Troublemaker and Other Saints by Christina Chiu

Author:Christina Chiu
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

On arriving at the Club, we discover Mother and Esther waiting at the front entrance. “Uh-oh,” Amy whispers. Mother notices us immediately and waves. Esther shakes her head. Her jaw is set for battle; her torso seems slightly off balance. Beyond, dinner is being served buffet style. On one side of the hall is roast beef and ham; on the other is broiled lobster. Between them are tables topped with everything from smoked salmon to filet mignon to Peking duck. The hall is congested and difficult to navigate. People wait in line as if they were prison inmates. Waiters cut and serve. Busboys weave through the crowd carrying trays laden with dishes.

“Where have you been?” Esther yells. Chinese and British alike turn to stare. I tip my top hat; allow myself the pleasure of a pleasant grin. Esther stabs her watch with a finger. “It’s been over two and a half hours. Mother has been waiting—”

The accent. Amy and I exchange glances.

“Is there a bar this evening?” I ask. Esther glowers. I must be smirking.

“Where’s that no-good wife of yours?” Mother says, fingering her rosary. “It’s her fault you’re late, isn’t it? Slothful woman.”

“She’s not well this evening,” I say.

“What? Oh, I feel faint,” Mother says. She knows the cost of each banquet seat. She presses a hand to her chest. “My heart. My heart.”

I take her by the arm. “It’s okay, Mother. Lean against me, why don’t you?”

Esther waits for an explanation from Amy.

“We were chatting and lost track of time,” Amy explains. “Sorry.”

“Is that alcohol I smell on your breath?” Esther snips.

“Holy Mary, pray for me,” Mother says.

“How could you?” Esther turns to me, and I expect she’d like to say something along the lines of, Go ahead and destroy your life, but leave hers alone. I’m tempted to comment on her slipped prosthesis.

“It was just a couple of beers,” Amy says. Esther’s mouth falls agape.

“Oh, merciful Mary . . .” Mother continues, “Hail, Mary, full of grace . . .”

I reach into my pocket for my handkerchief. “Perhaps Mother should be seated,” I suggest. “Esther, would you mind terribly fixing Mother a plate?”

“Yes, yes,” Mother says, relying on my arm, “a plate.”

Crimson splotches materialize over her face and neck. Without a word, she turns and reenters the crowded serving hall. I can’t help chuckling and winking at Amy. She smiles. She, Mother, and I enter the dining room, set up with cloth-covered tables and two television sets, one airing news, the other the laser performance in the harbor. The brass band bellows “High Hopes.” Amy glances at the tuxedoed men gathered about in small circles. “Wow—some of these guys are actually pretty cute,” she says. “I’m, um, not usually into the Asian thing.”

I haven’t a clue what she means by this. Nevertheless, I nod. Table 38, a small round one set for five at the far end of the room, is empty and waiting. I help Mother to her seat. She tugs at my arm. “Did you really take the child for a drink?” she asks.

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