six
moon cakes: a pastry associated with the
moon festival celebrated by the Chinese, Taiwanese, and Vietnamese in mid-autumn, usually filled with meats or sweets
I walk into the office building ten minutes early. Week two. Day four. My mission: wear Teresa down and get some dirt on the real work, something more than copying papers. Doing that for the next seven weeks with Hop and Brianna? Somebody ain’t coming out of that alive, and I put my money on Brianna being one of the two survivors.
I jog up the stairs, open a glass door, and enter Teresa’s lair … whistling.
She looks up from her desk, glasses perched on her nose like an old lady. She’s not that old, but she’s not as young as Jada. I’m guessing mid-thirties to forties.
I say, “Buenos dias.”
She half frowns. “Good morning.”
I walk toward her, hands in my pockets. “I thought you spoke Spanish?”
She says, “Not unless I’m translating.”
I press on. “¿Porque?”
She pushes her glasses up and looks around. “And whok e would I be speaking Spanish with? I answer phones and make appointments.”
I lean against her desk, smiling like she gave me the biggest compliment in the world. “Oh Terrrrresa.” Totally rolled that R, extra. She seems embarrassed to embrace her Latina side in this law office, which is really odd. Being bilingual is awesome. I’ll win her over. Before long, she’ll be making me tortas con carne and saying, “¿Que paso? ”
After a quick knock on her desk, I wink. “C’mon. You run this place. What’s the scoop? How does an intern get to do more than make copies? Besides—you can speak a little español with me.” I look around conspiratorially. Then I whisper, “I won’t tell. Cross mi corazon.”
She fights a smile and waves me away. “It’s a good thing you’re early today.”
I back away from her desk and bow. “Only para ti.”
She waves me away, but her cheeks are red.
I sit down and say, “Nice glasses. Kind of hipsterish.”
She types furiously on her keyboard. “Gracias. And you might talk to Jada. There’s an immigration case they’ve taken on and all the paralegals and admins are going nuts trying to keep up with the caseload, which means you might get to do something besides make copies.”
Aw, yeah. I smile wide. “¿Que?”
She says, “You heard me.”
“Yeah. I heard you.”
Teresa adjusts her headset and gets back to typing.
Brianna walks in looking like a Banana Republic model. And while it’s not free-spirited hippie-girl clothes, she’s looking good. But I like Grace’s look better. And even though I’m surrounded by hot girls all summer, they don’t hold a candle to Grace. An office romance would have nothing on our middle-of-the-night beanbag tryst. But there’s nothing wrong with a little innocent flirting—I’ve never been one to ignore a pretty girl.
She gives me a slight nod and takes a seat a couple chairs down from me.
I laugh and smell my pits. “I swear I doubled up today. Really.” Then I pat the chair next to me.
Brianna rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Where’s your pride?”
I shrug. “Lost. With my ego?”
She picks at imaginary lint. “I doubt that.”
A slight bit of guilt crosses over me as I think of Grace. But what am I supposed to do? She’s off-limits. I gulp down the ache in my throat. I need to get focused on my own priorities, and that includes making a difference, not copies.
The door opens and in walks Hop.
Teresa says, “Barely on time.”
Hop looks at the clock. “One minute to spare. Crazies on the bus this morning.”
Now that Hop’s here, I’m ready to break the news about our potential lucky break.
Teresa says, “You may go to Jada’s office and get your assignment for the morning.”
Brianna mutters, “Great. More copies.”
“Why such a limited vision?” Hop asks. “We might graduate to filing paperwork.”
Teresa grunts. “Fat chance.”
I walk down the hall, whispering to Hop and Brianna about the immigration case and how we have an angle on getting to do something worthwhile this summer.
I walk into Jada’s territory, words rolling around in my head as I wonder how to get us in on some real legal action. The tension hangs in the air like San Francisco fog.
Well, here goes. “Good morning, Jada.”
She glances up from behind a mountain of boxes, her tiny diamond nose ring the only thing decorating her otherwise frustrated face.
