The next day, when I woke up, Michael had already gone to work. When I turned on the bedside lamp, I found his message.

Dear Meng Ning,

Tonight I have to work late again and probably won’t be home till midnight. Sorry about this. It’s completely unexpected-there is an emergency patient with a very complicated case. You can get takeout or go out and have fun. Last night you made me the happiest man in the world.

Love,

Michael

When I was wondering if I should contact Lisa, the phone rang and Lisa’s voice floated from the other end of the line. She said tonight she would like to invite me to a new experience-but she wouldn’t say what.

“Just meet me downtown, between Spring and Twenty-third Street, in front of the only green building.”

Before I could agree-or disagree-she had already hung up.

Lisa looked as tall and striking as she had at the museum. Again, she had dressed all in black-high-heeled ankle boots, loose silk pants, tight top. But this time the Pollock scarf was black and silver, and wandered down her neck to her supple waist. Under the twilight, her bronze hair hung loosely like crawling vines.

“I hope you haven’t been waiting too long,” I said, feeling the pull of her aura.

“Oh, not at all. I’ve been watching people go in and out. Interesting.”

She stood almost a head taller than I, so when she looked down at me, her eyes seemed half closed. This reminded me of Guan Yin-head lowered and eyes half closed to manifest modesty and compassion.

“Meng Ning, let’s go now. I’ll take you to a bar.”

“A bar? I don’t think Michael would like the idea.”

“Forgive my bluntness, but I think Michael has too much influence over you. You’re an independent woman, not his little sister.”

I didn’t know what to say to this, so I muttered, “But I neither smoke nor drink.”

“Then you can watch me. Come on, let’s go!” she said, then half pushed me inside the building. “It’s in the penthouse.” Lisa motioned me to the elevator.

As I followed her into the elevator, someone hollered behind, “Please wait!” We turned and saw a man dragging a little boy and hastening toward us.

Lisa held open the elevator door.

“Thank you,” the man said when the two plunged in.

There were a few moments of silence while we all meditated on the numbers blinking above. A moment later, Lisa suddenly stooped down to tousle the boy’s blond mane. “Oh, darling, you’re so beautiful. How old are you?”

The kid didn’t respond. He glowered at the friendly and beautiful creature whose face was now almost touching his. But my friend didn’t give up. She kept mussing his hair, caressing his cheeks, and flashing her porcelain teeth.

“You’re so cute, honey. Tell me your name.” She tilted her head, raised her voice, and stretched a Minnie Mouse smile.

The kid stuck out his tongue. “You dumb cookoo head!”

Lisa looked shocked, then annoyed; her face flushed a deep crimson. The man looked stunned. I was amused.

“Jason! That’s very rude! Say sorry to the nice lady.”

“No!” The boy hid his face behind the man’s back.

The man got down on his knees. “Jason, be a good boy. Will you say sorry to the lady?”

Jason shook his head violently, then buried his face deeper into the man.

“I’m sorry.” The man looked up at us. “My son never behaves like this; he must be really tired.”

Right then, the elevator arrived at the fourteenth floor and the boy’s father led him out. When the door was closing, the boy pulled up his head and made a face toward Lisa. “You dumb cookoo limp!” he said, and was slapped by his father behind the closing doors.

I peeked at my friend. Her face was twitching with anger, and that suppressed my urge to ask what a “dumb cookoo limp/head” is.

“That kid’s a total brat. His father should have smacked his head against the wall and shattered his skull!” Lisa spat.

That was quite a violent curse toward a small boy.

Soon we arrived at a door decorated with a huge reptile. Then we passed through a glass door enameled with big red letters: THE WINKING LIZARD. We entered a room filled with smoke, the odor of spilled beer, and shouted conversations. Loud jazz made me itch all over as if my whole body were crawling with squirming lizards. I looked around in the dim light. The décor was minimalist and monochromatic, with leather, steel, and glass furniture. Men wore ponytails and earrings while women had shaved heads with lips and brows pierced by small silver rings. The hurrying waitresses all wore black leather. Suddenly I felt very self-conscious. My hair was long and my dress floral, with lace around the lapel. I must have looked like someone who had just walked out of an all-girls school!

A very tall waitress led us to a corner table in the rear of the bar. I wouldn’t say she was beautiful, but she was definitely striking, with her white-chalked face and crimson lips. Her eyelashes fluttered over her blue-shadowed eyelids. Above the leather miniskirt a Bruce Lee-style top exposed muscular arms.

Once seated, Lisa ordered a martini on the rocks and when Muscular asked me what I wanted, I said, “Regular Coca-Cola.”

My friend chuckled. “Oh, Meng Ning, forget the regular. I’ll order you something more sophisticated.” Then she turned to Muscular to reveal an expanse of porcelain teeth. “Give her a Cuba libre, light on the Coke and heavy on the rum, please.” She winked at the waitress.

In almost no time, Muscular came back with our drinks and a bowl of nuts. When she walked away, I saw she had muscular calves covered with veins like a brood of baby snakes. “Coolie’s calves,” the Chinese would call these. Then I soon noticed that most of the waitresses here were tall, athletic, and had coolie’s calves.

Lisa clinked her glass with mine. “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” I echoed. The drink scorched my throat; I grimaced.

“You like it?” Lisa smiled prettily.

“It’s…interesting.” I hadn’t really lied. Since it tasted like kitten’s urine mixed with spicy chili oil.

She asked, “You like this place?”

“Hmmm…I can’t tell yet; it’s strange.” My gaze fell on another brood of “snakes.” “Lisa, have you noticed the waitresses here are all very tall and muscular?”

She patted my shoulder. “You’re so innocent.” She leaned close to me and whispered, “They’re all men.”

“Are you kidding?”

“Shhh…not too loud. Of course not.”

“With makeup, earrings, miniskirts, and even lace tops?” My voice adamantly remained in the high register.

“They’re transvestites… Meng Ning, please lower your voice.”

“You mean they’re men with breasts?”

“Shhh…some are, but they’re mostly men who like to dress like women.”

“So they’re gay?”

“Meng Ning, would you please lower your voice?” Lisa squeezed my elbow.

Right then, our “waitress” came back to ask whether we wanted anything more. As I was thinking, I noticed her nails were long, tapered, and painted crimson. I tried to look at her neck to see whether she had an Adam’s apple. But no luck. She was wearing a spiked leather choker.

Her husky, high-pitched voice slithered its way into my ears. “Honey, anything more I can get you?”

“Hmm…” I didn’t want anything else; I only wanted to study “her.”

She flashed a derisive grin that emphasized her bloodred, full lips, her long-lashed eyes ping-ponging between Lisa and me. “Let me help you. Hmm…what about some dessert? We have cheesecake, Sacher torte, tiramisu…” She kissed her fingers and made aloud smack; the gloss of her fingernails gave out a few sparks in the faint light. “So, sweetie”-she turned to me-“what d’you want?”

“Hmm…” I looked at Lisa, then back at the “waitress,” speechless.

She knelt down, put her elbow on our table, then rested her chin on her hand. She blinked several times as if her eyes were really itchy now. Anxiously, I half expected her lashes to drop into my Cuba libre.