Pearls of Asia: A Love Story (36 page)

VICTORIA PARKER HAD PULLED
off the financial equivalent of the triple play. Hurricane Lehman Brothers had grown into a Category Five, and she shorted the storm all the way down until the Dow Jones Industrial Average reached 7,000. Soon every market muppet on CNBC was calling for The Great Depression Part II, and she knew what hand to play next: buy here, buy now, and buy often. With the stock market in the midst of the Mother of all Rallies, Victoria Parker saw an opportunity to trade up from her modest townhouse in Noe Valley for a classic Victorian mansion in tony Pacific Heights. One night an inebriated hedge fund manager, upside down on both his mortgage and his marriage, tried to pick her up at a Marina restaurant appropriately named The Tipsy Pig. She agreed to sleep with him, but only if he’d hit the discount bid she made on his over-leveraged house. By the time the stock market opened the next morning, Victoria Parker was long stocks, a hangover, and a five-thousand-square foot Pacific Heights home located at the corner of Broadway and Baker.

Mac arrived home depressed. The Cougar Committee was in the living room, taking a roll call of chardonnays while discussing the pros and cons of dating men who were born after the Disco Era. Mac grabbed a bottle of Sonoma Anything from the wine rack and headed for the back patio.

Victoria Parker joined her heartbroken son, and each sat on a reclining lounge chair adorning the expansive deck, admiring a spectacular nighttime view of The Palace of Fine Arts. “I take it you won’t be staying in North Beach tonight,” she said.

“Not tonight, or any other night for that matter.” Mac told his mother what happened, how a pleasant Sunday evening turned on a dime into disaster. “I don’t understand it, Mom. Sheyla just got pissed, complaining that she’s never met Mayes or any of my friends. The last thing she said to me was that she was tired of loving a man who ‘wasn’t as brave as she was.’ I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

Victoria Parker breathed a heavy sigh. “I know exactly what she’s talking about, Mackey. Fill up your wine glass. I’m going to tell you a story.”

Victoria Parker kicked off her Manolo Blahniks and took a sip of her wine. “A few months after your father left us for a stripper named Tiffany Dimwit, he came back home and said he wanted for us to get back together. I agreed, only to have him leave me again because Tiffany lost her job and was going through a ‘tough time.’ I said I understood and foolishly let this go on for a while. It got so bad I could set my watch by him. On Monday morning he would come home and say he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, and by Friday night he’d leave and tell me he had to go see Tiffany because ‘she needed his help.’ I was stupid, but I loved him too much to let go of him.”

The fog was rolling in through the Golden Gate, and a September night in San Francisco can feel as cold as February in Seattle. Mac got up to retrieve a couple of thick cashmere blankets.

“He later gave me one of those bullshit, ‘it’s me, not you’ excuses. That’s when I knew it was over. He was too afraid to make a choice. No matter how much I loved him, I could no longer respect him. If he was too much of a coward to take the life and love I laid out for him, then I no longer wanted him in my life.”

“That’s a great story Mom, but I don’t understand what it has to do with Sheyla. It’s not like I cheated on her, or disrespected her in any way. I love her, and I think I’ve done my best to show it.”

Victoria Parker emptied the bottle into her glass. “That’s where you’re wrong, Mackey. You haven’t done enough. Sheyla’s special, and she’s never had a love story. Sure, men have told her they wanted her, but they liked her for
what
she was, not
who
she was. Sheyla knows you love her, Mackey. She just doesn’t trust your love. You say you aren’t cheating on her, but in her mind you are. You have another life completely separate from her. She wants a man to be strong, courageous, and brave, just like she was during her transition. She wants a man who not only loves her, but is proud to show the world that he wants to share his life with her.”

Mac looked at his mom and flashed her a smile. She was right. She was always right. “Mom, let me ask you a question. Have I lost her?”

Victoria Parker listened to a foghorn blasting from Alcatraz Island, pondering the question before answering. “No, Mackey, you haven’t. Not yet. But I’m going to ask you the same question I asked you last year after you got suspended from your job.”

“What’s that?”

“What are you willing to do to win her love back?”

