Stephanie Feagan - Run For The Money

Steve noticed my enthusiasm. He leaned close and said quietly, “Most men give flowers and jewelry. You get the Chinese ambassador.”

Startled, I looked into his dark Italian eyes. “You invited him just for me?”

He nodded and gave me a funny little crooked smile. “Now’s your chance to ask him about Mrs. Han and the China brides.”

That bizarre jumpy thing in my stomach morphed into a warm, intense feeling that was as foreign as Mr. Wu. I swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

His smile kicked up a notch. “You’re welcome.” He turned to greet Mr. Wu, then introduced him to me.

Wu’s English was perfect and we talked a great deal about the relief effort. After a while, I felt comfortable enough to ask him about something that had bothered me while I was in China. “I helped a survivor there, a pregnant woman named Mrs. Han, whose husband was killed. She was naturally very distraught, but it struck me as odd that the main cause of her distress was that she wanted to go home. The woman looked Asian, but not Chinese, and she spoke very little Chinese. It turned out her primary language was Russian. She told a story about being taken out of Siberia and brought to China as a bride. She said there are others like her, living in China, brought there to be wives to Chinese men because there’s such a shortage of females. I wondered if this is something the government sponsors.”

Mr. Wu looked shocked. His soup spoon clattered against his plate. “This woman, where can I find her?”

China clattered from behind the ambassador. I glanced back to see one of the waitstaff, a striking blond woman whose name tag read “Olga.” When she noticed me watching her, she quickly turned and headed for the kitchen.

I redirected my attention to Mr. Wu. “Unfortunately, while I was looking for a policeman to help us, she disappeared, and I was unable to locate her again.”

“This is most disturbing. Did she give you any indication who brought her into China?”

I shook my head. “As I said, she didn’t speak Chinese, and the woman who translated knew only rudimentary Russian. After Mrs. Han disappeared, the CERF contact in Beijing, Robert Wang, said it’s not uncommon for people to be disoriented after something like an earthquake.” Remembering the poor woman, her tear-streaked face, swollen belly and woeful dark eyes, I felt a knot form in my throat. Where was she now? And what of the others? Mrs. Han said she’d been brought into China with five other young women from her village in Siberia.

Watching Mr. Wu process the idea, I said, “During my visits to China I’ve been proposed to several times by men in search of a bride. There’s obviously a need for women.”

He relaxed a bit, darted a glance at Steve, then leveled his gaze at mine. “It is true that the female-to-male ratio in China is shrinking, which leaves many of our young men without the opportunity to marry. It’s an unfortunate result of our law allowing only one child in a family. Because of our custom that parents live with their son in their later years, a couple who has a son is assured of a home. Those with a daughter do not have that option.”

“Because a daughter goes to live with her husband’s family?”

He nodded. “Many women abandon their baby girls at birth, then try again until they have a son. Despite this, the one-child law is good, because without it, there would not be enough natural resources to support the population. The side effect is the shortage of females. I suspect that an enterprising person has been recruiting women from outside of China to fill the gap.”

Olga returned and collected our soup bowls. When she asked Mr. Wu if he was done, I noticed her heavy accent. I thought she sounded Russian. Of course, to my West Texas ears, anyone from an Eastern bloc country would probably sound Russian. And I did have Russia on the brain.

“Thank you for alerting me to this problem, Miss Pearl,” Mr. Wu said. “First thing tomorrow, I will contact someone who can look into this unfortunate business.”

“If you hear any word on Mrs. Han, I would very much appreciate the information.”

Olga hurried off with the tray of dirty soup bowls, then reappeared with the salad course. She set a plate in front of Steve, then looked a little flustered and snatched it away. He shot her a confused look, to which she smiled and mumbled an apology. “I have forgotten the garnish. Please excuse me.” Before he could protest, she turned, still clutching the salad tray. She stumbled as she rounded the table and one of the salads slid off the tray and into my lap.

It took a bit to clean up the mess—this in the midst of Mr. Wu tut-tutting and Steve glowering at Olga, who looked ready to run away. Or burst into tears. Feeling for her, I hastened to assure her there was no harm done.

“But, miss, you’ve spots on your pretty pink dress. Please, come to the kitchen and I will clean?”

I didn’t see much point. The dress was destined for the dry cleaner. But Olga was beside herself, and Steve looked uncharacteristically annoyed, so I followed her to the kitchen. Just as I suspected, club soda didn’t faze raspberry vinaigrette. I thanked her anyway, assured her it was quite all right and escaped back to the table.

As I took my seat, I noticed Mr. Wu’s forehead was wrinkled in concentration, his gaze fixed on a spot somewhere behind my shoulder. “Sir,” I said, “my apologies if what I said has upset you.”

He looked at me and shook his head. “Nothing of the kind, Miss Pearl. I am glad to have the information.”

When Olga returned with a fresh set of salads and set his before him, he picked up his fork and started eating. He seemed upset, and even though I was relieved to know he would do something to investigate the China brides, I felt guilty for bringing it up.

He ran a finger along the inside of his collar as though it was too tight, then gave me a weak smile. “This earthquake is a bad, bad thing. So many homeless, and so many without families. It will take many years to recover fully. Thank you for helping my country.”

“You’re welcome, Ambassador Wu. I’m glad to be of any help, especially because I’m very fond of China and her people.”

After all the salads had been served, the conversation turned to other topics.

The ambassador’s attention was on the guest to his left, and Steve said under his breath, “You’re fantastic.”

“Not hardly. Just nosy.”

He smiled at someone down the table, then his gaze moved to my cleavage, then to my eyes. “Nice dress, Pink. Even with salad dressing.”

“Thank you.” My stomach started that weird jumpy thing again. Oh, man. My first bite of salad didn’t go down well, so I set aside the fork and concentrated on the wine.

“Now that the finance committee is adjourned for a while, I’ll have a lot more free time. You’ve been here two weeks and I’ve only been able to see you twice.”

“I’m pretty busy myself, Steve.” And I was about to be a lot busier, searching for the rotten dog who set me up. I wondered what Steve would think about it, and how he’d feel about marrying me if he knew I could potentially ruin all future political races. Even if I didn’t intend to marry him, I wanted us to be friends, and I prayed all over again that the culprit would be nailed before anyone else found out about it. Even being friends with Steve would be impossible if word got out about the bank account with my name on it, and five hundred thousand of CERF’s dollars deposited in it.

“Is something wrong?”

I gave him a reassuring smile. “Not at all. And you’re right, it will be nice to spend some time together.”

Olga appeared at my elbow and pointed at my plate. “The salad is wrong?”