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  “No,” asserted Olivia and Abby almost simultaneously.

  “That is one thing we can’t capitalize on,” said Olivia. “Absolutely no one can know our backgrounds.”

  Queenie shook her head. “You make my life so hard. Okay, okay. Then just get me some of your dough from the estate and I’ll work magic with that.”

  The two girls could feel the brass ring slipping away. “We don’t have it,” said Olivia. “We gave it away to start a charity that helps kids out.”

  To the stunned amazement of the two Hong Kongers, Queenie’s voice sparkled enthusiasm. “That’s even better. I love kids and want to build and guide careers. There are great schools out there but to get out of cookie cutter music, you got to go the school of hard knocks or ‘Real World University.’ Why can’t we have a music lab where the instructors are the people that play here or at Birdland or the Vanguard? Why can’t I take them into a world class recording studio instead of them trying to do everything in their basements or in their bedrooms? We can train them and then maybe take a piece of the action. Anyways, that’s my vision for the New Amsterdam Arts Center. Can I talk to you about your charity to get some funding?”

  Olivia clenched her jaw. “My ex is running it. And I ran from him. It’s a non-starter.”

  “Just give him a call and ask him to listen to me or, better still, get him here to see firsthand what we’re up to.”

  “He’s pitched by everybody,” said Olivia, shaking her head. “And he’s the last person I want to see. Not to mention I’m the last person he’d do anything for.”

  “So you have no money, no family connections, no following, no social media presence, you’re old by music standards to be starting off, and too proud to make a phone call.”

  Queenie stood up and hoisted her crimson feathered bag over her shoulder. “Have a nice life.”

  “Wait,” called out Olivia, hoping she wasn’t going to regret it but knowing this was her best shot. “I’ll call.”

  11

  Reel the Sucker In

  Shanghai

  Shanghai

  Back inside the room with Sam and JJ, Noah listened closely to Dr. Pang’s diagnosis.

  “Sam seems to be doing fine. EKG shows no problems with heart rate, heart rhythm, or the heart’s blood and oxygen supply. MRI of his brain shows no issues with blood flow or the vessels, brain or nerve tissues. All his wounds are surface wounds that are healing well.”

  As Noah felt an overwhelming rush of relief for his young charge, Sam rasped, “That means, Doc, I’m good to go. I can get out of here?”

  “Not quite yet, Sam,” replied Dr. Pang. “I just want to observe a little longer.”

  “I’m going nuts here,” complained Sam. “You guys hate me. I want to leave now.”

  “At least we know he’s better now,” chuckled JJ. “His mouth’s moving and he’s complaining.”

  “Hey, Dr. Pang. How long is ‘a little longer’?”

  “A few days minimum. A week at most.”

  Before Sam could reply, Noah’s cell phone rang. He was going to send it to voicemail, then glanced at the caller ID, then reluctantly picked up. Forcing himself to be positive, he said in a friendly voice, “Hey, Olivia. Nice to hear from you. How’s New York treating you?”

  “Things are fabulous. Got an apartment with a view and we just got our first gig. We’re playing at Café du Music in Greenwich Village in two nights! Anybody who’s anybody for the last hundred years has played here.”

  Noah replied enthusiastically. “Very, very cool. I wish I could be there to see you, but there’s a ton of paperwork that’s staring at me.”

  “Actually, I was hoping you might come. It’s really special. We’ve got a fifteen-minute showcase and need all the support we can get.”

  “Yeah? You really want me to come?” asked Noah, a glimmer of hope beginning to appear on his face.

  “Of course! You are a very dear friend.”

  Olivia spoke loud enough that Sam, Dr. Pang and JJ could overhear. Sam vigorously nodded, “Go!”

  Noah waved the pesky teenager off. Olivia’s choice of words hardly sounded like an invitation to re-connect. He answered lackadaisically, “I’ll see what the flights are like. And I also have to check my schedule. You know what that’s like.”

  “I’d appreciate that... But another thing, Noah. Things haven’t changed between us...you know. It was just...I want you to be here.”

