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Daniel Petersen
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I sat on a park bench in the Jing’an District, reading Lana’s unfinished novel. Nearby, groups of senior citizens practiced Tai Chi while other people played classical Chinese music on handmade instruments.
Despite the sounds of traffic on Huai Huai Lu and parents playing with their infants, I was engrossed in the manuscript Steiger had given me.
I was surprised, because it wasn’t what I expected. Curt had suggested it was a book about Japanese prisoner of war camps. But apparently, Lana’s husband had never read it, because it was more like a diary. It included absurdly flowery entries like — “You see officer ... I suppose it all began on a warm summer’s day, but to go back in time would surely exhaust the reader...”
I didn’t find the diary particularly helpful. I figured that this journal was not intended to be private. After all, why would Lana leave it out for anyone to read? Batman was a suspiciously secretive person, and I figured that these entries were made up to support an illusion of someone she pretended to be.
I looked at my watch and realized that I needed to go home to change because I was meeting with Curt and Ben. I had expected to engage with them privately. But instead, they invited me to join their office party at a luxury hotel by the riverside.
When I arrived at the rooftop reception, the venue was fairly empty. I encountered the men and asked, “Aren’t you concerned that I’ll blow my cover with Lana?”
“Knowing Lana, she won’t remember you,” Ben assured me.
“But then she’ll recognize me,” I protested.
“At this point, it doesn’t matter,” Ben responded.
I realized that I’d be replaced if I didn’t produce any useful information.
“Have you actually learned anything?” Curt asked.
“A few things,” I replied.
“Such as?” pressed Ben.
“Lana wrote about how much she cares about some guy named Peter.”
Curt impatiently snapped, “Yeah, and a cat named Larry?”
“I have more,” I promised and handed Curt a flash drive.
“It’ll have to wait, because Curt and I need to speak with someone,” Ben said.
I ordered a G&T from the rooftop bar and took a lounge seat in the open-air patio while surveying the room. Things were quiet. Lana hadn’t yet arrived.
I noticed Lana’s friend Eric and Curt’s IT guy, Kamlesh Khan, so I walked over to join them. Kamlesh was a sanguine man, of South Asian descent, from Nova Scotia. He was in his late-20s and had a friendly disposition.
“How do you guys like living in China?” I asked after quick introductions.
“It’s great. We were just discussing the differences between Beijing and Shanghai,” Eric replied.
I asked, “Which city do you prefer?”
“Shanghai since I have a girlfriend here,” Kamlesh answered.
“I prefer Beijing because folks are more serious,” Eric opined.
I nodded.
“People in Beijing are less demonstrative,” Eric continued.
“Yeah, compared to other places, where people shove their love life in your face,” I said.
“Like on Facebook,” Kamlesh agreed.
“I have a theory: when a couple is super affectionate in public, it means they’re about to break up,” Eric proposed.
“Yeah, we should start a data mining company based on that,” Kamlesh suggested. “Collect data on couples that post the most obnoxious PDA photos. Then sell that information to divorce lawyers.”
I jumped in and said, “Hey, that’s a great idea. So what’s the story with Steiger and his wife?”
“What do you mean?” Eric asked.
“Are they demonstrative in public?” I clarified.
“Not that I’ve ever seen. In general, Lana is pretty standoffish, and Curt is obsessed with his work,” Kamlesh responded.
“What kind of a name is Hayaak anyway?” I asked.
“It’s Lebanese, isn’t it?” Eric suggested.
“Lana looks like a Tartar from the Crimea,” I opined.
“Actually, she looks mixed, like the girls from Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, or Xinjiang,” Kamlesh pointed out.
It was now 10 p.m. As the party intensified, Lana entered. She glanced around, ordered a drink at the bar, and casually strolled out on to the terrace. Lana spent a minute with Ben and Curt before working the room. She took the time to greet almost everyone.
As Lana left the exterior part of the deck, I saw her look in my direction. She approached our group and sat down next to Eric. Before Kamlesh or Eric could say anything, Lana turned to me and said, “Hello.”
