Part 16 (1/2)

”It's not a studio, exactly,” Colin said. ”The local unions produce small movies and shorts to further their cause. Ever since Upton Sinclair signed on to write screenplays for the railway unions, labor films have been all the rage. This one is called The New Disciple. It's a political film in the form of a love story. I'm just a walk-on, but it's a real photoplay-a real movie. Even if it's not quite a real set. It's a wonderful place for you to learn the ropes, I think.”

As they turned the corner Liu Song saw a throng of people crowding the sidewalk in front of a large display window. The painted marquee read, ALL ROADS LEAD TO RHODES. The retailer's storefront was so crowded Liu Song could hardly see inside. At first she a.s.sumed that the store must have received a new s.h.i.+pment of console radios, which were growing in popularity, but as they crossed the street and got closer, she saw that the window display had been decorated like a living room with sofa, chairs, lamps, potted plants, and even a high-walled backdrop with curtained windows and a wooden fireplace. Instead of mannequins, a film crew in s.h.i.+rtsleeves and hanging suspenders were setting up lights and giant reflectors. A cameraman stretched a measuring tape from the lens of a large movie camera to the middle of the set. Liu Song stared wide-eyed as Colin led her inside and through the housewares department to where a small corner of the store had been roped off. A security guard stopped them until he found Colin's name on a clipboard, then he stepped aside and tipped his hat. A production a.s.sistant ushered them to a busy area behind the set where they sat on a bench with other extras and bit players.

Liu Song pointed to a pair of tall folding chairs in front of them. The canvas chair backs faced in their direction as a makeup artist attended to the occupants.

”Those are the stars: Pell Trenton and Norris Johnson,” Colin whispered.

Liu Song read their names, which were written in grease pencil on the backs of the chairs. Even from behind she could admire Pell's das.h.i.+ng, broad-shouldered physique and Norris's elegantly styled hair and long gown.

”I'm so grateful you're here,” Colin said. ”You calm my nerves.”

Liu Song felt the opposite. She wished he could return the favor as she forced a smile. ”How many movies have you been in now?”

”Five,” Colin said. ”Each time as an extra. Today I play a servant in a rich man's house. I don't get a credit, but at least I appear on-screen quite a bit-that is, if I don't end up on the cutting room floor when they edit everything together. And of course I get another notch on my resume.”

The production a.s.sistant wandered back and shouted for stand-ins. Liu Song had no idea what he meant. Colin smiled and took her hand as he stood up, waved, and quickly volunteered the two of them.

”What are we doing?” Liu Song felt lost. ”I have no idea what ...”

Colin whispered in her ear as they were being led onto the set. ”The director has called for stand-ins. They need two extras in front of the camera for a practice run. We'll just be in for a few minutes so the camera operator can adjust the timing and measure the lens's focal length. We stand in until they're ready to roll film. This way the stars look fresh for the camera instead of melting. It's fun, you'll see. Just mind that you don't look directly into the lights-they can do permanent damage. Miriam Cooper burned her eyes by looking into the lights on the set of Kindred of the Dust.”

Liu Song hardly understood a word he said. She wondered if this was what it was like for her mother, stepping onstage for the very first time. But this audience was a film crew who seemed unimpressed. To the crew, she and Colin were merely placeholders, living statues that they casually regarded as they moved lights, adjusted reflectors, and took measurements.

Liu Song felt heat radiating from the lights. Then her heart skipped a beat as she saw the director, a tall man with a tiny megaphone, take his seat next to an olive-skinned gentleman with a pencil-thin mustache who peered through the camera.

”Hey, Chop Suey, you do speak English, don't you?” the director asked.

”And French, Latin, and a little bit of Italian,” Colin said. ”Va bene?”

”Great, an aristocrat,” the cameraman said. ”Take two steps back, Your Majesty.”

Colin smiled and pointed to two Xs on the floor marked with tape. ”This is where we stand,” he told Liu Song. They moved back as five other extras stood in the background, pretending to talk and laugh politely.

”The camera's not rolling,” Colin said. ”This is playacting, so you have nothing to worry about. But it's good practice for a bigger opportunity that's coming up.”

Liu Song had sung before busloads of strangers. She'd wandered backstage during many of her father's productions, so she'd grown accustomed to that type of performance. Filmmaking, on the other hand, was new, foreign, and yet deliriously intriguing. She drew a deep breath, swallowed, and nodded, wondering what else Colin might have in store.

”Just another performance,” Colin said as he touched her arm and smiled rea.s.suringly. ”For now. This is the beginning for us. Someday William will see you on the screen in a real movie. Imagine how proud he'll be.”

Welfare.

(1924).

