Pearls of Asia: A Love Story (35 page)

MAC AND MAYES HAD
just a few questions for Paul Osher. He was wearing khaki shorts, a green polo shirt and a green short-sleeved golf sweater. He looked more like an avocado than a golfer. “I was just walking off the eighteenth green at Lake Merced when Stone called. He said you caught the real killer. Claims she loved me and that she killed Michelle just to be closer to me. What a stupid bitch. I hardly knew the girl.”

Mac would have none of it. “Why should we believe anything you say, Mr. Osher? You lied to us about your affairs and you lied to us about the checks you wrote to Nadia. Even your marriage was a lie. If we wanted to, we could run you in for obstruction of justice.”

“Go ahead and try,” Osher said with a smirk. “You guys can’t touch me. Stone would never let that happen.”

Mac knew Osher was right. “I have just one more question to ask you, Mr. Osher. How do you feel now that you’ve lost the three most important woman in your life?”

“I feel pretty good, actually,” answered Osher, sounding slimier than a Richard Nixon tape recording. “Sheyla often told me I was the most desired man in this town, and that all of her girlfriends wanted to go out with me. I’m sure they’ll be lining up outside my door in no time.”

Despite overwhelming odds, Mac managed to keep his mouth shut.

THE FOG WAS ROLLING
in, and a breeze began to pick up around the plaza in front of the San Francisco County jail. It was early in the evening, and the lights from the nearby skyscrapers started to twinkle.

Sheyla Samonte was released on a $5,000 bail on charges related to possession of an illegal Balisong switchblade. As she stood on a corner to hail a cab, a tall handsome man with blue eyes and salt and pepper hair approached her carrying a dozen red roses. He gave her a hug and a kiss, and then took by her by the hand and escorted her to a waiting Horizon Blue 1960 Chevrolet Kingswood Estate Cruiser.

“Who put up your bail?” asked Mac.

“Some woman named Victoria Parker. Do you know who she is?”

“Of course I do.”

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
-O
NE

One Year Later

T
HE GORGEOUS LADIES STANDING
behind the cosmetic counters at Macy’s do more than sell bottles of paint and compacts of powder. They sell dreams. Armed with pencils and brushes, makeup consultants are gifted magicians adept at turning ducks into swans. They are the Mistresses of the Makeover.

It was 5:45 on a busy Sunday afternoon, and Sheyla was at the register ringing up yet another fat sale. She had spent an hour convincing an overweight middle-aged woman that by purchasing almost a thousand dollars worth of skin-care crèmes, lotions, lipsticks and eye shadows, she could be mistaken for Halle Barry. Sheyla Samonte wasn’t just good at making a sale; she was outstanding. She could sell sidewalk space to the homeless.

The clock on the wall said the store would be closing in fifteen minutes, while Sheyla’s feet said it had been another long weekend. She appreciated the benefits of returning to work at Macy’s, but they didn’t come close to the benefits she received from being Paul Osher’s girlfriend. A modest studio in North Beach had replaced the luxurious hi-rise in South Beach, and the Mercedes Benz was redeemed with a Muni Bus Pass. Life for Sheyla had seen many forks in the road, none more dramatic than the day her mug shot was flashed across the globe. The charges against her may have been dropped, but they were far from forgotten. At this point in her life, there were only two things Sheyla could count on: MAC cosmetics, and Mac Fleet.

Sheyla lingered at the busy corner of Post and Stockton, listening to the whimsical bells of the nearby Powell Street cable cars. She waited impatiently for Mac to pick her up and take her home. She jokingly called the hundred yard stroll from Macy’s Geary Street storefront through San Francisco’s historic Union Square “The Walk of Shame.” She had to traipse past many of her old haunts, including the boutiques of Chanel, Dior, and Gucci, where her credit cards made such an impression the sales clerks knew her by name.

Mac pulled up in The Sub and greeted his girlfriend with a casual kiss. “Let’s grab something to eat,” he said. “I’m in the mood for sushi.”

“I’m in the mood for a foot rub,” complained Sheyla, exhausted after spending the entire weekend on her feet. A Saturday night stint at
Pearls of Asia
had been sandwiched between her regular weekend shifts at Macy’s. “I’m beat.”

“C’mon, babe. Nothing a couple of drinks and some raw fish won’t take care of.”

Ten minutes later they were seated at the dimly lit but sexy bar at Ozumo’s, located near the Embarcadero. A sexy Vietnamese bartender with a mysterious dragon tattoo that ran from her shoulder up to her neck was mixing their favorite cocktail, a “geisha martini.” Sheyla said the lychee fruit in the bottom of the glass reminded her of growing up in Cebu. Mac joked the drink’s twenty-dollar price tag reminded him why he couldn’t retire.

“How was work today, babe?” inquired the perkier-than-usual detective.

“It was okay. Today’s drama was limited to where we should have lunch. The girls lobbied for Jollibee, but I just wanted to curl up somewhere and eat in private. They got all glammed up last night and went out to that rowdy nightclub, Ruby Skye. The last thing I wanted to do at lunchtime was listen to a bunch of gaggling girls trying to out-brag each other over how every hot looking guy at the club was staring at them, or how so-and-so was about to hook up with Mr. Six-Pack Abs until she got clocked. It’s always the same old story with them. I just wasn’t in the mood to hear their competitive bullshit.”