“You look very familiar,” I said.
“Do I? I don’t think we’ve met,” she responded extending her hand. “How are you? My name is Lana.”
“Hi, my name is Daniel, are you sure you don’t recognize me? I swear I’ve seen you stalking me all over town.”
Lana studied me without any expression. She took a sip of wine, turned to Kamlesh and Eric and said, “Hey, guys, what’s up!?”
“Not much, Lana. When will you head back to California?” Eric asked.
Lana smiled. “Not until Christmas, but we’ll probably head to Chicago to see Curt’s Dad.”
Kamlesh continued, “I would kill to live in California, especially Silicon Valley.”
Lana responded, “Yes, plenty of blue skies.”
Eric remarked dryly, “Yeah, but in Lana’s world the skies are always gray.”
Batman ignored Eric and said, “Kamlesh, I’m sure Curt will bring you back with us.”
Lana deliberately ignored me. I couldn’t believe she didn’t recognize me. Apparently, she hadn’t seen me lurking in the shadows and didn’t remember me from 2009. This sort of made sense, since I had gained fifty pounds and grown a beard.
Years ago, Lana had teased, “Daniel, you have the skin of an angel. It’s even lovelier than the complexion of a Korean pop singer.” She then analyzed my palms, batted her eyes flirtatiously and whispered seductively, “Mr. Petersen, you have the hands of a gentleman. I don’t think you’ve ever even changed the oil of a car.” It was then that I knew Batman wanted me. I was used to reeling women in with my witty humor. Lana was the first attractive woman who “negged” me. And I was convinced that even now, her evasive behavior was her way of playing hard to get. Or, maybe Batman was fighting her feelings because she was married to a lunatic.
Lana got up to leave, but Eric exclaimed “Don’t leave. We were just talking about social media.”
Smiling, she asked, “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” Kamlesh chimed in, “we were talking about starting our own data mining company.”
“Is my husband’s company that boring? Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me.”
She gazed across the room and observed Curt, who was very drunk and overly flirtatious with his secretary, a slim attractive local. I studied Lana’s face, but she was stoic.
Kamlesh was eager to distract her, so he said, “I was kidding. We were just saying it’s obnoxious the way people broadcast their relationships online.”
“I’ve noticed,” Lana responded.
Is she serious? I wondered. Lana didn’t seem to notice or care about anything. There was something vacant about her.
“According to an article, there’s an inverse relationship between online romantic posts and self-esteem,” Lana shared.
Kamlesh nodded and said, “Yep, same for the folks who post selfies.”
Ben now walked over and sat down next to Lana.
“And if someone posts pictures of their children, I’ll presume that they aren’t drug dealers,” she continued.
Ben looked at Lana intently and said, “It sounds like you know a lot about drug dealers.”
“Not at all,” the pharmaceutical executive’s wife insisted. Apparently, she saw no relationship between FDA-approved drugs and narcotics.
Ben clasped Lana’s hands tenderly and said, “I’m always impressed by your interest in even the most esoteric of things.”
“Thank you, Ben. I’m sure you agree that we hide what we value most.”
“Indeed, we do,” he agreed.
“How’s the project?” she asked, suddenly changing the subject.
“Very good. I can’t say much, but we’ve made great progress.”
“That’s wonderful,” Lana exclaimed.
“Soon, your husband can slow down and you can start a family.”
“God, I hope not.”
Ben looked disturbed. “You don’t want children?”
“Definitely not.”
“Lana I’m surprised to learn this.”
“Children are too noisy and time-consuming,” she complained.
“I see,” Ben responded. “So, what have you been doing lately?”
“Trying to decide what my tombstone should say.”
Eric interjected, “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Lana replied.
Kamlesh asked, “What have you chosen?”
“I want my grave to say, ‘It’s a blessing and a curse to know what people are thinking. It’s like being Sookie Stackhouse in True Blood.”
