“He doesn’t even have a telephone,” Henry said. To make Ling understand, he’d have to tell her about the letter, his father, running away from home. He would have to explain what Louis meant to him. But he couldn’t do that. Not with a stranger. And she was a stranger. Just because they’d shared a dream walk didn’t make them friends. “I thought if I could find his dream, I could ask him where he was, or let him know where to find me somehow. Have you ever been able to do that? Locate someone?”
“Only with the dead.”
Henry’s fork stopped on the way to his mouth. “You see the dead?”
“In dreams I do. Sometimes someone needs to speak to a departed relative. If I take something of theirs, sometimes I can find them.”
“How long have you been able to do this?”
“It started a year ago.”
“Almost three years ago for me,” Henry said. “But it’s gotten stronger in the past few months.”
“The same for me,” Ling said.
“I learned to set an alarm clock to wake me. I found that if I go longer than an hour, I get ill. You?”
Ling shrugged. “I can go longer,” she said, and Henry detected a note of pride in it. Ling Chan didn’t like to be second, it seemed. “You still haven’t said why you’re here.”
Henry toyed with the noodles on his plate. “Last night, for the first time, I finally came close to finding my friend Louis while we were standing outside that old building. Right after I grabbed hold of your arm, I heard his fiddle. It was Louis’s favorite song, played the way he always played it.” Henry leaned forward. “I want to go back in tonight and see if it works again. I want us to try to meet in the dream world.”
Ling scoffed. “You know how dreams work. They’re slippery. We can’t control them—we’re only observers. Passengers.”
“We always have been, but what if we can change that?” Henry said. “Are you at least willing to try? You just said you can locate people. Maybe if I gave you something of mine, you’d be able to find me in the dream world. If that works, we could try to go back to that place where I heard Louis’s fiddle.”
“And maybe I can become Queen of Romania,” Ling said. “There’s no promise that we’ll find each other or that we’ll be able to return to the same dream. It’s like a river, constantly moving and changing.”
“Please,” Henry pleaded. “Won’t you help me?”
Ling looked at Henry for an uncomfortable length of time. She didn’t want to become involved with this dream walker. But she had to admit she was curious. There had been something interesting about their combined energy last night. What if they could do more together? “All right. It’ll cost you. I charge for my services.”
“Very well. What’s your price?”
“Ten dollars,” Ling blurted.
Without a word, Henry removed a crisp ten from his wallet and put it on the table. Ling tried not to let her surprise show. This dream walker was the first person not to haggle over the price. But it wasn’t her job to tell him that. Whoever this lost friend of his was, he must be very important.
“I’ll need something of yours,” she said, pocketing his money quickly. “To find you in the dream.”
Henry passed Ling his hat. “Will this do?”
Ling nodded. “What time tonight?”
“It’ll have to be late. I play for the Rooftop Revue above the Follies at midnight.”
Ling had seen the advertisements for the Rooftop Revue in the newspaper. The girls didn’t wear much.
“I’m hoping to get my songs some attention,” Henry said sheepishly. “I’m a composer, you see.”
“Do I know any of your songs?” Ling asked.
“‘You’re My Turtle Dove, Coo-E-Coo’? ‘September Moon’?”
Ling shook her head. “Never heard of them.”
Henry felt vaguely insulted. “It’s a tough business.”
“Maybe it isn’t the business. Maybe your songs aren’t that good.”