger and whiter and bigger and whiter, I clutch my forehead and grit my teeth and it doesn't stop and then all of the sudden it's like a balloon that has been getting bigger and bigger and ready to explode, someone lets the air out and it gets small real fast and is gone.

Bobby is looking at me. "Better baby?"

I nod. I feel better, even if I do have a little bit of a headache. I don't feel wobbly. "What's that?" I ask.

"It's an icepick," he says, which doesn't tell me anything. He crumples the paper up and throws it in the corner of the doorway. I hold my temples, watching him, but he doesn't pay any attention to me. He takes out another icepick and peels it apart with a rip, takes a breath and tosses it in the corner. I wait to see if it gives him a headache but it doesn't seem to. "Come on," he says. "Do you like to dance?"

"I don't know how," I say. "Look, I really ought to get home, I mean, I'm really kind of tired, you know, I worked all day."

He takes hold of my arms. "I really meant to show you a good time tonight, but I haven't really, and I feel really bad. Let me take you to this place I know, and then if you want to go home, I won't say a thing. I won't call you again, I won't ever bother you."

"That wasn't what I meant at all," I say. His face is so wonderful, everything is so clear, it's like I can see in the dark. His smell, the smoky cologne smell, is fresh and intoxicating. "That wasn't what I meant." I don't want him to never call me.

He leans forward and gives me a kiss. The kiss makes me kind of uncomfortable, he puts his tongue in my mouth and I keep thinking that I haven't brushed my teeth. But he wraps his arms around me and pulls me against him and I can feel his silky sweater and smell the leather ties. He squeezes me real hard, and lifts me up a little bit so my feet are off the ground. I don't know what to do. It feels very good, I want him to hug me harder. I don't really want him to kiss me, but I want him to hug me and hug me.

"San-xiang," he says, "I love your name. Three Fragrances. Come with me now, okay?"

"Okay," I whisper.

But first he has to go back to the party to meet the Tomas person. He takes me to a restaurant and buys me a cup of tea. "You don't have to go back, I'll be back as soon as I can. Okay sweetheart?" He gives me his little boy smile, "That's the perfect thing to call you, 'sweetheart'. Like a sweet fragrance. Wait right here for me, sweetheart. Promise you won't go anywhere?"

"I promise," I say.

He is gone for thirty-five minutes while I have three cups of tea and read a newspaper. This isn't what I expected at all. This isn't like a date with Zhang, he picked me up, we went to the kite races, then we had something to eat and went home. We didn't do all this running around. Of course, Bobby has all these friends. My headache goes away but then I feel tired. It's only 10:30, it feels as if it's later. In the bathroom I look in the mirror. My face is still there, but I don't care. I try to think of how nice it looks, but it's like a dress I have worn all day, it is just there.

In the restaurant they are playing sweet old people versions of popular songs. A cup of tea is expensive, and the sandwiches and samosas are as much as a dinner in Brooklyn. Each place is laid, as if they are expecting 200 people to come in during the middle of the night, and each table has it's canister of chopsticks.

Bobby comes back and whisks me out of the restaurant into the night. I am sleepy again. I'll go to whatever this place is he wants to take me to and then I'll go home, and I don't care if he ever calls me again. Up and down, up and down, all evening, and now I'm tired.

"Here," Bobby pulls out another of those pieces of paper.

I shake my head.

"It'll make you feel better," Bobby says.

"They give me a headache."

"Don't breath quite so deep," he says.

So I don't and it still gives me a headache, but not as bad, the coldness rising into my head and white little sparkles in my eyes and then everything clear. Bobby is looking at me, not smiling, and I don't know what that means. "Come on," he says.

We get on the nearly empty subway and ride, swaying and nodding, for two stops, then get off. Bobby's face is green-white under the old lights of the station, his burgundy sweater is the brown-red of bloodstains. While traveling he does not look at me. He is angry at me. Maybe he is tired, too. I hope he is tired, although I'm not anymore. I can't keep a train of thought in my head, many thoughts just skitter around, my head is a cricket cage.

