Gold Peony and The Sinuous Wife Ch. 01

Inspired by and based upon Serpent Dance by Synthean

Thanks to Jon B 1969 for the edit.

"I hate chinks." The words seeped up like pus from a festering wound. The woman didn't say it out loud. Her upbringing made her too refined to express such thoughts openly. Helen made no bones about it, however; she disliked the Chinese immensely.

She was never able to pinpoint the origins of her hate. Possibly it could have been her youth in Shanghai, waited on hand and foot by servants. It seemed unlikely to her that she hated them then. She didn't like them, but she didn't hate them either. They were like furniture. One didn't hate furniture.

As a child she was curious of course. Her school taught her about other cultures, including China, but she couldn't ask the servants about their lives. Her parents discouraged such socializing. "One shouldn't inquire into the lives of lesser people," her father told her, and Daddy should know. He was British and he raised his daughter to be British.

The most important lesson she learned was the British were the best, and most certainly the best rulers of these downtrodden people. The British were not like the French or the Americans or, heaven forbid, the barbaric Japanese. The Chinese should be grateful to the West and, especially, the British for lifting them out of centuries of barbarity and superstition. This lesson was taught to Helen Prescott by her parents, her culture, and her class. So Helen was shocked when the servants displayed a lack of gratitude for their fair treatment.

Perhaps the ingratitude was where the hate began. In hindsight, Helen thought, the fact the Japanese were running the Europeans out of Shanghai, at the time, might be taken into account, but it didn't excuse the slap Chunhua gave her when Helen ordered her to pick up her clothes. "Carry your own clothes you round-eye bitch!" Chun spat.

Helen had little time to chastise the woman, as her father quickly bundled her and Mother aboard the last plane out. All she carried was her Lady Margaret Hall degree in anthropology and a jewel box from her grandmother. Her father disappeared into the Lunghua internment camp shortly after. She never saw him again.

Today, it was June, 1953, and Helen was in Chinatown, hating the Chinese, and hating her husband for dragging her there.

She never actually loved her husband but she never started hating him until later in the marriage. Helen met James P. Morgan in India. He was a rich American working for USAAF transport command. She was staying with relatives in New Delhi. They met in a nightclub while he was on leave.

He was handsome enough, and rich, and more dynamic than the reserved British officers. It wasn't love at first sight, more lust really, nor a whirlwind courtship. They were distractions for one another. The subsequent marriage was more a business partnership than a commitment. Her familial connections to British aristocracy matched his wealth; for a while it worked. His money kept her and Mum comfortable, her connections brought him useful contacts in Europe and Asia. He was okay in bed. She put up her end but then they grew bored with each other, and she closed her legs.

The war ended, she came to San Francisco with Jim as a war bride. The boredom had already turned to hatred. Helen quickly learned that some necessities of her husband's work required dealings with shady people of low character. "But why do they have to be Chinese?" she asked herself on that summer day, June 25, 1953. A day which would change her life forever.

"I hate whites," Wu thought. Madame Wu, not her real name, stared at the arrogant white bitch and her husband who dared to come into her shop. Not that Madame Wu's Antiques and Apothecary didn't accept any kind of customer, but these two were of a type she despised above all others. The kind who destroyed her beloved China. Arrogant, rich, white westerners, wrapped in justifications ranging from religion to commerce, they ravaged her land with a sly efficiency that shamed the Mongols.

"At least the Mongols were more honest," Wu thought.

Wu, logically, didn't place the entire blame on the West. China contributed its own part, certainly she'd lived long enough to know its flaws. Even now, the communists were finishing what the westerners started.

The woman was arguing with her husband. "Fuck! She's British," Wu spat.

Above all westerners, Wu hated the British with a passion. She never forgave them for the Opium Wars. British merchants grew fat on the lives of tens of thousands of Chinese whom they'd addicted to opium. Consequently, Madame Wu despised opium as well and vowed never to sell it or tolerate its sale through her businesses. She couldn't speak for her employees, however. Occasionally, she dropped by one of her shops to make sure the proprietor stayed honest. Just one of the many headaches of being an Immortal.

Madame Wu discovered a harsh lesson when she acquired immortality, many years ago when she went by another name. It didn't pay the bills. It had been easy, at first. Many Chinese back then were more accepting of Immortals and gods. Hooking up with a few emperors and noblemen, dazzled by her beauty and illustrious sibling, worked for a while. She suppressed her own proclivities to take a few to bed.

As decades, centuries, and millennia passed, Chinese became more fearful and skeptical. "Not to mention greedy, envious, and demanding," she thought. "As if Peaches of Immortality were easy to acquire."

She found it prudent to recede into the background, letting her sister grab all the publicity. Wu quietly acquired a fortune, opened and closed businesses, changed her name and identity constantly, and made sure never to stay in one place too long or, if she returned, posed as a younger sister or daughter. Spells of illusion and shape-changing helped considerably.

