Fox Girl (28 page)

“You know some English,” he said. “I suppose you practiced with her family.” Staring at Myu Myu, he clucked. “Do you like it?”

I held her to my chest and turned my face down to hide my anger. “It? I love
her.
”

The American laughed, showing all his teeth. “I meant the job.”

“Job?” I squeaked, thinking that he knew about the clubs, the backbooth honeymoons, the stage shows, about everything Yoon said must be hidden from him.

“As a nanny?” He was back to cooing and smiling at the baby. “Will you return to the job when you come back?”

“Yes,” I said. “I would like to.” Yoon had told me to emphasize anything that would indicate I planned on returning to Korea. “As long as it doesn't interfere with my coursework.”

“I see from your transcripts you are an excellent student.” The man looked at me sharply, his smile gone. “You don't want to go to an American school? In Hawai‘i perhaps?”

I shook my head. Yoon had warned me to expect this question; in addition to weeding out prostitutes, the consul worried about students who posed as tourists, then disappeared into the American education system. “No,” I said. “My father wants me to go to Ewha University.”

“Excellent school,” he said. He studied my face intently. I let him look, returning his gaze the way Yoon had told me to do, so he could believe he saw the truth. “I'm sure your parents are proud of you. Not every young lady can get into that school.”

When he looked down, satisfied with my answer, I blinked my eyes quickly, surprised at the sudden sting of tears. My father had often urged me to study hard, telling me that I was smart enough to attend Korea's most prestigious women's university. It had been one of my father's dreams for me. “Yes,” I murmured. “It's a dream come true.”

The man beamed at me, easy and relaxed once more. “Her father,” he asked, gesturing to Myu Myu, “he is American, right? The baby is mixed. What you call . . .
tweggi?
”

I nodded and forced myself to smile at the offensive term.

“I knew it!” he crowed. “If you've been here long enough, you can tell!” He tapped at his desk. “What did you say her father's name was?”

“I . . . I . . .” I gulped, then blurted the first American name I knew: “Lobetto Williams.”

“Riyams?” His fingers drummed at the desk, then he repeated, “Robert Williams.” He shook his head and smiled sadly.

My stomach dropped to the floor. I clenched Myu Myu so hard she cried out.

“No. Williams is a common name, but I don't know him.” He stood suddenly and extended his hand.

I stared at his outstretched hand and slowly stood. I could tell he wanted me up and out, that the interview was now over, but I couldn't tell if I would be granted my visa.

When I didn't take his hand, he turned it and patted Myu Myu on the head. “Enjoy your visit in the U.S.,” he said.

I almost slumped back into the chair in relief. Instead, I straightened my spine, hefted Myu onto my hip, and moved toward the door. Then, the weight of the baby triggering a thought, I turned back. “Excuse me, sir,” I stammered.

He was shifting through the papers on his desk, and looked up as I spoke. “Yes?”

“My friend has a baby who wants to go”—I jerked my chin toward Myu Myu—“but not this baby.” I stopped when he frowned, confused. I took a breath, ordered my words, and started again. “Sir, I have a friend who is also thinking of traveling to the U.S. I told her, since I was coming here today anyway, that I would ask what she needs to do to bring her baby.”

“Sorry, no kids allowed,” he said, and laughed.

Not realizing he was trying to make a joke, I stared. I could barely keep from crying, thinking my plans had just collapsed.

The man cleared his throat. “No, really, it's just an amendment to her passport,” he explained. “Only a matter of paperwork and money. Tell your friend to pick up forms from window number two, outside, and send it in with her application and payment.”

As simple as that, I was welcomed into America. But when I walked down the embassy steps, I was still in Korea, with nowhere to go except back to Lobetto's.

 

“You think it's that easy?” Lobetto, his chin up in challenge, snapped his fingers. “You think you can leave just like that?”

“Yes.” I didn't try to stop grinning as I wandered through the apartment, looking for things that were mine or Myu Myu's.

