Pearls of Asia: A Love Story

Copyright © 2011 by Lee Geiger
All rights reserved.

ISBN-10: 1463587562
eBook ISBN:978-1-62111-036-1
EAN-13: 9781463587567

P
REFACE

 

B
ECAUSE SO MANY
people seem to enjoy
The Marginal Prophet
(
marginalprophet.com
), my online newsletter, I’ve been told many times I should write a book. I agreed, as penning a novel has always been one of my lifelong dreams. The problem was figuring out what to write about.

In the fall of 2000, I made my first visit to Asia SF, a wildly popular San Francisco restaurant staffed by “gender illusionists.” The food and ambiance were addictive, and it quickly became one of my favorite places in a city full of favorite places. Over the years I had the pleasure of getting to know the special “Ladies of Asia,” and I always thought their stories would make a great book. However, I didn’t think writing a biography or a series of short stories would be the right way to go. But a murder mystery, wrapped around a love story, might do the trick. I even came up with a catchy title;
Pearls of Asia
.

In May of 2005, I shared a dinner with Belle Yang, a highly respected author and artist who was also a classmate of mine from Carmel High School in quaint Carmel, CA. Belle had always encouraged me to become a writer. There was only one problem. I had no idea how to get started. Over penne pasta and red wine, I told Belle about a story I had brewing in the dark recesses of my demented mind; a romantic mystery, revolving around a unique San Francisco restaurant, that contained elements of
Law and Order, The Crying Game, Sex and The City
, and
Cheers
. “You HAVE to write that story,” she said.

One night in the summer of 2007, I stumbled into Asia SF after a Giant’s baseball game. Lo and behold, seated in the middle of the restaurant having dinner together were authors Danielle Steele and Jackie Collins. After downing four martinis in fifteen minutes, I summoned the courage to introduce myself and blather to these publishing megastars my crazy idea for a novel. “Darling, you HAVE to write that story,” proclaimed Ms. Collins, who could not have been nicer. She’s gorgeous, too.

On Thanksgiving 2009, at one o’clock in the morning, I found myself staring at my bedroom ceiling fan. A series of events over the prior days, weeks and months had been personally challenging, and sleep was difficult to come by. To distract myself, I thought about my novel, when suddenly a possible ending popped into my head. I jumped out of bed and scribbled a five-page outline. Hours later, I typed the first word of my first novel.

What an incredible journey this has been.

A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

 

T
HEY SAY IT
takes a village to raise a child. Perhaps, but it takes a small army to write a book. I owe a round of drinks to the following:

To Belle Yang, my writing mentor, guru, spiritual advisor, and former classmate from the Carmel High School class of 1978. Belle threw down the gauntlet and challenged me to become a writer. In the process, she helped me find myself. Thank you, Belle. You saved me.

To Ivory Madison of
Redroom.com
, my first editor. Ivory taught me the concept of “The Hero’s Journey.” She also told me there are three phases to creating a successful book: writing, editing, and marketing. Each one is critical, and each one is difficult. She was right. Damn.

To Alan Rinzler, my second editor. Alan set the story on its proper course, and put in motion the tools for a possible series. Numerous people told me Alan was a legend in the publishing business. That was an understatement. What people didn’t tell me was how much fun we’d have working together.

To those who were kind enough to volunteer their valuable time to reading my earlier drafts and delivering indispensable feedback; Scott Johnson, Susan Klein, Susan Morgan, Julianne Goldberg, Barbara Galligan, Angel Manaois, Carin Hawkins, Sheila Krystal, Pat Moran, Kerry Lacy, Pam Eveleth, Ericka San Miguel, Kyle Bradbury, Jill Malley, Gerald Katz, Kimi Cole, and Victoria Parker. Yes, there really is a Victoria Parker.

To Cecilia Chung, who helped me to overcome the most painful episode of writer’s block I encountered writing this book. A San Francisco-based human rights and HIV policy advocate, Cecilia is a leader who has the heart of a lion and the soul of a child.

To Katherine Patti, who spent countless hours painstakingly copyediting the manuscript not once, but twice. She also became the novel’s cheerleader, encouraging me to aggressively pursue every avenue known to mankind to market
Pearls of Asia
. Katherine is more than a long-time friend. She is a godsend.

To Carole Galassi of
Creativemediaweb.com
, who designed
Pearlsofasia.net
,
Leegeiger.com
, and
Marginalprophet.com
. Technically, she’s brilliant. Creatively, she’s even better.

To Rich Lee at
Richleedraws.com
. Rich created the book’s captivating cover, as well as the fun and imaginative graphics at
Pearlsofasia.net
. Rich is more than just a rabid Giants and Sharks fan. He is also very, very talented.

Finally, to the Ladies of Asia SF. Thank you for sharing your stories, your experiences, and your time. I hope you are as proud of this book as I am.

D
ISCLAIMER

 

Pearls of Asia
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to Mom, whom I miss very much.

 

CONTENTS

 

PREFACE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

DISCLAIMER

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

C
HAPTER
O
NE

 

Thursday, September 11, 2008 - 6:10 am

 

“That’s the news for tonight. I’m Michelle Osher. The ‘Tonight Show with Jay Leno’ is next. Have a pleasant evening San Francisco, and we’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

KNTV Nightly News

T
HE WHITE WALLS AND
bright lights all but blinded San Francisco Homicide Inspector Mac Fleet. The polished granite counters were spotless, and the sink hadn’t seen a dirty casserole dish since the Clinton Administration. The gourmet kitchen was bigger than his first apartment, and it looked as though it made more reservations than recipes. You could eat a meal off the hardwood floor, although you’d have to set a place for the dead body bleeding all over it.

Mac stepped around the grisly corpse, making sure not to get any blood on his shoes. His Herculean African-American partner, Taylor Mayes, was kneeling next to the deceased, writing in his notebook. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Of course you were,” replied the oft-cynical detective, still rubbing the sleep out of his ocean blue eyes. Seventeen minutes earlier, Mac had been trying to get comfortable in his now too-short-for-him kid’s bed, reclaimed since moving back in with his mother after the breakup of his marriage. “I had to crash through a wall of reporters to get here. What have we got?”

“A bloody mess is what we’ve got,” answered Mayes, who at forty-two was ten years older than Mac and often spoke to him like a naughty kid brother. Everyone above ground addressed Taylor Mayes by his last name. Especially if they wanted to stay above ground. “Since you never watch anything except ‘Sports-Center,’ allow me to introduce you to our victim. Her name is Michelle Osher, forty-nine years old, and the evening news anchor on KNTV. I’ve been watching her for years. She was like a female version of Anderson Cooper. Smart, tough, funny. Damn, what a pity. Did you know she was a Miss America back in the Eighties?”

“You’re kidding right? I was watching Big Bird back in the Eighties.”

Mac knelt down next to Mayes and examined the body. Michelle Osher was wearing a navy blue business suit, though he doubted the fluffy pink bedroom slippers were an original part of her ensemble. Her hands and arms lacked any bruising, and there didn’t appear to be any skin under her fingernails. Mac glanced over his shoulder at the undamaged front door. “Whoever killed her took her by surprise.”

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