The guest room was decorated by her sense of flea market chic: 1970s bedspreads, 1950s radios and clocks, old Simpson memorabilia and Disney cute, Snoopy knick knacks, Laker stuff, baseball cards, hundreds of lucky frogs and probably a thousand thimbles and hundreds of snow globes. Masako probably had dusted her room because she was also allergic to cheap, but I think she changed her mind when Chris, Meg's husband, mentioned that they also had a healthy eBay business going and wondered if Masako might be interested in some bicoastal exchange.
Meg and Masako started taking inventory over the contents of the room Masako would be taking. The computer room was also filled with junk and Meg went over approximate prices and the log of things Chris and she had in the past. That evening, I fully expected Masako to be on the phone with hubbie for a transpacific business conference.
As I was resting, Meg whipped up a simple burrito buffet with boneless, skinless chicken and homemade salsas. Apparently, mango was all the rage now, Meg told us so besides the usual tomatillo salsa verde and the salsa fresca there was a mild mango salsa, ginger-spiced pineapple salsa and lime habanera. She topped that off with a mango and coconut flan.
After dinner, I settled down as Meg, Masako and Chris discretely left me alone to check out the packages that Lynda had sent. "We've already shook them and determined there is nothing fragile or ticking," Chris said with a laugh, but lent me his old tape player adding with a wink, "I think she included some cassette tapes."
First on the list, in her neat handwriting was a letter.
Dear Cherry:
I thought you'd like a little time capsule and to be honest, I cannot rest unless I know everything is taken care of. I know you sometimes wondered if you could really trust men, but sometimes you can't trust women. Not everyone is as giving and trustworthy as you. Desperate women do desperate things. I dread the loss of heaven and because I have offended my God, I have firmly resolved with the help of God's Grace to confess my sins and do penance and to amend my life.
I have asked for reconciliation and must serve penance.
Wherefore whosoever shall eat this bread, and drink this cup of the Lord, unworthily, shall be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord."
I am heartily sorry for what happened. I did not expect this to happen as it did. I realize that I must make restitution to my fellows, and I thought the only way I could do so was through you.
When I met you I was determined to commit a mortal sin. Things became so complicated and I lost control, but I trust in God who works in mysterious ways. I hope you can forgive me.
It would be so hard to explain everything that needs to be explained, so I thought first I would remind you of what was before I can tell you what is.
I hope these are pleasant memories for you and say hi to Anna.
Lynda
I looked at the numbered packages. Some were small packages. Others were parcels that looked like a thick stack of papers only. Shaking only brought some rattling.
I remember last talking to her over the phone. She seemed happy, very happy. That was unusual. Usually she seemed tense. I put that down to deadline pressures and her concern over her friend.
I had been preoccupied with a doomed romance that ended with a sob soiree, hosted by Anna and my brief return to the group. The girls had asked repeatedly about the article, wondering who and what would make it into print.
Yet, after a while, her emails bounced back. The mailbox was overloaded. Then the address no longer worked. That wasn't unusual. Some people just used a free email address for a particular project. I had done the same so I wasn't surprised.
I was disappointed that I never got a copy of the article. In time, I had other things to concern me. A promotion with my company took me north to a place where a rainy day didn't cause panic on the freeways and rush hour wasn't a good time to read proverbs in your car or listen to the latest novels on CDs. Yes, for me summer was no longer a time of local fires, freeway firings and Disneyland fireworks.
Without me there and with Masako leaving for more serious romantic relations, the group slowly fell apart. Anna decided to hold court in NoHo, making the scene being seen and being a drama queen amongst too many wanna-be stars until she met her match, Brent.
Sophisticated as Henry Higgins without the growl and Pygmalion psychosis, manly in his reserve as Gregory Peck romancing a princess incognito and as elegant a dancer as Fred Astaire. Anna added that one for me, knowing how much I loved ballroom dancing, but hadn't yet found a man similarly in love.
"We foxtrot. Very breathtaking, specially in girdle. We so close, no room for secrets. He very 1950 guy. Cocktail. Dinner jacket. How can one enjoy martini without cha-cha-cha?," Anna asked over the phone.
"Does that mean you have the lift-and-separate bra and catepillar false eyelashes?" I had asked.
"Asian have no hair. Need fake eyelash for batting lashes, I think," Anna said with a giggle.
"So how many cans of hairspray per date," I asked.
"That secret. Even my hairdresser no know. I just advise: Buy stock in sticky stuff. New natural hold okay, too," Anna said with mock gravity.
In time, they moved in together. "Very cozy. Little cottage. Little yard. Nice kitchen. You know, keep man happy by keep his stomach happy. Oh, the bedroom also important. Bathroom a little small, I think. You must come visit. Meet him.
"You know, I just like other girls. I find good man. I have no interest in group so I hardly see them now," Anna confessed one day over the phone when Brent was away on business.
This was true. The women mostly came to complain about their dates or the kind of men who flamed them or even for a bit of revenge—give a guy a bad rep among Asian women. What was important, what was heartfelt was always hidden from the group. Misery loves company but joy sometimes needs to be nurtured in private.
Gloating in the glow is best reserved for small audiences of a few good friends.
A wedding reception, like any reunion, can be an opportunity to preen. Like any reunion, there were people I wanted to see, people I would rather never see and I'd remember people I would never see again.
You never know what will happen when you go to a wedding--tears of joy and envy? Drunken relatives? Skeletons creeping out of the closet?
Who'd have thought I'd end up at some storage area with men scrapping someone else's cerebral matter off the walls?
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