Blossom (The Blossom Trilogy Book 1) Page 5

  “You figured wrong. When I’m in Chinatown, that really means that I’m at one whorehouse and one whorehouse only…with a whore.”

  “Could you possibly say whore one more time?”

  “Whore! Whore! Whore! Whore! WHORE!” Austin grinned.

  “Anyway, back to why I came to talk to you,” Brock said. He stared beyond Austin at the wall and then gazed up at the ceiling. “I can’t say exactly what it was, or if it was just one thing. But I can’t get her face—her eyes—out of my mind. She isn’t like anyone else I’ve ever met. I didn’t set out for this to happen. But we connected.” Brock did his best to describe the heady rush of early infatuation, a sensation he knew that he hadn’t felt before.

  “I know I’m taking a big risk telling you this. Keeping secrets is not something you’re known for. But as my one and only brother, I want to trust you this time. Will you go with me?”

  Austin rubbed his chin, caressing the well-manicured reddish-blond goatee that provided some much-needed masculinity to his face. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

  “No, I don’t. But I do know that I have to see her again. It could be a huge mistake…or not.”

  “You connected?” Austin asked. “Yes, you connected.” He answered his own question with his lips dancing on the edge of a smirk. “Buddy, if you want to pluck an exotic Chinese flower, I know of a place and a stupendous strumpet who would be happy to take you…um—”

  “God, you’re an ass!”

  “Brock, when I’m cold and rotting, then you can call me an ass, but not until then,” Austin said as he waved a pointed finger. “Assuming Clarissa is a virgin and considering that you’re a sex-lifeless corpse, helping you find some satisfaction may not be such a bad thing. Isn’t that what a best man is for?”

  The younger brother clammed up and returned his attention to the billiard table. Brock began to regret disclosing his newfound interest in Chinatown. Austin moved the pool cue with his right arm, causing a crisp clacking of colliding balls on the table with the red ball dropping into a corner pocket.

  “Say big brother, how much cash do you have on you?”

  “Why do you care? Did you burn through all of your money doing whatever you were doing last night?”

  Brock knew how costly Austin’s tomcat ways were, but the younger Mr. St. Clair prided himself by never being cash-poor.

  “My pocket has plenty of money in it, like always. But if I go with you, you’re going to owe me something and maybe—” He stopped talking to think a moment. “Yeah, it’s not going to be cash, though. I’ll call in that debt another time, I think.”

  Brock looked at his brother and wondered how the two of them could be so different.

  “Hey, it’s your life. And if you want to make a pile of horse shit out of it, I won’t be the one to get in your way,” said Austin. “I’m all too happy to oblige. Then, maybe I won’t look like such a lost cause in Mother’s eyes after all. So, when do we leave?”

  Chapter 6

  Back For More

  Saturday, April 14, 1906, 3:52 p.m.

  Four days before the earthquake and firestorm

  “The girls may be having their ‘hen party’ tonight, but we’re going to have our fun too, and then some,” said Austin as he swaggered just ahead of his brother down the front steps of their house.

  “Whoa, little brother,” grunted Brock. “We’re not going on that kind of hunt. Besides, it’s hardly four o’clock in the afternoon. And her father works at the front counter. I doubt that we’ll be making an evening out of it.”

  Brock and Austin took the cable car down to the intersection of Clay and Dupont streets, where the Tie Yick General Store displayed preserved meats in the open air for all to see. Brock enjoyed watching how Austin was disturbed by the sight of dried duck, pig livers and frogs. They ventured down a narrow alley.

  “Where are you taking me? God Almighty, it smells like Hell’s outhouse around here!” blurted Austin. “I’ve been in some alleys here before, but not this one.”

  Brock glared at his brother. “I was here a few hours ago. I’m sure this is the way. Remember, it’s called The Golden Palace. Look for a sign.”

  “Just what are you going to say when we get there? Hello, the moon biscuits—or whatever you call them—were great and I’m back for the girl now. What’s your plan? You have a plan, right?”

