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The Encounter

A. The story of Q

I never expected to see Q again.

I used to see Q quite a lot on Friday nights at downtown May’s tea house, or sometimes the Starbuck’s nearby; so much so that whenever I thought about her I can smell the smell of sweet milk tea. I like to see her in her black silk Ralph Lauren dress, with the white pearl ear ring dangling around and a black flower shaped hair pin on her head. Once I even found the same black flower shaped hair pin at Ann Taylor’s, but my hair was simply too much for it to hold on. Passing around her table, a light scent of jasmine would always remind me of that folk song ‘what a beautiful jasmine’, which was popular more than a decade ago when I was still a teenager. What’s the lyric? “Oh, I also want to have a flower of jasmine on my hair, but I’m afraid people are going to laugh at me”. At that time I dreamed of having all those black high-heeled shoes, white pearl ear rings and so on without getting frowned upon. It was such a long time ago.

I would always choose a table in the corner facing her back while she seemed always to sit by the glass window, which looked like a frame of her portrait….Portrait of a lady? I had never read Henry James’ novel, but that title just sounded so right. Or, Ophelia on the river? The golden sunshine through the glass was so similar in that picture, but there was no water around. The sound of her ordering drinks reminded me of flowing water, though. Or, as the heroin in Great Gatsby, her voice was like two pieces of silver coin clashing with each other.

Xxxxxxx’s summer was extremely hot, and the air conditioner in my car was not really working. The tea house was expensive to me; but I would still drive 40 minutes to downtown’s tea house each week just to see her. I would order a big cup of pearl milk tea, sipping it real slow while watching her from the back. Yes, she looked great in that angle. She is so thin, but still had a nice curve. If I sit at a table facing her, I might be able to see her cleavage. But what would happen if we had eye contacts? Should I say Hi to her or not? I didn’t think she still remember me.

Anyway she just went to airport with me only once last February, as my friend Lucy gave both of us a ride to the Hobby’s airport. Her flight was 6:00 AM and so we had to leave at 5:00 AM. It was a little bit cold. I must look pretty clumsy in my sweater and baggy coat.
Lucy introduced me to her but she barely looked at me. She was as tall as I am, but looked taller and much thinner in her dark blue business suit, with a business case in hand and a small rolling Upright Suiter besides her. Her silky hair fell on her shoulder in graceful curls, with fringes slightly swaying over her forehead.

“Your business case is a little bit heavy. Should I put it into the trunk?”

“Oh, no, it is my Toshiba laptop. I’d better take it with me in case the shaking is too much for it. It should not be that heavy.”

All of us settled into our seats. Q sat at the left side of me, the laptop case sitting between us.

I was really into laptops; every morning I searched Deal Sea for a good deal of laptop, but I knew it was only a fantasy. Even the cheapest one would consume my whole monthly income.

“Can I have a look at your laptop?”

“Ok, but better be careful with it.”

Q opened the suitcase. It was an ultra-thin silver one, the color I loved best. Even with the dim yellow light, the silver color still shined through.

“It looks so sexy! How much did you pay for it?”

“I didn’t pay for it. It is a gift from my boyfriend.”

I almost wanted to say how great it was to have such a boyfriend, but she already turned her head slightly away from me, looking outside the window. It was still quite dark outside, nothing much to see except a tree with almost no leaves standing at the corner.

“Why bring your laptop to your cousin’s wedding? “Lucy asked.

“It is for my PhD thesis proposal; it is too much work you know. My supervisor says it is perfect, but I still feel it needs more revision. I guess I’d have to work on it at night.”

“Don’t be that perfectionist. Your proposal already won a poster prize, right?”

