“I look forward to telling you more after the surgery,” Larry says indifferently.

“Me as well!” Dr. X confirms, rubbing both of Larry’s shoulders energetically. “So now we have to wait for surgery, but not so long,” he says.

“I hope so, because Larry is visibly weaker than when we got here,” I say. “As you know, he took a fall recently-”

“We are aware of these developments. We monitor closely,” Dr. X says, handing me a camera and gesturing Larry and Jade to clump together with him for a group photo.

“How long do you estimate before surgery?” I say, focusing.

“When get order from high court, perhaps one week, two weeks,” Dr. X says, directing a few phrases to Jade in Chinese while composing his all-purpose professional smile for the portrait. “Usually many months, but since you special friends, I insist to get done sooner. Shhh, secret…”

Two weeks!? How did we just blast past the Badminton Boys from the Middle East? I contain my excitement. I contain my guilt. But what can I tell you-I’m an American: How I channel my guilt is to ask for more.

“If it can be done any sooner, we’d appreciate it…”

“Sooner the better,” Dr. X says. “I know you must be eager to get home to your two little boys.”

Click! Dr. X posing with his suave international smile. Jade staring into the flash so no light escapes her eyes. Larry looking as happy as a mug shot. Carnivore Babes barely managing to fit inside the frame.

“Yes,” I say slowly. “Of course. How’d you know I have two-”

No time to finish my question. Everyone is already shuffling to the door. Pocketing his Cosmos Club matchbook, Larry glides languidly out of the office arm in arm with Dr. X. Jade and I follow in stately fashion, like the parents after a wedding ceremony. We finally managed to get our least-marriageable daughter hitched…

Those who have free seats at a play hiss first.

“Can you believe it?” I explode once our taxi is safely speeding off. “We’re on our way to a healthy kidney!”

“Where!? Now?!” Jade asks.

“No, right now we’re taking what’s called a joyride,” I explain from the front passenger seat. “We’re celebrating the meeting with Dr. X by driving-anywhere, fast-doesn’t even matter where. Whee!”

“Joy die!” Jade says. “Whee!”

No whee from Larry. Of the three passengers in the cab, only Larry isn’t happy, protecting himself from happiness lest it turn on him, like a high-schooler going to the prom but sitting on his carnation accidentally on purpose.

“This good development,” Jade confirms as neon lights flash past outside. “Everything coming up like roses.”

“So the surgeon definitely means what he says?” I ask Jade. “We can count on him?”

“Oh, yes,” Jade says cheerfully. “In my judgment he kill prisoner in two weeks.”

That’s putting it a bit starkly, but it damages my mood only slightly. It’s the equivalent of seeing a baby calf frolicking in a field and realizing it’s this evening’s veal piccata. I’m not quite ready to resume humming “Danny Boy” till I square away a few things.

“And we’re sure it’s a real criminal and not someone who voted against the mah-jongg commissioner or something?” I ask.

“Of course that,” Jade says. “You see how much passion Dr. X was. Chinese generally hide their feelings. But he turn red, voice shake with anger. ‘Kill hundred time!’ Only because it is bad-bad criminal.”

“What’d he say to you in Chinese when I was taking your picture?”

“He ask me, ‘He really the cousin?’ He want to make sure you are not journalist wanting story, or maybe double-oh-seven, like me!”

“Oh, right, I forgot you’re Mata Hari,” I say. “But seriously, how careful do we have to be about that stuff? I’ve gotten a strange vibe from Cherry.”

“Cherry, no!” Jade scoffs. “In my opinion always good to keep eyes open. But Cherry I believe no threat.”

This completes my good humor. I’m in a triumphant mood that nothing can wreck. Yes, the triumph has a twist to it: a bit of heartlessness mixed in with my high spirits, knowing that someone else is to die for Larry to live. But I’m relieved that the donor is a bad-bad criminal…and I’m fairly confident that the recipient is not a bad-bad criminal…so it’s a trade-off, the survivor’s dilemma. We pass the Red Guards waltzing on the terrace near the Old Faithful fountains, but we’re going so fast that my shiver’s only momentary.

Mostly what I am is ravenous. “What say we celebrate by chowing down,” I suggest. “Where shall we eat? Larry, your choice.”

Maybe he feels the mix of emotions, too? He’s acting more than usually subdued, sitting like a lump of concrete in the back with Jade. Or maybe it’s just his baseline moroseness. “Let’s have a change of pace,” he says without enthusiasm. “I’m in the mood for something authentic. How about Friday’s?”

“You mean the New York chain? They have a franchise here?”

“I saw a flyer when I went for my stroll the other day,” he says. “Good to get a little variety in my diet.”

I turn to the cabbie beside me in the front. Aside from being a speedy driver, she’s what you’d call a full-figured gal: a Chinese Queen Latifah, complete with freckles and a chesty laugh from smoking or just exuberant living. “You know Friday’s?” I ask her. “We go Friday’s?”

“Friday’s!” she whoops, picking up on my mood. “We go Friday’s!”

“Friday’s!” I whoop back at her. After weeks of Chinese food, the prospect of bloodred American beef at a New York-style restaurant is making me drool. “Friday’s, yeehaw!”

“Friday’s, yahoo!” she bellows.

“I’m trying to remember an old expression,” I tell her. “Yong yay, mong mee or mong may, something like that…”

“Give it up!” laughs Jade from the backseat.

And suddenly it comes to me. In a flash, I’ve got it back, fully formed. I try it tentatively at first, sounding it out:

“Jong may yo yee wan-su-aee.”

The cabbie’s the first to hear it. “Wan-su-aee?” she asks, her freckles blinking at me.

“Yes,” I say. “They used to compliment my pronunciation, twenty-five years ago.” I try it out again, a little more confidently. “Jong may yo yee wan-su-aee.”

The cabbie looks startled, then very happy. “Jong may yo yee wan-su aee,” she confirms.

“Yes,” I say, “long live the friendship between the Chinese and American peoples!”

Jade in the back is bouncing up and down in her seat. “Jong may yo yee wan-su-aee,” she booms.

“Long live!” cries the cabby, honking her horn and weaving in and out of traffic. “Long, long live!”

It’s mine again, in a flash. “Unbelievable!” I say. “It just came back to me!”

The cabbie’s as excited as I am, exulting something similar. “La-la believable!” she shouts, beeping the horn in jubilation. “Jong may yo yee wan-su-aee!”

Our joyride delivers us to Friday’s-which turns out to be half American chain restaurant knockoff, half traditional Chinese kitchen. Jade’s never been inside an American eatery before, and she looks amazed. Is it the concept of silverware? Or the photo of the monster mushroom-bacon burger on the plastic menu, along with the Chinese specialties? I feel guilty even considering a burger, as though I’d be doing my stomach no favor after weeks of lighter Chinese fare.

“I want cock no ice,” Jade orders sweetly.

“Make that three Cokes no ice,” I amend. But am overruled by Larry, halfheartedly trying not to be a party pooper.

“No soft drink for you, dear,” he tells Jade. “You’re getting a genuine American cocktail.”

To the waitress he says, “ONE COCK FOR DAN,” not noticing that he’s adopted Jade’s pronunciation. “ONE STRAWBERRY SCHNAPPS FOR THE LADY, WITH A COUPLE OF EXTRA CHERRIES ON TOP. SAME FOR ME,” he adds, explaining, “I need to live a little.”

His words contain so little life, however, that when the drinks come, about thirty seconds later, I try to lift his spirits by pointing my index finger at him in victory.