GRANT AVENUE was the main thoroughfare for Chinatown’s tourist business. It was crammed with shops and restaurants. Large brightly colored signs in Chinese script announced Asian delights. They fascinated tourists and warned the locals prices were elevated. All sorts of lit lanterns were draped from one side of the street to the other. It was totally different than Stockton Street one block above it to the west, where the Chinese did their own serious shopping in no-frills storefronts piled high with merchandise or meats, fish or produce, including the famous roasted Peking ducks hanging in the windows of local restaurants.
When Mathew O’Hara left the bar, he didn’t go home to his residence in Pacific Heights. Instead, he went to one of his many apartments spread all around San Francisco. This one was in Chinatown on the fifth floor of a very ordinary-looking building on Grant Avenue. From the outside one could be fooled, but once inside it was clear that it was one of the best buildings in Chinatown. O’Hara owned the penthouse, tastefully decorated with priceless antiques from ancient China, including a couple of porcelain vases from the Ming Dynasty the size of an adult, and a collection of jade carvings from the fifteenth century. From the apartment windows there was a panoramic view of the bay, the Bay Bridge, and Treasure Island.
Once he was inside, a sultry voice greeted him.
“Hello, Matt. I wasn’t expecting you this evening,” it said.
Virginia Dimitri stood five feet ten inches in her stylish high heels. She was expensively dressed in the style of Jacqueline Kennedy. This evening she had on a black silk dress from San Francisco’s most sought-after fashion designer. Around her neck hung two strands of perfectly formed Japanese pearls. Her black hair fell to her shoulders. She had modest but well-formed breasts, and long memorable legs that she knew how to display.
They had known each other since college. She had come to Berkeley from the East Coast to get away from her abusive father. She and Matt had been lovers in their university days, off and on since then, and had stayed in touch. Now, she worked for him on important projects in which her beauty and cunning could be put to use. He liked the way she feigned vulnerability, which fooled others, but not him, because he knew her well and was sure she was made of steel. She was always in charge.
“I forgot to give you some details about tonight,” said Mathew. “So I’m glad I caught you before your appointment, Virginia.”
“I’m all ears. I already have a pretty good idea of what you want from Mr. Ching. It’s not going to be easy to get, because he’s no dummy.”
“You look elegant this evening. I’ve every confidence in your powers of persuasion, but you should change a small detail of your attire. Remember, this guy isn’t very tall. Take off your high heels so there’s not so much of a difference in height. That way he’ll be more comfortable.”
“Okay, but I don’t think that just putting on flats is going to solve the problem.”
“It may take some time, but you’ll get what we want from Mr. Ching. Just make sure he likes what you have to offer. One never knows with these rich Chinese men,” said Mathew.
“He’s just as aware as you are that it’s illegal to bring art objects from Communist China into the U. S. He won’t take more risks than are absolutely necessary.”
“Yeah, but he also knows we can both make a fortune off the items, if they are handled properly. As it stands right now, he has the shipment divided into five parts, and I’m scheduled to get only one part of it. I want the whole thing! That’s where you come into the game.”
“I understand. Ching isn’t the kind of man who loses his head over a woman. He certainly didn’t let down his guard that night at the cocktail party you threw for him in June,” she said.
“Find his weak point,” said Mathew.
“That goes without saying,” said Virginia.
Then Mathew delved into the details of the dinner that would be served, and went into the kitchen to talk to the cook.
“Hello, how are tricks?” Mathew asked.
“Vely fine, Misser O’Hara, vely fine,” the cook responded in his Cantonese accent, not interrupting the chopping of vegetables.
“Did you get me the shark fin soup, as I asked?”
“Yes, sir; yes, sir. This will make you guest vely happy and full of power,” he laughed.
“I hope so. I’m counting on you to give this guy lots of power so he thinks he’s a lion,” said Mathew, also laughing.
He wandered into the dining room and made sure the silverware was positioned exactly where he wanted it and that the ivory chopsticks were placed in front of the exquisite porcelain place settings on top of the embroidered tablecloth. He then turned the overhead light off and lit several candles, placing them in different parts of the room. He called Virginia over and sat her down where he wanted her, then continued to position the candles until he had just the right light to soften her features.
