With three salons to manage, Mai’s life was a nonstop whirlwind of work. She promoted Hoa, the girl she’d hired at the Lotus, to manager at the original salon and was training one of the other girls on Lawrence to be manager of that shop. Mai was now considered one of the most successful entrepreneurs in Chicago’s Uptown, but her work ethic didn’t change. She was saving to buy a house in a better school district for Witt. If not that, tuition for a Catholic high school. She was working as hard as ever.
But she was exhausted. Granted, she wasn’t doing backbreaking work, but it was hard for her to get up in the mornings, hard to have enough energy to carry her through her day, hard to be present for Đêm Nguyệt in the evenings. Her menstrual cycle was also a mess; her periods had become irregular and brought intense cramps that reminded her of labor.
She made an effort to cook and eat healthy meals three times a day, figuring that would help her regain her strength. But when the time came to prepare meals, she had no appetite. Still, she put on a brave face; she’d learned all those years ago at the Stardust to be cheerful and charming no matter how she felt.
When, after two months, her strength didn’t improve, she went to a Vietnamese herbalist who prescribed several treatments. Among them were black cohosh, cramp bark tea, evening primrose oil, and fennel for nausea and weakness during menstruation.
By the summer she felt better. Her appetite returned and she had more energy. She maintained contact with Tâm. She’d found her a job with a florist in Uptown and a room in a boardinghouse a few blocks away in West Rogers Park. Tâm registered for night school, and her English was improving. Mai noticed that her confidence was returning bit by bit, and Chị Tâm looked less anxious, which made some of the lines on her face less visible.
Mai met her for dinner, sometimes with Witt, sometimes just the two of them. They skipped the Vietnamese and Chinese restaurants in the area, and Chị Tâm developed a fondness for Greek food, pizza, and ice cream. Mai made sure to bring a few gently used clothes with her. One night after dinner she drove Chị Tâm back to her room.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said.
Tâm inclined her head. “Yes?”
“But I’ll need to come up to your room.”
“Of course,” Tâm replied. Mai grabbed a bag from the back seat of the car and followed Chị Tâm up two floors. She couldn’t help recalling the only time Chị Tâm had come to her room, the one she shared with Hạnh when she first worked at the Stardust. “Do you remember when you came to see me in Saigon?”
Tâm blinked and shook her head. “I would like to forget that. I was—well, I was full of myself then. I thought I knew it all.”
Mai giggled. “We both did.”
Tâm didn’t respond for a moment. Then she grinned. “Our parents’ daughters. Remember how Papa always lectured us about history and politics?”
“And Mama never listened to a word of it.” Mai laughed. Then her smile vanished. “I can’t remember what they looked like anymore. All I remember is how they smelled. Papa like the pigs, Mama like incense.”
Tâm nodded. “For some reason, though, I remember Sáng perfectly.”
They were both silent for a moment. Then Mai picked up her bag and made Tâm sit on the bed. “Now, you cannot look in the mirror until I am done.”
Tâm swallowed, looking worried. “What are you going to do?”
“You’ll see.”
Mai withdrew the cosmetics she’d bought at the drugstore. Foundation, blush, eyebrow pencil, mascara, and eye shadow. With a few quick, deft strokes, she applied the makeup to Chị Tâm’s face. When she was done, she inspected her work. “Now. Stand up and go to the mirror.”
When Tâm saw herself in the mirror, her eyes widened. “Who is this woman?”
“You look gorgeous,” Mai said.
Tâm turned and gave her a shy smile. “Really?”
Mai smiled back. “Now I will show you how I did it.”
The reports from Vietnam continued to be worrisome. More boat people were trying to escape, but they weren’t making it to America. U.S. Immigration was more restrictive, and even if they did make it here, asylum was harder to prove. Illegal immigration through Canada was growing, and Vietnamese communities were forming in Europe, Australia, and Hong Kong.
A program to bring the half-American children of U.S. servicemen and Vietnamese women to the U.S. had begun in Vietnam, but Mai learned that wealthy Vietnamese were actually buying children from their mothers on the black market so they would qualify for visas. Mai thanked Buddha for helping her immigrate with Đêm Nguyệt at her side.
By the fall of 1979, Mai was feeling weak again. She doubled the quantities of the herbs she was taking, but their potency had flagged. She kept to her schedule, but she was always exhausted, and her menstrual cramps returned. She went to the Buddhist temple and prayed, but when her health didn’t improve, she grew frightened.
She was at the Rogers Park salon one Saturday when the scent of nail polish remover overpowered her. She began to get lightheaded. She stood, thinking she would go to the back office to rest. The room started to spin. Then it went black.