I listened carefully and couldn’t help thinking that Lana Hayaak was even more peculiar than I had ever imagined.
***
As Lana was chatting with Kamlesh and Eric, Ben and I went over to speak with Curt. I quickly explained my findings to both men.
Curt then marched up to his wife, interrupted her and said, “Please come with me.”
She rose and asked, “Sure, where are we going?”
Curt didn’t answer, but she followed him to a private room. Ben and I joined.
“Why are they here?” Lana demanded. Ben and I took seats by the wall.
“A variety of reasons,” Curt said brusquely. He figured he might need witnesses in the future. Lana turned to leave.
“Not so fast,” Curt snapped, while Ben locked the door.
Lana looked anxious now that she was trapped.
Curt began removing photographs from an envelope and laid them out on the table. His tone was serious as he stated, “You’ve got some explaining to do, please sit down.”
“What are you talking about?”
Curt pointed to photos of his wife. The first one included Aaron at the market.
“How did you get that?” Lana asked with surprise.
“We have our ways,” Curt answered smugly.
I said nothing because I had not shot those pictures. It must have been the driver, I thought.
“It was an accident that I ran into Aaron,” Lana said defensively.
“Since when do you believe in coincidences?”
She crossed her arms. “He came up to me out of the blue.”
“Isn’t he the same man you met in 2009?” Curt demanded.
“Who I consorted with before we married is none of your business,” she hissed.
“Maybe, but you’ve continued meeting.”
“We haven’t.”
“Then what were you doing at Crimson Tide last Thursday?” Curt produced pictures of his wife dancing with the German student at a bachelor party.
“Long story,” she replied.
Curt next removed pictures of Lana sitting next to the Brazilian journalist. Then he pulled out photos of her with Aaron as they were leaving the grill together.
“So what’s going on?” Curt asked.
“I can explain. It’s not what it looks like,” Lana exclaimed.
Ben and I watched in silence.
“You left with this guy?” Curt demanded.
“Yes, but it was only to talk during the taxi ride. Aaron dropped me off at People’s Square, and I took the subway home.”
“Talk? Do you expect me to believe that?”
“Yes, because it’s the truth. Let me explain,” Lana continued.
I fought to suppress laughter. At the rate Lana was going, her tombstone would read: Let me explain.
As if Lana read my mind, she suddenly regained her poise and asserted, “On second thought, I don’t have to explain anything. I never pry into your life, but here you are intruding into mine and humiliating me in front of these two.”
No one said anything for a few seconds, but then Lana ordered, “Open the door, right now!”
“Okay, I’m sorry,” Curt apologized. “I’ve been so stressed with work. You were about to explain something?”
Lana looked as if she were contemplating whether to storm out of the room or talk. Finally, she said, “When I was fifteen, we were living in Kuala Lumpur. One day my parents vanished. Recently, I started receiving cryptic notes promising information regarding their whereabouts. I went to the club because of the first note. When I received the second, I ignored it, but Aaron initiated contact. He insisted on sharing a cab so that he could share info.”
“You said your parents died in a car accident when you were nineteen,” Curt reminded his wife.
“I wanted to keep things simple.”
“There’s nothing simple about you. I don’t even know who you are.”
“Curt, we barely dated and you’ve never shown any interest in my background.”
“I’m listening now.”
“Too little, too late,” Lana declared.
“So what did you learn about your parents?” Curt asked with a genuine degree of interest.
“Aaron insists I meet him again to explain what happened to Mom and Dad. He suggested that my parents are alive and in Beijing.”
“And you believe him?” Curt asked. “The guy sounds like pure sleaze.”
Ben finally interjected, “Why would your missing parents be in Beijing?”
“Consulting for the Chinese government,” Lana replied. There was hope in her eyes.
“In your dreams,” Curt countered callously.
Lana looked hurt.
“I think this guy is a con artist seeking to extract money,” Ben opined.
“But what if he’s right? What if my parents are still alive?”
“Then why haven’t they contacted you?” Ben asked.