“Come in; he won’t be back for a while.” Professor Tamiko moved away from the door, her eyes quickly taking in the suitcase in Suzy’s right hand.
“I am… I didn’t… I can come back another time.” Suzy had never expected to see her. She simply never thought about her. Here she stood with a suitcase that contained her life, and yet she never considered Professor Tamiko in relation to Damian. She had made the first move. It was she who had asked him to make love to her. She had even lost her virginity on this woman’s bed.
“Don’t look so frightened. You’re obviously not a child if you’ve come this far.” Professor Tamiko sat on the sofa, crossing her legs, her long slim legs, shimmering in off-black silk tights. Suzy stood still. She felt confused. She was not sure what she should do, or say.
“Come in, for God’s sake.” Professor Tamiko shot a quick glance at Suzy at the door. “I’ll be leaving soon anyway.”
Suzy put her suitcase down at the door and walked in. She did not know where to sit, although she did not want to keep on standing either. Her legs felt as if they would collapse any minute, as did the rest of her. She finally slouched in the love seat, which was farthest from where Professor Tamiko was sitting.
“A drink?” Professor Tamiko got up and walked toward the kitchen. She seemed to be familiar with the place. She seemed to be wanting to move away from the younger woman.
“No, thank you,” Suzy answered in a near whisper.
Professor Tamiko poured herself a glass of water. For a second, Suzy was afraid that the older woman would offer her something heavy. Whiskey would make sense.
“How’s your Cordelia?”
The question caught her by surprise. Suzy had hoped that she wouldn’t remember—Professor Tamiko had over a hundred students. But women like Yuki Tamiko remembered everything. Suzy remained silent. She had made virtually no progress on her thesis.
“I guess you’ve been busy.” Professor Tamiko took a quick sip, as though she regretted the remark, which came off sounding almost bitter. Then she asked, facing Suzy from across the room, “Tell me one thing, why do you think he asked you here?”
Suzy avoided her eyes, uncertain what she was driving at. He had asked her to come. He had not told her when. He had not even given her the phone number. She had assumed that the downtown address was his own, a sort of place apart from his wife, where Suzy could drop in without calling ahead or making a special arrangement. Such an illicit suggestion, strangely, did not scare her. She had been dying to see him. She could not think of anything other than wanting to see him. She had waited so long. Come stay with me for a while. It was an open invitation.
“Or did he make you think that it was you who chose him?” A smile formed around her dark-rouged lips, a sardonic smile.
Certainly she made the first move. She came here of her own will. Was that not her own decision? Did he somehow will her here? Was Professor Tamiko hinting at some kind of manipulation that had escaped Suzy?
“Don’t think so hard. You’re not breaking up a marriage. This has nothing to do with you.” Yuki Tamiko took her gaze away, as though she had finally lost interest. Then she finished the glass of water and grabbed the cream leather handbag that had been sitting on the counter. She stopped at the door. She seemed to hesitate. When she turned around, her eyes were no longer cold. Almost apologetic, Suzy thought.
“Damian’s not capable. He cannot love an Asian woman.”
The water is getting cold now. She climbs out of the bath and wraps herself in a towel. The mirror is her own face staring out at her, oddly unfamiliar. The lines have crept under her eyes, tiny threads of years which have not been there until recently. Her chin appears sharper, almost angular, no longer innocent. Her breasts are looser, facing downward slightly, a note of gravity. She’s become a woman suddenly. She will turn thirty in less than two weeks. Her mother had never warned her. “Asian girls don’t age, do they?” a painter for whom she had posed once told her, moving into her face a bit too closely. He was wrong. He implied that being Asian was a different destiny. He thought that it bought her time.
Suzy stares at her own reflection. Ms. Goldman seemed to think that she looked nothing like Grace. Bob had mistaken her for Grace. How could two people think so differently? Then it comes back to her.
You remind me of someone I used to know, a good woman, too young to be killed like that.
The witness from the other day.
The deposition in the Bronx.
Diamond Court Reporting.
Forty-four Burnside Avenue.
The man who had saved a seat for her at McDonald’s, whose gabardine pants and shiny shoes had reminded her of Dad, whose name, if she is remembering correctly, was…
Suzy runs to the kitchen table, where she had dropped her bag upon entering. She unzips the side pocket and pulls out the yellow legal notepad. She flips through the pages. November 10th. Last Friday, November 10th. Five days ago.
Case name.
File number.
Witness information.
Kim Yong Su. Born: 6/10/36. Address: 98-44 Woodhaven
Boulevard, Apt. 8F, Queens, NY 00707
12.
THE BUILDING NUMBERED 98-44 is a red brick co-op. Built in the 1950s, probably. Solid and grim, although here, among the residential complexes called Lefrak City, it is just one of many identical blocks. Two o’clock in the afternoon. Kids running here and there who should really be watched by parents. Old women’s faces at windows who spend their days looking out. Distant howls of stray cats, although in this chill they’ve all gone hiding. From across the street, Suzy counts up to sixteen, roughly. A sixteen-story building. His is situated right in the middle, on the eighth floor. Better there, she thinks. Not too close to the ground floor, where bored hands loiter with not enough cash. But not too high up, for one can never trust the elevator.
She is used to buildings like this. Two-room holes for the entire family. Her parents in the bedroom, and the bunk bed in the living room for Suzy and Grace. Who needs a living room? her parents claimed. They might have had a point. How much living could one do when working seven days a week? Suzy had just started sixth grade when they moved to a real two-bedroom for the first time. From then on, their two-room days were over. Her parents must have been doing better.
It was also around then that Grace began to change. Grace had always been quiet. She had been one of those shy kids, at her happiest when left alone in a corner with a book. But it was in that year, when Suzy and Grace finally got a real bedroom, that Grace began to show signs of withdrawal. The change did not occur overnight, but she became increasingly dark and sullen. Suzy did not understand why, nor did she question. She just got used to her sister’s prickly moods. Later, Suzy thought that it must have been teenage angst, the heightened adolescent sensitivity, which must have hit upon Grace much more severely than it had Suzy.
Once, Suzy tried to draw her out. It was when Grace was getting ready to choose a college. Smith was an odd choice for Grace, who could have gotten into any college she wanted. Although they had moved through countless schools, both girls had always maintained top grades. In fact, it did not take much effort to be the best in class when most students either spoke no English or lacked proper teachers. Smith was certainly good enough, but why not look into other schools before making the early decision? Grace was not interested. She said that she’d had enough of men, which might have been true. But she also mentioned that Smith offered her a full private scholarship. Grace would not accept any other aid. No federal grant. No financial aid. No support from parents. Suzy failed to understand the reason. They were more than eligible for financial aid. Who really cared whether the scholarship came from a government agency or a private donor? What difference did it make, Suzy thought, as she herself went off to Columbia a year later with a good enough aid package to cover her entire tuition and dorm fee. But Grace was adamant. When Suzy tried to point out the absurdity of her insistence, Grace lashed out, “You’re so fucking stupid, Suzy, you wouldn’t care what kind of money it is as long as it puts food before you, would you!”