The Chinese Beverly Hills by John Shannon Read Free Book Online Page B

reading his mind. “What about the weekend kegger?”
    “I’m on top of it. It’ll be at the power lines.”
    “Good,” Marly Tom said. “You look all dexed, Z.”
    “Hush. I’ll talk to Mr. Hoity-Toity Seth. His Tea Party’s bringing somebody into town to talk to their dinner party. We’ll see if he’s too good to come talk to the beer brigade.”
    “We’re as good as anybody. This is a democracy.”
    “This is a white Christian republic, man. Don’t forget it. We’re gonna get our constitution back.”
    “Course.”
    “Gotta go home. I think I’m gonna come down hard.”
    “Better living through chemistry.”

FOUR
Soy Amigo
    “Morning, Jackie. In your pink I hope. You find out good stuff for me?”
    It was Tien Joubert’s unmistakable tonal lilt on the phone. Ingratiating on the surface, but pushy under it.
    “Tien, I’ve been at this job one full day. I’ve talked to her parents. I’ve seen the girl’s room. Give me a break.” He was still a bit ratty from dealing with Gloria’s meltdown the night before.
    “You know me. I pay for it, I get report in person. Friday you come see me, like old time. Seven at night. My relax time.” As usual, nothing fazed Tien. You could insult her to her face and she would find a way to comment on your shoes.
    “It’s not old time, dear. It’s new time. We’ve all got telephones. I’ll call you Friday.”
    “No, no. How I trust you, I don’t see your handsome face? I don’t trust no voice. I pay double gas. This definite part of deal.”
    Jack Liffey had been wondering why Tien Joubert had decided to pay for a search for such a distant relative, and pay very well, but he figured he was finding out. Her endless automatic and probably meaningless need to try to possess whatever she saw—including himself.
    He’d found out that despite all Mr. Quan Roh’s degrees and languages, the poor man was running a mini-mart in a seedy area of Rosemead, the next town over, running it by himself eighty hours a week, including the dangerous night shifts. And he had no ownership share in the place.
    “Tien, what’s your relationship to this family again? My mind is going soft.”
    She laughed. “Jackie, your mind soft as big slab German steel. My born name Roh Tien, before Mr. Frenchman fils de salope René Joubert come along, and very short time he stay. You come see me Friday seven. You stay short or long.”
    He needed the money badly, and he could always sidestep her wiles. And it would get him out of Gloria’s sour orbit for a bit, he thought. Far in the back of his mind, he recalled how much he had once enjoyed romping in a huge satiny bed with Tien Joubert and her utterly guiltless Asian sexuality.
    “You was always sweet for a gweilo ,” was her signoff.
    He laughed. “You were okay, too, for a slope.”
    *
    “G’day all,” Maeve said as she strode confidently into the big house’s kitchen, trying hard to radiate good cheer. Axel, the only “all” there, had been dating an Aussie geology major named Barry Mackenzie for weeks, and “G’day” had become the greeting of the house, along with “chunder” for vomit, and “chook” (how weird!) for chicken. Everybody loved new idioms.
    Right now her psyche was in so much upheaval about Bunny’s rebuff that all she had was superficial cheer. She was relieved Bunny wasn’t there.
    “What’s your run-and-tell, Axel?”
    Axel looked really downcast. “Oh, cuss. Barry’s decided that we should see other people for a while. You know what that means.”
    Maeve poured out some granola and skim milk. She’d learned recently to call it skim, a word that nobody who’d grown up in Southern California ever used, but the stores had started to use it.
    “He seemed a really nice guy. Are you sure it’s over?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I hope it works out.” Deep inside, she didn’t really mean it. Schadenfreude was at work, and after her encounter with Bunny, Maeve hoped everybody in the universe