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She steps into me and tugs at one of the buttons on my shirt. “You coming back to the club? Or maybe I can meet you upstairs in your flat?”
“Sure.”
At that, she smiles and releases the button. “Be back soon.”
I head down the stairs and catch up to the others. Amy and Bridget collect their cellphones from security. Unless authorized by me, no electronics are allowed inside the club, not even watches. The policy protects the privacy of the club patrons. One of the reasons the Jing San is so successful is because it trusts no one.
We step outside the building into the cold night air where JD’s driver is waiting with the Cullinan. Bridget gasps and wraps her bare arms around herself. I take off my jacket and put it around her shoulders.
“Thanks, but—” she starts.
But I’ve stepped to the vehicle to open the passenger door for myself. Bridget helps JD place Amy into the backseat and hops in after.
“Where do you live?” I ask Bridget after I tell the driver to head toward Berkeley.
“On Ever Street off Dwight Way.”
The driver nods to indicate he heard.
“Thanks for the lift,” Bridget says. “And if we need to cover the cost of cleaning the sofa—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I reply.
She doesn’t press her case, and I suspect that maybe money is an issue or she would insist.
Meanwhile, JD takes a call on his cell.
“What do you mean we lost two?” he asks in Cantonese.
I’m surprised he’s taking what sounds like a business call in front of strangers. Although Amy looks completely out of it, there’s no guarantee that Bridget doesn’t somehow know Cantonese.
“Not enough space? Better ventilation?” JD continues. “You know that’s not possible. Just have Huang figure it out or the next loss is coming out of his pocket.”
I look over my shoulder to see that Amy looks like she’s out cold and Bridget is looking out the window. To test them, I ask, in Cantonese, if either of them speak the language. Neither she nor Amy react.
“So what are you majoring in at Cal?” JD asks Bridget after hanging up.
“Public health,” she answers.
“You want to be a doctor?”
“I’m more interested in the policy side of it. Probably get a Master’s in Public Health.”
“You’d make more money as a doctor.”
“Sure, but I like the idea of making a difference at a community level.”
JD stares blankly at Bridget, and I suppress a smile. My cousin slept through most of his classes at UCLA. He only went to college to party and meet girls.
“What did you major in?” she asks.
JD starts texting on his phone. “Asian American Studies.”
“That’s cool.”
“Not really. But I had to pick something.”
“Why’d you go to college at all?”
