Pride and protest, p.22
Pride and Protest, page 22
“I don’t know Korean, but I have a feeling that’s some kind of asshole. Why? Because you keep trying to hook me up with your chatty Korean cousins?” Dorsey rolled his eyes.
“They’re women, aren’t they? And you mean to tell me that this woman tolerates you? A sister? From Wokeville, USA?” Joseph Park was from a diverse and culturally fluid space that gave him the ability to relate to just about anyone. He had grown up in Flushing, Queens, and had one foot in old Korea and another foot in the hot food truck scene. His Ajumma House Korean food trucks were parked in nearly every major metropolitan area.
“Well, I think she more than tolerates me? I think we’re kind of serious.”
“Serious? Have you been on one date?”
“It’s complicated. We can’t be out in public. It’s a whole thing.”
Dorsey handed Joseph the phone and scrolled through the text messages quickly so he couldn’t read too deeply.
“Is this just today?” Park whistled.
Dorsey nodded.
“Damn. This is more than I’ve ever texted anyone. Like in my whole life. Wait, what is IFF?”
“Don’t read my texts.”
“You handed me your texts!” Park was incredulous.
“To see the amount. Not to read, you nosy mofo. IFF is International Food Friday. Liza and I choose a country—it started off as a joke about the senators little parties—and we FoodDash—”
Park swiped at the air. “Never mind. I thought it was some freaky shit. But that sounds boring.”
Dorsey ran his fingers through his hair. “Park, I want to take a big step, and I want her to feel safe and—”
“Which is why you’re bringing your Korean lucky charm?”
“You are charming and Korean.”
“I’m honored to be your wingman, Dorsey, but my job is to be the voice of reason for you. You’ve never been this close to the L word. I’m gonna have to play bad cop with her. If a woman who looks like that Instagram photo gets anywhere near your dick, you’re going to buy her an island. So, you need to be sure.”
Dorsey blew out his breath and opened the car door. It was not Park’s charm or discernment Dorsey was relying on tonight; it was his ability to make Dorsey feel safe and normal, even funny. Park’s presence was more courage-inducing than tequila, without the headache in the morning. His heart hammered in his chest, and before he could knock, the door swung open. The housekeeper’s face met his with a deflated sigh. Joseph snorted and pushed Dorsey’s shoulder.
The housekeeper led them down the hallway, brimming with glossy prints of the senator’s wife, Anne. Anne on a horse. Anne blowing out candles. Always the same angle, always the same sullen face. The hallway was a shrine to Anne’s discontent with her life. When they rounded the corner, the smell of German pretzel bread, sauerkraut, and sausage made his stomach churn. What on earth had he signed up for? Wasn’t this Russia night?
“Happy Fasching!” Liza popped up like she was bursting out of a birthday cake. Is she happy to see me? Dorsey’s eyes zeroed in on her chest. Did she have her bra on? He vowed to check personally. Liza laughed out loud, probably because she knew the direction of his thoughts. Yes, she is happy to see me. That small realization made his throat feel thick and his face hot.
Dorsey cleared his throat, too afraid his voice would crack with emotion if he spoke. Liza was radiant. Bright teeth, reddish brown curls swept up in a high puff, and curly bangs across her forehead. She wore a dark military-cut jacket with a shirt on which, as hard as he tried, he could only make out the word “pussy” across her low belly.
That’s it. She was taunting him. He knew it.
“It’s German Lent! Can I interest you in some boiled potatoes?” Liza asked, the teasing still in her eyes. Dorsey turned to see Park beaming. So much for bad cop.
Colin stood up. “The best boiled potatoes you’ll ever have, I’m sure!”
“I think if you’ve tasted one boiled potato—” Park started.
Liza shook her head. “No, these will be the best boiled potatoes you’ve ever had.” Park laughed a funny little laugh, and Dorsey was suddenly struck with the fear that Joseph would see Liza’s magnetism and sparkle too. Why would he then want to be his wingman when he could have her himself? He was everything a woman like Liza would like.
No, I’m being paranoid.