Mac picked away at a bowl of hot edamame, listening to Sheyla with less-than-half an ear. The bulk of his attention was focused on the big screen television broadcasting the hard-hitting Sunday night football game between the Pittsburgh Steelers and Baltimore Ravens. “Keep venting, babe. That’s what I’m here for.”

And vent she did. “I’m just so tired, Mackey. Two jobs, bills, rent, the girls. I’m just wiped out. I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth it. I live in a crummy little studio, but if I want a bigger place I have to make more money. To make more money, I have to go to school. In order to pay for school, I need more time. I’m frustrated, Mackey. I don’t know what to do next. I feel like I’m trapped.”

Sheyla’s frustration was spilling over like a pot of boiling egg noodles. Miss Vietnamese Bartender asked if they wanted another round, and Mac nodded his head, hoping a second cocktail would calm the nerves of his girlfriend.

“I hear you, sweetheart. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, and you’ve got Alpo for underwear.” Mac took his eyes off the TV screen to scan the menu. “How about a spider roll?”

Sheyla loved to eat, but the last thing on her mind right now was soft shell crab and avocado. “Hey, are you listening to me? I feel like my life is stuck in the mud. What am I working toward? What do I have to look forward to? I’m starting to freak out here.”

“The 49ers are playing the Raiders tomorrow night on Monday Night Football,” replied Mac, whose attention was more focused more on the gridiron than his girlfriend. “We can look forward to that.”

Sheyla slammed her glass down onto the bar. “Dammit, Mac! Will you be serious for a change? This involves us, too. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Where are we going as a couple? We’re best friends and we always have fun when we’re together, but what about the future? I love you, Mac, and I know you love me too, but there are no goals, no commitment.”

“What’s the matter with you?” asked Mac. The casual Sunday night dinner he had hoped for had just turned into an allout scrum. Up to this point, Mac thought he’d been the model boyfriend, calling and texting her often, bringing her flowers, and massaging her aching feet. He had even bought language tapes from Rosetta Stone to learn Tagalog, though the box was still on his desk. Unopened. “Did you take a hormone shot this morning?”

“Look at us, Mackey. Whenever we go out, it’s always just you and me, or we double date with Reyna and her boyfriend. Whenever we spend the night together, we always stay at my place. You talk about Mayes all the time, yet the only time I met him was when he arrested me. Come to think of it, I’ve never met any of your friends. What’s the deal, Mac? Are you trying to hide me? Are you ashamed to be seen with me?”

Mac held up his empty martini glass and waved it at Miss Vietnamese Bartender. He wasn’t going into battle unarmed. “First of all Sheyla, the reason we stay at your place is because I’m still living with my mother. As for meeting Mayes and my friends, I rarely see them outside of work as it is. But if it will make you happy, I’ll try to set something up.”

Sheyla didn’t want to hear Mac’s excuses. In fact, she didn’t want to hear anything from him at all. “I’m tired of the same old story, Mac. I’ve been hearing empty promises from guys all my life. That’s why I don’t trust men. I always make them a priority, yet they always treat me like an option. Deep down Mac, you’re afraid. Afraid to tell the world you love me. Afraid to admit that you’re in love with a transsexual woman.”

Mac looked at his glass and began stabbing a toothpick at the lychee fruit floating at the bottom. The last thing he expected to have tonight was an argument with his girlfriend. All he wanted to do was relax, have a few drinks, and watch the game. Sheyla had turned it into a couple’s counseling session. “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

Sheyla screamed at Mac, oblivious to the crowd of strangers doing their best to pretend they were watching the game instead listening to their argument. “I want you to fight for us, dammit! I want you to believe in us, to believe in our love. Real love means not being afraid, of having the strength to overcome adversity, of wanting someone so bad you’ll do whatever it takes to have that person complete your life. I love you, Mackey Fleet. I love you so much it hurts. But while you say and do all the right things, you haven’t shown me that you’re willing to love me completely, that you’re willing to risk everything that’s important to you just so long as I’m in your life. Remember our first date at Fleur de Lys? You asked me that night what I wanted, and I told you I wanted a love story. Well now it’s my turn to ask you that question, Mackey. What do you want?”

The Raven’s defense had just recovered a Steelers fumble, but Mac wasn’t paying attention. Marvin Gaye was drifting over the bar’s sound system, but Mac couldn’t hear him either. Sheyla had just asked him a question, a question he had asked himself a thousand times during the past twelve months. A question he pondered while spending hours alone in a dark shower, searching for an answer he still hadn’t found.

“I don’t know.”

Sheyla grabbed her purse and got up from the bar. She wasn’t going to stick around for appetizers. “That’s what I thought you’d say.” Sheyla held out her hand. “Give me back my keys.”

Mac nearly went into shock. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Give me back my apartment keys. I don’t want to see you for a while. I need some time alone. I want to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life.”

Mac was speechless. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his key ring. Removing the key to her apartment was like tearing off a piece of his heart. He placed it in her hand, and then looked at her and saw tears trickling down her cheek. As Sheyla headed toward the door to hail a cab, she turned to him one last time. “I love you, Mac Fleet, but I’m tired of being braver than the man I love.”

Miss Vietnamese Bartender brought over the spider roll. “You screwed up, Mister. Big time. Can’t you see that girl loves you?”

Mac sat silent, wondering if he had failed again.