WHERE THERE’S SMOKE…

Monday (1/1), my Chinese Angel insisted that I invite my "your Mr. [Z]" out for dinner with us. I suspect she wants to get to know him better. I get the sense that she’s in dire need of a rebirth of faith in men as she’s had a bit of a run of bad luck. The specificity of attention, which Z lavishes me with, is certainly life affirming, apparently even from the outside. Hell, whenever we’re together in the school all the female teachers watch us, swooning.

Consequently, I called him on Tuesday to see if he wanted to have dinner with us on Wednesday. I had a long day of shopping and meandering about so I was tired and I wanted to make sure I invited him before the exhaustion overcame me. He answered and immediately asked me to his gym. I, of course, put up a huge fight.

Five minutes later it was 8ish and I was climbing the steps to the gym.

"Hello" my boy called out cheerfully before I saw him. The comfort of home that sound is.
I was immediately ushered to a seat by the receptionist and given a glass of water as Z finished up with his fleet of groupies and they headed out. He flopped down with me and started chatting up a storm. As we were talking, his classmate/best friend tossed his still-burning cigarette into the trash and I gasped. I quickly poured a little water to douse the lit cigarette.

"Fire." I said.

Z shook his head indicating it didn’t matter. "If fire, I will stop it." He leaned back on the couch and looked ahead, clearly unaffected by the idea of a lit cigarette on piles of shredded paper.

"Better to stop now than fire later." I explained.

Amused, he looked at me, looked at the trashcan and grabbed the lighter off the armrest. He flicked on the lighter and put it near the trashcan.

I gasped again, momentarily missing that he was joking. I looked at him, shocked he was that nuts, and then I saw him stifling a giggle.

"You’re making fun of me." I said, surprised.

He responded with a devilish little grin and snickered. I did what any self-respecting woman would; I slapped his arm like a girl and squealed in indignation. Tuesday, Z was feeling mischievous and there was nothing to be done about that… not that I would have done anything about it if I could have.

He then leapt up and hollered out in Chinese to his two friends (the best friend and the receptionist), "I will kill you all!" He ran at the two unfazed men busy playing computer games online. He and the receptionist traded a few fake Tae Kwon Do punches and then Z knelt down to talk with his best friend about the online game going on. I watched the boys explode into excited chatter and I finally sighed.

The boys’ club I have been missing for so long was right there. Within that sphere of testosterone, I was safe and surrounded by men comfortable with me. Clearly established as Z’s, his best friend and good friend/receptionist have an understandable and socially prescribed relationship with me. Whenever Z is not around, they are to care for me as he would. I have not only found an amazing boy but two brothers as well.

***

While I was writing this entry last night (1/3) Z called me. I was going to continue the entry by telling you all about how we arranged to have dinner Wednesday night and then, realizing it was after midnight that we should try to find some dinner for the boys. As we strolled around the dead streets, I flanked by the boys and the boys flanked by closed restaurant and eatery after closed restaurant and eatery, it occurred to me that in New York, the one food you can find any time of the day or night is Chinese food but try finding any Chinese food after 10pm and you’re going to have a hard time. We eventually found a place but it took us quite some time. However, in lieu of fleshing out that brief spine, I thought I’d tell you about the night we had.

Z called me at 10:20 and asked me to meet him downstairs in ten minutes. We were going to meet his friend in the South because he wanted to introduce me to his friend’s American friend. We got to the club (or "disco" as they call it pretty much anywhere but America), met up with his Chinese friend and it took us a while to sort out where the American friend was. We finally got it sorted and we wandered to the bar where a rather dour looking African-American fellow was sitting. I was given the seat next to the dour man as the two boys stood together behind us. I made an attempt to speak to the dour dude but he wasn’t really in the mood. I discovered later on that he was intimidated to stand up and greet me because he thought I’d be taller than him and emasculate him. (The great irony in that being Z, a traditional Chinese man the likes of which most Americans feel must be incredibly misogynistic and who is perhaps half an inch shorter than me, has never made any comment about my height or even remotely referenced it in any of our interactions.)

