The Way It Works Read online

  “I work in finance,” I say.

  “Oh, yeah? What firm?”

  “I’m, uh…between positions at the moment.”

  Mr. Jefferson looks unimpressed. But I’m saved when someone else walks into the room.

  “Oh, Yolanda, who this handsome young guy! What a nice suit he wear!”

  I turn to see a tiny Chinese lady. I’m not tall, but she only comes to my chest. She’s smiling so hard her face has disappeared in a mass of friendly wrinkles.

  Yolanda rattles something off in Mandarin to her mother. She bows to me.

  I bow back.

  Out of nowhere, I remember learning a single phrase of Mandarin from a movie I saw a long time ago. It’s Nho ma, which means “How are you?” I decide to bust it out. Why not? When you have nothing to lose, you’re not afraid to try anything.

  So I bow again and say, “Nho ma?”

  You would think I just grew a pair of wings. Her mom’s eyes get big.

  “I like this boy!” she says. “He okay!”

  Yolanda laughs. She kisses her mom and dad good night and puts her arm in mine.

  “Not too late, right?” says Mr. Jefferson.

  “You be quiet!” says Mrs. Jefferson, hitting him on the arm. “She big girl now.”

  “Good night, Mom and Dad,” says Yolanda.

  We walk out the door together.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  For our first date, I decide it would be a good idea to go to a Chinese restaurant. That shows I’m interested in Yolanda’s heritage and open-minded enough to try new kinds of food. So we go to a little place I found earlier. Nice, clean, but not too pricey.

  The owners look at us strangely. I guess you don’t see too many black people in Chinese restaurants. But they lighten up when Yolanda starts talking to them in Mandarin. Next thing you know, we’ve got three waiters swarming around us. They treat us like royalty.

  “Wow,” I say. “I need to learn how to speak more of that.”

  “You really impressed my mother,” she says. “Where did you learn how to say Nho ma?”

  “Oh, I picked it up in my world travels,” I say. Then I wink to show I’m joking. She laughs again. It sounds like a handful of silver coins jingling. I could tell jokes all night just to hear that laugh.

  I let Yolanda do the ordering. A waiter brings a vase for the flowers I stole. We sit and smile at each other. I hope they take a very long time to bring our food. I want this night to go on forever.

  “Well, looks like your dad already hates me,” I say.

  “Oh, don’t worry about him,” Yolanda says. “He’s just being protective of his little girl.”

  “How did your parents meet anyway?”

  “Dad’s a minister. He was a missionary in China. He met Mom while he was working over there. I know, they look kind of funny together, right?”

  “As long as they’re happy,” I say.

  “Well, they’re good people, but I can’t wait to move out and get my own place.

  They’re letting me stay with them until I save up enough money. Where do you live, Walter?”

  “Oh, I, uh…I have a small place downtown,” I say. I glance out the window at my car. “A really small place. So, what kind of plans do you have for the future?”

  Yolanda shrugs. Our drinks come.

  Hers has a little paper umbrella in it.

  She takes it out and plays with it.

  “I’m not sure yet,” she says. “I like my job for now, but I definitely want to go back to school. I just don’t know what I want to study. Maybe business. What about you?”

  “I got my associate degree in business admin last year,” I say. “So I’ve been looking like crazy for a job. No luck yet.”

  “Things are tough out there, aren’t they?” says Yolanda.

  “You know it.”

  Our food comes. There are about ten different dishes. Everything smells so good that I forget to worry about how much it’s all going to cost. I let Yolanda tell me what everything is, even though I can’t understand half of it.

  I eat as slowly as I can. I’m having the time of my life. I have just one regret. I wish Moms was still around, so she could meet Yolanda. She would have liked her.

  Finally, we finish eating. The waiters bring fortune cookies on little plates.

  “I love these things,” I say.

  “You know these aren’t really Chinese, right?” Yolanda says. “They were invented here, in this country.”