“The light should be suggestive. Ching is a very refined man, and he’ll appreciate the details. Good luck,” he said, as he kissed her on the cheek before leaving.
* * *
Xsing Ching arrived promptly at nine-thirty. He was smartly dressed in a suit from the best Hong Kong tailor. He had an ageless face with high cheekbones and languid eyes. Virginia couldn’t help but again notice his strong, trim figure she remembered from their previous encounter. She watched him stroll across the foyer with confidence and ease after being let in by Fu Fung Fat, the manservant. The contrast between the two was striking. Fu had been a ferocious guerilla fighter for the resistance against the Japanese, where he lost an arm and was honored by Chiang Kai-shek, who personally bestowed the rank of colonel on him. He escaped with Chiang to Taiwan when the Communists took over and, because of his war record, was allowed to immigrate to the States. The only things left of his military service were his medals and his memories. He had been Virginia’s servant and confidant for years.
Virginia ushered Xsing Ching into the living room and resumed her seat at a right angle from where she seated him on the sofa so he could have the view of the bay and her crossed legs.
“May I offer you a drink, Mr. Ching?”
“A martini, if you please,” he answered in perfect English with a British accent.
Virginia was relieved. She wouldn’t have to talk in sign language.
“Would you like something to nibble on as well? We have raw oysters with a spicy sauce.”
“Of course,” he accepted.
She rang a little jade bell she had beside her. “I don’t remember you speaking such fluent English when I last met you.”
“We really didn’t get much of a chance to talk then,” he said. “Too many people.”
The cook walked in from the kitchen, and she ordered the oysters.
“Where did you learn to speak it so well, Mr. Ching?” she asked.
“You may call me Xsing. I suppose I may call you Virginia? I learned it in London.”
“I see. I understand that you don’t live here.”
“I just arrived from New York, where I now have my main office for my export company. I travel a lot, including coming and going from Hong Kong,” he said, sipping slowly on his martini.
“Nice time of year in New York,” she commented.
“Autumn is always nice on the East Coast. Fortunately, I spend enough time in San Francisco so that during the winter I don’t get what you Americans call cabin fever,” he responded.
Xsing savored the oysters slowly. He watched Virginia, discreetly admiring the graceful and professional way she handled herself. They made small talk for fifteen or twenty minutes; then she directed the conversation toward dinner.
“Would you like to go to the dining room?” she asked. “I was told you are a big fan of shark fin soup, so I thought we’d start with that.”
“That was thoughtful of you,” he said, smiling for the first time.
They moved to the table that Mathew had arranged and were soon enjoying the meal that he had also engineered.
“Would you like some wine, Xsing?” she asked.
“Chablis will be fine,” he answered.
She was prepared, and the chef brought a bottle of French Chablis and another of California Fume Blanc, Virginia’s favorite. He poured the wine into the crystal goblets.
“I commend you on the shark fin soup; it is some of the best I have ever tasted,” said Xsing for the benefit of Virginia, and he repeated it in Cantonese.
The cook smiled. He knew that Mr. Ching was a real connoisseur. He then went back to the kitchen and returned with a delicately prepared whole fish, several plates of vegetables, and two bowls of steamed rice, which he placed to the left of each plate. He scraped the skin off the fish, boned it in front of them, and served each a discreet portion, then retired.
“How long will you be in San Francisco?” she asked.
“It depends. There’s a business deal pending that may take a few weeks.”
“Your family will miss you.”
“Yes, but unfortunately that cannot be avoided.”
“Where is your family?”
“Normally in Hong Kong, but for the last several months they’ve been in New York.”
Is this because of your business?”
“For personal reasons. One of my children requires medical treatment.”
“Oh, what a shame. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
Xsing nodded but said nothing.
After a light dessert of lychee fruit, they moved to the sofa that overlooked the city. They watched the lights of San Francisco shimmer as the moon, which was almost full that night, made a golden path on the bay. Virginia snuggled in next to Xsing Ching.