  “Of course. Good friends and all that.” Talk about crash and burn. Noah couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice.

  “I also want you to meet someone. We might be doing some business together. I want an outside opinion and I trust your judgment.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.” Unconvincing couldn’t begin to describe Noah’s tone.

  “Noah, don’t be like that. This is the biggest performance I’ve ever done. Please try to make it.”

  “Like I said, we’ll see. Gotta get back to my meeting. Good talking to you.” Noah ended the call abruptly, then tilted his gaze to the ceiling. “I need a fifteen-hour plane ride to New York like I need a root canal… I’m not going to go. I’m not going to jump just because Olivia said to jump.”

  Sam drawled, “Duh, so why did you lie and say you’d think about it?”

  Noah’s eyes thrust daggers at the teen. “It was the only way to shut her up. She would never have stopped unless I said that.”

  JJ, although silent, had carefully evaluated and digested the whole conversation. Noah was a terrible actor and an open book. Despite his tepid unenthusiastic response, JJ knew that Noah missed Olivia terribly and just needed the right buttons to be pushed. He decided to tell a little lie—another example of how the former Shaolin monk had left his righteous world behind.

  “I’d like to go to New York. It’s the center of the universe. I’d be happy to go with you.”

  “Not any more, JJ. Stuff’s happening everywhere now,” argued Noah.

  “Noah, you keep telling me to expand my horizons. I want to go to the United States, especially New York.”

  Noah crossed his arms. “You’d hate it. Too dirty. Not safe. Subways are overcrowded. Cabs are impossible…”

  JJ interrupted. “Why not let me decide for myself? I’ve only seen it on the internet and I think it’s fascinating. Statue of Liberty, Empire State Building, Carnegie Hall, 9/11 Memorial, the best bagels in the world.”

  “A statue is a statue and those buildings are old…has-beens. And bagels are just white flour carbs and calories.”

  JJ’s voice softened. “A statue is not just a statue, My mother’s brother helped build the Goddess of Democracy. I want to honor his memory.”

  Noah suddenly understood why JJ wanted to go to New York. The Goddess of Democracy, made of foam and papier-mâché, was inspired by New York’s Statue of Liberty and built by the idealistic students during the Tiananmen Square protests in 1989. From JJ’s solemnity, it was clear that JJ’s uncle was one of the victims of the massacre. “You’re killing me, man. Okay, okay, we’ll go.”

  Sam chortled. “How about me? You need me.”

  Both JJ and Noah chorused together, “No.”

  Noah added, “Definitely not going to take any chances with you.”

  “Come on, guys. Please?” begged Sam. “And I won’t get sick.”

  Noah picked up a pillow and gently hit Sam over the head with it. “Even if you promised to behave, I saw your report card. Try passing a few classes first.”

  Sam stuck his tongue out at him.

  He turned to JJ. “We gotta blitz if we’re going to make it to New York for the show.” Noah didn’t want to admit it but he really wanted to see Olivia’s New York debut and knew he was just being petty.

  New York

  Olivia’s phone dinged—a text message arrived. “Will be there tomorrow. Checking flights now. Please send details.”

  Abby gave Olivia the thumbs up and a ‘I knew he’d come’ look. “Didn’t I tell y
ou? Come on, admit it. I was right .”

  Queenie got up from the table. “Great news. Now, excuse me. Got another meeting now with the owner of this musical institution. See you tomorrow night.”

  “Thanks for everything, Queenie,” said Olivia.

  “It’s going to be great for all of us.”

  Queenie entered Café du Music’s office where Benjamin awaited her behind a huge mahogany desk. It hadn’t moved from the center of the room since his great grandfather Abraham brought it in a century ago. A ton of deals had been done there—musicians’ contracts, rental contracts with the tenants above the club, booze deals from Canada during Prohibition.

  She tossed her boa, revealing a hint of breast under her sheer top, then plopped herself on the long, soft, brown leather couch where other kinds of transactions she hinted at were consummated. “I want you to close off the club to outsiders for the showcase.”