IT WAS 5:30 ON
a glorious Monday morning, and Victoria Parker was at the bottom of the Lyon Street Steps. Only a climb of two hundred and eighty-eight stairs separated her from her mouse pad, where in less than an hour she would begin her week of playing video poker with the New York Stock Exchange. The best thing about living at the corner of Broadway and Baker wasn’t the incredible views of Sausalito and Tiburon, or the free parking space you could find almost any hour of the day. It was the hundred-yard stroll to the bike paths and hiking trails of The Presidio, the most beautiful city park in the world.

Four cardio-filled minutes later she stepped into her kitchen, out of breath but not out of shape. Mac was already up, and he greeted his mother like a six-week old puppy. “Mom, I’ve got an idea, and I need your help.”

DRESSED IN HER BIKE
skivvies, Victoria Parker walked into the living room just as Mac was about to hang up the phone.

“Thanks, Mayes,” he said. “I’ll see you dark and early tomorrow morning. Check with Pamela and see if you can get a babysitter for Thursday night. It’s going to be great.”

“Are you ready?” she asked.

“I am. Let’s rock.”

Mac and Mom wheeled their bikes onto Broadway, and seconds later crossed Lyon Street into The Presidio. Gravity led them down to the Golden Gate Bridge, and a tailwind pushed them across the historic span into tres chic Marin County. They peddled hard up the Waldo Grade, and then turned east and rode down the hill into Sausalito. Thirty minutes after leaving their home, Mac and Victoria Parker were locking their bikes in front of a very special store.

Two hours later, they were back home. Victoria Parker turned on CNBC to prepare for trading in Asia when she heard the following news report:

“Mark Ashley entered San Quentin State Prison this morning to begin serving a life sentence for the murder of Michelle Osher. Ashley’s attorneys are still fighting for the transsexual killer to be transferred to a woman’s correctional facility.

“In related news, Paul Osher married Erica Andrews, a Victoria’s Secret model introduced to him by California Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger. Mr. Osher’s best man was Jim Grisham, whose wife Sonia Grisham committed suicide last year by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge after he threatened to divorce her once he learned of her affair with murdered anchorwoman Michelle Osher.”

“What a shame,” she mused.

MAC DROVE OVER TO
Ozumo’s to ask Miss Vietnamese Bartender a question. “That’s an incredible tattoo you have. Where did you get it?” Mac jotted down the name and address.

“Are you thinking of getting a dragon?” she asked.

“No way. I’m not man enough for a dragon,” answered Mac before closing his notebook. “One more question. What are you doing Thursday night?”

ASK ANY OF THE
ladies working at
Pearls of Asia
what their favorite part of the night is, and they’ll tell you it’s at the conclusion of the Blowout Show. After each girl has danced a final number, and Reyna has called them out to the audience, there were two things they look forward to most; taking off their shoes, and taking home their tips.

Thursday night had finally arrived. Mac sat alone in The Sub, checking his watch every three and a half seconds. He had wrapped and rewrapped the gauze on his right forearm so often he could do it with his eyes closed. His hand had reached into his left pocket so many times he could have been cited for indecent behavior. Mac had been a cop for over ten years, and the acid roiling in his stomach told him this was the biggest stakeout of his life.

His eyes were focused on the Howard Street entrance to
Pearls of Asia
. He was waiting for a signal, a sign, a beacon of hope. A reason for all the scheming, planning, and praying he had done over the past four days. Then, at the stroke of 10:41, sixty seconds later than scheduled, the silhouetted figure of Reyna Cruz stepped outside the door, and she signaled to Mac by waving a wireless microphone in the air.

The starter’s pistol had just gone off.

Mac leaped out of The Sub and jaywalked his way across Howard Street. Wearing a freshly dry-cleaned blue blazer, starched white shirt and navy blue slacks, he looked like he had just stepped out of the Preppy Handbook. Mac grabbed the microphone and gave Reyna a kiss on the cheek. She gave him a pinch on the ass. “That’s for good luck,” she said.

The calendar may have said Thursday, but the energy inside the restaurant felt more like a Saturday. Standing on the stage were Nadia and the newest ‘Pearls of Asia;’ Ericka and Vanessa. Down at the far end of the bar, near the Hot Seat, and looking like a figurehead at the bow of a ship, stood Sheyla, looking regal in a blue silk one-sleeve dancer’s dress.

Mac climbed the staircase and walked to the middle of the runway. It was rare for a man to be onstage at
Pearls of Asia
. It happened about as often as a solar eclipse. The audience went silent, and Sheyla brought her hands to her mouth in a mixture of amazement and confusion.