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Chapter 1: O’Hare
“Welcome to O’Hare International Airport. Please do not leave luggage unattended in the terminal. For departures…”
Hua Ling must have heard the same droning announcement dozens of times waiting for her bag at the carousel. The crowds of fellow Chinese tourists from her flight had cleared, no doubt already halfway to their fancy hotels in The Loop, and now Hua Ling was nearly alone, save for a few other desperate tourists who were about to feel the pain of losing their luggage in a foreign country.
Hua Ling anxiously wiped her brow. Her skin stung from the dryness that follows fourteen hours cramped in economy class. A nice airport employee took pity on her and took down her contact info, but she knew her chances were slim. Starved, exhausted, and frustrated, Hua resigned herself to never see her luggage again.
This wasn’t how she planned to spend her 30th birthday.
Ever since her teenage years, Hua had imagined a very different life for herself. By 30, she would be a thought-leader in her field, well-off, and, of course, a strong and proud mother. Unfortunately, reality fell short.
Hua worked exceptionally hard in her studies, learning English as a teenager and even attending undergrad at the prestigious University of Chicago. Upon returning to China, her status as a pretty, well-educated, bilingual woman set her on a sharp upward trajectory, at least at first. Political changes in China, an increasingly crowded job market, and the coronavirus pandemic had arrested her career growth. Every day it looked more and more like these powers beyond her control would form a permeant glass ceiling that she could never overcome.
With such intense focus on her studies and career, dating and relationships fell by the wayside. It wasn’t that Hua didn’t like boys — she had a few crushes in her UChicago days — but she just couldn’t find the time to make them a priority. School, work, and friends always got in the way. At 30, Hua still hadn’t even had her first kiss.
“When are you going to get married?” had become the go-to question from her parents whenever she visited. On the bright side, Hua found her parents’ sliding scale of requirements for a suitor amusing; when she was younger they insisted she marry a rich Chinese man who could attend to all her needs. As time went on, their standards progressively dropped until finally settling on “just marry somebody so we can have grandkids.”
Their greatest fear, of course, was that Hua would become a so-called shèng nu or “Leftover Woman”. In China, women who didn’t fulfill their ultimate purpose in life — marrying men — were referred to derogatorily as “leftover,” as if they were the past-prime uneaten food that satisfied diners threw in the fridge in an overnight ritual that almost always ended in the trashcan. Hua found the term sexist and offensive but couldn’t deny that her prospects for love were rapidly dwindling. The only men available were eirher an inappropriate family match, old creeps, or just too young to date seriously.
Rather than spend her 30th with an intrusively inquisitive and increasingly desperate family, Hua decided to get away from it all and spend a month in her old stomping grounds in Chicago with her best friend from college Eva. Despite being a world apart, Hua and Eva managed to stay in regular contact and keep up with each other’s lives. Even still, the two women hadn’t seen each other for years. It had been so long that Hua had never met Eva’s new husband Marcos.
“Excuse me ma’am, that’s everything from flight 957. We’ll give you a call when we track down your bag.” The nice airport employee had returned. Hua’s face sank in the realization that for the next month she might have nothing but her backpack the clothes on her back.
“I’m sorry, honey,” the nice woman frowned, showing an empathy Hua found uncommon in Americans. “I’m sure it’ll turn up. We’ll call you.”
“Thanks,” Hua replied faintly.
Hua made her way outside the terminal from the baggage claim area. As the automatic doors opened, Hua was bit by the familiar sting of a Chicago winter evening. Reflexively, Hua reached down to her suitcase to pull out her heavy coat only to remember that it and her bag were probably thousands of miles away.
Hula walked along the road parallel to the terminal until she reached the taxi stand. Barricades snaked back and forth along the sidewalk creating a large, winding, and thankfully empty line. One silver lining of waiting so long for a bag that never came was that all the passengers from her flight were long gone. After walking back and forth through the winding path, Hua found herself second in line behind two men who were traveling together.
Shivering in the winter cold, Hua pulled her arms into her sweater and rubbed her shoulders for warmth.
“If you need someone to warm you up just say so,” one of the men ahead of her said, snickering. He turned to face Hua, turning his back to the road and the front of the line. His companion looked up from bursa escort his phone and scanned Hua’s body from head to toe.
“Mm mm mm what a tight ass,” the second man added. “I’ll get you under the covers baby.”