Liza walked around the table, and when Dorsey saw those jeans, his eyes shot heavenward in a prayer for mercy.
Where would you even buy pants that snug? The children’s section? The jeans hugged her curved thighs and slender hips. A fine figure, his father would say, a fine-figured gal. Her ass is a damned masterpiece of biological engineering.
Dorsey greeted the senator with a tight nod, still not completely over the kick in the chest those jeans were. “I want to introduce Joseph Park, one of my closest friends.” He could see Colin scrolling on his phone.
“Celebrity chef, the king of Queens, Asian fusion guru, affordable-chic food magnate Joseph Park?” Colin asked.
Park pulled at the collar of his shirt. “Yep, all of that!” Everyone at the table laughed. Park made the rounds, shaking everyone’s hands and charming them effortlessly. Dorsey made an undignified sprint, just beating out Chicho for the seat next to Liza, while Park sat across from him. A woman came to pour the wine, and Liza and Dorsey reached for the same wineglass.
“Wineglasses go just above the knife, which will be on your right.” Dorsey managed a smile. I’m doing it. Relating without sounding like a robot.
“I really should brush up on my Emily Post,” Liza quipped. She looked slightly embarrassed.
Oh god, did I call too much attention to her mistake? I’m terrible at this. Every time he looked up, his eyes met Liza’s. She would flit her eyes away, or he would pretend to look down into his drink. Drinks that were flowing a bit too freely for Dorsey’s liking. He was suddenly glad he hadn’t driven, because his head was swimming. He wasn’t sure if it was his prolonged proximity to Liza or the wine. Her sparkle made everyone seem like such dull company. It wasn’t just him who seemed to think so—everyone asked her questions and picked her brain for outrageous tidbits.
“Ron absolutely didn’t deserve Hermione,” Liza finished. “He negged her the entire series!”
Park scoffed. “Get out of here with your Hufflepuff sensibilities. It’s a Gryffindor or Slytherin world out there.”
“Hermione chose exactly who she wanted!” Anne said. It was the first topic Dorsey had seen her passionate about. Had everyone seen this film? Anne was a generation ahead of him and followed this conversation. Why hadn’t he just sat down and watched the damn movies? All he knew was Harry was good and the green dudes were bad, but he had never understood why.
Liza crossed her arms. “I ship Hermione and Harry all. Day.” She clapped her hands for punctuation.
“Why would Harry do that to his friend?” Park asked.
“Now who has Hufflepuff sensibilities? The heart wants what the heart wants.” Liza shrugged.
“Forget Hufflepuff, that is so Slytherin of you.” Park laughed. “Dorsey’s got a Slytherin streak too.”
“I will not even pretend to understand what exactly you all are talking about,” Dorsey said quietly. When Joseph rolled his eyes, Dorsey added hastily, “But I vaguely remember the green guys—”
“Slytherins,” Liza said.
“I think Slytherins get a bad rap.” The table groaned around him. Oh boy, am I bad at this. Only Liza slapped the table decisively.
“Oh my god, thank you for your bravery,” she said. “What is wrong with ambition? That is J. K. Rowling’s Britishness erupting all over the page.” Liza smiled at Dorsey, and he smiled weakly back. How could he steer this conversation to a comfortable place?
“I enjoy the animated series Avatar,” Dorsey said haltingly. Why couldn’t he be the man he was in texts? Why was it so hard to push out these words?
Liza’s brows rose in surprise. “I . . . I think Katara was underutilized.”
Dorsey nodded. “I mean, she could blood-bend.”
“Right, just do what you have to do to win the war,” Park said.
Dorsey, buoyed by the positive reactions, continued. “And Aang and Katara were a terrible match.”
“Zuko and Katara . . .” Dorsey and Liza blurted out at the same time. He nodded, and Liza finished.
“Zuko and Katara were a better couple,” she said.
Park scoffed. “He was a jerk to her. Just like Ron.”
“The heart wants what it wants,” Dorsey said. When Liza looked up at him, the bottom dropped out of his belly.
“What do you think, Lucia?” Park asked.
