Chapter Sixteen #3
Danny sighed as he ran a hand through the hair that continuously fell across one eye. “Oh. Well, don’t worry about that, kitten. You won’t stand out nearly as much as you think.”
They rode in awkward silence for a while, Florence sneaking uncomfortable looks at both of them. Vivian was trying to decide whether she needed to say something else when Danny abruptly spoke.
“All the papers can talk about these days is the Tong Wars, and there are plenty of folks calling for the Chinese to be sent packing.” He was stoic as he stared out the cab window.
“Never mind we’ve lived here longer than half of them.
But they can’t shut up about gang fights.
” Seeing Vivian’s curious expression, he added, “Makes a fella sensitive from time to time.”
“They aren’t real, then?” Florence asked curiously. “The Tong Wars?”
Danny laughed humorlessly. “They’re real.
Every neighborhood has its gangs these days, and we’ve got ours, too.
They’re not all bad, you know,” he added, the look he turned on them defensive and defiant.
“They look after their people. They don’t agree on much, though, and they’re happy to fight it out.
But there wouldn’t be so much of that if the government stopped making it so hard for Chinese men to live their lives and have families. ”
“Have families?” Florence glanced out the window, clearly confused. They were turning off Houston Street now, and the streets and sidewalks were crowded. “There are plenty of people with families here, aren’t there?”
“Some, but not as many as there should be.”
Vivian eyed the clusters of men who stood around on corners and outside shops as they drove past. Some of them looked like shopkeepers or restaurant owners. Others just stood there, smoking and eyeing the people passing by.
And most of them were men, Vivian realized. Children darted in and out of buildings from time to time, and there were women running errands or heading to work, but there were not nearly as many families going about their business as she would have seen in other parts of the city.
“Chinese men who come here can’t bring their wives or families,” Danny continued quietly. “And they don’t let Chinese women in anymore.”
Neither of them had to ask why. Men alone provided labor. But letting women in meant families, and families put down roots. Florence sighed. “And men without jobs and wives and kids have a lot more time to start gang fights?”
Danny nodded, but something else occurred to Vivian, and she frowned. “But your mother lives here.”
“She was born in the United States, out in California,” he said, the defensive note back in his voice. “And anyway, she’s only half Chinese herself. Her mother was Korean.”
“Oh.” Vivian was quiet again, feeling ignorant and not liking it. “I didn’t know all that, Danny,” she said, hoping he believed her. “Honestly, I just don’t want to risk anyone finding Florence. Or cause any trouble for your family because we don’t fit in.”
To her surprise, that made Danny laugh. “Chinese women can’t come to America, so our men end up marrying whoever they can.
Half the children in Chinatown have mothers who came from poor Irish and Italian families.
” Before she could respond, he slowed and gestured at a tall, narrow building. “We’re here.”
The cab had brought them to a bustling street downtown, a part of the city where Florence had never been before and Vivian had visited only once.
It felt like a different world from the corner of the city where she lived.
The clamor of voices as they climbed out of the cab rose in a mixture of languages.
But the buildings leaned drunkenly against each other the same as they did at home, as though if you slid one out of place the rest would topple over like dominos.
Vivian couldn’t read the bright signs painted with Chinese characters, but the window full of bolts of cloth clearly belonged to a tailor, the one with plucked birds hanging from the ceiling had to be a butcher, and the sweltering heat was the same as any other part of New York.
When they climbed out of the cab, Florence’s hand squeezed Vivian’s arm almost painfully as she stared around them. “A chop suey place?” she whispered, seeing the building Danny was leading them toward. “Is that his parents’ restaurant?”
“I guess so,” Vivian whispered back. “I’ve never been here before.”
Danny glanced back at them, and Vivian was surprised to see a look of uncertainty on his face, the first time she had seen the devil-may-care bartender look anything less than fully confident. But there was also something in his expression that might have been pride.
Vivian cleared her throat. “Leo said your family owns two restaurants.”
Danny grinned, suddenly back to his normal swagger.
“My uncle took over their old place on Mott Street, and my parents opened this one last year. Everybody loves chop suey these days, even outside the Chinese neighborhood.” He gave them an encouraging smile as he swung the door open and gestured expansively. “Welcome.”
