China Dolls by Lisa See Read Free Book Online Page B

Helen and Grace seemed to take them at face value. The song was about as easy as could be, though, with those two cracked lines repeated again and again. Helen practiced with steely determination. Aided by the melody, she followed along, pointing her right index finger at an imaginary audience and then at herself at the appropriate spots, putting a little enthusiasm into her footwork, even smiling. And she had a swell voice. In fact, we harmonized quite well together. By four, we’d reached the end of the song—“I’ll let you play with mine. I mean it! I’ll let you play with mine”—and Helen had learned a passable three-sound tap called the riffle and slurp. And still the mothers who came through the park turned away, muttering under their breath. So what? I was used to that kind of thing.
    We sat on a bench and changed out of our taps. Through the open windows around us came the clatter of dinners being prepared, the whines of musical instruments being practiced—badly—and squalls of colicky babies. Men sat on their haunches on fire-escape landings—drinking tea from used jelly jars, smoking cigarettes, and watching us with expressions that combined disdain and desire. I was used to that too.
    After Helen fixed my collar—“so you look nicer”—she led the way to Fong Fong. The streets were lively. Laundry workers and waiters, dressed in their Sunday best, took advantage of their one night off, strutting to poolrooms, burlesque shows, and dime-a-dance halls. Helen said some of those men visited the open-air herb shop to buy deer antler, bear gall, and shaved rhinoceros horn to improve and prolong their potency in case good fortune—in the form of a woman—should shine on them in the coming hours. Other men, in business suits, gathered to blab about politics on corners. Women roamed the shops.
    Helen pulled us into Fong Fong and bought three Coca-Colas.
    “You two have helped me so much,” she said. “Thank you—”
    Grace and I spoke over each other.
    “No thanks are necessary—”
    “We were happy to help—”
    Helen held up a hand. “Listen.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “I’ve heard of an apartment close to here. It’s not too big or too expensive. If you two become roommates, the rent won’t be bad, especially if I negotiate it for you.”
    “An apartment?” I squinted, doubtful. Hanging around with girls wasn’t my idea of a clambake. Especially with either of these two. Grace was a knockout, but so sweet and innocent she hadn’t yet kenned onto using what she had. And Helen? She was pretty, like I said, but something was off with her. How could she be so swift on the effect Chinese herbs had on men when she supposedly lived such a sheltered life with her family? Beyond that, I wasn’t sure I liked the way she stared at me.
    “It’s not the cleanest,” Helen went on, “but it’s not the dirtiest either.”
    “In Chinatown?” Grace asked nervously.
    “Of course it’s in Chinatown.” Helen sure could be bossy—a regular Miss Know-it-all. “You two need a place to live. The YWCA is full. Cameron House is right around the corner, but that’s not rightfor you. Donaldina Cameron rescues bad girls.” She lowered her voice. “If you become roommates, you’ll be close to where I live, and you’ll be even closer to the telephone exchange.”
    “You won’t be working there much longer,” I said, confident.
    “What if we aren’t hired? How will we pay the rent?” People could probably smell Grace’s fear all the way in Timbuktu.
    “You’ll be hired,” Helen told her. “You’ll be hired before I am!”
    Helen didn’t mention me, but I had to be a sure thing after the little visit I’d paid to Charlie Low in his office. Nothing happened, and he did a bang-up job of acting like he wasn’t thrilled—not with his wife in the building, but she wouldn’t always be there. A man is a man is a man. Yeah, I’d wised up after not getting hired at the other