Bloodsucking fiends: a love story

smuggled over by pirates. They owe the pirates like thirty grand for the trip, and if they get caught and sent back to China, they still owe the money. That's like twenty years' wages in the provinces."
    "So?" Tommy asked. "What's that got to do with the flowers?"
    Troy snickered. "I'm getting to that. You see, they want to be citizens. If they become citizens, they can get better jobs and pay off the pirates faster. And they can't be sent back."
    "And the flowers?"
    "The Wongs are leaving the flowers. They're courting you."
    "What!"
    "They heard somewhere that in San Francisco men marry men. They figure that if they can get you to marry them, then they can be citizens and stay here. You've got secret admirers, dude."
    Tommy was indignant. "They think I'm gay?"
    "They don't know. I really don't think they care. They asked me to ask you for your hand in marriage." Troy finally lost control and started laughing.
    "What did you tell them?"
    "I told them I'd ask."
    "You fucker."
    "Well, I didn't want to tell them no without asking you. They said that they'd take good care of you."
    "Go tell them I said no."
    "You got something against Asians? Too good for us?"
    "No, it's not that. I -"
    "I'll tell them that you'll think about it. Look, I've got to get home and get some sleep. I'll see you at work tonight." Troy walked away.
    "You're cleaning garbage cans tonight, Troy. I'm in charge, you know? You better not tell Simon and the guys."
    "Whatever you say, Fearless Leader," Troy called over his shoulder.
    Tommy stood on the sidewalk trying to think of a better threat.
    A half block away Troy turned and yelled, "Hey, Tommy!"
    "What?"
    "You'll make a lovely bride."
    Tommy, murder in his eyes, broke into a run after Troy Lee.
    Sunset. Consciousness hit Jody like a bucket of cold water.
    She thought, I miss waking up groggy and waiting for the coffee to brew. Waking up with your worries already in full stride just sucks.
    What was I thinking? Giving myself only a half hour to get ready for a date? I have nothing to wear. I can't show up in a sweatshirt and jeans and ask this guy to move in with me. I don't even know anything about him. What if he's a drunk, or a woman beater, or a psycho killer? Don't those guys always work nights in grocery stores? The neighbors always say that: "He worked nights and kept to himself. Who would have thought that he stir-fried the paperboy?" He did say I was beautiful, though, and everybody has their faults. Who am I to judge? I'm a…
    She didn't want to think about what she was.
    Jody had thrown on her jeans and was furiously trying to put on what little make-up she had with her.
    She thought, I can read small print in the dark, I can see heat coming off a hiding rat from a hundred yards, and I still can't put on mascara without poking myself in the eye.
    She stepped back from the mirror and tried to fight the self-criticism – tried to look at herself objectively.
    I look like a late-night TV plea for the fashion-impaired, she thought. This won't work.
    She broke away from the mirror, then took one last look and primped her hair, then started out the door, then took one last look, then started out the door, then paused for a last look…
    "No!" she said aloud. She ran out the door, down the steps, and to the bus stop on the corner, where she bounced from foot to foot as if waiting for the bathroom at a beer-drinking contest.
    Tommy had spent the day trying to avoid the five Wongs. He watched the room until he was sure they had all left, then he sneaked in and grabbed some clean clothes, showered, dressed, and sneaked out. He took a bus to Levis Plaza, where he napped on a park bench while pigeons and seagulls scavenged around him. Late afternoon brought a cold wind off the bay that chilled him awake.
    He walked up Sansome toward North Beach, trying to rub the crease out of the back of his head left by the bench slats. As he passed a group of teenagers who were posturing and panhandling at the curb, one pudgy boy shouted, "Sir, can you spare a quarter for some eyeliner?"
    Tommy dug in the pocket of his jeans and handed the kid all of his change. No one had ever called him "sir" before.
    "Oh, thank you, sir!" the kid gushed in a high feminine voice. He held the fistful of change up to the others as if he had just been handed the cure for cancer.
    Tommy smiled and walked on. He figured that panhandlers had cost him about ten dollars a day since he had come to the City – ten dollars that he