“Liza and I have been down this road before. We have a binding agreement. I won’t talk about Unsolved Mysteries and The First 48, and she won’t talk about her cartoons,” Chicho said, and Liza laughed.
“Yes, we called that the Treaty of Paris, I think,” Liza said.
“Do you all name your friend truces?” Park asked. “Dorsey, we have to do that.”
“What is your Magna Carta?” Dorsey asked.
“Don’t like the same boys,” they both said in unison.
Dorsey looked over to Colin. “Solid pact,” was all he said. Liza put her hand to her mouth like her wine might spill out.
A tiny droplet fell onto the fabric of her white shirt, spreading and staining just above the peak of her nipple. He couldn’t believe she actually hadn’t worn that bra. He could make out the sway of her breast easily in the snug shirt. Maybe he could get that wine stain out with his mouth? His balls tightened. He must have veins bulging out of the side of his neck.
Shit.
How long have I been staring at her nipples?
Liza’s speech was slowing down. Could she be as nervous as he?
He looked over at his glass and realized she had been drinking from both his and her own glasses. Perhaps the unflappable woman needed a little liquid courage tonight. Dorsey looked down at his hands, then surprised himself by grazing Liza’s thigh with his knuckles. He couldn’t keep his hands off her. She looked up at him, grabbed his wineglass, and finished the contents in one swallow, her eyes never leaving his.
The game is afoot.
SELF-CHECKOUT
What are the top things to do in Alexandria?” After a moment, Liza continued, “Wrong answers only.” Liza posed with her selfie stick in the senator’s bathroom. It was so luxe with its red cloth wallpaper, gold finishes, and Tuscan tile that Liza didn’t think she’d find a better spot to stream. Let her followers think she was joining them from a Roman bath.
“ ‘Oh lord . . . the men . . . Stay away, Liza girl,’ ” she read from the comments.
“Don’t worry about me and men tonight,” she replied to the comment. “You ever had the feeling that the room is full of gasoline and you have a match in your pocket?”
Oh, you gon’ burn it up tonight, Liza?
She laughed. “I want to do damage, DC family. Okay, I have one more post tonight, and you’ll never know where I’ll be. This WQUR live cast is, as always, brought to you by our friends at Pemberley Development. They put the trust in ‘trust fund kids.’ ”
* * *
When the famous potatoes were finally served, Dorsey found them lifeless, saltless, and hard to boot. The sauerkraut was bitter and the bratwurst greasy. It was one of the worst meals he’d ever eaten. Liza had artfully spaced all the food on her plate to give the illusion of an eaten meal. His thigh pressed against hers. It was everything he could do to hold his hands at his sides. Seeing her, being near her again, was just too intense for him. They had kept a loose correspondence in these three months, with quick teasing texts or memes. Their communication seemed almost easy. And communication had never come easy to Dorsey. Liza didn’t know how he agonized for hours before he sent her a message. She would shoot back something pithy, and he would be reeling all over again. It was what made him get over his second thoughts about her family and come to see her.
“Liza,” Senator De Berg boomed across the table, “I hear you’re here to help Lucia with her podcast. Are you a good interviewer?”
“Not really. My show isn’t really that format.”
“Have you heard that podcast Serial? Can you make the podcast a little like that?”
“A true-crime mystery women’s Christian podcast?” Liza smirked.
The senator nodded wistfully. “I could’ve been a reporter. I have an instinct, you know? And I don’t give up. With a little training, I could have been at the Washington Post.”
“Oh, most definitely, sir, and excelling at that as much as you do your public service work,” Colin simpered.
“It’s a similar skill,” Chicho said.
“That’s right. I could see this wall full of Pulitzers had I just pushed in the opposite direction.” The senator pulled up his high school newspaper pictures, kept at the ready on his Facebook profile. He passed the phone around. Everyone nodded politely. Except for Colin, who sighed in awe.
“We’re all so glad you chose public service, Senator.”
“Public service,” the senator said, pausing wistfully, “chose me.”
Dorsey saw Liza and Park roll their eyes together.
“So, Liza, how’s your crusade against progress going?” the senator asked.
