Chapter 2
651 Words
The night was aglow; the streets alive with the brilliance of myriad lights, the ceaseless flow of vehicles, and the bustling crowd. The boulevard shimmered like a rainbow.
Emerging from the coffee shop, Lu Youyan leaned casually against a streetlamp, her gaze fixed on the towering edifice across from the café. A slight smile played on her lips, harboring a small, secret joy within her heart.
Most residents of that building frequented this café named "Time," and from the bits of gossip shared by the staff, she would gather snippets of news about him, cherishing them in her heart. At night, back in her modest rented room, she would savor these tidbits. Insufficient to quell her longing, yet, it was something.
A month ago, she had made the wise decision to leave her job at the foreign trade company for this coffee shop.
"Mom, look over there, there's a strange lady. What's she laughing about all by herself?" A little boy tugged at his mother's pants, his eyes wide with curiosity.
"Child, that's rude. Let's go."
Youyan stuck out her tongue and made a funny face at the boy, who, startled, cried out and hid in his mother's arms, quickly moving away.
She clutched her small purse, continuing her little project of silly happiness.
Yes. She had been back in City G for three months now. Initially, she resumed her old trade at the trade company. After nearly two months, the order she was handling remained stagnant with no progress.
Frankie, that meticulous Jew, with his tradition of finding faults in perfection, had managed to pick out dozens of flaws in an already flawless sample, leaving one in awe of his scrutiny. After a long tug-of-war, just when they were about to finalize the bulk order, they hit a snag over payment methods. Frankie insisted on a letter of credit, while the manager was adamant about wire transfer. After much persuasion to settle the account via wire transfer, they couldn't agree on the deposit; Frankie would only pay 20%, while the manager demanded no less than 50%. The negotiations collapsed, stuck in limbo.
Even Mandy, her colleague, grew anxious for her, advising her to put that order aside and pursue other promising leads. Yet, Youyan seemed unfazed, maintaining her calm pace, her mind evidently elsewhere. It appeared that missing out on this month's bonus or even affecting her quarterly performance didn't bother her.
But how could Mandy understand, Youyan sighed softly. If certain events hadn't unfolded, she too would have worked with zeal, though she'd long decided not to be a career-driven woman burdened by life. However, one must seek to fulfill one's self-worth in this life. Sometimes, though, fate allows us no control.
Nevertheless, this back-and-forth had made her and Frankie quite familiar. Over afternoon tea, Youyan commented, "Your 'professionalism' is something I admire."
Frankie replied, "I admire your lack of professionalism even more."
Youyan's face fell, "Get lost!"
Laughing, Frankie said, "Yan, I heard you quit. Want to join my company?"
Youyan looked glum, "Go play elsewhere. Didn't you say I'm unprofessional?"
Frankie responded earnestly, "Do you know Arab men can marry four wives? I've got one from here, one from England, one from France, and I'm just missing one more - you?"
Youyan said, "Mr. F, order me a large special drink."
Frankie was puzzled, "Why?"
Youyan said, "To pour over you."
Frankie laughed, asking why again.
Youyan explained with gravity, "Even if I'm not professional, I haven't forgotten you're Jewish. Jews and Arabs are like water and fire. With three wives and you, you'd just make up a mahjong table; with four, you'd be the one serving tea."
Frankie burst into laughter, banging his head on the table. Youyan was left speechless; what could she say about such an eccentric character?
Returning to City G, befriending a peculiar Jew short one wife, wasn't so bad after all.
- Writer
