The Millennial Reincarnations: A Novel

by Daniel Mark Harrison

  Chanel had been somewhat of a handful this afternoon, that’s for sure. It had brought back memories of Sofia. “Shh, shh,” Easton had said when she landed on his doorstep up in the mountains here in Macau in his getaway, far from the business of Shanghai. Mascara had streamed down her pretty face as her tears of exhaustion came, same way Sofia’s used to. He had pulled her head towards his body and sniffed deep. She smelt great; her hair was that natural rich girl designer perfume fragrance that was the real plus with a girl such as Chanel. She had smelt the same as Sofia used to, almost, with that same fragrant lavender shampoo. Maybe they had showered together when Sofia was still around, he thought to himself with a smirk.

  But the coincidences between the two girls didn’t end there, for if he wasn’t mistaken, he was pretty sure there had been a connection there too at that moment this afternoon, between Chanel and himself. In fact, maybe that connection had been there for sometime, it was just that it needed a moment to manifest itself. Maybe it had been Sofia that held it back from developing. Maybe. Holding her had felt undeniably good; her hanging out there against his shoulder, frail and needy. He’s felt like a proper man. Other girls don’t make a 19-year-old guy feel this way. But Chanel made him feel this way still, even now – after nearly two decades of life.

  Still, this was Chanel, he reminded himself, your boy Taylor’s girl. Then again, Taylor had become a bit wild lately. Easton didn’t know what to make of his recent behavior: the other day he had been coked up, but even so, he had seemed pretty desperate. A guy should never get that desperate, in his opinion.

  Easton looked over at Chanel and realized that unlike most Asian girls he’d met, age suited her quite considerably, and whereas a few years ago she’d been kind of average looking in many respects, now she was by all accounts, a stunning young woman. She wasn’t the drop-dead beautiful bombshell that Sofia was, but then again, she was more politically and intellectually refined than her older cousin.

  Since she’d left high school Chanel had grown out her hair so that it flowed over her shoulders, and her dress sense had improved too. Gone were the post-adolescent faux details such as the glitzy belts and the gaudy earnings that drew so much unwarranted attention, and in their place now were a handful of simple, elegant, branded fashion statements.

  “I can’t believe it’s taken us all this time to go to Macau together,” Easton said, breaking the silence as entered the compact living room where Chanel was tapping away on her laptop privately. “I’ve made dinner.”

  “Oh thank you! I’m staaaaarved!” she said, looking up, wide eyed. That was Sofia all over, he thought to himself.

  For a while the two of them ate in silence, until Chanel broke the ice. “How are you baby? After everything with Sofia leaving, I mean. I know you were getting pretty close –”

  Easton drew on his breath. “At first it sucked a lot, but then – what am I gonna do about it? She was always gonna be that way, you know? You always took that risk with her … I knew that. She was seeing other people, for sure,” said Easton gloomily.

  “I know she cared about you a lot,” Chanel replied, sympathetically.

  Easton thought: and yet I’m starting to feel that same way for you. “Chanel, what really happened with her? With Sofia, I mean?”

  “You know what happened,” she said.

  “C’mon. I’ve been quiet. Patient. I’ve not caused any shit for you guys. I’ve not even come by your place in Gubei to ask about her. At least you can let me in a little, surely?”

  “You have to keep it a secret,” Chanel said after a long while.

  “I will. Just me. This is just me.”

  “She was in some sort of sex game. It was filmed. It wasn’t clear from what I saw, but it looked pretty violent. Like some kind of sado-masochistic thing to me. She swore that you weren’t involved, so we ruled you out long ago, but other than that, she didn’t say much more. Anyway, it was left up to Mama and me to sort everything out: her future, the sorority.

  “We had to get her out the country, for a start. That’s why she left straight away: they blackmailed us, the ones with the video. They had a couple of conditions, the main one of which was that she resigned her position straight away and left the country.”

  “Jesus, Sofia. What the –” Easton’s eyes became watery for a moment, thinking of Sofia, so alone she couldn’t even turn to him. “She must have felt so desperate.”

  “We all did. It’s been hard on all of us,” said Chanel, matter-of-factly. “Anyway, then there was an additional demand, if we wanted the video given back to us. It was for money –”

  “For how much?”

  “For a lot of money,” said Chanel, leaving the answer hanging.

  “Part of my problem is that what, with all the huilu this whole thing has cost, we don’t have the cash flow right now. So my Mama asked me to chip in, with the money I was given by Daddy when I turned sixteen.”

  Easton nodded, silently.

  “Only problem is, there’s not two and half million dollars there anymore, which is what Mama thinks there is. There’s less than four hundred and fifty grand, in fact.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s gone to Taylor. I’ve loaned him and loaned him – effectively, I’ve bankrolled him the past year or so that we’ve been together. The clubs are losing money; more than Taylor has left to pay for them.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Easton. “I know things have been pretty tough lately for him, but honestly, I figured that Prima Dona doesn’t cost that much to run, right? It’s a small place – and I thought that Milk was nearly turning a profit?”