“What?” I joke. “Are they trying to bring new meaning to the phrase buried in paperwork ?”
She glares.
I throw my hands up in the air in surrender. “Ai. Sorry. Really. It looks like a ridiculous amount of stuff to process and sort.”
Jada flicks a piece of lint off her skirt. “No shit, Sherlock.”
I pat one of the boxes. “Listen, I know we’re newbs, but we’re not at the top of our class for nothing. I swear we could help you tear through this pretty fast and we won’t screw up.” I turn around to Brianna and Hop. “Right?”
Brianna steps forward and says, “He’s right. Just tell us what to do and we’ll ace it for you.”
Jada scans the three of us like she’s trying to decide if we’re for real. Then she points to a box and says, “Some of those files still need to be stamped for receiving. Date’s on the Post-it. Screw it up and somebody gets the axe, and it won’t be me. Ford, you stamp. Brianna and Hop, I’m going to show you how to sort and label.”
Hop talks non-stop the entire drive to his apartment. Dude talks more than most girls. Good thing he’s funny.
Before turning into his lot, I ask, “So, do I need to park on the street? What’s the deal with guests Cl wface="Adob?”
Hop laughs. “Who said you were a guest? That kind of thinking might make me feel a little sorry when I take all your money.”
I snort. “Ha. Where do I park?”
“You can park in our spot, 1412 A. The neighbors might think we got a vehicle.”
I turn in and cut the engine. Esmerelda’s cough sputters.
Hop says, “Whoa, dude. We’ve got standards.” He pats the dash. “She might make us look bad with her crankiness.”
The apartment building is kind of a dump on the outside. Hop’s got a good sense of humor—my truck looks at home here. I step outside and enjoy the image of Hop struggling to open the passenger door.
When he finally barrels out, much like Grace does, he says, “What I lack in muscle, I make up for in cunning. How else do you think my skinny ass survived this part of town for sixteen years?”
I double-take. “Sixteen? I thought you were a senior.”
He shrugs, sheepish. “I am. Let’s go check out Mom’s latest and greatest.”
The key sticks when Hop tries to unlock his front door. He jiggles the key and lifts the door to get in. A little WD40 would fix that. I’ll bring some with me next poker night.
We walk into a small, immaculate apartment. The living and dining rooms are kind of combined into one. The perfect bachelor pad. You can see their kitchen from the front door. And the smells coming out of that oven make me want to cry.
I say, “Dude, this could be my second home.”
Hop grins appreciatively. “Wait until you taste it. Mom works at Bountiful Moon bakery.”
“I’m their newest customer.”
“Tell ’em Hop sent you.”
His mom walks in from the hallway.
“Hey,” Hop says. “These moon cakes for poker night?”
She nods and her eyes lighten. “Suzhou are on the counter. New recipe in oven. Chocolate nut fruit.”
Hop gives his mom a big squeeze. “You rock. Thanks.”
Her eyes widen. She nods at me. “You must be Hop’s friend from work.”
I step forward and shake the hair out of my eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Ford. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I am Mrs. Liang. Nice to meet you. You like moon cakes?”
I take in a deep breath and close my eyes. Then I open them. “I love them.”
“Good.” She looks at Hop. “Make sure your friend get enough to eat. Extra Suzhou. He growing boy.”
I like the way she thinks.
Hop says, “Yes ma’am.”
“You boys don’t get too loud this night. You know Mrs. Tan will complain rest of week at Laundromat.”
Hop rolls his eyes. “Mrs. Tan can—”
“Say what she like,” Mrs. Liang says. “Watch the noise.” Oh man. The Look is definitely universal.
Hop backs down fast. “Yes ma’am.”
Then Mrs. Liang goes back into her room and closes the door. A minute later, the sounds of a sewing machine fill the space she left.
I look at Hop. “Dude, your mom has you whipped.”
He shrugs. “And your mom doesn’t?”
I grin. “Ma’s from Mexico. What do you think?”