“Mathew speaks highly of you, Xsing.”
“That is kind of him. I hope we can complete our transaction in a satisfactory manner,” he responded without emotion.
She put her hand on his thigh and moved closer. He accommodated her, so she put her arm around his shoulder and kissed him gently on the neck. He knew Virginia’s role in his deal with O’Hara, and why she had invited him to her apartment, so he didn’t resist what would have been an overly aggressive move by a woman in his culture. He loosened his tie and was soon kissing her strongly and fondling her breasts. She noted he was a passionate man, and she liked the way he forced his tongue into her mouth, searching for hers.
“May I suggest we retire to the bedroom?” she said.
He stood up and put his arm around her waist with the palm resting casually on her buttock, guiding her in the direction she pointed. The bedroom had golden wallpaper, and the ceiling was dimly lit by recessed lamps that shone softly on an elaborate comforter, neatly folded at the foot of the bed. There were a few decorated pillows near the ornately carved rosewood headboard. The radio was playing soft jazz.
Xsing let her down gently on the bed and lay down beside her, kicking off his shoes. Normally he took his time, but tonight he felt on the verge of losing control. He pulled her dress up above her panty line and kissed her and brushed her moist sex with his fingers. She responded by unbuckling his belt and taking his penis, hard like a young man’s, in her hand. She then pushed him away and motioned that he should finish disrobing as she slipped out of her dress, letting it fall to the floor. She removed her bra slowly and threw it across the room, watching it land on an armchair in the corner. She then lay down on the bed dressed only in her laced garter belt and black stockings, and waited in the soft light for him to come to her. She watched his wiry frame as he took off the rest of his clothes. She liked his maleness. In other circumstances, perhaps it would have excited her, but she wasn’t there for that; she needed to keep a clear head.
He lay down beside her, naked, and his lips sought the curve in her neck right next to her ear. He removed her stockings with skill, admiring her firm legs and refined ankles. With the finger of one hand he massaged her clitoris while he fondled one of her breasts with the other. Her nipples were now erect, and she pulled Xsing over on top of her. He began kissing her again as he penetrated her. She acted as though she was trembling with delight. They started moving together slowly toward what Xsing hoped would be the inevitable crescendo.
Every time she had sex with a man, she thought of the way her father fondled and used her when she was a teenager. She hated him to this day for doing what he did to her. She learned then to fake orgasm to get her father off her quickly, just as she was on the verge of doing now. She felt Xsing’s broad back and whispered a string of obscenities in his ear while writhing like a snake with her legs elevated to her waist. He thought her sex was pulsating with the rhythm they made together and in spite of his experience and cynicism, he believed her when she moaned and told him not to stop. Deep inside her, he started to reach a climax, which surprised him, and he couldn’t resist. He liked to prolong sex and prided himself on his self-control, but it was too late.
Afterwards he lay on top of her and fell asleep for a minute or two. He woke up confused, and it took him a second to remember who he was with. He first recognized the smell of her perfume, and he murmured her name before sliding off to her side.
“You’re a good lover, Xsing,” she whispered in his ear.
He said nothing. She noted he took it for granted, which was very convenient for her. As Xsing lay beside her in a vulnerable position, she started the most difficult part of her job.
“Tell me about your family,” she asked.
“I have four children, a boy and three girls,” he answered.
“Which one needs medical attention?”
“The boy. He’s thirteen; he’s the oldest and the brightest. Of course, he’s my favorite,” said Xsing, but his voice broke in the middle of the sentence.
“What’s wrong?”
“He has leukemia, which makes his life difficult,” said Xsing Ching, surprised he was divulging such intimate information to someone who was almost a stranger. He seldom spoke about his family.
“My goodness. What a shame. Have you sought treatment for him? It is treatable, isn’t it?”
“I have sent him to many specialists, but have been advised that with his condition the only treatment is a bone marrow transplant, which is risky.”
“I’ve heard of that. There are doctors who are experimenting in that field at the University of California Medical Center. Do you want me to make some inquires?”
“Thank you,” he said, moved by her concern.