Sentimental Hygiene
In praise of No. 118. No. 118 works at the massage parlor across the street from the Lucky Number. I truly wish I knew her name, not her number. I have tried using my tattered Lonely Planet Chinese-English phrase book, but she speaks no English and I no Chinese and she always declines the phrase book "What is your name?" question and only points and smiles at the red and white plastic tag pinned to her blouse that declares she is No. 118.
Between dinner and dancing dates with other, more educated and seemingly sophisticated Chinese women who are beginning to run together in my mind (20something, semi-recently arrived in Shenzhen, good English skills, never married, probably virgin but very happy to practice English with a foreigner no matter what his age, especially if he pays for dinner - where the hell is someone in her 30,s 40s or 50s?) No. 118 is a guilty relief.
I am almost always a little buzzed when I make the journey down from my front door to hers. Nineteen floors down, a walk across the street and two stair flights up to an hour of happiness.
Midway up to the parlor - between stairs to the waiting room - there are Polaroid photos with the numbers of the employees. They are all sullen mug shots and I wouldn't have picked 118 or any one of based on the pics alone. They are photos of embarrassed young women who looked like they've just been booked for exactly what they do, but taken before the fact.
No. 118 seems always glad to see me. It may be because I probably pay her twice as much as what she usually get from other clients wanting more than a massage. But when I touch her just as we begin she is always wet. We have long since disposed of the massage pretense. And after it is over - accompanied by the TV volume turned up loud so others won't hear - we simply lie together, holding one another. If I'm in an especially melancholy, sentimental, mood I recite Springsteen's lyric from The River: "I'd pull her close just to feel each breath she'd take" while inhaling hers, and always murmur sweet nothings in English about how beautiful and wonderful she is to be with and how glad I am she seems happy with a feckless spending old guy like me. She always returns the favor with kisses and beautiful, feckless sounding Chinese. I don't know what she's saying, only probably that she's happy that she's found an old clueless foreign guy who will pay twice the price for her favors on a semi-regular basis. But I'm happy with the illusion and she also seems so.
Sometimes there's a second round. Sometimes not, but it doesn't seem to matter until there's a knock and bark at the door telling us that the hour is up. She hides the money I've given her so the owner doesn't know and we leave the room like nothing except a simple theraputic massage ever happened.


  ¶ 6:03 AM

  Chinese girls are so gentle/They're really such a tease

You never know quite what they're cookin'/Inside those silky sleeves-Jagger-Richards
I used to think that Mick was indulging in some crass stereotyping, but I am beginning to realize that he might have nailed it when it comes to Some Girls in China.
Four months and a few more women than that after arriving here I am only more confused when it comes to relationships. My adventures since New Year's Day pretty much sum it up.
Li-Li with whom I rang in the New Year is, as it turns out, married. Or at least it's a rather puzzled and angry sounding dude who answers the phone number she left me. Can't say I blame him. I'd be pissed, too, if a guy who doesn't speak my language called and asked for my wife. Needless to say, I've seen and heard nothing of her since.
Elaine - who inspired the original idea for this site - has turned into a low-grade nightmare. She sticks like industrial strength Velcro ("The Love Fiber of the '80s!") of her and I lack the cajones or won-tons and language skills to simply tell her to take a hike. I've already tried the "let's just be friends" approach to no avail. She's too nice to hurt, means well, believes our union is mandated by heaven and won't stop calling or showing up at the Lucky Number unannounced. I finally told her this morning that I'm leaving for the U.S. next week and don't know when I'll be back.
This cheap, spineless lie will no doubt come back to haunt me later.
Last weekend I woke up Saturday morning in the luxury apartment of a 30-something divorced travel agent and her 20-something niece. The travel agent also now believes our union is divinely inspired and wants to fly us to Beijing to meet the rest of the family, including her 12-year-old daughter who is in boarding school there. Based on our 18 or so hours together she's convinced that I'd not only make a perfect husband, but a wonderful step-dad. I just wish I had that much confidence in myself.
Then there's Sharry. She's close to perfect - speaks fluent English, has lived in Europe and Turkey and is unbelievably beautiful.
But there's a catch. Until Sunday, I hadn't seen her since late October. That's because she was in Finland trying to get custody of her 3-year-old half-Finnish son from her mentally ill, estranged husband. She says this international custody battle has been big in the Finnish press. I'd pretty much given up on her since she split with little notice, but then she began e-mailing me semi-regularly from the land of the ice and snow.
Upon her return, we made a date for dinner and the Shenzhen Daily sponsored symphony concert on Sunday. It was just a like a real date. We actually talked and laughed and held hands and kissed goodnight . And her appearance on my arm Sunday night caused the office gossip to go into overdrive Monday morning.
"Justin, was she your girlfriend? She is much different than the usual girls with foreigners."
No she's not. Just friends. But yeah. That's why I like her.
But Sharry's going back to Finland on the 18th for more court battles is and not sure when she'll return. Oh, did I mention that she's hinted that it might be nice if I could write a little story about her custody problems for the SZ Daily?.
Meanwhile, there's Sabrina - fluent English and just opened a coffee shop and English language reading room packed with books and magazines. Has lived in Paris and Germany and wants to go dancing some night.
I just wonder what the catch will be.  ¶ 1:51 AM