Money Boy by Paul Yee

Author:Paul Yee
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Young Adult, Gay
ISBN: 9781554981755
Publisher: Groundwood Books
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

SEVEN

I stop in front of Rainbow Sushi on Church Street. I want to go in but I don’t. I need a safe place but nowhere in the downtown feels right. This afternoon’s coffee shop was good but right now it’s full of people, packed to the door.

If I walk into this restaurant, the people inside will know that I’m gay. At night diners choose carefully. It’s not like stopping somewhere to grab a coffee or to kill time on your laptop. Still, I could pass as a homesick tourist or a relative of the cook — anyone but a kid secretly scouting out the gay world.

The place has the usual decorations: rice-paper screens, mini-curtains and jar-shaped lanterns. It looks more casual than formal. Most of the tables have customers. The mix of people is white, black and brown. No East Asians. That means the food won’t be the very best.

“Irashaimase!” The host rushes up and bows. He’s middle-aged, a bit younger than Ba. A short apron is tied around the hapi jacket that holds in his little paunch. He smiles but looks me up and down as if I am a mirror. His hair is shaved close to the skull, like a monk’s.

I nod. I understand the welcome. My friends and I have eaten lots of sushi.

He grunts at me in broken English, “You are Chinese?”

This is another Chinese-run sushi place. I nod. His eyelashes are big and curved, enlarged by mascara.

I want to avoid Chinese people, especially sissy ones like this man, so I turn to go.

“From where?” He speaks Mandarin and grabs my arm.

“Beijing.” I shake him off, but then a phrase of music grabs me. It is Sodagreen, the best band in the world! My favorite song, “Little Universe,” flashes from the TV screen mounted high in one corner.

Now I have to stay. Qing-feng flies through the air in slow motion. The drums slap me awake, and I want to ride on words that surge with anger and feeling. When the bass player skips rope on stage, I want to jump, too.

Hey, who chooses the music here? The customers don’t seem to care that there’s Chinese rock music in a Japanese restaurant. The host is too old for Sodagreen.

I look around for the waiters just as one walks up. One hand grips a water glass and Japanese cup while the other carries a sturdy teapot.

“Komban-wa,” he says, pouring tea.

“Did you choose the music?” I blurt in Chinese. I’m talking to a waiter. That’s something new for me, but this guy is as handsome as Daniel Wu, the Hong Kong movie star.

“You like Sodagreen, too?” He speaks Chinese and his smile widens. “I started following them when they won the Golden Melody Cup.”

That means he’s a little bit older than me. Good.

“I heard them later,” I say, hoping to keep him there. “I didn’t follow them until ‘Little Universe’ came out.”

“That was the best year for music!”

A tinny bell rings from the kitchen.

“Konnichiwa,” he calls out. He gives me a slight bow and smiles an apology before leaving.

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