The interior was bright, painted in red and gold, cream and black, the floor filled with spindly tables set in neat lines.
Electric bulbs decorated with shades of gold paper hung from the ceiling, but not many of them were turned on at this time of day; most of the light streamed from the front window.
To one side, a staircase leading up had a twisted red rope strung across it.
A door at the back of the room was outlined in light, and from it came a clattering of pans and the wafting aroma of dinner being prepared.
Vivian took a deep breath. The food was different than in their part of the city, but the smell of good cooking was comforting, no matter where you were.
The room was currently empty of customers, and Vivian glanced nervously at Danny. “Is it all right for us to be here?”
“They close between lunch and dinner to give everyone a little break. But no one’s going to throw you out,” he said, just in time for a man to shout from the kitchen, “We are not open for business!”
“Only me, Ba!” Danny called back. “Me and some friends.”
A man’s head poked around the kitchen door so quickly that Vivian nearly jumped, though she should have been expecting it.
His face was lined and his hair beginning to gray around the temples, but otherwise he could have been Danny’s twin, down to the sharp line of his jaw and his expressive eyebrows.
Currently those eyebrows were drawn into a scowl, and as he came into the front room he began speaking rapidly in what Vivian assumed was Chinese.
Danny responded in the same language, his voice relaxed in spite of his father’s obvious displeasure, then gestured at his small entourage. “Florence, Vivian, meet my father, Mr. Chin. Ba, Vivian’s a friend from work, and Florence is her sister.”
“How do you do, Mr. Chin?” Florence said politely, holding out her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you.” Vivian quickly echoed her sister.
Mr. Chin’s scowl faded as he shook Florence’s hand, then Vivian’s, his expression polite but wary. And he still gave his son a narrow-eyed glance. “You have not brought people from your other job here before.”
“No, but the girls are in a bit of a jam and need some help.”
Mr. Chin held up a quick hand. “I do not want to know.”
“It’s not about work,” Danny sighed. “Their neighborhood’s a little rough right now, and they need somewhere to stay until things quiet down.”
“Eh, New York.” Mr. Chin shook his head, a look of reluctant sympathy on his face. “It is a hell of a place to live these days. So you want these girls to stay here?”
“Ma would say yes, and you know it.”
“Your mother would let every—” Mr. Chin gave the girls a sideways glance, then switched languages again.
He and Danny exchanged quick words before he finally threw up his hands.
“Fine, fine. Sit, all of you. Food first, and then we will talk about it more. And then you will put in your hours in the kitchen?” he asked, turning sharply to Danny, who nodded.
Mr. Chin sighed, then nodded, rubbing one palm across his thinning hair and muttering under his breath as he pushed back through the door into the kitchen.
“Everything okay?” Vivian asked as they settled into a table. “We don’t have to stay if it’s causing any trouble.”
“It’s fine,” Danny reassured her. “Ma will say yes, and she’ll bring him around.
They just don’t want anyone finding out about my second job.
And they worry about me.” He sighed. “I don’t like making them worry.
So we usually don’t talk about it. I get a nap in the morning, then work the kitchen in the afternoon with my cousins.
But the cash helps—that’s how they were able to buy this place and still have money to send home.
Besides.” He leaned back in his chair, his grin returning.
“I like my job. More than the restaurant, to be honest.”
“It’s a very nice restaurant, though,” Florence said, looking around. She was sitting on the edge of her chair and fiddling with the handle of her purse. Her suitcase perched beside her chair, as though they might be told to leave at any moment.
“The food’s good too,” Danny said, that edge of nervous pride once again clear in his voice.
“Not many businesses Chinese folks are allowed to own in this city,” he added, a scowl briefly creasing his handsome face before he shrugged.
“It’s restaurants or laundromats. Murder on your back either way, but food’s more fun than cleaning clothes. ”
There was a clatter from the kitchen, and he sprang up as a tiny, dark-haired woman, the skin around her eyes creased with laugh lines, came out bearing a large tray of food.
She paused for a moment, sizing them up before she handed the tray to Danny.
When Florence and Vivian tried to stand up to help, she waved them off.