Knocking on the bathroom door, Heoh chuckles. “Did you fall in?”
Milly’s eyes flit between cracks in the gritty mirror. “Just a minute.” The sink has run dry. She wipes her hands with cleaning towelettes.
The four leave the warehouse and enter their sedan.
“Some people hold a grudge against the Chinese,” Heoh says. “I don’t. This restaurant is great.”
Turtle starts the car.
Milly scoots under the restaurant awning to dodge a summer monsoon.
Nodding, Heoh taps the sedan window.
Wheels crunch plastic garbage as Turtle drives away with Bingo.
“Let’s head back to the bar.” Heoh ushers.
Milly follows. Down red halls, gold dragons curve over archways. A mirrored wall mirrors the mirrored bar. She squints. “What’s this about?”
“You can relax. They don’t have Shochu here.”
She laughs. “You’re funny.”
He smiles. “Humor is stress relief. This job can be dangerous.”
Shochu: liquor they shared. Milly didn’t care for it.
They order drinks, then sit in a puffy, black vinyl booth.
“Milly, I just want to get to know you better.”
She deadpans, “I thought you said you were gay?”
It’s Heoh’s turn to laugh. “Yes, very — gold star gay. Do you have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know. I mean, he’s sweet. He’s young.” Eyes pinched, she shrugs, then flexes her back. “It just started.”
“I’m not entitled to an explanation. No one is.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I hope we can learn to trust. Not just as a word people say when they sell you something.”
“Trust?” Milly’s eyebrows inch upward. “In this world?”
“Yes, earned by doing. Me trusting you first, to know yourself, but stopping when you’re uncomfortable — like I just did.”
“And you chose this business?”
“Trust is part of what makes us human. Our lives may count on each other.”
“You seem like you’re from a different time, Heoh.” She tilts her head. “In a good way, I think?”
“You seem the same.”
She chuckles. “I don’t know about me.”
“Self-deprecation: a lost art.”
Heoh and Milly are the only customers. He orders fried dumplings. She dances to and from the old touch-screen jukebox.
🎵 “Rough Edges” – Kim Carnes 🎵
They chat about music, travel, swap stories about Bingo and Turtle, and briefly converse in French. With dinner and another round, the pair laugh the night away, tiptoeing around anything too personal — at first.
Heoh cups a hand by his ear. “You’ve been to more countries than Hawai’i, haven’t you?”
“Why would you say that?”
He shrugs.
“Don’t be so mysterious.” Smiling, she prods his shoulder.
“You didn’t seem surprised by exchanging currency. Hawai’i still uses dollars.”
“Not much surprises me anymore, Heoh.”
“Flights to Hawai’i don’t have sleeper capsules.”
She slowly nods.
He leans back. “Most people can’t afford to travel the world anymore. How have you known such luxury?”
“I should choose my words more carefully.”
“Touché.” Heoh titters. “See? You’re quite skilled, actually. But ‘the face’ mustn’t make mistakes.”
The restaurant closes soon. Each ordered one too many drinks, but Milly sipped slowly. Her last scotch waits brimful, ice melting.
“You remind me”—Heoh clinks her glass—“the way of ‘the face.’ You’re a natural.”
“I am a little tipsy, though.” Resting her hand on his forearm, Milly gushes, “You read me like a book, but let me choose the page and turn it at my own speed. I’ve never met a man like this.”
“Father?”
“Dead,” she blurts.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
“Very psychology,” Heoh slurs, “this ‘Don’t Ask’ culture since the war.”
Milly nods. “‘Leave it behind,’ they say.”
“Does that help?”
“Not yet.”
“Then dare I ask?”
“Father was terrible. I try to forget. I can’t.”
“Did he — hurt you?”
“Yes.”
“How?” Heoh presses the fingertips of each hand together.
“Not like that.”
He sighs in relief.
“Just painful”—she clenches her jaw—“very confusing.”
Heoh nods, squeezes her hand, picks up the check, and gets her a taxicab home.
Milly smiles warmly at him before she goes.
As the door closes behind her, Heoh pushes his drink away. “She might be the one.”