On Saturday night, Hazel comes to Redux again.
She also made an appointment with Kate, who said she had something to do and couldn't come, and asked if she had traveled to see Ethan which Hazel didn't deny.
Kate teased her, "You won't want to do it too often, you'll lose your mind."
The clock turns to eleven, Hazel sits alone in the corner, unlike the surrounding people who come in groups, she holds a cup of gin, purses her lips, and stares at the stage with certainty in her eyes.
Like a regular who's come prepared.
But Ethan never shows up. He isn't there for the opening, he isn't there for the group dance in the middle, isn't there for the close-ups, the role-playing, and isn't there for the lucky girl.
It is almost twelve o'clock, and just when Hazel thinks she is about to return in low spirits, he finally makes an appearance. Four thick black ropes scattered from the rooftop dot and lifted Ethan's arms and legs. He descends from the sky with a female dancer lying on the floor.
Ethan gets down steadily and rises again. Suspended above the female dancer, he relies on his strength to pull the rope tied to his body to rotate rapidly, and then suddenly stops, using his hands to support the waist and hips of the other party, and his face seems to be buried in the neck of the other party, staging a very spatial sense of intimacy.
Ethan never removes a single piece of clothing throughout the whole process, but causes the scene enough shrieks. His genre of ambiguity is the equivalent of taking a goose feather and tickling someone's nose. Her nose itches, but her heart itches even more, and a wave of air pressure clogs up her chest, unable to find an outlet.
After his performance, the free entertainment session begins, and the usual dozen or so topless men walk out, waiting for the card of the day.
Hazel finishes off the rest of her drink and stares at the spot where Ethan just disappeared from the stage. She clenches her teeth, gets up from her seat, and looks around the chaotic venue, finding the backstage entrance at the back of the stage.
She is just about to push her way in when she is stopped by a security guard.
"Ma'am, you can't go in here."
Hazel takes two steps back, "I'm looking for someone."
"I'm sorry ma'am," the security guard shook his head, "We have a rule that the audience can't come in here."
Hazel shrugs and tries to think of something else. Ethan has just come off the show and is probably going to change his clothes. Her mind whirls quickly and she decides to just wait here.
After waiting for twenty minutes, a man walks out of the door.
The man, with his long hair tied back and beard, is that Alex, in the pool show Hazel saw on her first visit.
Hazel grabs him without thinking.
Alex is startled.
"So, it's Alex, huh? You put on a good show—" Hazel smiles apologetically: "Sorry about that, I am looking for Ethan Ch..... .no, just Ethan, can you call for me, please?" Alex freezes for a moment and takes a good look at this girl across from him, she's wearing a stand-up white shirt and navy blue linen pants, crisp and fresh, with sparkling eyes that don't quite tell her age, rather like a student, he's not so sure.
There were a lot of customers who ran backstage to get in touch with them privately. This is the first time he's seen this type.
"I'll go get him for you, but I don't know if he's gone by this time."
"Thanks," thinking for a second, Hazel says, "Could you please tell him that a friend from high school is looking for him?"
"You went to high school with him?"
"Right."
…
"Ethan, there's a woman looking for you." Alex finds Ethan in the dressing room, he's just changed and is washing his face.
"Didn't you stop that for me?" He asks absently, then sprays something over his head, his gel-applied hair collapsing and becoming dry and fresh. "We had a deal."
"Was going to," Alex takes up a chair and sits next to Ethan: "But the lady said she went to high school with you."
Ethan ceases what he's doing.
"I got this." He wipes his face hastily again, stands up and slumps into his black gym bag, "Thanks."
…
Hazel fights a flash of anxiety as she looks at the closed wooden door.
She wanted to meet him just one more time, and she went along with the idea of meeting him with a snap of her fingers.
But what to say to him?
Will he be told that this girl just couldn't get you out of her mind after that day?
The wooden door burst open. Ethan is standing in the doorway, having changed into a dark green hoodie and sweatpants.
He sees her.
And before she starts talking.
"Hazel, Hazel Chou, right?"
"Yes ... "words stop on her lips as she finally says four words: "It's been a long time."
Ethan grins, "We just met the other day."
Sure enough, he recognized her then.
Hazel fidgets, her nails digging into the seams of her pants, unsure of what to say.
"You hungry?" Ethan looks at her: "I'm going to grab some food, you wanna join me?"
"Sure." Hazel flashes a smile.
They step out of the noisy Redux, the late September air in the Northern Hemisphere is slightly cool and peaceful.
"There's a pretty good late-night snack restaurant over there," Ethan pointing to an alleyway across the road, "It's pretty close, but it's a bit poky if you don't mind."
"Not at all." When it comes to the matter of food, Hazel is most afraid of people giving her more than one option.
Ethan takes her around two corners to her destination. Tables are set up outside, and they find a random seat.
"Just take what you want." Ethan gestures to the menu on the table, and flips the menu over. "There's more on the back."
Such a wide selection, and she hesitates to make a decision. Ethan measures her for a few seconds and tentatively suggests, "How about stir-fried glass noodles with shrimps and eggs?"
"Yes, of course!" says Hazel with a big sigh of relief. And Ethan orders himself scallion oil noodles.
As they eat, very naturally, Ethan asks her how she's been doing.
"I work at Unison, for almost two years now." Hazel says.
"So, two years of work, you went to grad school?"
"Yeah..."
"Where was that?"
"FDU." she answers. Here, FDU has a similar gold standard to MIT in the US.
"Undergrad too?" Ethan smiles with the corners of his mouth upward.
