Grave Phantoms
Page 88
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“Liar.”
Well, yes. But he’d seen Amy walking up the stairs and didn’t much feel like visiting both of them, so he’d taken the coward’s way out. “I sold my apartment,” he said. “Now you know. How are you, by the way? You seem more cheerful than usual.”
She flashed him a dazzling smile and pulled off her left glove. A small jewel glittered on her ring finger. “I’m engaged.”
“To—?”
“Andy Lee.”
“Your boss at the telephone office? That’s the boyfriend you’ve been talking about?”
“Jealous?”
Bo chuckled. “A little. But mostly happy for you. I mean, are you? Happy?”
“Very much. What about you? Are you and—”
He nodded. “She’s in Los Angeles right now. Back in school.” He told her a few details, about the apartment and the fact that her family knew about them. “How it will all work out, I don’t know. But I never thought it would go this far, and that’s something.”
“How far do you want it to go?” Sylvia pulled a newspaper clipping from her handbag. “Because I saw this at Andy’s place and thought of you.”
He breathed in the scent of ink as he unfolded the newsprint. It was from Seattle. The Northwest Enterprise. A social activism newspaper.
“Andy’s a member of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce,” she explained. “They have affiliations with organizations up the coast. Look at that headline.”
Couples Travel Long Distances to Wed in Washington
“The only state in the West that will allow different races to marry. They talk about how couples are getting around the laws in other states—a Caucasian woman claimed to have Filipino blood in order to marry her minister in Nevada. But you don’t have to lie in Washington to get a license. Did you know that?”
Bo shook his head. His throat tightened.
“Whether they honor that license here is another story, but you’ve always had a knack for outrunning the police.” She closed the clasp on her handbag and waved the newspaper away. “Keep it. Anyway, I’ve got to get to work, and I’m sure you’re busy. I just wanted to stop by.”
He walked around the desk and grabbed her hand as she stood to leave. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by coming to my wedding.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
She kissed his cheek. “Good luck, Ah-Sing. You deserve it.”
He saw her outside and watched her black bob swing as she slipped into a waiting taxi, and after it drove off, he then made his way back to the office, slightly stunned. If he thought his head had been filled with Too Many Things before, it was in a state of all-out chaos now. But by the time he’d reread the article and sat back down at the desk, he’d decided that a letter to Astrid wasn’t good enough. He’d send a telegram, caution be damned. They had Western Union forms around here somewhere. As he forced open a drawer that often stuck, the pile of letters slid across the desk, and he spied a familiar slant of handwriting.
Astrid.
Temporarily abandoning his search for the telegram form, he snatched up the letter. It was to him, no return address. He grabbed a letter opener and sliced through the flap. The scent of rose petals drifted up. Inside was an unusually short message, though she hadn’t failed to include her typical dramatic underlining, he thought with a smile.
My dearest Bo,
Please be sure to listen to KPO Friday at 2 P.M. It’s very important.
All my love,
Astrid
He reread the message in a daze—twice—and flipped over the envelope. A San Francisco postmark. How in the hell . . . ? And KPO? Today was Friday. He glanced at his wristwatch. 2:05 P.M. Dammit!
He reached across the desk, spilling the rest of the letters, and switched on the waist-high old radio that sat on the floor nearby, turning the knob until he found the KPO transmission, already in progress, and listened to the familiar voice that crackled over the speaker.
“If you’re a regular listener, you’ve probably heard my voice on KPO’s other programs, such as the melodrama Murder in the Fog, or maybe announcing the Fairmont Orchestra’s midday performances, but today is the first time you’ll hear me really talk.”
Bo nearly knocked the radio over trying to turn up the volume.
“Every Friday at 2 P.M., I’ll be bringing you a unique perspective from the top of Hale Brothers department store. My new program is called Girl Friday, and it’s a half-hour program for women in San Francisco—all women, from housewives to working gals to the students in college. I’ll be giving you the latest updates about fashion, events, and even some juicy local gossip. Whatever you need to know, I’m here to help. Have a question about where to find the best deal on stockings? Telephone our station operator and let her know. Need advice about how to find out if your husband is cheating? Send a letter to Girl Friday, in care of KPO at Hale Brothers, and I’ll answer it live on air. Tell your friends, sisters, and coworkers to tune in every Friday at 2 P.M., and we’ll start the weekend together.”
Osiris, Buddha, and Jehovah. That little schemer . . .
He laughed, utterly delighted and twice as proud. She rambled on, brightly talking about how there were no radio programs for women on the other local stations, sounding like everyone’s best friend, natural and easygoing and funny—like herself—and halfway through the program, he realized with a start: She’s broadcasting live. She’s here. Right now.
