Shanghai Girl Read Online Free PDF

pride of being a Johannean.
    To my right is a personalized Tiffany pen and pencil set, a corporate gift. In the far right corner is my eyesore: a blue cloisonné container Lotus brought back last year from her trip to her ancestral village in Guangdong. "You know I have no use for it," I told her. But she insisted, "Sorry it looks tacky, but at least it’ll remind you of me, Boss," as if it isn’t bad enough putting up with her all day long. She stopped in Hong Kong, where she brought me a jar of bull’s penis extract, purportedly miraculous in boosting my yang . I told her I wasn't into that kind of stuff. I've got enough yang to go around. She, of all people, should know that. Yet I know that Lotus is a street-smart businesswoman. She was just trying to get on my good side. Nothing more.
    No visitor will fail to see the display case lining the wall behind me. The tri-color Tang horse and the pairs of Qian Long vases and Qing plates are authentic relics. The Polish cleaning woman who comes in is told to keep her hands off the shelf. The responsibility belongs solely to Lotus.
    My office is foolproof for the NYPD, the IRS or the FBI, devoid of anything a Chinese might call "a spider's thread or a horse's trail". I don’t hire corporate tax lawyers and bean counters for nothing.
    As though posing for the ultimate Gordon Lou, CEO, photo in the annual report of the company I have yet to take public, I sit upright, looking straight ahead. I feel reduced to being like the two red velvet armchairs facing me across the desk, waiting for the unexpected.
    Despite my mild shock that they are Chinese, I remain seated as Lotus escorts my visitors in. From downtown indeed they are -- deep in the heart of Chinatown. The younger man with a crew cut is in a black polyester suit. A pack of cigarettes and a pair of sunglasses crowd his front pocket. "Boss Lou, sorry to disturb," he mutters in dialect-accented Mandarin, poking his head out like a turkey reaching for the feeding trough. The other fellow, heavy set and wearing a counterfeit Polo shirt barely covering his protruding stomach, turns to close the door, shuts Lotus out, and plants himself by the door, hands crossed in front of him. I signal them to take a seat.
    Heavy Set doesn't move. Turkey Neck comes forth and sits down. Scuffing on the red carpet, he begins with a typical Chinese phrase of apology. "Bother you, bother you, Boss Lou. The Chairman sends me here. Humble me am named Dong Kee Siew. Brothers call me Brainy Dong because I went to City College."
    "The Chairman?"
    "Yes, yes, Chairman Siew of the Eastern U.S. Siew Clan Benevolent Association. Our headquarters is at the corner of Canal and Chestnut, that red brick walkup, you know?"
    Despite my three decades in New York, I've never bothered to explore the nooks and crannies of Chinatown. But I know enough, staring down at Dong Kee, to recognize that I can't afford to offend Chairman Siew.
    Leaning back in my chair and crossing my legs, I ask, "Mr. Siew sends you?"
    "Yes, yes," he replies, standing up. He fumbles with his pants pockets. "The Chairman knows your stature in the midtown business community. You're a very successful Chinese, pride of us all. Even downtown we know you. Few Chinese have reached your level ...”
    I wish he would cut the crap and get to the point. "And?" I interrupt, folding my arms.
    "And ... and …," Dong Kee peers at Heavy Set and continues, "the Chairman wants to ask a favor from Boss Lou. Here." He produces a red package, a gold- rimmed envelope, and an airline ticket. The man's giving me cash and sending me on a trip. I stand up. "Okay. Time out. I'm not going to...”
    "But please, please, Boss Lou. Let me finish. The red package is nothing. It just covers your cost. We have a favor to ask. Why don't you take a look at the invitation first? It's from the former State Republican Senator Leonardo DellaFave. He's holding a political fundraiser – he wants to run for Governor next year. The