"Yep."
"Awesome," Ethan grins, "Always the straight A student, always."
Hazel clutches her chopsticks and touches her nose in passing; she doesn't like being called that. From a certain point on, the definition of a straight A student was just "silly", and silly wasn't a good word for her, it was more like nerd, or even dork, which just reminds her of some really awful memories.
"I remember Mr. Lee complained every day after you left," Ethan recalls, happily, "saying that our class average had plummeted since you left."
"Mr. Lee was being dramatic," Hazel doesn't want to talk about her excellent school performances and points the conversation back to him, "You been in S Town? Like always?"
"No, I actually just got here a little while ago," Ethan answers.
"Why did you come here? "
"Honestly…it's a bigger city and there are more money-making opportunities."
"Oh ..." Hazel thinks of the girl in the yellow dress and the bills she stuffs down men's pants.
Ethan doesn't seem to be hiding anything from her, "I was desperate for money a while back and a friend introduced me to dancing at Redux, said the owner here was generous with the salary, the bonus and stuff, so here I am."
"You're a good dancer," Hazel tasted a hint of helplessness in his words, and she compliments him genuinely, "like, exceptional."
"Yeah?" Ethan laughs.
The two are circling around the tops of dancing, but they never dabble in details, keeping their mouths shut about the interactions that happened that day.
…
Ethan finishes his noodles and orders another one, "I'm starving."
"You dance all the time?" Hazel wonders, "When we were in high school ... I remember you would watch street dance movement breakdowns on your little MP4 screen."
"You know I've always had average grades, and dancing was a hobby that became a career, unknowingly…" Ethan says: "I even started a dance studio with a few friends in S Town."
"Really? Where is it?"
"Over high-tech park."
"My company's over there," Hazel smiles, pleasantly surprised, "There's a lot of young people there, business been good, expenses are high."
"Exactly," Ethan picks up the second bowl of noodles, hot oil poured over the small onions, making zipping sounds: "I've always wanted to open a dance studio, and I just now had the start-up funds to do so."
"Is that why you just said you were desperate for money?"
"Nah," Ethan takes up a big bite of noodles: "My grandmother was heavily sick at that time. All the things, hospital bed, surgery, pills, everything. All about money."
"Right ..." Hazel asks cautiously, "Is it better now?"
Ethan shakes his head, "She passed away."
Before Hazel was about to speak, Ethan says comfortingly, "It's okay, it was a long time ago." He then takes a few big bites and the bowl of noodles was finished again.
...
Perhaps because they were just reunited, chatting unintentionally in such a "half-baked" state about a somewhat personal but sad topic, the vibe between them becomes a bit strange. Hazel silently finishes her portion of food and wipes her mouth on the tissue Ethan hands her.
"It was delicious."
"It's on me." Ethan pays the bill," Quite late. Let's go then."
Hazel, however, just hands him her cell phone.
"Can I have your number?"
"Huh?" Ethan blanks out for a moment, and immediately types in his number, "Sure."
After exchanging contacts, the two of them walk out of the alley. The temperature is even a few degrees cooler than before, and Hazel is wearing a pair of Birkenstock on her feet, her bare insteps flushing with goosebumps.
"Did you take a cab?"" Ethan isn't so sure.
"I drove here." Hazel shakes her head: "But I've been drinking today ... I'll take a cab back."
"Where do you live?"
Hazel yields an address.
"I'll take your car and drive you back.
"Seriously?" Hazel never thought he'd offer that.
"Yes." Ethan calculates the distance, "It's too far from your place, and it'll be a pain in the ass for you to come pick up your car tomorrow."
Thinking for a moment until Hazel feels the point where Ethan might get frustrated if she refuses, "But..."
"No bother for me at all." Ethan answers the question she hasn't even asked.
They walk wordlessly all the way to the underground garage, Hazel twirls the key ring between her fingers and clicks the car door open.
Ethan steps in, making her Mini Cooper instantly crowded.
The car was a graduation gift from her parents; her father had wanted to buy her a big SUV, but at her insistence, he'd gone along with it.
Even though her parents thought the Mini Cooper was like a toy, Hazel loves her ride, which is small, sturdy, light and smooth enough to go a lot of places by herself.
Ethan sits in the driver's seat and adjusts the angle. He has his big hands on the steering wheel, and the doll pendant hanging from the top is close to his forehead.
"The seat's too cramped," Hazel says as she removes the doll, "It's better this way." Ethan grins, the delicate, healthy skin around his ear held up. Hazel suddenly wants to nip at his earlobe.
He familiarizes himself with the car and slowly starts it up. Unlike the busy streets of S Town during the day, the empty roads flow freely at night.
Hazel leaves the window open a tiny bit and the closed shops on the right side of the street flash before her eyes. She has never thought about this before tonight. With Ethan, Ethan Chou, a man she rarely thought about after all these years. She saw his show; they had dinner together, and now, in such an intimate place in a car, they sit together.
Too many thoughts run through her head, but the two barely speak as they drive all the way to Hazel's neighborhood. The community was practically full of upscale housing, and Hazel's studio was fully paid for by her parents. As an only child from a good family, she often marvels at her luck.
Turning off the engine and getting out of the car,
"Thanks for the ride back."
"It's OK." Ethan scratches his hair and the biceps under the hoodie are evident.
"How do you get back?" Hazel asks him.
"I'll grab a cab."
"Okay," Hazel nods, "bye then."
"Bye."
Hazel didn't ask him where he lived or how long it would take him to get back; with his phone number, it was only a matter of time before they saw each other again.