Read World of Suzie Wong : A Novel (9781101572399) for Free Online Page B

Peak. He was very nice. Sometime I will show you the letter he wrote me.” She picked up the beer bottle on the table and drained it into my glass. “You would like another San Mig?”
    â€œYes, but won’t you have something, too?”
    â€œNo, Chinese women don’t drink much, you know. None of the girls here drink.” She beckoned a waiter and ordered a San Mig, then said, “I think I will fetch that letter now. I would like you to see it.”
    â€œIsn’t that a nuisance, Gwenny?”
    â€œNo, I live quite near. And it is such a nice letter. I think you will enjoy reading it.”
    She left her knitting on the table and went out through the door onto the quay. The record on the juke box came to an end and Typhoo, the girl whom Gwenny had pointed out, got up and held out her hand to her matelot companion for a coin, wiggling the fingers impatiently. She was as ugly as a little monkey, but had a beautiful figure and legs. The split in her skirt rose to immodest heights and showed a long white sliver of thigh. The matelot gave her a coin. She noticed as she turned away that he was still wearing his hat and playfully grabbed it, giving him a great broad grin over her shoulder as she stuffed it on her own head. She sauntered over to the juke box and inserted the coin. She pressed one of the buttons to select a record, then stood back to watch the mechanical antics behind the glass, her legs planted firmly apart, her scarlet-nailed hands on her hips, her split skirt gaping, her little monkey’s face craned towards the machine, her eyes like two bright-pointed blackberries, and the matelot’s hat sitting rakish but forgotten on her head.
    Look at that, I thought. Look at that face, at that stance. A Chinese girl in an English sailor’s hat gazing into an American juke box. What more could you want than that?
    A matelot at a near-by table noticed her gaping skirt. He nudged his companion, winked, and dipped his forefinger in his beer. He leaned over from his chair and ran the wet finger down the sliver of Typhoo’s thigh. Typhoo turned on him furiously.
    â€œHey, what you think I am? Street girl?”
    At that moment the music from the juke box burst upon the room, drowning the rest of her vituperation. She gesticulated at him for a minute, then made a face of “Pouf! You’re beneath my contempt,” and walked away. She sat down at her table and began to tell her own matelot about it, with an expression that suggested she was saying indignantly, “Some of your friends make me sick. I’ve got pride, you know! What do they think I am?”
    I sat smoking and sipping the cool beer. Presently Gwenny returned, taking from her handbag an envelope that was rather grubby and dog-eared. She handed it to me across the table, saying, “You will see, it is a very nice letter. He was a very nice boy.”
    The envelope was addressed to
Miss Gwenny Lee, Nam Kok Hotel (Bar), Wanchai, Hong Kong, China
. The postmark was over a year old, and the letter inside was disintegrating along the folds like an Indian bearer’s testimonial.
    Gwenny watched, glowing with pleasure, as I began to read.
    Â 
    Dear Gwenny.
    Well, don’t die of shock, I expect you will to get a letter after all this time, anyhow it’s never too late to keep a promise so here goes.
    Well, Gwenny, I sure was a lucky fellow meeting a girl like you, especially just after getting that letter from my girl back home, when I was feeling so sore. She was no good that girl, Gwenny. I only wish she could have met you. I guess she thinks Chinese girls still wear grass skirts or something, she’d have got a big surprise to find someone as swell as you. I had to hide in the heads when we left Hong Kong (“No kidding!”) so as the other fellows wouldn’t see me cry. Well, we’ve been in about every port out East since then and I won’t say I haven’t looked at another