  “Well…I don’t…have a plan.” Brock felt his stomach slosh. “I just know I need to see her again. You’ve always been the manipulator, the schemer, the—”

  “Stop already,” interrupted Austin. “Give me a second to think. Here’s what we’re going to do. Didn’t you say there’s a bakery and a restaurant?”

  Brock nodded.

  “Then we’ll go in the bakery to get more of those cookies. We’ll tell them we just had to have more. I’ll ask as many questions I can think of to distract whoever’s working the front counter so you can make time with the girl. If that doesn’t work, we’ll have dinner at their restaurant and hope your girl works double-duty in both the bakery and the restaurant today.”

  “Sounds good!”

  When they arrived at The Golden Palace, Brock took a deep breath, only to have it knocked out as Austin slapped him on the back. “Relax! Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  The bell hanging on the top of the doorway announced their arrival.

  Brock remembered to step up and over the raised threshold. He neglected to warn Austin, who tripped over it. “I did it too, earlier today,” Brock admitted in a whisper.

  Chang looked shocked when he recognized Brock.

  He bowed twice, once for each of the shop’s visitors. The brothers bowed in response. “My new friend, you back. Sorry about trip. Evil spirits travel flat ground. We raise doorway. Keep them out, yes?”

  “Yes, no evil spirits here,” replied Brock.

  “You no like cookies?”

  “No, I mean yes, we liked them so much that we need more.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful. They full of delight.” The pair turned to look at each other. “So sorry. I mean to say delightful.” He went on, “You bring friend?”

  “He’s not my friend,” Brock responded. “Well, yes, he’s my friend, but he’s my brother, too. He was so fascinated…yes…fascinated by what I told him about your bakery that he had to come see it for himself.”

  Brock elbowed Austin. “Uh, yeah, absolutely. I had to see The Golden Palace for myself,” he said as he strained his neck to scan the next room for the mystery girl.

  A rhythmic clump-clump sound preceded the arrival of Grand Ma Maw. She heard Brock’s and Austin’s clearly spoken English from a nearby room.

  “Greetings. I am Grand Ma Maw…first Ma higher, second Maw soft if you please. How we help you two jen-teal-men?” she inquired with a slow downward nod.

  “Fortune cookies, ma’am. I mean Grand Ma Maw. We’d like another dozen,” said Brock with yet another bow.

  “Ah, you discovered the goodness of our cookies, have you? Chang, please see to their needs.” Grand Ma Maw leaned back to see if Blossom was at her worktable. The old woman sighed.

  “Fifteen cent,” said Chang as he handed Brock the bag of cookies.

  Austin not-so-gently nudged Brock out of the way so that he could pay for the cookies. He pulled a large wad of paper money from his pocket. Despite his mother’s repeated warnings, Austin always carried too much cash, a trait he picked up from a favorite and flamboyant uncle. Austin did it partly to feel secure that he could buy whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it, but mainly to impress people. It usually worked. It did with Chang, who stood motionless and stared with his mouth agape.

  “Hey! Move! You like over-cooked fish, my son,” commanded Grand Ma Maw.

  Chang closed his mouth and passed a bag over the counter. After paying for the cookies, Austin blurted out, “My brother was telling me about how the cookies are made. Can I see too?”

  “So sorry. Girl gone to
prepare for work tonight in our humble restaurant,” said Grand Ma Maw. She held out her hand. Three fortune cookies were offered to Austin. “Pick one,” she instructed. Austin did as he was told.

  “Please enjoy. Eat. Eat. Eat,” ordered Chang. Austin obeyed, shoving the entire cookie into his mouth. He began to chew. Brock watched as Austin pulled a wet paper slip out of his mouth like a ticker-tape machine producing a message. He turned to face Brock. “Why would anyone want cookies with a chewy paper center?”

  “That your fortune, my sir. Read it,” instructed Chang.

  Austin cleared his throat. “A surprise treat awaits you.”

  Brock smiled.

  “Sounds like this message was meant for you, Brock. Say, are you hungry?”

  “Starved, just starved.”

  “Let’s stay and have dinner.” Austin turned to Chang and Grand Ma Maw. “We’ve never had a meal in Chinatown. What time does your restaurant open? Will there be someone to help us order?”

