Florence Chen is Missing Ep03
Mrs. Chen is not the mother Won was expecting
The weather was good so Won uncovered and unlocked the motorcycle he kept chained in the alley next to his apartment building. The bike was a rare indulgence, the oil-cooled engine tuned for peaky revs, the suspension sprung light with high footpegs and clip-on race bars that kept Won slung low over the frame. There was nothing easy about riding it – every bump in the road travelled up through his hands and feet, and hard braking slammed his balls against the gas tank, but the discomfort was worth a control seldom offered anywhere else in Won’s life.
Mrs. Chen had texted an address and time to meet. He recognized the location as the Chelsea Piers, an entertainment complex on the West side of Manhattan featuring driving ranges, skating rinks, and batting cages. He gunned his Triumph onto the upper deck of the 59th street bridge into the city, feeling the temperature drop from the wind coming off the East River, then took the twisty road through the park, inhaling odors of hot dogs and bus exhaust, then crossed the avenues until there was no more Manhattan and the Hudson River flowed before him. He steered the bike onto the parkway downtown, the World Trade Center looming larger as he approached the Chelsea Piers. He pulled the motorcycle onto the sidewalk and parked it next to the rolled-down grating of a seasonal snack bar, then walked between the maze of buildings until he came to heavily tinted doors stenciled with bowling pin logos. Inside, neon lighting cast everything other than the brightly lit lanes in deep shadows, and the air-conditioning smelled of petroleum and foot powder. Every lane was taken up by bowlers of varying ages, races, and skill, and hip-hop house music competed with the hard/soft clattering of balls against pins. Won walked past birthday parties and family gatherings until he came upon a group of a dozen children with their parents. While the parents were different races, the children were all Asian girls.
Won stepped aside to make room for a tiny old woman wearing cat’s-eye glasses carrying a tray of cheese fries to a group of preteen girls ready to descend on it like sharks to chum.
“Excuse me - Mrs. Chen?”
The old lady pointed at a tall gray-haired woman standing with ball in hand, crouched in a posture of concentration. She took three clumsy steps, swung the ball backward, then launched it onto the lane in an arc that landed with a heavy thud and slowly rolled into the gutter.
The woman wore perfectly cut jeans and a white T-shirt. Her nondescript outfit was offset by a gold face Breitling watch and a light-catching diamond wedding ring. She contemplated her gutter ball with her hands on her hips. Won barely remembered Florence and had no recollection of meeting her parents but knew that he would have remembered Mrs. Chen because her presence commanded attention. In fact, she seemed out of proportion for a middle-aged Chinese tiger mom: her legs were long, her shoulders and hips wide. When she turned around Won saw that Mrs. Chen was full-blooded Caucasian: Mormon white, Mayflower white, card-carrying DAR white.
As she waited for her ball to return, Won noted her perfectly cut shoulder-length hair framing a visage of flawless skin proportioned to a geometry of beauty: wide jaw, well-defined cheeks, and large, pale blue eyes, all maintained at what appeared to be great expense.
She noticed his observing her and squinted as she tried to place him.
He took a step towards her. “Nice shot.”
“Not really.” Won couldn’t tell if she was misunderstanding or ignoring his irony. “Who’s dad are you?”
“Rachel. She’s Florence’s friend.”
The white Mrs. Chen, relieved to have context, indulged Won with a formal smile.
“Mr. Park. Thank you so much for coming.” She turned to a pack of girls showing off dance moves to each other. “Anna, you can take my second ball.”
She lightly touched Won’s arm to pull him away from the other parents.
“I haven’t heard from my daughter in over a week. That’s not like her.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Don’t you think the police would be better suited to help?”
“I can’t take the risk.”
“What risk?”
A cheer went up – Anna had her arms up to celebrate her second-ball strike. Parents clapped and Anna’s friends came over to give her high-fives. Mrs. Chen observed the commotion, then turned to Won.
“Let’s talk a walk.”
Won waited for her to swap her rented bowling shoes for a pair of immaculate Chuck Taylors, and grabbed a denim jacket. They stepped out of the neon darkness onto the pier, blinking in the sunlight, and walked to the bird shit covered riverside railing facing New Jersey. Won had questions but waited for her to speak first.
“As you can guess, I’m not Florence’s biological mother. We adopted her as an infant. She was born in Jiangsu, where my husband is from. It helped that he had connections there. Whenever we could, we’d go back China with Florence so she’d have a strong connection to her culture. It became a yearly event, so we started organizing fundraisers for other adopted Chinese girls in New York.”
“What do you think happened to her?”
“I couldn’t say.”
“Do you think she might be in danger?”
Mrs. Chen considered it. “No.”
“So why not report her as missing?”
“I’d like to keep the matter private.”
Won made a show of checking his watch.
“Look, Mrs. Chen-”
“-Catherine.”
“If you’d like, I’ll contact some friends on the job that might be able to help you. That’s really the best I can do.”
Won gave her a long look. He saw pain, anger, sorrow. Finally, she said, “Okay, I understand. I appreciate your coming all this way to give me advice.”
“I’m happy to help.”
She pointed to his helmet he had hooked through the crook of his arm. “Where’s your motorcycle?”
Won pointed down the sidewalk towards the street. He followed to catch up as she walked towards it.
She moved a hand along the bike’s seat and touched the emblem on the side of the gas tank.
“My dad rode a Triumph. He was always working on it. The electrical parts. He said it was poor workmanship. Something about English labor unions. I’d sneak rides on it when he was on tour.”
“Musician?”
“Marine.”
“An officer’s daughter.”
She shook her head, her eyes never leaving the bike. “No, he worked for a living. Gunny Sargeant.”
“Does he still have the bike?”
“I wouldn’t know. We haven’t spoken since I married Alan.” She lifted a leg over and sat on the bike, then looked at Won. “He didn’t approve of my being with a person of color. Florence has never met my family.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It’s for the best. There are many things my father did that I don’t approve of.”
She looked at Won. “You wouldn’t happen have a cigarette, would you?”
Won shook his head.
“How about you take me for a ride?” He tone was light be her expression was serious.
He held up his helmet. “You need one of these.”
“If we get pulled over you can flash your PBA card.”
“And if we wipe out?”
“Have you ever?”
“It would be my luck to have you on it for my first.”
“It’s chance I’m willing to take.”
“What would your husband say if he found out you split your head open while riding on the back of some strange man’s motorcycle?”
“You’re not so strange. Not to me anyway. And Alan won’t mind, considering he’s dead.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. Stupid of me - I thought you knew. I should have said something earlier.”
She looked down for a moment. Again, Won caught the look of pain and sorrow.
“What about your party?”
“I’m not needed and wouldn’t be missed.”
Won couldn’t believe he was handing her his helmet. “Put this on.”