Her sister being more outgoing and less prudent, eventually followed Wu's lead but by then had acquired a reputation. As a result, she was mentioned more prominently in the histories while Wu was mostly forgotten. Wu preferred it that way.

At present, Wu was checking on her antiques store. She suspected her manager, Johnny Cheng, of selling opium for a local gang, "And using my store as a front."

Days earlier, she ordered Cheng to put out a help wanted sign. "The business is growing," she said. "Hire assistant." Cheng was reluctant. "But Miss Wu, 'Stupid old woman!' business has been slow for months. I don't need another assistant."

"I take care of money. Hire assistant," she said. Cheng grudgingly put out the "Help Wanted" sign. Madame Wu surreptitiously put a glamour on the sign, so no one would notice it. Several days later, the most beautiful woman Cheng had ever seen, walked through the door with the wanted sign in her hands.

Her skin was like golden silk, her hair, black as ink, done up in a two-sided up do. Her eyes were perfect dark amber almonds. She had bee-stung lips, red as a rose bud, and her body, far more robust and curvy than one would expect from a daughter of China, with melon breasts and wide hips. The red, sexy cheongsam she wore hugged her body like a second skin, showing her waist to be slim and tight. Nor was she some young maiden. This woman was tall and mature, mid-thirties at the least, with the look of one not easily manipulated.

The red cheongsam was embroidered with black snakes. Cheng swore they undulated with every graceful stride she made. The woman strode smartly to Cheng's desk. "I have come for a job." Her singsong Mandarin was perfect, with a voice like deep, rich honey.

"Uh," Cheng realized, belatedly how speechless this beauty struck him. "You put out the help wanted poster, did you not?" she asked. Cheng nearly fell to pieces before her golden smile. "Why. . . er, yes. Yes, I did. Uh, you work from nine to six, the store is open from ten to five, 'You're already hired, you beauty!' We pay two-fifty per hour plus a raise pending your performance. How's your English?"

"I'm American," the woman replied in flawless Californian. Cheng cocked an eyebrow. "American born?" he thought. "This might be difficult." He already had plans for this woman. Fresh off the boat immigrants were easier to disappear than long term residents or native born citizens. However, he could deal with the complications later. "So when can you start Miss. . .?"

"Mudan, Jennifer Mudan. People call me Jen."

"Jen Mudan. You know your last name means peony"?

"Of course," she smiled.

"If you change the 'E' in your name to an 'I' you'd be Jin Mudan, gold peony," he smiled back. "Damn! She's gorgeous! When I tell Lao about this hot number he'll beg me to name a price!"

"People have pointed that out."

A thought stirred in the back of Cheng's brain. Gold Peony sounded vaguely familiar. There was a White Peony, Bai Mudan, of course but. . . "Nah." Probably a confusion of names. "So, um, back to when you start?"

"As soon as you wish," she smiled.

"So how about tomorrow, then?"

"That's just fine," she replied.

Jennifer slinked out of the store. Cheng watched and followed until she turned down the street. "Goddamn!" he whistled. "I can't wait to tell the old bitch the news. And it's not some dumb teenager either. She'll do fine until I figure a way to sell her. She may not be young but she more than has it." Whistling a tune, Cheng went back into the store.

That was a month ago. Cheng ran into complications. The opium shipment was delayed. His smuggling contact cited problems with the war winding down. Shipments were disrupted, the gang was getting anxious, and Madame Wu was asking questions.

Jen was working out well. Her elegance and beauty attracted more customers, so at least the front business was picking up. She kept a professional distance from Cheng, however.

Cheng found her a mystery. He tried having her followed but his hires, loaned from the gang, always lost her in some alley or market. He still had no idea where she lived. He spoke to Lao about her and Lao was intrigued. "I will make inquiries," he said but later, informed Cheng he could find nothing.

Madame Wu was also intrigued when Cheng informed her of the new hire.

"Perhaps I speak to her when she here," she said.

"I'll inform her of your interest, 'Stupid old woman!'" Cheng replied. His annoyance, however well hidden, was increased by Madame Wu's smile. A knowing grimace, as if she possessed a hidden knowledge that made her oh so superior.

"A little arson to this place will cut her down to size," he thought. "If this shipment comes in, I'll be rich and off to Hong Kong. I'll start my own business and the stupid old bitch can howl and scream over the ashes. Maybe I'll take Jen with me. I can make better use of her than Lao."

Cheng kept Jen away from the office and back area. Jen gave no indication she knew of his illicit activities or hidden intentions. It didn't make her any less intelligent, just clueless. Her air of disinterest in him was strangely frustrating but made it easy to manage his other business. Today promised to be a good one. His contact had arrived. Unfortunately, he brought his wife. Cheng met her only once before. Beautiful, but he didn't like her.