  “We open five o’clock sharp. Yes, we help pick from our most delicious dishes. The Golden Palace not grand like Hang Far Low Restaurant around corner. But our regular customers never complain,” Grand Ma Maw admitted with pride.

  “Then I guess this is goodbye for now. We’ll be back after five,” said Austin as he pushed his brother toward the shop door. They both paused to step up and over the threshold.

  “You owe me for this. And you can bet I’m going to collect on this favor when it matters most,” said Austin in a hushed tone.

  “Actually, I’m going to start collecting right now,” added the younger brother, pointing to a saloon a few doors away.

  “Damn, it smells like rotten eggs,” he remarked now in an insensitive loud voice. Brock pointed out that next to The Golden Palace was a fireworks store, out of which wafted a most potent scent of sulfur. He mentioned how the lighting of firecrackers was believed to drive away evil spirits.

  “Just the same, I bet they serve rotten eggs in your new girl’s restaurant! I guess I’m an evil spirit, because—lighted or not—the smell of those firecrackers could drive me away. But it’s not going to today.”

  ***

  Chang made his way upstairs to tell Blossom about a change in the evening’s plans. “You have night off,” commanded Chang.

  Blossom studied him. She couldn’t remember the last time she got a night off unless she was vomiting, which was rare. Grand Ma Maw was not far behind and entered the room. The addition of her presence made Blossom even more uneasy.

  “You work too hard. You rest now,” said Grand Ma Maw. “Spend night in room. Relax.”

  Blossom now knew something was happening and they were attempting to shield her from it.

  “What’s wrong with the two of you? Maybe you should sit down and relax. Really, I’m fine,” replied Blossom.

  “No more talk. You…stay…here,” concluded Grand Ma Maw with authority. Chang and Grand Ma Maw began to leave the room.

  In a hushed voice, Blossom mumbled, “I’m not staying here!”

  The old woman turned and clarified, “My hearing not so bad. You stay here, my dear one.” She nodded to once again end the conversation, turned and moved on. She closed the door behind her.

  Blossom did her best to let Grand Ma Maw have the last word. But she couldn’t overcome the urge to say, “You forgot to lock the door on my prison cell. I can still escape! You know I can still escape.”

  Outside the door, Grand Ma Maw grinned.

  “What’s going on tonight that they don’t want me to be part of?” Blossom continued in a whisper, “I can’t stay here. I won’t stay here.”

  Chapter 7

  Dining At The Golden Palace

  Saturday, April 14, 1906, 5:09 p.m.

  Four days before the earthquake and firestorm

  Time passed quickly for Brock and Austin as wince-inducing shot glasses of whiskey were hoisted back in the saloon near The Golden Palace.

  “Don’t be such a little girl. Drink your fire water like a man,” instructed Austin. “Come on, raise up that shot glass again. You’ll be all loosened up for the next time you meet this mystery girl of yours. It’ll take the edge off!”

  Brock obliged, sending the liquid fire down to his belly.

  “That’s how it’s done!” Austin praised.

  They left the saloon once it was five o’clock, having heard the faint chiming of nearby church bells over the early evening conversations in the barroom. Austin took in the full sight of the alley and how cramped everything was. “This place is so stacked and packed it makes canned sardines look comfortable,” Austin observed.

  Upon their return, the pair discovered a line of customers forming outside The Golden Palace’s door. Brock noticed the pair of large ceramic statues that were standing like sentinels at the doorway. Local diners all rubbed the ball in the mouth of one of the statues. A man turned to Austin and said, “Rub foo lion-dog. Good fortune yours.”

  Austin turned to Brock. “I bet none of them trip over the doorstep.” He rubbed the ball and pet the statue on the head as he passed it, muttering softly with a bit of a slur, “Good dog. Stay!”

  Chang greeted and seated customers while Grand Ma Maw perched herself on a stool nearby to keep a watchful eye on her business. He bowed slightly to each customer, saying, “You honor our humble restaurant with your presence, my venerable guest.”

