The last thing Jack had said to her before he left was, "Red is a good a color for you."
Lin had puzzled over this remark, and the ironic smile that had accompanied it, for the entire subway ride home.
Because she hadn't been wearing anything red at the time.
Or so she'd thought.
It wasn't until much later, when she was undressing for bed, that she realized what he'd meant:
Her panties.
Oh God.
Lin Kanazawa didn't think of herself as 'Japanese-American', 'Asian-American' or any other hyphenated label; her family had lived in the Boston area for five generations, which she figured ought to be American enough for anybody.
Her father, however, had an entirely different point of view. He was obsessed with his Japanese heritage and ancestry, explaining to anyone who would listen that his family was descended from "pure Samurai bloodlines," as he described it. And he felt it his duty to run the household according to "traditional Japanese values"—which meant that Lin, as a mere daughter, was treated by him as little more than a servant.
Her father's own parents were much more liberal and cosmopolitan in their outlook and didn't know what to make of him. They clucked their tongues over the situation but would not interfere. Lin's mother did her best to soften the harsh discipline under which Lin was raised but could only do so much.
She had, however, at least managed to convince Lin's father that a college education would increase Lin's value as a potential bride. Her father could hardly argue the point as he had met Lin's mother in college.
But that was the extent of her freedom. She was expected to excel in all of her classes, help her mother look after her father and brothers and do her share of the housework. And during school vacations she was expected to earn money.
Which was how she became a temp.
And how she met Jack.
There was nearly always employment available for temporary workers. Employers loved them because they worked for next to nothing and didn't qualify for the usual costly benefits required by full-time employees, such as health insurance.
It was summer and Lin had just started her newest assignment, as a cashier in a large and apparently failing department store not far from Harvard Square.
The store was badly maintained—the floors were dirty, the lighting spotty and the merchandise indifferently shelved. The floor manager explained, as he walked Lin to her post, that he wasn't planning to stay any longer than it took to find another job.
He showed her to her station; one of a pair of checkout stalls at the rear of the floor. He told Lin that most of the customers—when there were any—preferred to go out the way they came in, and that basically the only reason there were checkout stalls here at all was that the store was required by law to have another exit there and management found it cheaper to hire temp cashiers than security guards to sit there all day.
He suggested that in the future she bring something to read.
He introduced her to Jack, "your fellow temp and compatriot in boredom", and left.
She said hello to Jack and went to perch on the high stool in her stall. This brought her up to knee level with the walls that enclosed her space. She looked around the area, noting that the few customers poking around among the merchandise appeared to be elderly ladies who had probably started shopping there years ago and just gotten into the habit.
She sighed. Even though her father drove her crazy she did share some of his values, including a severe dislike of wasted time—even if she was getting paid for it. Tomorrow she would bring some of her textbooks for the upcoming semester and get a head start on her classes.
Out of the corner of her eye she studied Jack. He had greeted her cordially enough, with a nod and a slight wave and then gone back to staring off into space, arms crossed and one leg over the other. Lin guessed that he had just started that day as well.
He seemed to be about her age—probably a hard-up college student like herself, she thought. He was of average height and build, with brown hair worn long around his collar. Lin couldn't tell from where she was sitting but she thought she remembered blue eyes. He was wearing wheat-colored jeans and a faded blue work-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Lin looked down at the knee-length, pleated brown skirt and the crisp, long-sleeved white blouse she had on and felt over-dressed.
Her father always insisted that she dress conservatively—no surprise there—but Lin allowed herself the small rebellion of not wearing pantyhose in the summer. She despised it at all times, but especially in summer she felt as if her legs were suffocating.
Not that Jack was liable to notice—or care, even if he did notice.
Lin didn't know much about men, other than her two brothers. She was not allowed to date, as such. She had been told by her father that if she met any "nice Japanese boys of good family" while at school they were welcome to apply to him for permission to spend time with his daughter after being interviewed by him.
Like that was ever going to happen,
she'd thought to herself.
Otherwise, her father assured her, when she had completed her studies he would arrange a suitable match for her.
When he turned away Lin had rolled her eyes and made faces at his back. But in her heart she was sure it was the only way she would ever get married.
She was, in her own words to herself in the mirror, "Skinny, flat-chested and moon-faced." She wore glasses. She loved her long, glossy black hair, which she wore parted in the middle and down around her shoulders, and she secretly thought that she had a pretty smile, but that was about it.
So when Jack suddenly swiveled around on his stool and began talking to her she assumed it was out of sheer boredom.
She had little experience in conversation with men her own age, her upbringing having made her feel insignificant as well as unattractive—an impression that had only been heightened after attending college for two years without once being asked out. So at first she had answered only in shy monosyllables, glancing at him for an instant and then back down at her lap.
But under the influence of his persistent friendliness—and of course having nothing else to do—she gradually began to relax and take part in the conversation.
Nothing of much consequence was said; it was mostly school and studies, books and music, likes and dislikes—gradually warming up, as the day progressed, to include elements of personal history.
Lin found herself actually enjoying the conversation. She found herself meeting his gaze more often, then little by little turning on her stool until she was facing him. And by the end of the day she was unconsciously aping his posture: leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, hands hanging loosely or gesturing, feet propped on the highest rung of her stool.
She enjoyed looking at him, enjoyed the easy flow of his talk. She had no illusions that he found her attractive...but there was something about the way that he looked at her—a knowing, almost mocking quality behind his glance, as if he knew more about her than she did herself—that she found subtly disturbing.
Still, with the exception of their lunch breaks, which they were required to take in turn, and the extremely rare moments when one or the other of them actually had to help a customer, their conversation continued and became more open.
And at the end of the day, when the floor manager came to empty their registers and let them out through the rear doors before locking up for the night, Lin found herself actually looking forward to coming back to work the next day.