  “They’re still fun,” I say. “As long as you remember not to take them too seriously.”

  We open ours at the same time. I read mine, then look over at her. Her face has a funny expression on it.

  “What’s yours say?” she asks.

  I show her: You will be a great success in business. Just what I wanted to hear.

  “What about yours?” I ask her.

  But she shakes her head primly. Then she folds up her fortune and puts it in her purse.

  “You’re not gonna tell me?” I say. “Is it that bad?”

  “No, not bad,” she says, smiling. “Just… personal.”

  “Are you ever gonna show me?”

  “Maybe someday,” she says. “But not today.”

  Finally, the waiters clear the last crumb off the table, and the owners start clearing their throats. I look at my watch. It’s ten o’clock. I can’t believe it. We’ve been sitting here for almost three hours.

  “I better get you home,” I say.

  I call for the bill. I don’t want to look at it, but I have to. I try not to wince. Eighty-nine dollars. Oh, well. I’d gladly pay ten times that for a date with this African-Chinese princess.

  We bow our way out the door, thanking the owners for everything. Then we head back to her house. It’s a beautiful night. We leave the car windows open, so we can feel the breeze.

  Soon we pull up outside her house. I leave the car running and the lights on. I don’t want her dad to think I’m getting any ideas.

  “Well, thanks for a great time,” Yolanda says.

  “Me too,” I say. “I really mean it. I had a blast.”

  We look at each other for a long moment. Then the porch light comes on. Mr. Jefferson appears in the doorway.

  “Oh, are you home already?” he calls.

  “I was just doing a security check.”

  “Daddy and his security checks,”

  Yolanda says.

  “I guess this kills any chance of a goodnight kiss,” I say.

  I’m just joking around, but Yolanda looks at me, half smiling and half serious.

  “There’s always next time,” she says.

  And I can tell she means it.

  I walk her to the door and say good night. I make a point of looking her dad in the eye and shaking his hand again. Then I get back in my car and take off.

  I keep driving until I’m at the city limits, near a quiet park. Here I pull over. I get my blanket and pillow out of the trunk. Then I crawl into the backseat. It’s been one of the best nights of my life. I feel like a king.

  The last thing I do before I fall asleep is touch the wad of cash in my pocket. It helps remind me that everything really is going to be all right…someday.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I wake up later than I meant to. All the excitement from last night wore me out, I guess.

  Right away, I can tell something is wrong. But I’m so sleepy I can’t tell what it is.

  Then it hits me. The world has gone sideways. And my car is moving.

  I sit up in the backseat. The front of the car is tilted up. And in front of it is a tow truck.

  I’m so sleepy, it takes me a minute to figure out what’s going on.

  I’m getting towed.

  I climb into the front seat and start leaning on the horn. After a minute, the truck slows down. Before it even stops, I’m out the door. I trip and fall on the road. Great. Now my pants have stains on the knees. I get to my feet as the driver gets out of the truck.


  “Man, what are you doing?” I say. I’m trying not to yell, but I’m as mad as they come.

  “What are you doing?” he says. He’s a big greasy guy with a beard. His T-shirt doesn’t even cover his belly. I guess some people get dressed without looking in a mirror.

  “You’re not supposed to tow cars with people in them,” I say.

  “Yeah, well, you’re not supposed to park in tow zones,” he says.

  “I didn’t know it was a tow zone. Didn’t you see me back there?”

  “All I saw was a blanket. How was I supposed to know there was a person under there?”

  “Well, you know now. So how about you cut me loose?”

  He crosses his arms and shakes his head.

  “You been towed,” he says. “That’s it.

  You want your car back, you gotta come down to the impound lot. Or pay me right here.”

  “Pay you? How much?”

  “Two hundred and seven dollars.”

  “What? That’s robbery!”

  “That’s what it costs.”

  “What gives you the right to charge me money for my own car?”

  “I got a contract with the city,” he says.

