WORLD OF FORM - CHAPTER 4: Lynda's Story

The next morning, I woke up to the smell of cinnamon. When I sat down to a breakfast of pineapple-cranberry bran muffins and creamy Greek style yogurt, I showed the note to Masako who, not being Christian and being totally turned off by Catholic ostentation, frowned. "Any time any Filipino talk about God, it cannot be good thing," she said.

"Filipina," Meg said. "for a woman. Sounds sort of cryptic. Just what do you know about this Lynda?"

Yes, what did I know about Lynda? I tried to remember her. She had first contacted me over the Net. I had been skeptical, but Anna, or Tiffany, had said, "Why not? She single? She woman? She almost Asian? If she not journalist, she welcome?"

Just to be sure, I had met Lynda. Petite, with dark brown straight hair that fell almost to her waist and dark skin that could have gone darker if she ever adopted our Southern California ways. She always wore large circular framed sunglasses and a hat during the day. She favored blue and green suits and rarely wore pants. Instead of a string of pearls, she wore a gold chain with a small cross.

"Do you remember what publication she wrote for?" I asked Meg and Masako.

"Ne, I don't remember," Masako said. "I did write her like she asked just after I went home. Never heard back. Never saw a copy of the article."

"Chris might remember," Meg volunteered.

"Speaking of Chris, does he still see Arnold?" Masako asked.

"I don't see much of Arnold and that's enough to keep our marriage at least 20 percent happier," Meg said, laughing.

Meg, Masako and I went out to the beach for a walk. When we got back, Masako needed a nap to combat jetlag and I took one out of sympathy while Meg prepared dinner. When Chris came home for dinner and Meg and I set the table. Tonight was tortilla soup and salad.

"So you opened the mystery letter?" Chris asked me after he kissed Meg.

"Yes, Lynda said she had pleasant memories for me. And there's some sort of mystery," I said. "What to you remember about Lynda?"

Chris looked at Meg. "I think we should sit down and have some wine."

"So just exactly what did she say?" Masako asked after we were all seated.

"She was a bit," Chris began, "self-absorbed." He looked over at Meg.

"She really thought Chieri was so helpful. She was surprised," Meg offered. "You were so nice about helping her find that small storage space for her books, newspapers and stuff."

"That's right. As I recall, she used to meet her cousin in Highland Park or San Marino?" I replied.

"No, I think it was Pasadena or Sierra Madre," Chris said.

"So I found her a place between Little Tokyo where she liked me meet me after church and the San Gabriel Valley," I said. "I think it was in Lincoln Heights. I used to pass it on my way to work every day when I was still working downtown," I added.

"Yes," Meg said, after taking a deep breath. "She really thought you were so nice."

"But," Masako asked, lifting one eyebrow.

"She thought that was because you led such a boring life," Chris said.

"Because?" Masako asked.

"Because you seem to have been so helpful," Meg said, giving Chris a sharp glance.

"Gee. I guess no good deed goes unpunished," I said.

"Didn't she tell you that she didn't know much about America?" Masako said.

"Yes," I said slowly. "She said she wanted to understand why American men were so eager to have Pilipina wives."

"She had that friend of hers…what was her name?" Masako said.

"Rita? Raquel or something like that," Meg said.

"No it was Rosa," Chris said, with confidence.

"And what makes you so sure," Meg asked.

"Same name as that taco stand in East LA," Chris said with a laugh.

"No, that's not the name of the place. That's the name of the woman whose family owns the place," Meg said with a laugh.

"Always made me think of tacos and carnitas," Chris said, "before you made me leave the room."

"We didn't make you leave the room," Meg said.

"It became girl talk," Chris said. "When women are bashing husbands, husbands should clear the room."

"We weren't bashing husbands," Masako said, coming to Meg's defense. "We were talking about one husband. The kind that has to find a mail order bride because no American woman would want him. For that matter, no Japanese woman, either."

"So this Rosa, her husband thought she should be grateful," Meg said.

"Oh, yes. I remember. Lynda said her friend didn't believe in therapy. Not marriage counseling. Not personal counseling," I recalled.

"So what did she believe in?" Chris asked.

"The pope," I said.

"Prayer," Masako volunteered.

"That woman's husband was evil," Meg said.

"He knew enough about the Pilipino culture to be dangerous," I added.

"Meaning?" Chris asked.

"He knew that no Pilipino would want to marry her. She was a bit too old," I began.

"Christmas cake," Masako said.

"I think she had a Master's," I added.

"Too smart for most Filipino guy," Masako explained.

"The Catholic church doesn't recognize divorce," I said. "So she thought she was stuck. How old-fashioned."

"But what about this Lynda?" Chris asked.

"So why was Lynda so concerned?" Meg asked.

"Maybe her brothers couldn't understand," I said. Didn't she say something about Rosa's brothers?"

"Yes, I think they still lived at home with mother," Masako said with some disgust.

"Even now?" I asked in mock horror.

"For all we know, mommy's dead and sister is now housekeeper," Masako said with a laugh.

"From what she said it sounded like American men were flocking to the Philippines to marry any girl they found willing," I said.

"It wasn't just American men, was it?" Meg asked.

"Oh, that's right. She said English, Australian, South African and German," I said.

"I think at first she thought Filipinos were the top of the marriage market," Masako said. She laughed and said, "I think she was shocked that in Los Angeles men preferred Japanese women. We're clean and pure. American men are sometimes so charming in their simplicity."

"Well, thank you, ma'am," Chris said with a chuckle.

"I mean hakujin no, ne," Masako added, laughing.

"Yes, but I think what they want isn't what they get: real women," I replied.

"That's what happens when you buy from a catalog," Chris said.

"Now, it's just like eBay," Meg said.

"Not quite, the highest bidder doesn't always get the girl," Chris said.

"Are you sure?" Masako asked.

"So I wonder what she meant by sin?" I asked.

"I think she was disappointed to find her thesis was wrong. She probably couldn't sell the article after all," Masako replied.

"You think she felt guilty about wasting everyone's time?" Meg asked.

"Well, wouldn't you?" Masako replied.

"And then she didn't even have the guts to tell us," I replied.

"Oh, that's not unusual," Chris added. "I think a lot of reporters follow stories that don't pan out or get cut. Think of all the stories that got cut after 9/11? Didn't something happen with some movies?"

"Yes, I heard about that in Japan," Masako said.

"Think of all the jobs that got cut," I replied.

"That's true. Things are more stable here than in the Philippines," Chris said.

"And what does that say about the people?" Masako asked.

"So what's next on your list of mysterious packages?" Chris asked.

"Tapes. Cassette tapes, as you guessed. The first one has my name on it," I said slowly. "I think they are the interviews she did."

"Ah, now that will be like a time capsule," Meg said, clearing the dishes. Masako shuffled through the DVDs that Brent had burned for her and chose "Across the Tracks" to watch in the living room as Meg and Chris began to correct papers. After a few minutes, I decided to retire to my room and listen to the first cassette tape.

Dating in LA could be damned depressing and even deadly, but talking to journalists was just like planning your own funeral. I would get to haunt myself and the auto exhaust fumes would become ghosts of my more deliriously reckless past.