The Changeling
Got another last minute booty call from Elaine late yesterday at the office. I'd dodged a weekend call from her because I was otherwise occupied giving "English lessons" to Tina, the assistant manager at MoonDance. But Elaine wanted to meet me at the Lucky Number apartment asap and - with no other English students on the immediate horizon - I agreed.
This time she showed up with modest makeup and not as a budding dominatrix, but looking like combination ski bunny/equestrian. A retro-looking ski sweater that brought Stowe, Vermont to mind for some reason and tight riding pants with the baggy hips. No big boots, though. Just tasteful ankle length ones minus the spikes.
We went to dinner at a restaurant in the Lucky Number complex that I'd never been to. This time her menu choices were more economical and included one that knocked me out: fresh water fish fillets served among small, smooth river rocks. Fish served in its element, I guess. There's probably a poetic Chinese description for it, but she was unable to explain it to me.
Initially, not knowing what rocks were and thinking they were some kind of exotic potato or large nut, I began to pick one up with my chopsticks, until Elaine, embarrassed at this moronic behavior, batted my hand.
Nonetheless, hilarity ensued among fellow diners at the mentally challenged foreign devil who tries to eat rocks.
Back to the 19th floor we attempted swapping tonsils on the sagging turquoise vinyl couch and then retired to the Plexiglass-Vu bedroom to finish what we'd begun.
The clothes may change, but Elaine is still a screamer.
She wanted some post-coital real English lessons, and though I was dozing off, I gave her my Lonely Planet Mandarin Phrasebook to page through.
She checked the Chinese language index and then flipped to the "C" section and began scanning until she came up with two words, that depending on their context, can instantly raise my blood pressure.
"Chris-ti-an," she said. My eyes shot open and something else that had been slowly rising instantly wilted. Christians in China are rare and only a few select, government-sactioned churches are allowed to operate.
She pointed at the word. "I am Chris-ti-an," she said emphatically. "You are?"
"No," I replied just as emphatically. "No. I. Am. Not." It didn't phase her. "My mother, father are Chris-ti-an."
Of course this was a "Christian" whom 20 minutes previously had shouted "Fuck me! Fuck me!" So, I mused, perhaps Elaine's sect - whatever it is - is one I could deal with.
Her finger scanned the C's some more and she hit another interesting phrase.
"Credah-it card-ah."
I burrowed into the pillow.
She repeated it several times, then asked. "You have?"
I pretended to be sleeping. The last thing I remember before waking later was her voice softly repeating over and over: "Chris-ti-an, Chris-ti-an, credah-it card-ah, credah-it card-ah..."
Pat Robertson and his ilk would be licking their chops if they knew.



  ¶ 7:17 PM

  Some Girls
Because people like my dad, my son, my sister and elderly female cousins living in Missouri read Shenzen Zen, I've created this version for the purpose of detailing some of the more graphic adventures I've had since coming to China.
Take yesterday, for example.
My office phone - which I share with a Chinese colleague - rang at about 3 p.m. He answered it and then said it was for me.
"Hello?"
It was a Chinese female voice proclaiming in very halting English. "Jus-ah-tan. I am Elaine!"
"Elaine?" I scanned the shattered memory bank that passes for my Swiss cheese-for-brains lately. I could recall no "Elaine." Lots of other names like Tina, Marilyn, Lily, Mary, Lisa, Wanda, Sharry, Rose, Orange, Ivy and Alice whom I'd met and a few of whom even gotten to know in the Biblical sense in the last 9 weeks were familiar, but no "Elaine."
So naturally I faked it.
"Elaine! Sure, how are you?"
Her English was terrible, but it became clear that she wanted to meet me that night. And who was I to say 'no'?
I transferred the phone to my coworker who gave her the address of our building in Chinese and then I spent about 7 minutes trying to tell her to meet me at 6 p.m. The message eventually stuck after I counted patiently, "1...2...3...4...5...6!"
Then I went to the smoking lounge to confer with foreign barbarian coworker Jeff. "Elaine? That's an unusual name for a Sheila here," he mused sagely. "Sure you don't know her? Well, I've had that happen. Sometimes I've never met them. They've gotten my name and number from someone else."
"It's kind of a problem," I said. "I have no clue as to who she is."
"Yeah, mate, but what a problem to have," replied Jeff. "I wager you didn't have that problem in the States. I know I didn't in Australia."
He had a good point.
I went back to the Lucky Number Apt. to change, all the while wondering who the hell Elaine was. When I returned, I found all the elevators except two blocked off due to a "VIP" in the building, but managed to get up to the 37th floor in time.
Just in time to find a young Chinese woman in the entryway to our offices who appeared to be auditioning for a part as Lucy Liu's trailer trash half-sister. She was wearing what could only be described as bondage wear-Lite. A tight long-sleeved black T-shirt that was artfully ripped in the sleeves, upper chest and midriff areas and skin-tight faux leather pants dripping with torso chains and crisscrossed with zippers. Stilleto heel black leather boots complimented the tasteful ensemble.
It definitely stood out from the usual office wear and even more so when several conservatively clad female coworkers, the paper's two top editors and the Mayor of Shenzhen (the "VIP") also emerged into the foyer.
"Jus-ah-tan!" cried the budding S&M starlet at just that moment. She was obvilious to the stares of my coworkers, bosses and mayor.
"Ah, uh...yes. Elaine. Elaine, good to see you. Again."
I had no absolutely no memory of her. But maybe five bars ago? A dim memory of chatting briefly with someone who might've been her - minus the bondage wear - emerged, but it was very foggy.
We piled on to the elevator along with coworkers and the mayor and his entourage and I studiously gazed at the ceiling as Elaine gripped my arm and smiled beatifically up at me, batting long lashes that were highlighted with blue sparkle eyeshadow.
I finally was able to gently pry myself away from her hold and was very relieved that the rest of the group split in another direction when we exited the building.
I took her to dinner where she ordered because I can't read the menus here. The last time I'd been at this restaurant, the woman I'd been with had ordered four courses that came to about $8 and the beer had been on the house.
Elaine, though, had different tastes. Three seafood courses that ran to $16 and, inexplicably, the beer wasn't free this time.
My previous companion had also been a virginal translator with a Lord & Taylor-type skirt, blouse and sweater and we'd drawn no real notice from other patrons. This time, with a dinner partner whose midriff chains audibly jingled with every sharp click of her 5-inch stilleto heels, we had some very curious fellow diners.
Back at the Lucky Number Apartment it became clear that her immediate priorities, in descending order, were:
1. Watching a Chinese TV biopic on the late Madame Chang Kai Shek or "Song Mei Ling" as she is known here.
2. Yes, sex. She was enthusiastic, though obviously more happy receiving than giving. A major screamer, too. At one point with her thighs locked so tightly around my head and ears I could barely hear the thumping and muffled yells of a neighbor pounding the walls during one of her gibbering arias. Whether he was telling her to keep it down or encouraging her, I'll never know though I suspect the former.
3. A major committment by me. No coincidence methinks that she's zeroed in on me, an American, and that she also mentioned several times that she has a sister in Washington whom she's dying to join. Whether D.C. or state, I wasn't able to ascertain.
"I love you, Jus-uh-tan," she sighed, as she stepped back into her bondage pants and rearranged the chains. "You love me?"
Sure, baby. I love you long time. Just don't hit me with your pants.


  ¶ 7:55 PM