  “That’s what gives me the right. That’s the way it works.”

  There’s no way I can afford to part with that much money. I decide to come clean with the guy. I hope he takes pity on me.

  “Look, man,” I say. “Two hundred bucks is practically all I have. I can’t afford that. And I need this car. I…I live in it. I got nowhere else. Times are tough. This is my home right now.”

  I was hoping he would understand. But when he hears I’m homeless, that seems to make things worse. It’s like a magic word in reverse. When somebody hears it, they harden their hearts against you. It’s like you’ve got a sickness, and they don’t want any part of it.

  “Pay me, or I’m rolling,” he says.

  There’s no way I can do it. So I ask him to wait while I take my toiletry bag out of my car. The rest of my stuff is already at the bus station. At least I don’t have to carry it all.

  “When you come up with the cash, you can have your car back,” says the driver. He gives me a card with the address of the impound lot on it. “There’s a daily storage fee.

  The longer you leave it, the more it’s gonna cost you.”

  “Great,” I say. “Nice to meet you too.”

  Then I watch as my car disappears down the road.

  It’s a long walk back to the city. By the time I get downtown, it’s nearly nine o’clock. I decide to go straight to the postal center. For the first time, I hope Yolanda isn’t there. I’m ashamed to see her right now. I don’t want her to see the defeat on my face.

  But she’s behind the counter, talking to someone. When I see her through the window, I almost turn and walk away. But she’s already seen me. So I go in, acting like everything’s fine, and shoot her a smile. She smiles back. At least she’s too busy to talk.

  I check my mailbox. Nothing.

  Then I go to the computer and check my email. There’s a message for me:

  Dear Mr. Davis, We would be happy to give you an interview. Please come by today at 3:00 pm.

  Sincerely, Capital Investments, Inc.

  Capital Investments is one of the new firms in the financial district. They have offices in a beautiful building with gold windows. I haven’t done too much research on it yet. But it looks like a multimillion-dollar corporation.

  And they want to talk to me.

  Suddenly my whole day has changed. I clap my hands and pump my fist in the air.

  “What are you so happy about?”

  I turn to see Yolanda smiling at me. Her customer has left. I jump up and smile back.

  “Just a little piece of good news,” I say. “Could be a good lead.”

  “That’s nice. Haven’t you been to bed yet?”

  “What do you mean?” Uh-oh, I think.

  Can she tell I slept in my car?

  “You’re still wearing your suit,” she laughs. “And your knees are dirty.”

  I look down. There are soiled patches on my pants, where I hit the ground when I fell out of the car.

  “Oops,” I say. “Yeah, I was up late.”

  “Doing what?”

  “I was, uh…praying. Thanking God for such a wonderful date last night.”

  “For real, Walter?” She looks like she doesn’t know whether to believe me or not.

  “Yeah. And I was also praying that if I asked you out again, you would say yes.”

  Uh-oh, I say to myself. You better shut up.

  You don’t have a car anymore.

  But I can’t help myself. She’s so beautiful. And I like her so much. All I want is to be with her. It comes out of my mouth before I can stop it.

  She’s still smiling. She thinks I’m funny.

  “Why do you wear that suit all the time?” she says.

  “Well,” I say, “it was a present from my mother. And she used to say that the world judges a man by how he looks. So I always try to look my best.”

  Yolanda nods.

  “I always felt like it was more important what you have inside,” she says.

  “That too,” I say. “But people don’t give you a job just because you’re a nice person. You have to look the part.”

  She laughs again.

  “Walter, I would love to go out with you again,” she says.

  “Great. What about tonight?”

  “I can’t make it tonight. But I’m free tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow night it is,” I say.

  How you going to pick her up, fool? says a voice inside my head.

  But I’ll worry about that later. Right now I have an interview to get ready for.