This was the last straw on the camel’s back—I almost felt compelled to start another topic but was at a loss at what to say. Thank God Lucy started engine and turned on the radio, “The pilot of the second Chinese plane involved in the collision between a Chinese fighter and a U.S. surveillance plane said the U.S. plane swerved into his comrade and sent the Chinese plane plunging into the sea. Chinese television broadcast an interview Friday with Zhao Yu, who was flying a second Chinese F-8 fighter tracking a U.S. EP-3E plane off the coast of China. ---This is NPR news, Beijing”,

“Oh, Stupid incident. It is only going to make things more difficult for everyone. “Lucy pulled out the car suddenly. Q, as what I had expected, showed some disagreement. “What comes around goes around. We never know what China did behind the curtain. You can never be sure that they do not get into something suspicious.”

I felt a little bit dizzy; maybe my migraine had come back. Or maybe it was their conversation that made me nervous. I was thinking about quitting school. Any mention of it now only reminded me of my supervisor shouting at me, "Vicky, can you ever get anything done? " I was not into science anyway; the PhD program was only an air-ticket for me to “see the world”. It was like a pigeon flying away from its hole, but still ends up in another hole an ocean apart from the original one.

I would rather not say Hi to her, for Lucy had told me that she did not like to be associated with fellow Chinese that much. Actually Lucy seemed to be her only Chinese friend, and only so after Lucy married that American guy Ross. Once I supposed that we three go to a bar together, and Lucy responded: "I have already suggested that to her more than once. But she always prefers just to go there with me. She does not dine out with other Chinese in our lab either. "

Maybe Q regarded her background as so different from other Chinese that she almost had nothing in common with them. Thanks to her mother’s successful networking, she got her B.S at Xxxxx College. She could speak impeccable English, something other Chinese could only dream of. While other Chinese still hang out at Chinatown and buying clothes at Kmart sales, she was already looking more like cosmopolitan girls. She had a certain air about her…They had a word for it on immigrants’ newspapers, what was it? Oh, yes, swimming fast into the American mainstream. She was destined to swim fast into the American mainstream, while all other Chinese could only sit aside and look upon. I guess I was not unique enough to be an exception at all, for I didn’t have an American husband as Lucy did.

Lucy was the only one who had been to Q’s home; she told me Q had a cute Persian cat, who once gave birth to 4 kittens. She described to me that the Persian cat seems always in a playful mood, either sitting on the white sofa grooming or playing with the roses in the vase; that Q’s vase was never empty, but with red, white and pink roses almost all year around. Q collected petals after the roses withered, floating them on a large glass plate with water. Once Lucy told me Q was busy finding new homes for the kittens, and I asked Lucy to forward her my interests in taking one. “Please please tell Q that I really really love cats! “ How much I’d love to see a Persian kitten stretching herself on my futon! I was even planning to buy some new white linen flat sheets, and a big vase and a glass plate. Later on Q responded with a comment that she wanted all her Persian cats to have a nice home where they can be taken care of with love, not just a shelter with left-over foods. Aha, I know Lucy must have described to her my squalid apartment. Ok, no Persian cat, no need for linen sheets, vases or glass plates.

I got to know Q better mostly through Lucy’s gossip. Q would be astonished if she was aware that I, someone who could hardly pass the qualifying exam to take care of her cat, actually knew so much about her. I knew that she was in Xxxxxx’s PhD program, and she was winning prize, and going to be a scientist someday. But those things did not interest me at all. Most people around me were already boring, boring scientists, as boring as stained lab coats, the latex gloves, the gels, or the PCR machines around. Who cares? But the colorful romantic story of Q really got me intrigued. I never got to know much about guys. They live in a different world, just as cats live in a different world than we humans do, though sometimes the two worlds do overlap. But Q had adventured into that unknown world, and back with all the knowledge forbidden to me.

Lucy once called me on Christmas Eve. She was sobbing, for her husband was wasting money again on prostitutes.

“What should I do? He never wastes a penny on me. We always split the bills, and generally I pay more than he does….What should I do?”

I didn’t know what to tell her. Guys are a different species to me. I didn’t know what to expect from them.

“Why not ask Q for her opinion? She seems more sophisticated.”