“Progressing, actually.” Liza smiled tightly.
“I got a look at that amateurish proposal you drafted.”
Dorsey saw Liza look over to Colin, then to him. “There are still some wrinkles to iron out,” she said.
Dorsey kept his eyes on her sleek hands and the tiny little gold rings on each finger. A cracked-screen Apple Watch looked incongruous on her slender wrist.
“People aren’t taking you seriously after those photos, huh?” Senator De Berg’s response was tinged with a touch of glee. Dorsey couldn’t read Liza. She just blinked and held her composure at the senator’s remarks. Maybe she had a lot of practice dodging mean comments. “If you’re still having trouble getting into the room where it happens, call me.” The senator was smug. Dorsey wanted to punch the smile right off his face.
“I have had trouble being taken seriously since the gala. I’ve lost followers and credibility.” Liza was clear-eyed and focused. The vulnerability she could express while still looking like a badass was a thing of wonder to him. “But if I got into this work just for the likes, I would have quit a long time ago.” She gave the senator a hard stare. “My work doesn’t have to be public and loud to be good. In fact, you’ll find that my ‘amateurish’ proposal has been vetted by several council members and may quietly land on their desk for approval. And then my quietly drafted legislation will make it just a little harder for companies to come in and overturn apple carts.”
“Dorsey, you hear this? Liza’s got plans for all of your work.” The senator was out for blood.
“I wish Liza luck in all of her endeavors. I hope in the future we can work together toward the same goal.”
The senator’s face did some facsimile of a smile. But his eyes burned in anger. “Okay, cut the horseshit,” he said through forced laughter. “You don’t want her to succeed. How could you? She’s your enemy.”
“A wise man said I should choose my friends for their good looks, and my enemies for their intellects.” Park looked from Dorsey to Liza, then to the senator. “Who said that, Dorsey?”
“Oscar Wilde, I believe.” Dorsey dabbed at the corners of his mouth.
Liza looked up. “You know, it’s funny, when it rains, it pours. They got money for wars but can’t feed the poor.” Liza smiled and took on the same confident air as Park. “Who said that, Chicho?” Liza looked at her friend.
Colin shot daggers at Chicho, and Chicho put her head down.
Before Liza’s face could fall, Dorsey answered, “I believe it was Tupac.”
Park winked at him, and Dorsey had to stop himself from kicking him under the table.
Dorsey was egged on nonetheless and continued. “It’s interesting how government deprioritization of the poor gets translated into corporate responsibility.” Dorsey was rewarded with a surprised look from Liza.
Liza moved her food around her plate. “Dorsey, you know Tupac, but not Harry Potter?”
“Oh, I can explain this.” Park put down his fork. “Dorsey is a die-hard West Coast rap aficionado.”
Dorsey shook his head. “Not this again.” It was Park’s favorite piece of knowledge about Dorsey.
“Even when faced with the superior lyrics of Biggie, Jay Z, Nas, and Meek Mill. Despite growing up in Philly, he still stans Dr. Dre, Tupac, and Kendrick Lamar—as if they compare.” Park laughed.
“I have no coastal allegiance for hip-hop,” Colin said.
Liza’s improperly placed napkin fell from the table, and Dorsey caught it before it hit the ground. “Liza, my brother, Alexi, is—was—into West Coast rap. Those lyrics take up a ridiculous portion of my brain.”
Liza took the napkin from his hand and put it back on the table. Why does she never put napkins on her lap? She had made fun of his persnickety napkining at the hotel bar. But he didn’t care; there was a wrong and right way to do things. Dorsey took the napkin again and folded it over her lap. Not missing the opportunity to run his thumbs across her thighs. He realized that the table had gone quiet when Colin cleared his throat.
“Chicho and I are really moving away from the violence of hip-hop into safer, calmer music. Right, Chicho?” Chicho nodded, and Liza put her fork down noisily. Dorsey wondered how she and Chicho were doing. It must not be easy to see her friend attached to someone like Colin, who seemed to always be campaigning for elected office, even at dinner. Silence once again rolled over the table.