Hua stayed silent, hoping they would lose interest.
“Are you one of those ‘me love you long time’ types?” the first man asked.
“She probably doesn’t speak English dude. Shame too cuz that ass is fiiiiine. Boobs are a little flat though,” the second man responded.
Four years as a student in Chicago acclimated Hua to such vulgar language. No doubt these men were picturing unspeakable acts with her body. Hua hid her anger and embarrassment well, still clinging to hope they would just get in their cab and go.
“Pfft, so what if she doesn’t speak English?. Passion knows no bounds bro. She can learn English later,” the first man said. As he finished speaking, he raised his chest and started towards Hua.
“Yeah, sure, first she’ll get your dick wet then take English classes to figure out what the fuck you’re saying,” the second man said, a twinge of sarcasm in his voice.
Hua couldn’t take it anymore.
“I really appreciate your offer to reach me English!” Hua replied, in an exaggerated, sweet tone. “I have a Bachelors Degree in Economics and a minor in English literature so whatever you teach me should build on top of that.”
“Yoooooooooooo!” the second man exclaimed, clapping his hands and laughing.
“Ooooh you’re a feisty one! I love a girl who talks back,” the first man responded. “I’ll build on top of you, I’ll build on top of you all fucking night long.”
“Ey, you two want a cab, you get in the cab!” A loud booming voice came from inside the taxi attendants booth. A middle-aged black man in a yellow vest sat inside, staring daggers at the two men. From his accent, Hua could tell he wasn’t American and probably emigrated from Africa. Hua had the pleasure to work with a few African colleagues at her job. China’s recent investments in Africa had brought many Africans to China and, like many other Chinese children, Hua had been taught to never forget the bond forged between China and Africa when African countries were among the first to recognize the legitimacy of The People’s Republic of China.
“We’re just waiting for our friend here,” the first man said, pointing at Hua. “She’s coming with us.”
“No, cab driver waving at you now for five minutes. You said two people, you get cab for two people. You two go now,” the taxi attendant insisted. The two men stated at each other, then at Hua. Swearing under his breath and throwing his arms in the air in resignation, the first man kicked his suitcase towards the waiting taxi. The two men threw their bags in the trunk and opened the door to the backseat.
“Why you gotta be such an asshole? I had a shot with her,” the second man asked incredulously. Their cab sped away into the night.
“Sorry about that,” the attendant said. “Some people in this country? Crazy. But not everyone is bad.Where you going?”
Hua smiled. “Thanks.”
She pulled out her phone and opened the note with Eva’s address. The attendant glanced at it for a second then typed into his hand terminal. The terminal clicked rapidly, printing a small receipt.
“Give this to your driver. Stay safe, ah.”
Chapter 2: The Loop
Hua knew that Eva and her husband were well-off, but nothing said it more than the lobby of their apartment building. Located in the center of Chicago’s Loop, the luxury apartment building had all the modern amenities and creature comforts the upper-class expected in a condo: doormen, a gym, a pool, a business center, and more.
The tinted automatic doors of the lobby parted for Hua, revealing an opulent lobby with pristine marble surfaces and a large glass chandelier. At the center of the large lobby sat a circular black wooden kiosk covered in phone receivers and computer monitors.
Wearing a homely sweater and a backpack, Hua felt out of place, as if she were pretending to be rich just by walking through the lobby.
“Yes, can I help you?” The voice came from behind one of the monitors on the kiosk. Behind it sat an older man of Eastern European descent. His thick Russian accent gave it away. His platformed hat and fancy suit sat impeccably on his head and shoulders. One had to look perfect to work here.
“I’m here to see Eva in the penthouse…” Hua trailed off, not quite believing her words. Did her best friend really live in a Penthouse? How had their lives diverged such that Eva had it all — a career, a husband, and a Penthouse — while Hua had accomplished so little?
“Eva? I don’t know Eva? Maybe you have wrong building? Student rentals across the street maybe?” The man stood up, raised his arm to point outside, and motioned Hua towards the door.
Hua pulled out her cellphone to triple check the address. This was the right place.
“No, I’m not looking for any student housing. My friend Eva lives with her husband Marcos at this address. In the görükle escort penthouse.” Hua held out her phone for the doorman to read.
“Ooohh, Mr. Marcos. Why didn’t you say so?” The doorman lifted a phone receiver and pressed a few buttons. “Your name?”