He grins. “Want a moon cake?”
“You know it. What’s Suzhou?”
He grabs some plates and stacks a few moon cakes on them. “My favorite. They’re made from pork. Mom adds some kick to hers. Hope you can handle the heat.”
I grab the plate out of his hands. “Handle the heat? Ma’s mole sauce will make a man beg for mercy. When do the guys get here?”
Hop’s face turns serious. “About that. One of my friends needs—”
The doorbell rings. Hop shouts, “We already started loading up on the moon cakes.”
The door flies open. A short Asian kid decked out like a pimp stands in the doorway, complete with dark glasses and gold chains. “What’s up, yo?”
Then he strides over to the bar and loads up a plate. He gives me a side glance and does the head nod.
I say, “’Sup?”
Hop balls up a paper towel and pegs Future Pimp in the head. “Leave some for the rest of the guys, Hien.”
Hien doesn’t blink an eye. He joins us at the table.
Hop says, “Nobody told Hien he’s Asian. He’s had an identity crisis since elementary when he moved here.”
Hien takes a big bite and says, “Yeah, and Hop’s sucked at poker since we started this weekly gig. You don’t see me complaining. He keeps me supplied with bling, yo.”
I shove a moon cake in my mouth so I don’t laugh at this little hip-hop dude.
Hop says, “Yeah, yeah. Where’s the rest of the crew?”
“Ah dude, they be helping the latest FOB figure out the bus system. They’ll be here any minute.”
Hop nods.
“FOB?” I ask.
Hien tucks a large bite in his cheek. “Fresh Off the Boat. As in still not speaking the English well.”
“Oh.”
Hop says, “Our group … we take them in until they get things figured out. And Hien, here, he’s our non-example of how to fit in.”
I think about Jorge and ask, “Are these FOBs legal?”
Hien narrows his eyes. “You legal?”
I lean back. “Totally didn’t mean it that way dude. I just wondered if I could help, you know?”
Hop pelts Hien with the paper towel right between the eyes. “He wants to go into immigration law. Help people not get deported, yo.”
Hien wads the paper towel and throws it back at Hop. “Yeah, well, you never know.”
Jorge’s face floats through my mind. I can’t let it go. “They have a place to go? You know, like use computers. Learn English. Find a lawyer?”
“Yeah,” Little Hien says. “There’s an Asian American Cultural Center that helps FOBs. But their computers suck.” He shrugs. “Sometimes it’s better to go to the library. Lawyers? They’re for peeps with cash, bro.”
I nod, thinking I bet Ma could get the university to donate some old computers to them. Ones that are only a year or so old.
The door flies open and three guys come in talking smack. They head straight for the moon cakes and help themselves. If Hien is a Future Pimp, the rest of these guys have futures in the computer or gaming industry.
Soon the game of poker begins. Texas Hold’em. I’ve seen this game on TV and played it a few times on the Internet.
I arrange my cards, then ask, “What’s the ante?”
Hien says, “Twenty-five cents.”
And so we’re off. About halfway into the game, with most of my money gone, Hien looks up at me and asks, “So how do you and Hop know each other?”
I toss out a quarter. “From our internship at Bristol and Wentworth.”
“Internship?” Hien tugs his sunglasses down a bit and looks at Hop with one eyebrow raised.
Hop cracks his knuckles. Then he chimes back, “Hey, there are hot, styling babes where I work. Better than the catch at the lame-o movie theater.”
Sunglasses shoot back up and Hien slouches into his chair. “Hey. I get you into free movies, so show some respect.” He leans back into the table. “What kind of hot babes? You gonna hook a bro up?”
“You don’t need a girl,” Hop says. “You need status. The legal kind. I was thinking Ford and I might figure out a way to help.”
He looks across the table at me. Jorge flashes through my mind again. I glance at Hien, who’s sitting there tense behind his glasses, constantly rearranging his cards. My summer just took on a whole lot more meaning.
I swallow hard and say, “Sure, man. We got you covered.”