“Yeah. Haven’t you had it?”
“My mom only buys Vitasoy,” Marigold replied.
She stopped in front of a photograph of a girl in a bright yellow dress, walking a bicycle while drinking a bottle of soymilk. In the distance was Hong Kong’s iconic Victoria Peak. Unlike the other photos in the exhibit, this one hung alone on the wall, drawing focus to it.
“This was the first billboard ad Peaksoy ever ran,” she read. “It was so popular they put it on the bottles.”
Marigold could see why. There was something arresting about the girl. She was beautiful, her red lips parted, caught in the height of a smile. Marigold had grown up noticing her on the Peaksoy bottles but had never seen her face close up until now. It was hard to look away.
She peered at the white placard to the side of the photograph.
“Helen of Soy,” Kenji read with a chuckle. “Whoever came up with that deserves a raise.”
Helen of Soy. Helen, Helen.
It was like braking right as the light changed—that screeching flash of revelation that made Marigold gasp. “Oh my God,” she whispered.
She grabbed Kenji’s arm. “I’ve seen that dress in the attic. That’s my mom!”
She towed him closer toward the placard. Her voice shook as she read aloud: “Little is known about ‘Helen of Soy,’ the fifteen-year-old girl who became the famous face of Peaksoy. Stein recounts that she was a friend of an employee’s who heard that he was looking for a model with a charismatic smile. ‘She had no experience with pictures,’ Stein stated in a 1960 interview.‘She even sang because she was so nervous. Once I heard her voice, I knew she was the girl we’d been looking for. She was effervescent.’”
Marigold swallowed.Effervescentwas not a word to describe the mother she knew.
“Stein’s instincts would prove correct,” she read on. “Soon after the campaign was launched, sales of Peaksoy skyrocketed. Young girls began copying Helen’s hair and her dress, even the shape of her eyebrows. Many brands made their models study her smile—mysterious yet innocent, completely charismatic. They called her the Chinese Mona Lisa.”
“The Chinese Mona Lisa, eh?” Kenji murmured. “You didn’t tell me you’re Hong Kong royalty.”
Marigold’s chest felt tight. “I have never seen my mother smile like this. Ever.”
She slipped away from Kenji, moving on to the next piece in the exhibit. It was a smaller photograph, of a dozen women wearing yellow polka-dotted dresses.
“The Search for Helen,” June 3, 1955
In celebration of Peaksoy’s tenth anniversary, Chairman T. Yeung launched a nationwide campaign to locate “Helen,” the iconic face of Peaksoy. Thousands of women lined up outside the company’s headquarters, claiming to be the eponymous young lady. The campaign drew widespread attention and boosted Peaksoy’s popularity, after sales had declined due to the rise of competitors such as Vitasoy and Yeo. However, the real Helen was never found, and accounts vary regarding her true identity.
Feeling lightheaded, Marigold sat on a wooden bench. “They were looking for my mom. My mom! Oh my God, I knew she used to sing. But model! She never told us.”
Kenji wrapped her hand in his. “Maybe she didn’t know.”
“She would’ve been in America then,” Marigold allowed, “but she definitely knew about Peaksoy. She never let us drink it.”
The last piece in the exhibit was untitled. It was a black-and-white candid of her mother standing by a door. She was holding hands with a young man whose profile was obscured by her shadow. She was beaming at him, wearing a look that Marigold had never seen on her mother’s face.
The look of someone in love.
Berkeley
1978
Chapter Forty-Seven
Helen
A few times a year, with increasing frequency, customers at Three Flowers would ask if we had Peaksoy.
“No,” I would reply curtly. “We have Coca-Cola, 7UP, coffee, and tea.”
Soymilk was the quintessential Chinese breakfast drink, and even my daughters puzzled over why we didn’t serve any. It was too laborious to make ourselves, I’d reply. And, for reasons I wouldn’t explain, I was loath to buy it.