“Q always wants to be up on me! She said she would never get involved with trashy people at first place. She said all her past lovers are very decent gentlemen, but that’s not enough. One lawyer was so crazy about her that he sent a dozen of red roses to her every week. He wanted her to live happily ever after with him, but she wants to be famous one day not as someone’s wife, but as herself. He still begs her to come back. She said, Madam, it is 21st century now, be a modern, liberated woman just like me and you would have nothing to regret!”

Lucy’s voice was trembling. Usually she spoke with a soft, sweet voice which didn’t sound very real. I guess she always tried hard to please others, especially her American husband. But now she was all herself, angry, hurt and bewildered.

“Q always speaks as if she knows all the answers and there are tons of options around. I can bear her no more!”

It was the first time I got to know some details of Q’s romantic life. I had always regarded her as an Asian version of Charlotte in Sex and City---fit, trendy, everything so pretty and proper. I had spent numerous weekends in Rice Village trying to filter out Charlotte style clothes that I can wear, but usually the size was not big enough for me. And Lucy would sometimes ask me, “Why you wear white socks with black shoes? “ I knew white socks didn’t go with black shoes. Yes, I did have black socks, but not enough time to find the black ones before leaving for school; or I was simply too sleepy to notice the color of my socks.

So I got to know that Q had several lovers, all of them decent American gentlemen. Later on I would ask Lucy:

“Q has had several lovers? Does she tell you how many guys she has had sex with?”

“Around 4 or 5….Maybe I should not tell you, she would not be too happy about that…”

"That’s a whole lot! Does she ever tell you about her sex life?"

“She said sex with her lovers is nothing but fireworks!” Lucy winked her eyes.

I never imagined that Q would use those words by Carrie, “The sex is like fireworks!” But what was firework really like? I pressed Lucy harder for more details, though she was somewhat reluctant to satisfy my curiosity. "Dear Lucy, If Q tells you everything, it shows that she doesn’t care about others’ knowing them. "

Lucy was more like Carrie, always confused. On TV Charlotte and Carrie were always good friends. But real life might be a better show. I loved watching shows. I remembered once watching a show on HBO about two girls fighting. Lucy and Q had cats’ fight now and then, but they still hang around pretty much with each other as they are the only Chinese here whose significant other is American. I guessed one night Lucy must be really upset about Q, so she did tell me more-----

Q used to have an artist lover who was really into sexual adventures. They two would have sex during an opera. That night the opera Carmen was on; and he would put her on his lap. Her long black night dress would serve as a good cover for their sex escapades. Carmen was singing Habanera nocturne on stage, and she was busy riding up and down under stage. It was like surfing; thrown on the peak followed by thrusting downhill…When Carmen reached the climax of the play….You knew what happened to them.

Life went on with projects, seminars, and cheap pizza slices provided at the seminars. Usually after two slices of pizza and one bottle of diet Coke I would get a stomachache. Didn’t know if other students’ stomachs worked better or not, but anyway most Chinese students went to seminars only for free pizza. And of course you could not expect free pizza to be delicious. And the refreshments ain’t much better either. Yet among all those boring things, Q’s story stood out as a real-life legend.

One weekend night I went to May’s tea house and Q was not there. She never appeared there again.

"What’s going on with Q recently?"

I asked Lucy, dipping French fries into catch-up at the cafeteria.

“She has a new lover now. His father is a multi-millionaire. She drives to his condo near Galleria and spends weekends with him.” She responded somewhat grudgingly.

“A condo in Galleria? That must be much more expensive than a house near medical center.”

“I love my house though.”

Romance in the Galleria district, and the boring, boring science going on in Medical Center. But things did change. Soon my life took a U-turn as I quit the PhD program completely. I left school with a M.S degree and was told I could stay in U.S for another year to find a job. Q just dropped out of my life completely. Her black silk dress, dangling white pearl earrings, the jasmine scent. All faded away from my memory. And I never expected to see Q again.