Tiger Girl by May-lee Chai Page B

came out, handprints in flour on the knees of his khakis. He looked at the tree, he looked at Anita smiling and Sitan playing with Lillian, and he held up a sugar cookie. “Look what the Kasim sisters made for the tree!”
    It was an Apsaras, a dancing girl with curvy hips and full breasts and gracefully extended arms. It was the sexiest-looking Christmas ornament ever.
    â€œThose are awesome!” Sitan exclaimed. “I wanna eat one!”
    â€œWe can poke a hole in the tiara and hang this right here.” Anita pulled at a bare branch. “If they make a batch, we can cover the tree.”
    â€œIf they make a batch, we can sell these for five bucks a piece!” I said. “We can launch a whole new line of products. These are the homage to Cambodian culture we’ve been looking for. Get some icing, draw on a face, these would really sell.”
    They looked at me as though I’d started barking like a dog.
    â€œYes, I mean, they’re beautiful for the tree. Sure,” I said. “But we shouldn’t waste them on the tree. We should sell these!”
    Uncle looked a little startled. “It’s Christmas. This is supposed to be a religious holiday. Everything shouldn’t be about money.”
    I wondered how on earth he could have lived in America all these years and still think that way. I opened my mouth, but before I could say anything, Anita put a hand on my arm.
    â€œI know exactly what James is saying.” Anita took the cookie and held it to a branch. “This is a gift for the tree fromthe Kasim sisters. And we can hang it right here.” She smiled at Uncle gently, and he nodded. Then she turned to me. “And if they want to make any more, we can follow Nea’s idea. Later.”
    I didn’t say anything more. There didn’t seem to be any point, since I clearly didn’t understand at all.

PART FOUR
    If you see a tiger sleeping, don’t assume it’s dead
.
    â€”traditional Cambodian proverb

CHAPTER 10
The Gangster
    Our Christmas tree with the sexy ornaments was a big hit. I was a little worried the next morning when a couple of cops came in for a coffee break—I was afraid they’d be able to tell we had a poached tree—but once they took a look at the Apsaras cookies, they didn’t even notice the pine tree underneath.
    â€œYou gonna sell these kind of cookies?” one asked.
    â€œWe might. Come back next week and find out,” I said.
    Since Uncle had worked through the night supervising the bakers, he slept through the morning rush, when all three of us were waiting on customers, Anita barely able to ring up each sale fast enough before another customer pushed to the front of the line clutching a pink box full of pastry. Then he didn’t come in for the noon rush either.
    All week, we’d had great crowds, but Uncle never saw any of them. I wondered if this were part of his penance or if he were trying to avoid me, or if, perhaps, he really enjoyed his rounds more than standing behind the counter ringing up sales. I was pleased with the success, but I was already growing a little restless. The donut shop wasn’t as interesting as running our restaurant at home. I was more of a cashier than anything else here.
    Still, every time I heard the bells on the door ring, I glanced up and peered over the crowd at the counter, hoping I’d spot Uncle coming in, but it was never him.
    As our trays were depleted and we had to turn some customers away, I called out, “Come back tomorrow bright and early! We’ll have plenty more!”
    Sitan laughed at me, but I said, “Hey, don’t let a potential customer get away. We need as many people as we can get.”
    â€œAye, aye, Captain.” He saluted me with a wink.
    Then the bells rang again, and I looked up eagerly. This time it was a surly-looking Asian man in his early twenties, his hair shaved close on the sides, the top spiked high. He