When Liu Song arrived at b.u.t.terfield's the next morning, she found a peculiar woman playing the piano and humming a strange hymn. Her hair was tinted a light shade of pink and pulled up so tightly that her eyebrows seemed to be jerked back in a look of perpetual surprise. Her eyes were blue, like ice, and her unpainted lips were like a slit that divided the vertical wrinkles on her face into northern and southern halves. The song she played was a lullaby, but to Liu Song the melody was a funeral march.

”h.e.l.lo, I'm Mrs. Peterson,” the woman said as she stepped from the piano and extended a limp, white-gloved handshake to Liu Song, letting go quickly as though she didn't appreciate the touch of others. ”I'm with the Child Welfare League and I'd like to ask you a few questions, if I may?”

Liu Song felt ambushed and woefully unprepared. Was this Uncle Leo's doing? Had he found out about William? ”Do I have a choice?”

”No.” Mrs. Peterson gazed back without emotion. ”You don't.”

Mr. b.u.t.terfield parted the curtain that separated the showroom floor from the storeroom. He smiled and held up a cup of tea on an unmatched saucer. ”Ah, Liu Song, I see you've met our special guest.” He offered the cup to Mrs. Peterson, who squinted at the coffee-stained china. She took one polite sip and then set the cup aside.

”If this is about William,” Liu Song said in her best English, ”I a.s.sure you, he's doing very well. He's very healthy, very fat. A happy boy.”

The woman looked around the store, then back at Liu Song. ”This is strictly routine. It's my job to follow up with all single mothers when the child gets to an age of moral viability. It's not just the feeding and clothing and diaper changing that the state worries about, but the social environment, the condition of the mother.” Mrs. Peterson cleared her throat. ”And her circ.u.mstances.”

”I can certainly vouch for her character,” Mr. b.u.t.terfield said. ”Liu Song here is quite responsible. She's both industrious and thrifty.”

”And I'm sure you'll appreciate that as one who profits from her talents.” Mrs. Peterson opened up a ledger and began writing in tiny, perfect penmans.h.i.+p. ”Your testimony is appreciated, in direct proportion to how biased it is.”

Liu Song looked at her employer and blinked, hoping he would understand how thankful she was, for the job, and for the effort.

”You are an Oriental. Chinese, I presume. Where were you born?”

Liu Song explained how she'd been born at home, in Seattle, with a midwife at her mother's side. Liu Song didn't have a copy of her birth certificate, but her mother had registered her at the King County Court House two months after she'd been born.

”And do you have any family? Any relatives whom I could speak with? People who support you and how you intend to raise young ...” The woman looked at her notes.

”William,” Liu Song said. ”And no, my mother died before William was born. The rest of my family ... all of them are gone, taken by the flu, or moved away.” As she spoke, Liu Song realized just how terribly alone she was. William was everything to her. She felt such affection for Colin, but what she felt for her son was beyond comparison. She would live for Colin, but she would die for William.

Liu Song sat up straight, smiling-not too broadly, but not too meekly. She suddenly wished she'd dressed more modestly. She did her best to answer each probing, leading, condemning question without revealing something that would be sharpened and twisted and used against her. Her English was good, but she still had to stop and ask Mrs. Peterson to repeat the questions, again and again, not because she didn't understand the wording but because she was afraid that she might answer incorrectly. Mr. b.u.t.terfield chirped up twice more, and twice he was politely dismissed.

”Well, it's nice to see that a girl like you can earn an honest living. It's not entirely reputable, but it's legal. And from the news clippings that your employer shared with me before you arrived, it appears you have a knack for this type of thing.” Mrs. Peterson spoke with grudging approval as she shook her head.

Liu Song thanked her, feeling slighted but relieved.

”Now.” Mrs. Peterson stood up and closed her ledger. ”Seeing as how you are gainfully employed, all that's left is a home interview and inspection. I'll need your address. And how soon can I meet your son?”

Liu Song had been afraid of that. She'd been able to support herself, to buy food and clothing, but she had little else-a bed, a lamp, an old davenport sofa with holes and tears that she'd tried to patch with what sewing supplies she could afford. William had a third-hand crib, a dresser with unmatched drawers, missing all but one k.n.o.b, and a few toys.

”How about next week?” Liu Song asked.

”How about tomorrow?” Mrs. Peterson reb.u.t.ted. ”The sooner, the better.”

Partially Pregnant.

(1924).

Mrs. Peterson arrived the next day, twenty minutes early. Fortunately, Liu Song had expected she might and prepared accordingly. She had splurged on half a duck, and the bird was roasting in the oven, filling the tiny apartment with a comforting, savory aroma. Her furniture and decorations looked somewhat mismatched, but quaint, modest, and ordinary-exactly the image she wanted to portray.