people get ahead … and make “friends.” But Helen and Grace were making a mistake if they thought I was “nice” too. I was nice enough, but I was ambitious. I wanted the adoration that comes from being famous and not just a pretty girl from the islands.
Mrs. Hua came back through the door and set the contract on the table. Grace picked up the pen, hesitated, and turned to Helen. “Would you like to live with us? Maybe Mrs. Hua has an even bigger apartment.”
Helen nipped the idea in the bud, glancing at her brother. “It’s safer for me to be in the compound with my family.”
I wasn’t sure how she’d be “safer” there, but maybe she could do only so much. She could defy her father by walking through Chinatown with Grace and me, and tempt fate by learning to tap in a very public place, but being on her own—away from her family—might have been the one line she couldn’t cross. I might not cross it either if I lived in a “compound”!
The next morning, Helen was sitting on the stairs outside the apartment when I arrived. She had a bag of groceries and some flowers wrapped in butcher paper. Once upstairs, she got straight to work—putting the blooms in a vase she’d brought with her and settingthe bouquet on a doily she’d tatted herself. Next, she shelved the groceries. When Grace thumped into the room with her suitcase, the apartment already looked more livable. Grace and I divvied up the space in the closet and dresser. (When Grace thought I wasn’t watching, she put five sawbucks in an envelope and tucked it under a sweater in her drawer. Emergency money, no doubt.) Neither of us knew how to cook, so Helen scrambled eggs and toasted bread by holding it over the hot plate. After breakfast, Grace and I brushed our teeth in the sink. Then we went together down the hall and waited in line with tenants from the other five apartments on our floor to use the toilet.
At 10:00, we beat it to the Forbidden City for final auditions. I had this in the bag. Walton asked to see the routine we’d learned the previous week, but this time we had to sing another old-fashioned song—“Let Me Call You Sweetheart”—while we danced. A cinch . Helen did well too. What she lacked in dance experience, she more than made up for with her pretty singing voice. When we finished, a few girls were asked to step forward, thanked, and dismissed. The remaining twelve of us rearranged ourselves onstage. I took a place in the front row, wanting to be seen. Walton signaled for the music.
We were making the third turn when Grace came to a dead stop. We were still in the opening part of the routine! I shot an encouraging look in her direction. Dance! She struggled to fight back tears. By the time I made my next turn, they were rolling down her cheeks. I liked Grace—my roommate now—but if she were dismissed, then my spot would be sealed for sure.
Eddie Wu bounded onstage, took Grace’s hand, and pulled her stage front. “Five, six, seven, eight,” he counted loud enough for all of us to hear. “Let me call you sweetheart …” They danced the last half of the routine together, adding a flourish or two. They were spectacular, outshining everyone else. When the music ended, Walton and some of the others clapped. Eddie dropped Grace’s hand, chucked her chin, and then went back to his folding chair.
Walton, Charlie, and Eddie conferred in low voices, while everyoneelse tried to cover their apprehensions by adjusting the trim on a sock, going over a move again, or fluffing curls. I stayed perfectly still, with one leg slightly bent and a hand on my hip. Walton asked us to form a single line. Grace stood with her head bowed.
“Irene Liu,” Walton said. “Congratulations. You made it.”
The second spot went to May Bing. Helen nodded when her name was called. (She’d never be one to show excitement.) Other girls were dropped or accepted until just three of us were left for the last two spots. Grace, another
Mrs. Hua came back through the door and set the contract on the table. Grace picked up the pen, hesitated, and turned to Helen. “Would you like to live with us? Maybe Mrs. Hua has an even bigger apartment.”
Helen nipped the idea in the bud, glancing at her brother. “It’s safer for me to be in the compound with my family.”
I wasn’t sure how she’d be “safer” there, but maybe she could do only so much. She could defy her father by walking through Chinatown with Grace and me, and tempt fate by learning to tap in a very public place, but being on her own—away from her family—might have been the one line she couldn’t cross. I might not cross it either if I lived in a “compound”!
The next morning, Helen was sitting on the stairs outside the apartment when I arrived. She had a bag of groceries and some flowers wrapped in butcher paper. Once upstairs, she got straight to work—putting the blooms in a vase she’d brought with her and settingthe bouquet on a doily she’d tatted herself. Next, she shelved the groceries. When Grace thumped into the room with her suitcase, the apartment already looked more livable. Grace and I divvied up the space in the closet and dresser. (When Grace thought I wasn’t watching, she put five sawbucks in an envelope and tucked it under a sweater in her drawer. Emergency money, no doubt.) Neither of us knew how to cook, so Helen scrambled eggs and toasted bread by holding it over the hot plate. After breakfast, Grace and I brushed our teeth in the sink. Then we went together down the hall and waited in line with tenants from the other five apartments on our floor to use the toilet.
At 10:00, we beat it to the Forbidden City for final auditions. I had this in the bag. Walton asked to see the routine we’d learned the previous week, but this time we had to sing another old-fashioned song—“Let Me Call You Sweetheart”—while we danced. A cinch . Helen did well too. What she lacked in dance experience, she more than made up for with her pretty singing voice. When we finished, a few girls were asked to step forward, thanked, and dismissed. The remaining twelve of us rearranged ourselves onstage. I took a place in the front row, wanting to be seen. Walton signaled for the music.
We were making the third turn when Grace came to a dead stop. We were still in the opening part of the routine! I shot an encouraging look in her direction. Dance! She struggled to fight back tears. By the time I made my next turn, they were rolling down her cheeks. I liked Grace—my roommate now—but if she were dismissed, then my spot would be sealed for sure.
Eddie Wu bounded onstage, took Grace’s hand, and pulled her stage front. “Five, six, seven, eight,” he counted loud enough for all of us to hear. “Let me call you sweetheart …” They danced the last half of the routine together, adding a flourish or two. They were spectacular, outshining everyone else. When the music ended, Walton and some of the others clapped. Eddie dropped Grace’s hand, chucked her chin, and then went back to his folding chair.
Walton, Charlie, and Eddie conferred in low voices, while everyoneelse tried to cover their apprehensions by adjusting the trim on a sock, going over a move again, or fluffing curls. I stayed perfectly still, with one leg slightly bent and a hand on my hip. Walton asked us to form a single line. Grace stood with her head bowed.
“Irene Liu,” Walton said. “Congratulations. You made it.”
The second spot went to May Bing. Helen nodded when her name was called. (She’d never be one to show excitement.) Other girls were dropped or accepted until just three of us were left for the last two spots. Grace, another
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