“Hua … Hua Ling”
The doorman raised his finger to her face as if telling her to be quiet.
“Mr. Marcos, you have a Waaah here.” Hua sighed, she was long used to foreigners mispronouncing her name.
A deep voice spoke through the receiver but the words were too garbled for Hua to make out.
“No, she told me Waaah,” the doorman replied.
The deep voice responded again. The doorman’s brow furrowed in frustration.
“I send her up.” He slammed down the receiver.
“If I ask your name you tell me real answer. I get confused because you don’t say it right,” the doorman said, lashing out to cover his mistake. Hua was too exhausted to argue the pronunciation of her own name.
Hua walked across the lobby past the kiosk over to the bank of elevators. To her surprise, there was no up button. Instead, a panel that resembled a telephone dial pad was situated between the elevators. Hua stared blankly at the panel.
The doorman let out an angry grunt, accompanied by some unintelligible words under his breath. “You press floor you want to go to. Mr. Marcos is on floor thirty. Type 3-0. You understand, THREE ZERO?”
The doorman may have sounded foreign but he had clearly adopted the American tradition of raising ones voice when speaking to people from other countries as if shouting could break the language barrier. Hua thought of a few mean retorts but kept them to herself. Lashing out at the aggressive bros in the taxi line was her act of defiance for the evening.
She typed 30 on the keypad and the door opened. “30, like me,” she thought, enjoying the coincidence.
The interior of the elevator was as ornate as the lobby. Mirrors flanked both sides of the car, creating an endless sea of reflections. The panels on the back of the car were made of a smooth white wood that matched seamlessly with the white marble floor. As the door closed, Hua glared right at the doorman. “Do svidaniya!” she yelled. It was the only Russian she could remember. She couldn’t help herself.
Hua’s backpack sat heavy on her shoulder as the car quickly accelerated upward. Hua shut her eyes contemplating the unsavory encounters she had even just since getting off the plane. This wasn’t the Chicago in her memory. Had she been looking back on her time here with rose-colored glasses or had the city really changed for the worse? Hua’s thoughts were interrupted by two loud beeps. The elevator scaled the height of the building seemingly instantly.
“Thirty, going down,” the elevator automated system announced. Hua stepped off the elevator, turning the words of the announcement around in her head. Would her life trajectory match the downward descent of this elevator or was there something more waiting for her?
Hua stepped out into a small hallway, no more than ten feet long. On either side, cold blue light poured in from the building’s staircases. The only other door was a large white door marked PH. The door flew open.
“Ling Hua, you’re here!” A Chinese woman emerged from the door, greeting Hua loudly in Mandarin according to the Chinese custom of using Hua’s family name first. It was Eva.
At 5’1″, Eva was still as short as Hua remembered. Eva had always been small, even for an Asian girl. Hua was a modest 5’4″ but still towered over her friend.
Despite her smaller stature, Eva was a firecracker. Fully immersed in American culture since middle school, Eva had no difficulties making friends and finding dates in college. Whereas Hua felt an insurmountable awkwardness around Americans, Eva seemed to fit right in. She had fully embraced the culture in a way Hua felt she never could.
Eva emerged from the doorway, ran to Hua, and threw her arms around her. After such a shitty day, Hua was relieved to see a familiar face.
“I am so glad you’re here. Come in, COME IN!” Eva gently nudged Hua toward the door with her right hand while reaching down to grab Hua’s suitcase with her left. Of course, there was nothing there.
“They lost my bag,” Hua murmured.
“Oh nooooo! Don’t worry I’ll lend you some of my stuff. Tomorrow we can go shopping but right now come in!, Don’t just stand there!” Eva was as friendly as ever.
As Hua stepped into the apartment, she was struck by the incomparable view of the Chicago skyline. Even though the lights in the apartment were dimmed, the glow of the skyline poured in through floor-to-ceiling windows that made up the entire skin of the apartment.To her left, a large kitchen area huffed against a row of windows. If one were doing the dishes, they could look out over the West side of The Loop and beyond to West Chicago. To her right was a large living room. A large, sleek sectional couch wrapped around a stylish glass table. Behind the couch sat escort bayan a large dark wooden table akin to a Viking long table. By Hua’s estimate, they could seat twenty people if they wanted to. The large windows behind the table raced to the Northeast. From her position in the entryway, Hua could even see Navy Pier, one of her favorite college hangouts.