I sour on dour pretty quickly so I turned to Z and spoke. "I want to dance."

He shook his head, not understanding over the deafening music.

"DANCE!" I yelled and then shook my ass a little.

He shook his head again, still not understanding. So, I pointed to the dance floor, grabbed his hand and dragged him to it.

Somewhere along the way we got split up and so I went back to the bar where the dour man was sitting. The bar was set up with one side to be tended where the men buying stand and the side to be served where the guests and women sit. The dour man and I were to be served and Z and his friend were to serve.

"Two hours of this. Shit." I thought as I sat there in silence, the pounding music drowning out my desire to leave. I glanced at Z and his anticipatory face signaled to me that he very much wanted me to get along with the American he introduced me to. This was the chance for him to make me happy. All his groundwork and kindness laid so that here in China, with him, he would know that I am happy.

I took a swig of the Budweiser I was served and thought, "Okay motherfucker, you and I are going to get along if it kills us both because I am not going to disappoint my boy." So, I proceeded to barrage the man with a thousand and one questions.

At last, I found the crack in his faÁade and I worked it. Hard. I asked him questions that kept him talking for a solid hour.

After an hour of talking with him, it occurred to me that Z was just hanging out. I had been working so hard to show that I was having a good time to make my boy happy that I had forgotten to focus on my boy. So, I started watching my boy as the dour and lonely man was talking to me. We just watched each other for about an hour, I simply was nodding or making the occasional noise to spur on the monologue the lonely man was having with my ear.

And then the lonely man turned into Mr. Handsy. It was subtle at first but as the alcohol kept flowing it became less and less subtle. As I was the only non-Chinese girl in the club I suddenly went from invisible to highly valued. The various businessmen came over to toast me and try to win my attention. One man toasted me and then grabbed me by the back of the neck to pull me in to yell something into my ear. That’s when I knew it was getting a bit late and it was time to start thinking about leaving. That’s also when I noticed the military guards posted throughout the club and remembered the metal detector I had to pass through to get in. Clubs are apparently the sight of a fair number of beat downs over women.

As Mr. Handsy decided that it was acceptable to brush my breasts with his arm, I got up and asked Z if we could leave. Z signaled he needed to stop quickly in the bathroom and then we’d go.

Z left and Mr. Handsy started asking for my number, you know, so we could talk "business." I told him I couldn’t remember it (I NEVER can; doesn’t matter where I live, I cannot remember my number and for situations just like this, I feel no pressing urge to work hard and remember it) and if he wanted it, he could get it from Z.

"Come on, don’t play me like that." He said.

"[Z]. [Z] has my number. You want it. You ask him for it." I said. This back-and-forth continued with him not really asking me out and I not really saying no. Frankly, if your lack of balls to straight up ask me for what you want is going to waste my time, I’m going to waste your time. "Coy" is not appealing in a man. It invariably turns to cowardice and always does so way too quickly.

Z got back just in time for Mr. Handsy to start getting really bold and as Mr. Handsy was pushing himself against me in an attempt to be cocky and make me back down, I pushed back and kept my hand on Z. As Z was trying to usher me out, Mr. Handsy grabbed Z and did the most mature "I’m jealous of you" move ever; the titty twister.

Twice.

The first time I was completely taken aback.

The second time, I grabbed Z by the arm and said, "Okay, goodnight! Nice to meet you."

As we piled out of the club, Z fetched us a cab and took us back home. In the cab, Z made a serious effort to speak English.

"Are you happy?" He asked, clearly unsure about what had just happened but still sure about his role as my future boyfriend. The number one responsibility of a Chinese boyfriend is to keep his girlfriend happy.

"Yes, very happy. You make me very happy. Thank you." I answered, hoping to calm his nerves, despite the fact that I wanted to punch Mr. Handsy for laying his hands on my boy.
Z nodded and breathed a sigh.

"Are you happy?" I asked, highly concerned that Mr. Handsy had tainted me for him.

Z nodded. "You are my good friend. When you are happy, I am happy."

I think I’m going to have to drop by the gym tonight to make sure he’s okay. Definite weirdness; a lot of good and a lot of bad.