He will be angry when he finds out that I don't know how to dance. The new San-xiang should know how to dance, but I just don't. I can't help it, I don't. When he gets mad, then I'll go home. In the subway station there are mosaics of beavers in the tiles. I wonder if beavers used to live in New York City.

We walk and I try to piece together an outline of the evening. The bar, the party, waiting in the restaurant, riding in the subway. When Mama says tomorrow, "What did you do?" what will I answer?

"Do you like to swim?" Bobby asks.

"Yeah," I say. I haven't been swimming in a long time, but I used to go to the health club when I was a teenager. When I was six we went to Hainandao, in China. It is an island, like Hawaii, only bigger. We stayed in a huge hotel and went down to the beach. I remember the big hotel. I remember getting lost on the beach. I remember there were steps into the blue pool, the first step and the second step were fine, the third step was pretty deep and everything after that was over my head.

We go through dark glass doors into something like the lobby of a hotel. Bobby smiles at the girl behind the counter. "Hey sweetheart," he says and for a moment I think he is talking to me, but then I realize he is talking to the girl, who smiles back at him. He pays her money in cash and she has to have somebody come out and take it and put it in an envelope with a lock. I don't know many people who use cash. I wonder why Bobby has it. Whatever we are going to do is very expensive, I wonder how Bobby can afford it.

Then we go through another glass door and I smell pool chemicals. I look at Bobby but he isn't looking at me. He has his arm through my arm but he is looking at some windows up above us.

This must be something illegal, but I don't know what it is. Maybe gambling? It is a little scary, but exciting. Ginny, my friend from my political study group, has gambled. She told me about it, the dealers with no sleeves so you can be sure they're not cheating, the men in suits who are managers and who carry guns, the cards and tiles. You would have to have real money to gamble, because the gambling place wouldn't want a record of debits and credits on your account, unless you were in Monaco, where it is still legal. And if you gambled in Monaco, your boss at your job could find out.

"Is this a gambling place?" I ask.

"No," Bobby says, "it's a bath house."

"What's a bath house?" I ask.

Bobby laughs, the sound bounces off the tile. "This." He points towards a pink door. "Go on and get a suit and get changed, I'll meet you on the other side."

He lets go of my arm and turns. He walks through a blue door, waving to me. I don't know what to do. Maybe I should go home. But he spent a lot of money on me. So I go through the pink door. On the other side, everything is pink. The floor is pink carpeting, the walls are pink, there is a girl in a pink bathing suit. "Do you need a suit?" she asks, smiling.

She lets me choose which color I want, I pick white. Then she shows me how to open the packet. "Put it on quick," she says, "before it sets."

Through another door. There is a locker room, with pink tile and pink lockers. I sit on a pink bench and read the instructions on the suit packet. It's from China. I peel it open, and peel out the suit. I step into the leg holes, pull it up. It's soft, like gelatin and I tear it pulling on it, but I close the tear with my fingers and it seals together. Using the pictures on the back of the instructions I pull it and stretch it until it has straps and it isn't too tight. By the time I have gotten it pretty much the way I want, and torn off the bits that I don't like, it is getting tougher. The back isn't quite even, but I hope that it looks okay. I brush my hair and freshen my makeup, then I go back to the girl in the pink room.

"Everything okay?" she asks, smiling.

"I think so," I say.

"Well, just go on through the locker room and out to the lounge. Do you want a robe?"

"Yes please."

She hands me a white robe with angel sleeves, the kind that could fit anyone, and I put that on and go out looking for Bobby.

He is standing in the lounge, holding a drink. His bathing suit is black and very tight. Bobby looks pretty nice in a black bathing suit, except that he has a little bit of a belly. But I can see him, I can see it kind of next to his leg, his suit is that tight. I look up, glad that he didn't see me looking. There are other people in the lounge. Most of the women are young and a few of them are very pretty. One girl, a Eurasian, has a spray of what looks like stars in her hair. They are so pretty. I have seen them in Mama's Chinese magazines, but I have never seen anyone wear one. I wish I had one, but where would I wear it? Out with Bobby?

