His Convenient New York Bride. Andrea Bolter
good.”
“I know! If I could ever get a job.”
“How did it go today?”
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
Mimi had always wanted to be a fashion designer, even before she met the Zhangs. Whereas others loved music or books, she loved clothes. The artistry of fashion. The details. The variety. The act of personal expression that had to be combined with an almost science-like approach to construction. She’d taught herself to sew as a young girl and sitting in front of the hum of a machine was her happy place. For birthdays or holidays, she’d ask for gifts of fabric and supplies. Her parents encouraged her to chase her ambition so she’d gone to design school.
Now here she was, unemployed.
“Gunnar Nilsson is not going to bring me down.” Mimi grabbed a pencil from the holder on Jin’s desk and was quickly drawing a revised idea for his casual suits. “Didn’t your grandfather do a collection like this way back when? I feel like I’ve seen some photos.”
“Yeah, it was a big hit in the eighties. With exaggerated shoulders and peg-leg pants but the same theory. I’ve heard that half of New York produced imitations after that.”
“It will be a tribute to him, then.”
Mimi continued making adjustments to the sketch. “See, I’m saying do a subtle pouf at the shoulder. A little all-business and a little rock star.”
“That is fabulous, Miss Stewart.”
Jin moved toward her for a hug that included three friendly pats on the back, like someone might give their long-lost uncle. Never did he give her the kind of embraces that Mimi fantasized about. “You’re a pal.”
A pal to Jin, she was. Always would be.
She pointed to her sketches. “Can I apply for the designer job?” she kidded. Was she really kidding, though?
“Good night, Cynthia,” Jin called out to the last employee to leave the studio. He leaned back in his desk chair and clasped his hands behind his head. Closing his eyes for a moment, he listened to the unusual din of nothingness. With equipment running, and people collaborating and coming in and out, the LilyZ headquarters was never a quiet place.
As his staff walked or took buses, subways and trains back to their homes for the night, Jin experienced urban solitude. Something he might have enjoyed after the chaos of his marriage. Right now, though, he had too much on his mind to relax.
His eyes sprang open again.
The drawings he and Mimi had been working on earlier were scattered at the side of the desk while Wei’s will sat front and center. Jin read the words legal and lawful marriage a couple of times, as if he’d find something different in the words than he had before. A new solution.
He was still musing on that marrying in name only concept. He’d ruled out any strangers because he couldn’t take any chances with LilyZ. Whoever he chose, that was if he chose, would have to be someone he already knew well.
The prospect seemed impossible.
Jin glanced over to Mimi’s drawings. She was really so bright and intuitive. Like today when she’d made such fabulous improvements on what he was imagining, the two of them talking in the shorthand of two people who had known each other for a very long time.
Known each other for a very long time.
Mimi had asked him straight out if he could hire her as his designer. The weird thought that had been nagging at him for days surfaced again. His brain focused on it, on seeing it all the way through.
What if? How desperate was everybody at this point? No! It would never work. A nice fantasy, though.
A new notion popped into his head out of nowhere. If there was any hope of him finding some kind of pretend wife that was someone he already knew, what about an ex-girlfriend? He’d dated women before he married Helene.
How about Leslie Wang, his college sweetheart?
Leslie was a nice enough girl. They’d broken up on friendly terms, after which she’d left New York.
So, what, Jin was going to abruptly call her out of the blue and ask her to be his phony wife? Even if he did, what would she gain from the deal? Was she a person who needed money? What if she was unattached and wanted children? Would Jin be willing to give that to someone in return for LilyZ?
Of course not, the voice in his head shouted with certainty. The ruse was to stay married for a year after which time Leslie, or whomever, would carry on with the rest of their lives. He couldn’t father a child and then not be part of his or her life.
Pondering how he would even get in touch with Leslie, he grabbed his laptop.
He’d search for her on social media.
With Wang being a fairly common surname, he located an unruly amount of possibilities. Fortunately most people had a profile photo so that he could eliminate the majority of them. When he found her photo, Jin knew he wouldn’t be reuniting with Leslie Wang, who also used the name Leslie Franklin. No, she clearly had her hands full in the photo, surrounded by three young kids who resembled her. Behind them stood a proud-looking man, his thick arms encircling his brood with a hug.
All Jin could do was laugh out loud, the sound ricocheting around his empty studio. Whatever would have made him think someone from his past was available and waiting for his call?
Mimi’s drawings next to the will caught his eye again and that crazy inkling, and it was definitely crazy, picked at him.
He scanned a panorama of the studio, all the machinery dormant and only the night-lights illuminating the cavernous space. The tall windows up front facing out to the Manhattan night. This company meant the world to him.
Desperate times called for desperate measures, didn’t they? Aaron had said those exact words himself on the basketball court the other day.
Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to talk it through.
He called Aaron’s cell phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Tripping over Mimi’s stuff that’s all over my apartment.”
Mutually beneficial agreement?
“Can I buy you a beer?”
“You bet.”
“The place on that corner.”
“Fifteen minutes.”
Jin reached for one of his favorite possessions—one of his grandfather’s thimbles. While Jin had kept many of Shun’s tools, this was the most special to him. Made of heavy bone china, it had an intricately painted scene on it. A Chinese Junk boat sailed in blue ocean waves at sunset. The sky above was purple then red then orange. As a young boy Jin had thought it was nothing short of a miracle that someone could have done a painting on an object so small.
That thimble was a sort of talisman for Jin. Shun did not travel to the United States on a boat. He’d arrived on a plane to a New York airport. But the thimble’s depiction of a lone vessel under the sunset always filled Jin with respect for perseverance and risk.
He placed it back in the caddy on his desk that held loose items—a button here, a spool of thread there. After he collected his phone and wallet to go meet Aaron, Jin changed his mind and grabbed the thimble again, slipping it into his pocket.
At the crowded bar, the two friends stood close in order to hear each other. They each nursed a long-necked bottle of beer. Aaron looked Jin in the eye after he’d laid out his plan. “So you’re asking me a question?”
“I suppose I am.” He’d never go forward if Aaron