  Austin and Brock waited to be seated. The sweet smell of vanilla had given way to the aroma of chicken broth and hot vegetables. They did their best not to stare or study their new surroundings too obviously, but Brock was fascinated by the watercolor paintings on the walls. With a few strategic strokes of paint and a few details added with ink, the artist captured ordinary objects and dreamy exotic scenes. There was even a stylized portrait of a girl who looked to be Ting Ting.

  Grand Ma Maw walked toward the brothers and carefully placed a brimming bowl of uncooked rice on the shelf in the restaurant’s waiting area. The white porcelain bowl was decorated with a cobalt-blue dragon.

  The pair bowed to her, though Austin kept his eyes on the rice bowl.

  “You see, jen-teal-men, in China, we have Mount Penglai…the land of the Eight Immortals. No pain and no winter there. Jewels grow on trees. And rice bowls never empty…no matter how much people eat from them. Our good luck saying here at The Golden Palace is ‘May your rice bowl never be empty.’ This our way to wish customers good fortune as they come in and go out. This bowl of rice remind us to be grateful.”

  Brock cleared his throat. “Thank you—uh, shay shay—for explaining. May your rice bowl never be empty.”

  “Yes, thank you, Grand Maaaa Maw,” added Austin. Ting Ting giggled from her seat in the corner. She pointed to Brock and repeatedly curled her index finger to draw him in. Brock leaned over and she whispered, “Your brother just said her name wrong. It came out like he was scolding a horse!” She giggled again. Brock smiled at her.

  “Brother, we better stick to English. I’ll tell you later what you just said in Chinese.”

  “Fine idea,” said Grand Ma Maw with a slight smile. “I humbly ask you to remember my name Grand Ma Maw…first Ma higher, second Ma soft.”

  Austin nodded to acknowledge the old woman’s request.

  “You like paintings?” she asked Brock. “My granddaughter make them. She put in only enough to let us see what she paint. Then let rest vanish, except for one or two detail. She talented, yes?”

  “Yes, she is talented. She certainly sees the world differently than the rest of us. And I like it, especially this one of Ting Ting,” he said, pointing to the little girl’s likeness. She’s being really friendly. Maybe too friendly? Brock asked himself.

  Brock’s eyes then gravitated to the unusual flower arrangement on the counter. It had one enormous white chrysanthemum, a few shoots of tall green grass, several sandy-brown twigs and some speckled-grey stones in a brilliant orange ceramic bowl. “I’ve never seen anything like it before,” Brock pointed out
. It’s certainly not like the arrangements Clarissa puts together.

  “Granddaughter make that too,” replied Grand Ma Maw. “One flower each day. She get from old lady who sell flowers down street next to fortuneteller. For our humble restaurant, she make beauty with just one blossom every day since she was little girl.”

  Grand Ma Maw announced, “Chang, seat these jen-teal-men! It time now.”

  Chang scurried over to do as he was told.

  Grand Ma Maw added, “Have long noodles for long life. In respect, oldest person at table eat first.”

  She paused. “End with orange slice. Mean you have sweet life up on your hill.”

  Brock noted how it was Grand Ma Maw’s role to ensure her patrons were well taken care of from the moment they entered the door.

  The telephone in the small reception area rang loudly, demanding attention and action. “Pardon me,” she said as she turned to answer the phone. “Yes Anna Mae, I will take the call,” she said into the phone’s receiver. In a flourish, the old woman rattled off an endless stream of words in Chinese with energy and passion.

  Chang approached and seated the brothers at a small table. It had no recognizable utensils other than porcelain ladles that they would soon discover were soup spoons and pairs of decorated bamboo sticks like the ones Blossom used to make cookies.

  “So we got this far. Now where’s the girl?”

  Brock scanned the room for Blossom. She wasn’t there.

  “Compliment of Grand Ma Maw,” said the waiter. “She order you whole meal. You no worry. You eat.”

  Brock attempted to make adult conversation to distract Austin from saying or doing something embarrassing. “I read in the Chronicle this morning that the life expectancy today for men is forty-seven years and fifty for women.”

  Austin replied with a clear sense of frustration about the current misuse of his evening. “Yeah, right…as if I’m really going to need that useless piece of information!”

  Brock continued, “And President Roosevelt is in—” His flow of words came to an abrupt end.