Some of the men are our age, some are older. A lot are very handsome, but some aren't and they look foolish in their bathing suits. Why are men never worried about how they look when they are with a woman who is pretty?

Through an archway by the bar is the pool, and I can see a few people swimming, their heads sleek above the water, but Bobby takes my arm and walks me over to the bar. He orders me another Chrysanthemum without asking me and I take it even though I really don't want it, then we go the other way, away from the pool. "You look nice," he says, "let me see your suit."

I take off my robe although I would really prefer to keep it on.

"What are you wearing that thing for?" he asks, "you're too pretty to hide under a sheet. San-xiang," he says, kind of singing my name, "Saaan-xi-aaang." He says 'Xiang' like a waiguoren, 'she-ung' but it still sounds nice.

I want to put it back on but I don't.

We sit down at a little table and there are jacks. The room is dark, each table has a light above it. Bobby jacks in, so I do too, and there's a show. It's a comedian, but she uses all sorts of swear words, English and Chinese, and says all sorts of things that should be censored. I am embarrassed at first, and I'm afraid to laugh, because I don't want Bobby to think I am the kind of girl who likes this kind of talk, but Bobby is laughing, and some of the things are really funny, so I start laughing a little, too.

Bobby takes my hand and kind of keeps rubbing my wrist with his thumb, back and forth. At first it's okay, but after awhile, he keeps rubbing back and forth in the same place and it doesn't feel so good. But the show is fun. I don't drink very much of my drink, but Bobby drinks his.

Then we go swimming. It is so strange to be swimming in the middle of the night. We swim in one pool for awhile, and dive off the diving board. Then we go to another pool. The room is darker, and there is a light that reflects across the water, like the moon, Bobby says.

He holds my wrist as we walk down the steps into the water. I can see him, his skin is so white, and I can see my suit. There are other people here, I can hear them and barely see them. The water is warm, much warmer than the pool where it is light. I can smell plants, and there is a cricket. It must be a recording, but I can hear him, sawing away. A cricket is good luck. Maybe even a recording.

The water is up to my chest, and Bobby pulls me against him, hugs me. I don't know what to do, he is not wearing very much and I can feel his skin and I can feel him kind of against my leg, even though he is wearing a suit, but I don't want to pull away. "San-xiang," he says in my ear and he strokes my back. I don't do anything, I don't pull away and I don't move my hands. I just stand with my arms around him and hope that he stops. There are other people in the pool, they must be doing the same thing.

He kisses me. I don't know what to do, so I kiss him back. If I don't kiss him, he'll think I don't like him at all. After this I'll go home and I'll never see him again, so it doesn't matter. Nothing else is going to happen.

He kisses me and kind of bends his knees-I have to, too-until just our heads are above water. He pulls away, I'm relieved, but then he starts to touch my breast and I pull away.

He doesn't do anything for a moment, then he says, "Okay." I can't really see his expression, so I don't know if he's angry or not, he just says, "okay."

Then we go back to the other pool and swim some more.

We don't swim very long, and then he asks me if I'm ready to go. He doesn't act angry. I say that I'm ready. It must be late. I go back into the pink locker room and take off my suit. There's a canister with a sign above it that says "Discard Suits." I drop my suit in the clear liquid in the canister, mine is the only suit in there, and right away I see why because it starts to dissolve. By the time I am dressed, the liquid in the canister is clear.

"Good night, dear," the pink girl says.

"Did you like it?" Bobby says as we are leaving.

"Yeah," I say, "I did. I've never been any place like that."

"I told you that you'd like it." He keeps looking around him, all full of energy, I realize he has used another icepick. "Hey, why don't you come back to my place, have a drink or a cup of tea or something. The place where I'm staying isn't far from here."