“It's not just the money,” he said. He paced around me, then stopped to dig into the back pocket of his pants. “Don't you remember my father's letter? Don't you remember how difficult he said it was to get into the country? The Immigration Man doesn't just give visas away.”

I sighed. “I remember the letter.”

He flipped open his wallet and pulled out the square of paper. Without bothering to unfold it, he quoted his father's words: “ ‘I'm working hard to bring you to America, but it's not easy; the man wants to keep you out.' It's not easy, that's what my daddy said. It's all the laws and paperwork. You can't walk into that country anytime you feel like it.”

“Lobetto,” I said. “Yoon arranged the paperwork and I've got the visa.”

“No!” He grabbed for me. “I don't believe you.” When Myu Myu whined, startled by his intensity, he asked: “What about the kid?”

“I'll figure it out.” I shrugged. I didn't let him see that I was worried; Yoon would front me the money needed to get there, documenting each penny spent, but she wouldn't pay for Myu Myu. I didn't even want Yoon to know about the baby until we arrived in Hawai‘i.

Lobetto crowed. “See? There're things you haven't planned for. I've been planning for years. Everything I've made, I've saved for when I go to America.”

“How can I forget?” I spat, remembering the first fistful of money I made for him, hidden at the bottom of the rice jar. I wondered if that money was still there, buried under the pearls of rice. I figured I worked hard for that money, that Lobetto might have been the one to find the men and bring them to me, but I was the one they paid for.

“There's always something to hold you back, isn't there?”

Lobetto nodded his head as if I were his prize pupil. He put his arm around me and I tried not to stiffen. “Let me help. I've got a plan, something good for both of us.”

I put Myu Myu onto the floor and shook him away from me. I watched Myu Myu rock on her hands and knees in an attempt to propel herself forward.

“What's the matter?” Lobetto said. “Why you got to be like that for? My idea is a win-win.” He took a breath, and released his words in a rush. “Leave the kid with me.”

“What?”

“I hear you tried to unload her on Sookie,” he said. “This way, you can go. And when you get to America, you can send me money until you bring us over.”

“I thought your daddy was going to send for you,” I taunted.

Jaws clenched, Lobetto ground out: “He will.” Then he forced a smile, relaxing his mouth. “But I'm thinking for myself, too.”

I shook my head. “I've decided to bring Myu with me. Get her out of America Town.”

Ignoring me, he swooped, scooping Myu Myu into his arms. “I'll take care of her,” he said, and continued embellishing his plans. “I'll get a birth certificate, put you down as mother and me as the father.” He rolled his tongue, blowing spit bubbles off the tip, and she gurgled, smacking his face with her hands. “See how she loves me? I'll treat her good.”

“Lobetto,” I growled. “You don't get it. I can't arrange for you to come.”

“I'll be nineteen soon,” Lobetto said, his voice quiet, intense. “Too old for my father's help.”

“Well, I can't help you either,” I snapped.

“Can't or won't?” Lobetto narrowed his eyes. “You're just like your daddy, aren't you? You think I'm not even good enough to be this kid's baby-sitter?” he spat. “You better think again, considering there's as good a chance as any that I really am her father.”

I gasped. “What?”

“Sookie didn't tell you?” he asked, smirking. “I been doing her a long time.”

“She would have told me,” I said, “if it were true.”

Lobetto placed his face alongside Myu's. “What do you think?” he said, grinning. “Look alike?” Myu Myu wriggled around to face him and bit his nose. Lobetto grimaced at the drool, then laughed when Myu Myu tried to mimic him.

“Give her back,” I said, holding my arms out to her. “You know you don't really want her.”

“Now why do you say that?” He swung her into the air, away from me. “Right now, I want nothing more than to keep her. She's my new ticket out of this place.”

“Please, Lobetto,” I begged, as Myu Myu, arms and legs paddling air, squealed with delight. “Please.”

“What do you think of my idea?” he demanded, holding Myu just above my reach.

I looked up at her face. She smiled, and slobber oozed down her chin. When she gurgled, holding out her hand to me, I told Lobetto what he wanted to hear. “Okay, Lobetto. You win.”

