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Chapter 9

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Lana Hayaak

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Curt was out of town visiting contract labs in Suzhou, a nearby town famous for its gardens and rivers. I sat on my white silk sofa in the living room talking to Colleen. Peter initially sat on my lap, but jumped down when he sensed tension in my voice.

“Natalia, calm down, why are you so upset?”

“Why did you give Cal my new name and contact info?”

“He’s harmless, why care?”

“I thought you understood that I wanted to keep my new identity private,” I said with frustration.

“Sure, but Cal stopped by our espresso shop and was so nice.” Colleen and Margaret, friends from high school, were now business partners.

“Cal is not nice. If you saw the emails he sends, you’d understand.” Why didn’t others pick up on the obvious?

“Aw, he’s in love,” Colleen teased.

“This is not love. It’s a perversion; besides, I’m married.”

“Why are you making such a big deal?”

“Why give Cal my email, phone number, and home address when I specifically asked you to keep my personal information private?” I obsessively repeated.

“Stop blaming me,” Colleen asserted.

I heard movement at the front door. I jumped up, crept slightly closer to the door, and swore that I saw the doorknob turn. Instinctively, I backed away, darted into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and started pressing the security button.

“Natalia, are you there?”

“Colleen, I have to go,” I said and abruptly hung up.

Within minutes, two security guards and the manager entered my home with staged formality. After thoroughly inspecting my apartment, they explained that the CCTV cameras had recorded my drunk neighbor lurking in the hallway.

“How did he almost open my door?” I demanded.

“Well, ma’am, everyone in this apartment building has the same key.”

“Lovely,” I said sarcastically.

After thanking the staff, I changed into a long, white sundress with red trimmings. While dressing, I heard a knock at the door.

Security, again? I ran to the door, peeked through the peephole and was startled to see Ben Chang.

I liked my husband’s partner because he was always kind. Unlike Curt’s other friends, Ben was genuine, a good listener, and pleasant company.

FLASHBACK 2008

It was the end of the fall semester, and Curt invited me to his friend’s birthday party at a Spanish tapa bar in the SoMa district of San Francisco. When I arrived, I saw Curt at the bar with his friends. He looked up to say ‘hi,’ but then focused his attention on a skinny brunette wearing a short, tight dress. I attempted to chat with some guests, but felt awkward. I stood alone for a while until Ben approached. He introduced himself as Curt’s friend, bought me a drink, and asked, “What books have you read lately?”

I was surprised because I didn’t expect deep conversation at this party. But I responded, “I’m reading a book about the American Civil War. It’s kind of a passion.”

“Why?”

“There’s so much to learn from people who’ve lost —”

Suddenly Curt slapped his friend on the back and interjected, “Then you’ll learn plenty from Ben.”

Ben ignored the remark and asked, “Lana, what were you saying?”

“Victors rarely analyze their mistakes,” I responded.

“That’s your problem,” Curt said to me.

“My problem?” I asked.

“You overanalyze everything.”

I ignored Curt and said, “Ben, do you want to dance?”

As Ben and I headed to the dance floor, Curt shouted, “Lana, you have no sense of humor.”

I replied, “Steiger, do you get tired of saying that to women?”

“Ben, what a surprise,” I said as I opened the door. “Please come in.”

“Thank you,” Ben responded as he entered. “I just got back from visiting the labs in Suzhou.”

“Cool,” I said while pouring him a glass of water.

“Curt asked me to check on you.”

“How thoughtful of him,” I remarked dryly. “Ben, I’m meeting a friend for dinner. Can you join us?”

“Sure, I’d love to.”

***

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During the taxi ride, Ben asked, “Can you speak Chinese now that you’ve lived here for more than a year?”

“Not really. I’m tone deaf.”

“I see.”

“You have such a beautiful accent, Ben.”

“Thank you, Lana, but how can you tell if you’re tone deaf?”

Changing the subject, I said, “We’ll be dining at the same type of place where we first met.”

“Lana, I’m impressed by your memory.”

“Thank you. I have a knack for remembering all types of inconsequential details.”

“I see.”

We suddenly arrived at a location and jumped out too quickly. While standing on the corner, I realized I didn’t know where to go. I began reviewing text messages from Eric.

“So typical of taxi drivers. They love to dump you off where it’s convenient for them.”

Ben patiently listened to my complaints.

“Can you read Mandarin?” I asked.

“Yes.”

I handed Ben my cell, and he quickly read my texts. “Lana, the restaurant is across the street.”

While crossing the street, Ben grabbed me as a motorcycle sped by.

“Ben, you saved me.”

We climbed the staircase, but I slipped in my heels and fell.

“Lana, are you alright?” Ben said as he helped me up.

“I think I need new heels,” I replied.

When we reached the second floor, I saw my handsome friend sitting in the corner. Eric was a very clean-cut, blonde with aristocratic features. He illuminated the dimly lit Spanish restaurant with his effervescent charisma.

I exclaimed, “Sorry, but we got a bit lost. Luckily, Ben helped me.”

Eric smiled and said, “No worries. I just got here.”

“This is my husband’s partner, Ben,” I responded.

The men shook hands, and Ben asked, “Are you a lawyer?”

Eric shook his head and replied, “I handle finance stuff; however, I’m very concerned about corporate governance issues.”

“Like what?” Ben asked.

“We’ve contracted with a company owned by a relative of the operations manager.”

“Not uncommon,” I remarked.

“This would never happen back home,” Eric protested.

“You’d be surprised,” I joked.

“Lana, you’ve changed,” Eric declared.

“How?”

“Corruption used to infuriate you,” Eric replied.

“The real world has jaded me,” I confessed. “How is everything else?”

“Okay, but I’m sick of adults who giggle and carry stuffed animals,” Eric responded.

“Seems harmless,” I remarked.

“Sure, until they screw the boss,” Eric exclaimed. “Then we all suffer.”

I now turned to Ben and said, “I trust your office isn’t like that.”

Ben didn’t say anything, because the waiter had returned to take our orders.

After we finished a leisurely dinner of tapas, paella, and sangria, Ben grabbed the check and insisted on paying. The three of us then strolled outside, where the nearby clubs were starting to generate energy. I could smell cigarette smoke in the air.

I hugged Eric goodbye and he hailed a taxi.

“Lana, I’ll take you home,” Ben promised.

“It’s okay Ben. I’m a big girl; I can get home by myself.”

“I insist. Curt would kill me if anything happened to you.”

“Um, okay.”

“Your friend Eric is very ... interesting.”

“What do you mean, Ben?”

“His comments—”

“Ah, well ... Eric is very idealistic,” I explained.

“He’s gay, isn’t he?” Ben said matter-of-factly.

“How did you know?” I asked with surprise.

“A variety of reasons. I guess it’s not easy for someone like Eric to live in China.”

Without thinking, I blurted, “Trust me, there are worse places he could be.”

I immediately regretted my candor because Eric didn’t want people to know he was gay. His supervisors were openly homophobic, which was the real source of his discontent. I realized that bringing Ben to dinner had inhibited a more honest discussion.

“I see,” Ben responded with a grave look in his eye.