"I really can't, Bobby," I say, "it's late, I've got to get home." I almost say that my mother will be wondering where I am but I remember I told him that I have my own apartment.

"Just for a little while," he says, "you don't work on Saturday, do you? Or we could go to your place, except mine's closer."

"It's really late," I say.

He just keeps walking, doesn't look at me.

"I mean, I worked all day," I say, trying to make excuse.

"Fine," he says, angry. "I spend all this money on you, and you just go home."

I feel terrible. It's true that he spent all that money, but he didn't seem to care.

"All I ask," he says, "is that you stop and have a cup of tea, a god damn cup of tea."

I look at the ground, watch our feet.

"I know I'm not Chinese, not like your boyfriend," he says, nasty-sounding, "and I realize you're doing a waiguoren a real favor, gracing me with your presence, but I just thought you weren't like that. I thought you were nice, San-xiang."

"That's not true," I whisper, "he's not my boyfriend. I wasn't being like that. I like you, you're nice, I don't care if you're a waiguoren."

"Well, just come and have a cup of tea," he says, suddenly pleading.

"Okay," I say. I won't stay long. "Just a few minutes."

"That's okay," he says, his voice normal again.

It's twelve-thirty. In an hour I'll be home. I tell myself that, in an hour I'll be home.

We walk and my heels click. We don't take the subway. My hair is wet, but it's not too cold, and I'm not cold. I'm tired, but I don't want Bobby to know because I'm afraid he'll give me another icepick and I don't want that.

The place where he is staying doesn't even have an elevator. We have to go up stairs. It's on the third floor and my legs are tired. I have that tired feeling you get after you've been swimming, my knees are all trembly and I'm a little hungry but mostly I'm just tired.

He unlocks three locks. The flat smells musty. He switches on the light and it's just two tiny rooms, one room really, because there's not even a door, just like an archway between the two. The bed is in the back half and it's not made, the apartment is full of man smell. Like a man's laundry.

"Sit on the couch," he says, "I'll make some tea."

I sit down. I'm so sleepy. Mama is going to be worried. The kitchen is really tiny, like the bathroom. I can see into the bathroom and the floor is dirty. It's worse than Zhang's apartment. I remember when I stayed at Zhang's apartment I had hoped that we would become lovers. Not that I was sure I wanted to have sex with him, but I thought that after I did I would learn to want to. And then I could leave home and live with Zhang and maybe we would fall in love. Except I was so ugly he never really liked me.

I wonder if he would like me now. It doesn't matter, right now I don't want to be anyone's lover. I want to be home in my own bed. I glance at my watch. It's almost 1:00. I'll be home by two.

Bobby comes back in with the tea. He makes me nervous, but there's no reason. I'm just going to have a cup of tea and then go home, we talked about that.

He hands me the tea and sits down on the couch next to me. "You are really beautiful," he says.

I don't know what to say. "Thank you," I say.

"Really," he says. "Like a princess. A goddamn chinese princess. Looking at you makes me want to touch you. When I saw you in that bar last night I just had to touch you."

I sip my tea. Maybe if I don't say anything he'll stop. But he doesn't, he keeps talking. "When I saw you all cool and golden in that white suit, I thought you were an ice princess, but I knew you were just looking for a man to melt you, all creamy golden." He touches my cheek and I start. His voice is soft, but it doesn't sound gentle. "My very own ice princess. You don't know a thing, do you sweetheart? San-xiang. Three Fragrances."

He touches my breast and I pull away. "Don't," I say.

"Three Fragrances," he repeats, like I haven't said anything, and uses one finger like he was drawing a line down my arm.