He smiled, patted the baby on her bottom, and plopped her on the ground. “Right,” he said. When the baby tugged at his knees, wanting him to pick her up again, he nudged her with his toe until she fell onto her belly. “I'll bring her to you, I promise. With Sookie there, it'll be just like home.”

And that was just what I was afraid of: Lobetto dragging his world along with him.

Later, after Lobetto walked me to Club Foxa's kitchen door and sauntered toward his corner on the street, I handed Myu Myu over to Kitchen Auntie.

Kitchen Auntie lifted the baby to peer into her face. “I'm surprised to see you alive,” she sang to Myu, her voice light and high-pitched. “Yes, I am. Thought that Sookie would have turned you into soup by now.”

Myu Myu giggled and kicked her legs. When a thin line of drool threatened to splash into her face, Kitchen Auntie hugged Myu to her bosom.

“I'll be back,” I said. “Five minutes.”

Kitchen Auntie glared at me. “Don't try what you did last week. I will let Sookie go through with it.” She turned her back on me, shuffling to Myu Myu's crate. Kissing Myu on the head, she said, “I'd be sad to see it happen, but it's none of my business.”

“I'm coming back,” I repeated, then added: “Don't tell anyone I was here.”

Kitchen Auntie shrugged. “Who's gonna ask?”

 

I doubled back to Lobetto's apartment, and after grabbing the small bag I had packed with my belongings, scanned the rooms. When I didn't see anyone, I slipped into the kitchen, moving to the back wall where we stored the rice and kimchee, and canned goods when we had them.

When I first moved in, I had to lean deep into the jar to scoop out a handful of rice. The tall ceramic urn hadn't even been half-full. Every time I laid on my back, every time I went down on my knees under the honeymoon booth, I had earned another cup of this rice.

My hip bumped the rice jar, knocking the lid to the floor with an alarming clatter. Snapping my head toward the door, I squinted to see into the darkened apartment. I couldn't see anything. I didn't hear anything. So I pushed my hand into the jar, enjoying the caress of rice past my elbow.

I swirled my hand, searching for the money, letting the rice spill over the jar's lip in an elegant, tittering shower. Raising onto my toes, I plunged in deeper, up to the armpit, until my fingertips grazed the bottom of the jar. I wiggled my fingers, sifting through polished grain.

I had begun to think I was stupid, that of course Lobetto would keep moving his stash, that he probably had several hiding places. And then I felt the rough slip of twine slide through the polished rice. Pinching the string between my fingers, telling myself that it could be nothing more than a stray bit of binding, I pulled.

When I yanked the drawstring bag free, dumping cupfuls of rice onto the floor, I didn't waste time counting the money. The bag was packed to bulging, heavy in my hands. I knew by the weight that it would be enough to pay Myu Myu's way into America.

Clutching the bag to my chest, I rushed out through the kitchen. And almost ran smack into Lobetto's mother, who was standing in the dark. I dropped my arms, trying to angle the bag behind my back. “What are you doing standing around in the dark?” I blustered. I figured that if she had seen me take the money from the rice jar, she would yell, or try to wrestle it away from me.

I waited, trying to make out her expression in the shadows.

“You're leaving,” she finally said. “Lobetto won't like that.”

I nodded, then realized that she probably couldn't see my face either. “I suppose,” I croaked in answer to both comments. I planned to knock her over and run if she tried to stop me.

“You taking the child?” Her voice rippled low, unreadable.

“I am.” My head nodded again, reflexively, stupidly.

“It's better that way,” Lobetto's mother said. “Lobetto would probably start working her soon.”

The breath caught in my throat. “She can't even walk yet,” I gasped.

“Some men like children.” Lobetto's mother's voice was matter-of-fact. Flat. I thought of Sookie when she said the same thing.

“But,” I argued, “this baby's different. She's, she's”—I choked out the words—“his daughter.”

“You think so?” she mused, then said: “Not that that would change anything. I'm his mother. That's just the way it is; it's all he knows.”