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Daniel Petersen
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I hid in the shadows, impatiently waiting for Lana to appear. It was 6:30 p.m. when she finally sauntered out of her apartment. Evidently, this lady of leisure was not in any hurry.
According to her calendar, she was supposed to meet friends at the Expat Women’s Club. I was familiar with this group.
Lana stood on the marble steps in front of her apartment while waiting for her chauffeur. She wasn’t dressed for a casual event, as she was wearing a white suit. It was like her uniform.
I hoped on my bike and followed her car. The driver delivered Lana to a bar on a cobblestone street in the French Concession. Once at her destination, she chatted with wives about typical expat complaints: maids, poor service, and shopping.
Meanwhile, I lingered at a table not far from Lana, but kept my back turned away from her. It was the perfect spot to listen in on her conversation.
“Sara, how’s teaching?” Lana asked a middle-aged woman who wore glasses and a short, curly hairstyle.
“It’s great, but I feel my students need to understand religion if they’re going to understand the United States.”
“I see,” Lana said. She paused for a moment, took a sip of orange juice and asked, “Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Sara nodded and replied, “Yes, religion is the foundation of Western culture.”
Lana struggled to be diplomatic and said, “Does the Chinese government allow religious studies in schools?”
“They don’t, and it’s wrong,” exclaimed Sara, who appeared quite passionate about this issue.
I was bored.
Luckily, Sara changed the subject and asked, “Lana, are you alright? It seems like something is bothering you.”
“I’m very well, thank you for asking,” Lana responded.
“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Sara pleaded.
“I don’t understand why strangers constantly barge up to me and ask if I’m Chinese,” Lana declared.
Sara responded, “The only thing Asian about you are your eyes — only slightly — and your wrists.
At that moment Karen, a Canadian woman, spun around and blurted, “They’re trying to find out if you’re up for NSA.”
“I beg your pardon,” Lana responded with surprise.
“No strings attached sex,” Karen clarified.
“And here I just thought they wanted to know my ethnicity,” Lana said.
“Yes, because —” Karen tried to continue.
But Lana cut her off to say, “So if I’m Chinese —”
“Chinese women are conservative and want commitment,” Karen asserted with conviction.
“How do you know all of this?” Sara interjected.
“I read it on a local blog: Shanghai Genius,” Karen explained.
“Well if you read it on Shanghai Genius then it must be true,” Lana said playfully.
Sara piped in, “You’re smearing American women.”
Karen shrugged and said, “I’m not the judgmental one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean,” Sara demanded.
“You’re the one waving the Bible around like it’s the U.S. Constitution. Frankly, the latter would be more useful to your students,” Karen retorted.
“Well morals still matter — at least to me,” Sara said firmly.
“What a woman does where, when, and with whom, is her business,” Karen argued.
“Yes, but God is always watching,” Sara finished.
Karen now turned to Lana and said, “There was a time in Canada when our news wasn’t the rubbish you get in the U.S.”
Lana nodded and said, “But now —”
Karen continued, “It’s the same. Can you imagine how hard it was for me, as a young mother, trying to explain why your President Clinton got a —”
“He was never my president,” Sara declared.
While Lana and her friends bantered I felt a heavy-set woman brush up against me. I looked up and realized it was Gloria Rivers. “Daniel, how are you?” she purred.
Gloria beamed from ear to ear while her eyes locked with mine. I felt queasy. This middle aged woman was a former client. Initially she hired me to spy on her husband, but as time progressed it was apparent that she wanted more. I didn’t find Gloria particularly attractive, since she was overweight, overbearing, and wore the same fragrance as my granny.
“Mrs. Rivers, what a surprise to run into you,” I responded in my debonair manner.
“Not really, you know that I come here regularly,” she said with a sly grin.
“Uh, huh,” I stammered.
“Daniel, are you stalking me?”
“Ha, ha Mrs. Rivers. You caught me.”
“Daniel, call me Gloria,” she ordered as she not-so-subtly inched closer.
I could feel the abundant weight of her body pressing up against mine. I scanned the room wondering if anyone was watching.
Gloria fondled my shoulder and said, “C’mon Daniel, one drink.” I caught some guys at the pool table looking over. Some snickered, while one gave me a thumbs-up sign.
From the corner of my eye, I realized Lana was escaping. My adrenaline surged. I turned to Gloria and said, “I’ll have to take a rain check. I just remembered that I forgot to put money in the parking meter.”
“What meter, Daniel? There are no parking meters in Shanghai,” she shouted while I bolted for the door.
As I dashed to the curb, I frantically looked around but didn’t see Lana. Frustrated, I walked around in circles and finally found her driver. I pressed him about Lana’s whereabouts, but he shrugged and buried his head in a newspaper. This was the second time Lana had pulled a disappearing act. I scoured the streets looking for her, but had no luck.
There were unexplainable gaps in Lana’s day. Occam’s razor: the simplest explanation is generally correct. I was disappointed because I thought my Batman was better than other women. Lana was so innocent when we met, but evidently I was wrong. Clearly, she was the same as any other desperate housewife and was having an affair.
I got a text from Curt. He was anxious and suggested meeting soon. I groaned because I hadn’t found much.