Well, yes. But he’d seen Amy walking up the stairs and didn’t much feel like visiting both of them, so he’d taken the coward’s way out. “I sold my apartment,” he said. “Now you know. How are you, by the way? You seem more cheerful than usual.”
She flashed him a dazzling smile and pulled off her left glove. A small jewel glittered on her ring finger. “I’m engaged.”
“To—?”
“Andy Lee.”
“Your boss at the telephone office? That’s the boyfriend you’ve been talking about?”
“Jealous?”
Bo chuckled. “A little. But mostly happy for you. I mean, are you? Happy?”
“Very much. What about you? Are you and—”
He nodded. “She’s in Los Angeles right now. Back in school.” He told her a few details, about the apartment and the fact that her family knew about them. “How it will all work out, I don’t know. But I never thought it would go this far, and that’s something.”
“How far do you want it to go?” Sylvia pulled a newspaper clipping from her handbag. “Because I saw this at Andy’s place and thought of you.”
He breathed in the scent of ink as he unfolded the newsprint. It was from Seattle. The Northwest Enterprise. A social activism newspaper.
“Andy’s a member of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce,” she explained. “They have affiliations with organizations up the coast. Look at that headline.”
Couples Travel Long Distances to Wed in Washington
“The only state in the West that will allow different races to marry. They talk about how couples are getting around the laws in other states—a Caucasian woman claimed to have Filipino blood in order to marry her minister in Nevada. But you don’t have to lie in Washington to get a license. Did you know that?”
Bo shook his head. His throat tightened.
“Whether they honor that license here is another story, but you’ve always had a knack for outrunning the police.” She closed the clasp on her handbag and waved the newspaper away. “Keep it. Anyway, I’ve got to get to work, and I’m sure you’re busy. I just wanted to stop by.”
He walked around the desk and grabbed her hand as she stood to leave. “Thank you.”
“Thank me by coming to my wedding.”
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
She kissed his cheek. “Good luck, Ah-Sing. You deserve it.”
He saw her outside and watched her black bob swing as she slipped into a waiting taxi, and after it drove off, he then made his way back to the office, slightly stunned. If he thought his head had been filled with Too Many Things before, it was in a state of all-out chaos now. But by the time he’d reread the article and sat back down at the desk, he’d decided that a letter to Astrid wasn’t good enough. He’d send a telegram, caution be damned. They had Western Union forms around here somewhere. As he forced open a drawer that often stuck, the pile of letters slid across the desk, and he spied a familiar slant of handwriting.
Astrid.
Temporarily abandoning his search for the telegram form, he snatched up the letter. It was to him, no return address. He grabbed a letter opener and sliced through the flap. The scent of rose petals drifted up. Inside was an unusually short message, though she hadn’t failed to include her typical dramatic underlining, he thought with a smile.
My dearest Bo,
Please be sure to listen to KPO Friday at 2 P.M. It’s very important.
All my love,
Astrid
He reread the message in a daze—twice—and flipped over the envelope. A San Francisco postmark. How in the hell . . . ? And KPO? Today was Friday. He glanced at his wristwatch. 2:05 P.M. Dammit!
He reached across the desk, spilling the rest of the letters, and switched on the waist-high old radio that sat on the floor nearby, turning the knob until he found the KPO transmission, already in progress, and listened to the familiar voice that crackled over the speaker.
“If you’re a regular listener, you’ve probably heard my voice on KPO’s other programs, such as the melodrama Murder in the Fog, or maybe announcing the Fairmont Orchestra’s midday performances, but today is the first time you’ll hear me really talk.”
Bo nearly knocked the radio over trying to turn up the volume.
“Every Friday at 2 P.M., I’ll be bringing you a unique perspective from the top of Hale Brothers department store. My new program is called Girl Friday, and it’s a half-hour program for women in San Francisco—all women, from housewives to working gals to the students in college. I’ll be giving you the latest updates about fashion, events, and even some juicy local gossip. Whatever you need to know, I’m here to help. Have a question about where to find the best deal on stockings? Telephone our station operator and let her know. Need advice about how to find out if your husband is cheating? Send a letter to Girl Friday, in care of KPO at Hale Brothers, and I’ll answer it live on air. Tell your friends, sisters, and coworkers to tune in every Friday at 2 P.M., and we’ll start the weekend together.”
Osiris, Buddha, and Jehovah. That little schemer . . .
He laughed, utterly delighted and twice as proud. She rambled on, brightly talking about how there were no radio programs for women on the other local stations, sounding like everyone’s best friend, natural and easygoing and funny—like herself—and halfway through the program, he realized with a start: She’s broadcasting live. She’s here. Right now.