I start talking, too fast, but it's like I can't help it. "Bobby, I really have to go, it's late and I'm sure you're really tired. I mean, I'm sure you're really busy, and I have to go, I really have to go, my mama will be waiting up and she'll be wondering where I am because I never stay out this late-" I scoot over away from his finger as I am talking and I put the cup down on an endtable with a clatter, "-she's not accustomed to me going out and she'll worry because I'm on the subway so late and you never know what will happen on the subway this late," and he grabs my arm and pulls me towards him and I hear myself whispering, "Bobby, don't, Bobby, don't, Bobby, don't," and he kisses me and sticks his tongue way in my mouth. He kisses me a long time, holding me tightly by one arm with his other hand touching my breasts and pinching them so they hurt and he kisses me and kisses me and he finally stops, I try to get up, and he pulls me back, and then I try real hard to get up and he lets me and then pushes me hard so I stumble back against the bed and sit on it, except he still has my arm and he tries to make my lie down on the bed and I say, "I won't, I won't, I WON'T," and then I scream except while I am screaming he slaps me real hard and I bite my tongue and I stop because of the hurt and he says, "Don't make a sound, sweetheart."

Everything in my head stops then, because I know I am going to die. So I let him kiss me, even though my tongue is bleeding a little bit and it hurts. I lie still while he touches my breasts and then he raises my skirt and makes me lift up so he can take off my panties. I feel the cold air on me and while he stands up and takes off his pants I hear this noise, kind of like a puppy or something whining, going 'unnn, unnn,' like it's hurt. It's me, I'm making this strange noise. But it doesn't matter. And then he climbs on top of me with his thing with it's bald head sticking up and shoves it into me. It hurts, it hurts, and I start to cry.

When it is over I am afraid to move, but he doesn't pay any attention to me. He gets up without his pants and his thing is just hanging now, all shriveled, and he goes into the bathroom. Then I hear the shower.

I put my feet in my shoes and grab my purse and run, leaving my underwear. I run down the steps. I keep expecting him to come after me, to hear the sound of the door. I run down the street to the empty subway and I stand on the platform begging the train to come in, because I am afraid that he'll come down the steps. So I cry, and the train doesn't come, and the train doesn't come, but neither does he, and then finally there is a train and I am on it. I am sitting on the train with no underwear. I hurt.

People get on, and get off, and I am afraid of all of them. None of them look at me because I am crying. Then I have to change trains at Atlantic and I have to stop there. I have this terrible smell, I can smell it. And I am not wearing underwear. There are three people on the platform, two of them are men, and I am afraid one of them will touch me, because he will know, because of the smell. But my train comes.

It is two-fifteen when I get home and mama and baba are asleep. I keep hoping mama will hear me, but she doesn't. She doesn't come to the door, she just sleeps. So I close my door and I take off my clothes and then I run to the shower and wash myself off. But the dirt doesn't come off. I climb into my clean nightgown, into my clean bed, but there is still the smell, like a man, like a man's dirty laundry. And I cry and cry until I go to sleep and no one ever comes.

I keep meaning to look for a new job, but I never see exactly what I am looking for in the paper. I do apply for a transfer at Cuo, but it turns out that a lot of people want that job so I don't get it. I never tell anybody about Bobby. Celia asks me how my date went and I say it was boring.

On Friday he calls. I am sitting there working. I'm really not thinking about him, sometimes I do, but when he calls I'm really not thinking about him at all. I don't expect his face. When I see it I don't know what to do.

He smiles and says, "Hi, are you busy?" His hair is down and with it down he looks kind of, well, cheap. I just stare at him for a minute.

"San-xiang?" he says.

I cut him off. Then I shunt my calls to Celia. As an excuse I go to the bathroom. I sit there and feel sick but after awhile I feel okay. If nobody knows it's as if it didn't happen.

So I go back to work. I expect Celia to tell me that he called back, but she doesn't. But he can call at any time. It occurs to me that he could come and see me at work. He knows where I work. Or he could be waiting in the subway when I get off.

I watch for him in the subway. Once I think I see him when I am shopping. I wish I could have my old face back to wear on the subways. But we can never go back.