Merry Christmas

Henry moved into Old Gary's apartment.

As the saying went, having an elder at home was like having a treasure. Though Old Gary was only nearing sixty, an age close to retirement, his greatest asset was that his family had been part of old Hollywood.

They were not some high-class family of famous directors or actors, nor was the whole family involved behind the scenes in Hollywood, with connections tangled like roots. But they lived nearby, so naturally they had seen and heard plenty.

Besides, cats had their paths and mice had theirs. Old Gary had no way into the truly high-end circles. But if you wanted to know how to hustle your way around Hollywood, this bald little old man had a whole bag of tricks.

...Well, whether any of it was true was another matter. It was roughly like living at the foot of Shaolin Mountain and casually tossing out lines like "Old Tree Entwines Its Roots" or "Black Tiger Steals the Heart," along with vague, half-plausible secrets. His bluffing game was a perfect ten, tailor-made to fool young people like Henry, who only knew half of what they thought they knew.

In short, Old Gary did not mind communicating with people. And as long as they discussed it first, he was not too difficult about minor changes to the apartment.

The main reason Henry wanted to talk it over was that Chinese cooking produced a lot of oil smoke. American kitchens simply were not designed for frying fish or stir-frying vegetables.

And the Chinese restaurants around Los Angeles were, to put it mildly, hard to describe. Those who knew, knew.

Now that he had a place of his own, Henry could not help wanting to make some flavors from home that he missed. It had been twenty years since he had tasted them.

Besides, he had been able to cook for himself before transmigrating. There was no reason his skills would have vanished now; cooking rice did not rely on feel.

Yet the painful cautionary posts from international students online were still vivid in his memory. After looking into it a little, he found that every pitfall was exactly where it should be.

Smoke alarms, weak range hoods, and so on. If he did not handle things properly, a house full of cooking fumes would be the least of his problems. If he triggered the alarm, the automatic sprinklers and fire department notification would come as a full package. That would be a real headache.

After getting permission, Henry immediately drove to a hardware superstore and bought the materials and tools he needed.

Then he shut the door, drew the curtains, and, with the speed of a Kryptonian, smashed and hammered away for a while. The apartment was renovated in no time.

He brought Old Gary over to inspect the place, then cooked a few dishes for them to taste together. There was only west lake vinegar fish, a plate of authentic sweet-and-sour pork, and oyster sauce Chinese broccoli.

All the ingredients had come from the local Chinatown. With a case of Heineken beer added in, the meal was ready.

"Merry Christmas." Henry raised his glass at the dining table he had bought himself.

"Merry Christmas." Old Gary returned the toast. Then he added, "I really didn't expect you to invite me to spend the holiday with you. I was starting to wonder whether you had a thing for my old ass, or whether your own was itching. Let me make this clear first—I'm not into that."

"Fuck you, Irishman. This is my first Christmas in Los Angeles. Don't think I won't beat you into a pig-headed mess and throw you out the door. Even if you're my motherfucking landlord."

Watching the bald old man hold a pair of chopsticks in one hand as though he intended to eat with them like a knife and fork, Henry simply brought him a fork and spoon.

Old Gary picked up the fork, speared a piece of sweet-and-sour pork, and said, "This is my first time eating Chinese food on Christmas too."

Henry served himself a bowl of rice and used his chopsticks with ease as he said, "I told you I wanted to renovate the kitchen because I wanted to cook Chinese food. You were the one who didn't believe me. You said you wanted to verify the results, or else I'd have to change it back.

"It just so happened that today was fucking Christmas. You were the one who said that if I didn't come find you, you'd have to spend it alone, listening to Christmas songs and watching a bunch of idiots in soap operas.

"If I didn't hate owing people favors, and didn't like delaying promises, and if I didn't happen to have something I wanted to ask you, you'd have to wait until I was in a good mood before you got a chance to eat this meal."

"Okay, calm down, kid." Old Gary looked at the bristling young man and said, "When I said that, I only thought you'd pack some into a takeout box and let me have a little. I didn't expect you to invite me inside. Is that an Alaska custom?"

Finally realizing that his behavior was not very American either, Henry pretended not to be embarrassed at all. "Fine, I'll remember that. I just thought lovers belonged to Christmas Eve, while Christmas Day was for family. Doesn't your son come see you on a holiday like this?"

"Maybe he and his kind-hearted mother will show up at my funeral, happily ready to collect my inheritance."

"Hmm, should I congratulate you on getting divorced, or say I'm sorry your former family treats you like that?"

"Kid, don't say anything. Let me keep a little of my good mood." Old Gary spoke earnestly as he ate the sweet-and-sour pork. Then he said in surprise, "No wonder you wanted to cook Chinese food. It really tastes great."

"Right?" Henry said proudly.

"You said you had something you wanted to ask me. Ask away." Old Gary took a bite of rice, a bite of food, and a gulp of beer, eating and drinking with great seriousness.

After Old Gary finished a can of beer, Henry immediately handed him another and asked, "I heard Fabio say that your grandfather carried cameras for Charlie Chaplin. Was that real or not?"

"Fuck, of course it was real. Truer than the Queen's chastity. I even have a group photo at home of my grandfather, Mr. Chaplin, and some others after filming wrapped. I remember it was The Kid in '21. Want me to bring it out and show you?"

A little tipsy, Old Gary lost some of his sleazy air. His speech was full of fucks again, and for the moment, he sounded like an ordinary old white man again.

Still not satisfied, he continued, "It wasn't just my grandfather who worked with Mr. Chaplin. After the war, my father left the military and entered one of Hollywood's Big Eight studios for quite a while. He worked behind the scenes too, but he got to know quite a few big shots."

"And what about you? Did you ever make a living in Hollywood?"

At that, Old Gary said with obvious pride, "Heh heh, you'd never imagine it. I worked in props, and I even did carpentry with Harrison Ford.

"Then that guy got picked by that blind idiot George Lucas to play Han Solo, while I, the star of tomorrow, got ignored. In a fit of anger, I quit and came back to look after this apartment building, renting it out to people who needed a place."

What was this? The real-life version of 'If I couldn't become a big star, I had no choice but to go home and inherit millions'?

An entire building!

Six floors in total. It did not look like much, but each floor had ten units, and every unit was nearly eighty square meters. One person could live there, or a small family could too, so some were rented individually while others were shared.

The first floor was also rented out as storefronts, including a grocery store and a laundromat. What remained was Old Gary's own residence.

With that kind of wealth, Henry would never believe it had been accumulated through behind-the-scenes work in Hollywood.

But this Kryptonian was not here to dig into the details. Henry changed the subject and probed, "In that case, you should know all the ins and outs of Hollywood, right?"