"I was right, the little shit," Wu thought as she invisibly observed Cheng and his contact. Her surprise that the contact was the white American who, moments earlier, had been arguing with his wife, was mild. European or American opium smugglers were not uncommon but this man did not seem the type.

He was wealthy from the style and cut of his suit, and well educated by his speech. All indications of a privileged background. "So why is he smuggling opium?" Cheng and the man moved to the back. Wu had to know more. A few words of power later, a beautiful gold-furred cat followed the two men as if it had wandered in searching for mice. It sat grooming itself while the men spoke.

"I need another two weeks," James Morgan said.

"The Triad's patience is wearing thin, Jim. And my boss, stupid old woman, is suspicious."

"The war is ending. I had a route set up but the troop ship left early. I'm bringing it in disguised as auto parts from Japan but I have to be careful. Dad's getting suspicious too."

"Your father's suspicions are not my concern. I'm in hock to the Triad for fifty thou. Is your dad going to hang you from a lamp post with your intestines? This shipment will wipe my slate clean."

"Look, General Clark is cracking down on illicit business. That black market operation was a public embarrassment for him. He has army investigators, even loaned F.B.I agents scouring the transports. My contact on the troopship got spooked, told me my route was closed, and left before I could make a new deal."

"Hmmph!" Cheng snorted. "Bad luck all around. These things happen but it's a bad time. Look, if I take you to the gang and you explain the hold-up, maybe we can both get them off our backs. Two weeks, you said?"

"Two weeks, tops," Morgan replied.

"Pfft!! It's both our necks if this shipment doesn't come through."

"Tell me about it. If I don't replace the money I 'borrowed' from Dad's company before he finds out, it's double my neck." James turned to head for the front but paused, "That woman at the counter, who's she?"

"New hire," Cheng replied.

"She available?"

"Don't know. She's not in the know, and not in the life, so far as I can tell. That might change real soon. After the deal goes through."

"Keep me informed," James replied. "The wife's gotten real cold. She always was but at least she spread her legs early on. I could use some good Asian pussy right now, and that number you got looks pretty hot." Cheng, long used to the crudeness of his white customers, found himself nodding in agreement. Both men didn't notice the cat give an angry hiss before it left the room.

Cheng went to the front counter and spoke to Jen, who was going through the day's receipts. "Mr. Morgan and I are going to the docks to look after some new antiques. We'll be back in an hour. Do you think you can look after the store until then?" He ran a hand across her thigh. Jen quietly took the hand and pushed it away. "Of course, Mr. Cheng," she replied with the barest hint of chill. "That is what you hired me for is it not?"

Cheng's face blushed a brief rose, more from anger than embarrassment. "How dare. . .?" he thought. Jen's eyes missed nothing and betrayed nothing. The mystery behind those eyes was lost on Cheng.

"Ahem! Yes, well. The store is in good hands, " he answered coldly. He went to Morgan, who was, once again, arguing with his wife. "What a shrew," he thought.

"You can not possibly leave me alone in this place," she told him, scowl on her face, hands on her hips.

"The docks are no place for women. At least women like you. Rich, spoiled bitch like my mother. I can't believe I repeated Dad's mistake."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she pouted, eyebrow cocked imperiously.

"A woman of your station and breeding? Among the kind of scum found on the docks? Use your brain. . . darling," he nearly spat.

"So you don't think I can handle the likes of your. . . friend here, and the others. . . sweetheart?" she spat back.

"We are wealthy, privileged people. . . honey, and the kind of men we must speak to only attract a certain kind of woman. It would not look good for you. I could care less personally but we have a public image to maintain."

"So I'm stuck here with this. . . woman," she cast a contemptuous look at Jen, "While you deal your illicit drugs with those gangsters."

James raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised his wife knew his business but in hindsight he thought, "I really shouldn't be. She may be a spoiled, cold bitch but she's no fool. That's pretty much it, yes. So sit your tush down, wander around the shop, go out and hopefully get hit by a car. I don't care. We'll be back in an hour and then we can go back to the hotel, and you can do whatever after."

They glared at each other, the mutual intense hatred creating such dark energy both Jen and Cheng cringed. Jen had rarely seen such raw hate between couples in her long life. "One will kill the other," she thought with centuries of accumulated experience and wisdom.

As James and Cheng left the store, Cheng asked, "Why don't you divorce the bitch?"

"She has some pictures of me with some Vegas showgirls and some kid. No I'm not a swish but the pictures implied it and the kid's underage. She would take me to the cleaners and embarrass my family. I'd be destroyed."

"Well then, kill her."

"I've thought about it but I need it done without fingers pointing. People know we hate each other."

"I know some people. They're good," Cheng said.

"How good?"

"The best, but they charge dear."

"Money's no object, after this transaction at least."

"I'll arrange it," Cheng smiled, knowing such an arrangement would put this rich, white round-eye under his control. They disappeared around the corner towards the docks.

To Be Continued.