Hua turned to walk towards the magnificent view. Thud. Hua felt her face slam into some kind of hard and warm cloth. She froze, too fatigued to think clearly. Two large arms grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back gently. As she moved away, the warm cloth zoomed out to the clothed chest of Eva’s husband Marcos.
Standing at over six feet tall, Marcos towered over both women. Marcos’ face wasn’t conventionally handsome but he had a smile that could infect a room. His arms and legs were large and muscular, owing to the freedom be had to spend all day every day bettering himself. Born in Spain, Marcos came to the United States in 2011 to study Civil Engineering. On a lark, a college buddy convinced him to throw a few hundred bucks into a little-known cryptocurrency called Bitcoin. Marcos forgot about the flash drive containing his wallet for ten years before discovering at the height of the pandemic, selling out at $60k per coin, and setting him and his new wife up for ten lifetimes.
Some people just have all the luck.
“You must be Hua, welcome!” Marcos said excitedly. Ten years in America hadn’t totally ruined his Spanish accent. “I see you met Igor downstairs. Sorry about that.” Marcos put on a playful frown. “Can I bring your bag to the guest room?”
“It’s missing,” both women responded in unison.
“Oh no! Sounds like you had a rough day,” Marcos remarked, now frowning for real. He walked across the entry way to the kitchen, reached down under the counter, and emerged with a bottle of red wine. “Your vacation officially starts now.”
Marcos beckoned Hua and Eva over to the luxurious sectional as he lined up three glasses on the countertop.He shook the bottle in his hand gently.
“Vintage 1993, just like me,” Marcos said, smiling. As Marcos poured, Hua pushed his words around in her head.
“1993 … so you’re younger than we are? You’re only 28?” Hua spoke as if she discovered something inappropriate. In Chinese culture it was unusual for younger men to date older women. While a culture of over a billion people isn’t monolithic, most Chinese men preferred their women young and innocent. With Marcos’ money he could have any woman he wanted. It was strange he would choose to be with Eva, a woman several years his senior.
“Hey that’s not fair. I’m still 27, but besides, age is just a number, right?” Marcos handed Hua and Eva each a full glass of wine, filled far higher than one would ever get in a restaurant. “When two people really click, it doesn’t matter how old anyone is.” Marcos smiled and clicked Hua’s glass with his own, timing it precisely with his wording.
“So what happened today? Do you want to talk about it?” Eva asked, frowning compassionately.
Hua started speaking quickly, recounting the days events in Mandarin.
Marcos interrupted. “Hey, uh, can we stick to English? My Chinese is still …uh, how you say … bu hao?”
“Sorry babe, old habits.” Eva apologized. Hua nodded and restarted in English. She recalled the annoying kid on her flight, her bag that never arrived, the men who accosted her at the taxi stand, and finally her run in with the doorman. By the end of her story she had more than half finished her wine generous helping of wine.
“That’s so awful. I’m so sorry that happened to you,” Marcos said, frowning once again.
“Don’t let those assholes ruin your trip Ling Hua,” Eva added. “Now you’re here and you can relax and have fun with us! You will be the center of attention.”
Hug’s face turned bright red from a combination of the alcohol and embarrassment. She has been raised to put others before herself; she wasn’t accustomed to others taking care of her.
“I hope I’m not causing you trouble,” Hua said, a troubled quiver in her tone.
“No, no, not at all!” Marcos insisted. “We’re so glad to have you.”
*******
Later in the evening, Hua stepped into the guest bathroom that Eva and Marcos had prepared for her. The far wall of the room was another floor-to-ceiling window. The toilet sat next to the window in case one wanted to use the facilities while looking out over Lake Michigan. Across from the toilet, still along the window, sat a sleek metal sink with a smart mirror that displayed the time, weather, and even local news stories.
Hua shut the door behind her and started to lift up her shirt. She paused for a moment, remembering the window. She tapped a small button on the wall behind the toilet. With a soft clicking sound, the pane of the windows instantly became translucent, allowing light and colors to pass through but obscuring any details. Hua was glad Eva mentioned this.
Hua walked up to the shower and puzzled momentarily how to use it. Like everything else in this apartment it was too “smart” for its own good. There was no handle or gauge, just a touch pad with a slider from red to blue. Hua tapped three-quarters of the way toward the red side.