  “Are you insane? That’s a New York tradition. I’ll get crucified if I do that.”

  “It’ll still be a showcase night but I want to bring in my own people for the audience. They’ll buy a ton of food and drinks,” promised Queenie. “And won’t that be a great promo for you? That you had to shut the club down because there were too many people wanting to get in? That sounds pretty damned good.”

  “We get coverage from all the blogs, magazines and newspapers, not to mention the actors, producers, directors and musicians wanting to check out the new hot product. If we don’t let them in, my ass’ll be grass.”

  Playing hard to get was Benjamin’s strategy. Both he and Queenie knew he would do it. The only question was how many pounds of her flesh he could extract.

  “I think you’d rather make money than trying to suck up to all the freeloaders in the media. They don’t pay cover; they don’t pay for drinks…”

  “Yeah, but if I don’t, they’ll plaster their blogs and papers with nasty reviews. Can’t do it, Queenie.”

  “I hear you.” With a sudden deft motion, Queenie reached into her purse, pulled out a sharpened crane beak and whisked it by Benjamin’s head, missing his ear by less than half an inch. “It’s easier for me to kill you than for a fat man to break a diet at a cruise ship buffet. Now, you are going to block it off for me, right?”

  Benjamin quaked at the near miss. “Okay, okay. You got it.”

  Queenie relaxed. “Good. Now, because you’re playing nice, I’m going to give you an opportunity to become my business partner. I got a shitload of Southeast Asian hard candy arriving in a month. It’s an easy triple bagger.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “There is no catch. I need bridge financing. A million and a half. You know I’m good for the money.”

  Benjamin’s hands twitched involuntarily—he was interested. Queenie traveled in elite circles. She often came by the club with serious players who rang up huge tabs of ten thousand dollars or more. They always paid cash. “Why me? You got lots of others you could tap.”

  “Because, Benji, those horn dogs always attach conditions that include my putting up with their BO, bad breath and bulbous, flabby asses. You, on the other hand, couldn’t give a rat’s ass about getting your mitts on mine. You and I are strictly business.”

  “I don’t keep that kind of coin around.”

  “I’ll take a hundred and fifty now and the rest by the end of the week.”

  Benjamin’s hands escalated from twitching to trembling. He got up and walked to the painting of his grandfather on the wall. He removed the painting, revealing a safe. As he dialed the combination lock, he asked, “How did you know I’m gay?”

  “Easy. You didn’t even blink when I flashed my tits.”

  As the club owner took the bundles of cash and brought them to his desk, Queenie got up and plopped herself in front of the piles of currency and began a quick and efficient counting.

  “Come on, Queenie. You don’t need to do that. You can trust me.”

  “The word ‘trust’ is not in my vocabulary. You can thank my old man for that,” replied Queenie as she put the piles of cash into her crane feather bag.

  It was a good thing that Benjamin couldn’t read minds. Otherwise, he would have found out that Queenie had no intention of paying him back…and that the hard candy she spoke about was sitting at the bottom of the ocean somewhere.

  12

  No Longer a Monk

  Shanghai

  The taxi carrying Noah and JJ stopped outside Shaolin Paradise, the venerable complex that was part theme park, part spiritual center. Where monks broke boards with their heads alongside monks chanting Buddhist scriptures; where it was just as easy to get a plate of vegetarian noodles as it was to get a bowl of beef brisket.

  This was also where Noah first met JJ who, as a sentry, guided Noah and his group to Heaven, the isolated Shaolin monastery in the Yellow Mountains.

  “You know we’re under a tight schedule,” complained Noah as the two exited the cab.

  “We’re going to New York and I need to dress for the occasion,” replied JJ as he broke into a run, scurrying through the entrance, past food stalls and souvenir shops, then stopped at a garment shop that sold martial arts clothing.

  JJ automatically chose the traditional orange cotton robe of the Shaolin, went into the dressing room, then came out.

  “Looks okay,” shrugged Noah. “You look very…‘monkish.’ But New York has the Dalai Lama visiting and hordes of Buddhist monasteries so to choose a traditional uniform is nothing special.”

