Mark Gilleo - Sweat

The doctor went to the huge storage room and unlocked the door. He turned on the light and dug through the shelves of medical equipment and medication. Wei Ling could hear the soft clanking of glass and the squeaking of the metal shelves. The doctor reappeared with a small box, sat down on the stool at the side of Wei Ling’s bed, and told her what to do.

The initial pregnancy test read positive. A second test was administered and the results came up negative. The doctor drew blood and marked the small glass vial with Wei Ling’s name. He would take the blood to the hospital and settle the “pregnant, not-pregnant” confusion once and for all. His instincts told him the girl was pregnant. The blood test would confirm what Wei Ling already knew. She was as regular as clockwork and had missed her period by ten days and counting. There was nothing to do but pray for a miracle.

The doctor told Wei Ling to get some sleep and ordered a day of rest. Lee Chang agreed to one day. She was expected back at work tomorrow.

Lee Chang and Chow Ying finished wolfing down a lunch of stir-fried rice when the doctor called back with the official prognosis. Wei Ling was pregnant.

Lee Chang went ballistic.

Chang Industries’ seamstresses were kept on a tight leash. They were forbidden to fall in love, much less become pregnant. Trips off the company grounds were limited to groups of four, with a company-sponsored chaperone. But the workers were creative, a blind eye could be bought with the right favors, and once in a great while a seamstress showed up pregnant.

Lee Chang would handle it as he always did. There would be a dock in pay and the seamstress would have an abortion whether she wanted one or not. The cost of the abortion would be added to the seamstress’s overall debt to the Chang family.

Lee Chang and Chow Ying stormed into the infirmary. With a level of anger reserved for the most blatant company infractions, Lee Chang approached the side of the bed and violently shook Wei Ling from her light sleep.

“Who is the father?”

“What?” Wei Ling answered, still groggy.

“Who is the father?”

Wei Ling didn’t answer.

Lee Chang slapped her on the face, his thumb catching the corner of her mouth, drawing blood. An immediate red impression of four fingers appeared on her otherwise unblemished skin.

“You should know, you sent me,” Wei Ling said, breaking into tears.

“Peter Winthrop? Is Mr. Winthrop the only man you have been with? If it’s one of the company guards, you had better tell me now. I’ll find out eventually anyway.”

Wei Ling looked up at Lee Chang’s face. A vein pulsed visible in his forehead. Her hatred for him was justified, and yet somehow she felt sorry for him. He was more than just cruel. He ruled with an iron fist because he wasn’t smart enough to rule with his head. He was a bastard, but he was also pathetic, hopelessly lost in a family of brilliant businessmen and politicians.

“I didn’t sleep with Mr. Winthrop,” she said, tears of shame rolling down her face. “I slept with the other American.”

“Senator Day?” Lee asked, looking first at Wei Ling and then at Chow Ying.

The word “senator” caught Wei Ling by surprise. She looked at Lee Chang’s face, his anger now mixed with excitement.

“I only knew his name was John.”

Lee Chang’s heart beat faster. His throat became dry and he felt faint. He was delirious with possibilities. He may have been the low-man on the family totem pole, but he was cunning enough to see the opportunity lying in the bed in front of him.

Lee Chang’s personality thawed, and Wei Ling heard him speak with compassion for the first time in her two years on the island. “It’s okay,” he said, touching the crying girl’s head. Wei Ling flinched and then pushed herself to the far side of the mattress.

“Get some rest,” Lee Chang continued. “Everything will be fine.”

Lee Chang stepped outside, pulled out a cigarette with shaking hands, and lit up. Chow Ying followed his boss through the door and pulled out his own almond-flavored brand of domestic Chinese smokes.

The child of a U.S. Senator! Lee Chang couldn’t believe his luck. What an opportunity! To hell with blackmail for money. He had much bigger plans. The girl was his ticket off the island.

Chapter 5

Jake flipped the business card through his fingers with the skill of a street magician. He batted the pros and cons of what he was considering back and forth in his head like a tennis ball going over the net at Wimbledon. He shut his eyes and opened them a minute later, no wiser. He looked up and said a prayer both to God and his mother, asking for guidance. He waited another minute, still looking upward, but received no heavenly intervention. No parting clouds. No rays of light. He picked up his phone and called the number.

No answer.

He left a message on his father’s voicemail and hung up. The ball’s in your court , he thought. He didn’t expect a call back. He had stopped waiting by the phone when he was seven. “Expect nothing and you won’t be surprised when you receive nothing,” he had learned. Defense mechanisms come in many forms.

The phone was still in Jake’s hand when it rang. For the first time in two decades, his father had returned his call. He looked up at the ceiling, and for a moment he thought he felt his mother’s presence. Miracles do happen.

“Hi, Dad.”

His father mustered up his friendliest greeting and before the conversation could stall, Jake laid his request on the table. “Say, any chance of getting a job at your company for the summer?”

Peter Winthrop managed not to choke on the request. Without his normal, careful consideration, he answered. “Sure. How does tomorrow suit you?” ***

The weekly Monday morning call was not a highlight for either Lee Chang or his father, the great C.F. Chang. Their conversation steered clear of friendly banter, family chitchat, and gossip, and when Lee did venture off topic, his father quickly brought him back to business. What was the weekly output of the facility per employee? What orders were next to be filled? How many units were shipped? Lee Chang had learned to answer the questions with precision. He knew the numbers of the business under his control. It was the one thing he absolutely had to know. He didn’t plan on being banished to Saipan forever. He once believed that knowing his corner of the family business was his best chance off the island. But no longer. Wei Ling and her not-so-immaculate conception were going to expedite his return to favorable-son status.

C.F. Chang was the patriarch of the family and one of the most well-connected men in China. He prided himself on knowing everything that could affect his many businesses. He paid good money to smart people at home and abroad to keep him informed, and had no tolerance for surprises. With a billion dollars a year generated in manufacturing, defense, communications, and utilities, he couldn’t afford to be asleep behind the wheel. So between his own ambition, and that of those he hired, he never slept.

The head of the family empire was not interested in listening to his son’s big announcement, and he grew impatient as Lee explained the visit from the U.S. Senator weeks ago. C.F. Chang already knew about the senator’s trip to the island, and he didn’t want to have the facts rehashed through his son’s warped perception. Confident his son couldn’t possibly tell him anything he wasn’t already aware of, C.F. Chang nearly missed the single biggest surprise of his adult life.

Lee Chang held his breath as his father digested the news. A thousand miles away, C.F. Chang stared into the picture of his own father hanging on the far wall of his office in Beijing. Then he spoke. “Keep this quiet and keep that girl healthy.”