  CHAPTER SIX

  From the postal center, I head straight to the bus station. There I change into jeans and a T-shirt. I grab my copy of Seven Habits. Then I take my suit to the dry cleaner’s, which is just around the corner. They tell me it’s going to be a while.

  I have nowhere else to be, so I go outside to wait. I lean against the wall and start re-reading Seven Habits. This book has all the secrets I need to know to make it in business. I want to master all of them.

  “How’s it going, Walter?”

  I look up. There’s a bum sitting against a building, about twenty feet away. He’s got a sign that says HOMELESS—PLEASE HELP. In front of him is an empty hat. At first I think he’s just some panhandler. But then I realize I know this guy.

  “Hey, Scooby,” I say. “It’s going great. How are things?”

  When I first lost my place, it was too cold to sleep in my car. So I spent a couple of weeks in a shelter. It was not an experience I care to repeat. But Scooby and I got to know each other there. He’s a good guy. Maybe forty years old. Not very clean, and he looks sick all the time. But he’s friendly. And smart.

  “Business is terrible,” he says. “This economy is in trouble. Nobody has an extra cent these days. And all the Ponzi schemes in the news are making things worse.”

  I go over and sit down next to Scooby.

  “What’s a Ponzi scheme?” I ask.

  “It’s a kind of scam. It’s when investors promise people really high returns that they can’t deliver. It’s a con game.”

  “I didn’t know anything about that,” I say.

  “Let me tell you something, Walter,” says Scooby. “In the world of finance, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.”

  “How do you know all this, Scooby?”

  “I used to be in business. I had five convenience stores. And two houses. But I lost everything.”

  “How’d you do that?” I’m amazed. If I ever got that far ahead, I think, the last thing I would do is lose it all.

  “I borrowed too much,” he says. “I thought the economy would keep going up forever. But when things started heading south, I lost everything. We call that being over-leveraged.”

  I feel li
ke I ought to be taking notes. Scooby knows a lot more than I realized.

  “Say, Walter,” says Scooby, “I’m pretty hungry. You wouldn’t have a few bucks you could give me, would you? I can pay you back when things pick up.”

  I know Scooby isn’t a drunk or a drug addict. He really will spend the money on food. So I reach into my pocket to peel off a few small bills. But then I remember I’ve changed my pants. My money isn’t in my jeans. It’s with my suit. How could I have forgotten that?

  “Scooby, I’ll be right back,” I say.

  I run to the dry cleaner’s. The lady who owns it happens to be Chinese too. Her name is Mrs. Wong. She listens to my story. Then she tells me she didn’t see my money. I can tell she’s being honest. Sometimes you just know about people. She lets me search through my pants. She even lets me look around the floor of her shop.

  Nothing.

  My money is gone.

  Okay, Walter, think. Think hard. Where did you last see the money?

  I remember. Last night, as I was falling asleep, I felt it in my pocket. I had it then. So it must have fallen out in the car.

  Which is now at the impound lot.

  I debate calling the lot to ask them to look for it. But that has to be the stupidest idea I’ve ever had. Of course they’ll find it. Then they’ll keep it.

  Because that’s the way it works.

  How can I even pay for my suit? Mrs. Wong is waiting to see what I’m going to do. She reminds me of Yolanda’s mom. I wonder if I can get lucky twice in a row. What do I have to lose?

  I bow deeply. Then I say, “Nho ma?”

  Her face lights up, and she laughs.

  “Where did you learn that?” she asks. “Black people don’t speak Mandarin!”

  You need to meet Yolanda, I think.

  But that’s too complicated to explain right now. Instead, I tell Mrs. Wong about my job interview. I tell her what happened to my money. I beg her to let me pay her later. She nods. I’ve been in here before.

  She knows me well enough.

  “You can pay later, okay,” Mrs. Wong says. “I remember your face.”

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” I say.

  Mrs. Wong smiles again.

  “In Mandarin, we say ‘Xiè xiè,’” she says. It sounds like sheh sheh.