  Noah walked to another clothes bin and chose an imperial blue uniform with the Chinese characters ‘Hung Gar” emblazoned in gold. “This is impressive. Try this on.”

  When JJ hesitated, Noah encouraged, “Trust me.”

  JJ entered the changing room. This time, it took two minutes before he exited. Standing tall, he looked regal, even majestic. “This is awful. It is not of The Way.”

  Noah saw JJ’s reticence, his internal struggle. He had seen the little changes in the short time he had known JJ, especially in the presence of women. The redness in his face. A tingling of his fingers. Sudden involuntary gasps. Noah smiled sympathetically at this grown man who was still a boy in many ways. “Image is everything… You want to look good for chicks, don’t you?”

  JJ’s red-faced silence was answer enough. He took another look at himself in the mirror and inhaled a gentle breath. “Sometimes I feel torn. I love my new life. I enjoy the new freedom. On the other, I miss the discipline of the Shaolin.”

  “Really? You miss eleventeen hours a day of meditation? And endless repetition of exercises that you had down pat ten years ago?”

  “We would never have killed King, the snake master, without that disciplined training. You lack grounding, Noah. When you strengthen the mind and spirit, you strengthen your heart and your body.”

  Noah asserted quietly, “Master Wu used to say the same kind of things to me.”

  “As did Sigong Zhang and Jingsha to me,” replied JJ with quiet respect.

  Master Wu, Sigong Zhang, Jingsha. Three venerable Shaolin masters, all who sacrificed their lives so that Noah and JJ might live. “They would tell you that their outer strength came from the inner peace of meditation. That yin and yang must be in harmony.”

  Noah rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’ll meditate for sixteen hours during our flight.”

  About to chew his friend out for his disrespect. JJ suddenly realized that he was not the only one in emotional upheaval. “You love her still, don’t you?” Maybe this was his time to share his own dream. “I hope I can meet someone like that someday. Someone I can…love.”

  Am I that obvious? Noah’s eyes twinkled. “I got just the person for you. Abby. She’s Olivia’s best friend.”

  JJ reddened. “I didn’t really mean that. I mean, I did but…but…I don’t think I will like a businesswoman.”

  “Don’t worry about that.” Noah showed a picture of Abby singing with Olivia accompanying her at the piano. “Abby’s the singer.”<
br />
  “Really? You mean makes albums and is on television? That would be…awesome.”

  Noah sighed. JJ was so naïve. “She’ll get there someday. But, for now, let just pay and get to the airplane.”

  As Noah took out his wallet to pay the clerk for JJ’s new clothes, another monk quietly left the shop and disappeared into the crowd.

  “Yes?” answered the bandaged man.

  “Noah’s traveling with a monk or more probably an ex-monk because Noah was talking about hitching him up with someone called Abby. You want me to take him out?”

  “No, that would delay things. Noah would want to stay and clean up the mess,” said Chin. “I will let Queenie deal with it when they get to New York. Monks are softies. Pushovers. Heads in the clouds.”

  “Not this one. He talked about defeating the snake king.”

  He killed King! “Even more so why not to kill him. What else did you find out?”

  “The monk’s eyes lit up when Noah told him Abby was a singer. Pretty obvious he was interested.”

  “Thank you. Will wire funds into your account shortly.”

  13

  Dreams

  New York

  Abby and Olivia lay on the floor of their empty new apartment, eyes gazing at the ceiling as they belted out their favorite new song.

  Who could ask for anything more?

  Who could ask for anything more?

  “Gershwin was a New Yorker too,” said Abby, unable to wipe the grin off her face.

  “So is Carol King, Billy Joel, Ella Fitzgerald, Alicia Keys, Lady Gaga, Neil Diamond…” added Olivia.

  Raising a triumphant fist, Abby shouted, “And Abby Sung and Olivia Southam!” With a little less boisterousness, she added, “And Hoboken, New Jersey is less than a fifteen-minute subway ride.”