  “Nearly turning a profit still means that you’re losing money. At the end of the day, you still have to pay for the business yourself. And Ambassador Milken is a diplomat, not a billionaire business owner. There’s a limit to what he’s happy to lose on his son’s projects, even if he might indicate otherwise publically. For the last year, it’s been me who’s been funding everything. But even I can’t do that forever, at least not with Mommy finding out. If she knew that her only daughter had lent even half what I have already to Taylor she’d probably cut me out of my inheritance completely.”

  “Jesus, Chanel. Are you serious? How much is it in total?”

  “I’ve lost track of it, to be honest. But it’s at least twenty million renminbi. Close to four million dollars or so, when you take into account my money and the bank loans.” Chanel hung her head dejectedly over her empty plate, her hair falling in a series of long tails about the tabletop.

  “What the fuck! On fuckin’ night clubs?”

  Easton couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Dumb fuckin’ rich kids, he thought. And then: these dumb fucks are my friends, though. Chanel’s been my friend for practically all my life. I’ve gotta stand by her and her idiot boyfriend, who’s my bro, one of my boys …

  “It’s not all nightclubs. Some of it's just living expenses, too. Making it look like you’re as rich as people think you are is expensive.”

  “But why? Why did he open a new club only this year when –”

  “Like I said, impressions. They’re everything in Shanghai.”

  “So – I guess that means you’re real tight with Taylor, then? Like, you gonna marry him?”

  “Last year I thought I would, but we were only a few months into the relationship at that point. Increasingly I’ve had doubts. Now I really don’t know.”

  Chanel’s dark eyes spread into two spherical translucent aqua platforms of tears.

  “Easton, I don’t know what I’ve got myself into. I’ve gotta get her the money somehow; I have to. If she finds out that this is how I’ve managed it, I swear, she’ll cut me off.”

  “Hey, heeeeey-” Easton held out a palm and Chanel took it, gently. “It’s not that bad. I mean, two million dollars is a lot of money, for sure. But I don’t think your Mom is gonna cut you off,” he said encouragingly, even though he didn’t believe a word of it.

  “It’s n-
n-n-ot just that. It-it’s way wo-r-r-se than that even!” Chanel’s sobs were harder now, obscuring her speech. “If the Party finds out – they’ll go berserk too. ’Especially if the Sofia thing gets out. There’s a real chance of that now.”

  “Does Taylor have any money left?” asked Easton.

  “I d-d-don’t k-know. I really don’t know anything anymore, I sw-swear,” she sniffled.

  “It’s okay, baby. Tell me what you do know then. Maybe I can help you if you tell me what it is you know already, but there’s nothing I can do if you don’t honey.”

  “I swear the-there’s nothing more than that I know! I know he’s deep in debt and he owes Zengky about a couple million. They are asking for some of the money back, apparently.”

  Chanel sniffled and wiped her eyes. Her cheeks were slightly puffy from crying, but, thought Easton, she looks hot. What the fuck had Taylor got her embroiled in? Taylor might be his boy back home in Shanghai, but he was going to give him one hard fuckin’ talk when he saw him next time. Men shouldn’t get women caught up in this sort of racket. They shouldn’t take money from their girlfriends for going out partying and opening nightclubs they can’t afford to pay for themselves in his macho estimation of life.

  “To be honest, I am really, really scared that Mama has already found out and is just testing me now, while she’s been busy changing her will before telling me about it. It would be just her style.”

  Yes, thought Easton that would be exactly the sort of thing Dame Ming-hua would do. It would also be exactly the kind of thing that Chanel would do one, day, knowing her, he surmised. But he waited for her to go on. Best not to get dragged into saying anything about that woman at all, he figured.

  “Well, how about the sorority girls? Can’t they help you?”

  “One of them, maybe.”

  “The new one? The American girl?”

  “Yeah,” sniffed Chanel. “She has a Trust Fund with five million dollars in it. Although she can only get her hands on one of those now. Still, she’d need her father’s permission.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “Mama did, actually. Her Dad is a guy called David Railly. Apparently he’s a really big honcho in the management consulting business, who’s written a load of books and who’s just been promoted to come and run Mc. Intyre here in China. He did some work for Mama on Zengky, which saved them from a near-catastrophe at one point – it was something like that, I think. She’s white, but she’s a bright girl. She’s getting on well here.

  “Anyway, don’t go playing’ with her. She’s not one of us – not yet. She’s innocent, really, really inexperienced. She was just like Mama’s file on her that she gave me said she would be – a real downy innocent preppy American girl,” said Chanel. “Although, I gotta say – she can be pretty uninhibited when it comes down to it!” she added quietly, smiling to herself.

  “Westerners,” said Easton. “Strange beasts indeed. They don’t understand mianzi at all. They’re so blasé about everything.”

  “That’s true. Milana confuses me a lot. Maybe this girl does understand Chinese customs a little bit. I’m not sure yet. She speaks the language well enough.”

  “What? A white devil speaking Chinese language? How so?”

  “She learned it in the last two years’ of her high school in the States, I think.”

  “But you can’t trust a westerner. They’ll use you. Don’t forget that, you know. Be careful, Chanel.”

  “That’s true. I’m always trying to remind myself of that; it’s just she seems so sweet. Like I say – she’s nice, but not one of us Chinese.”

  “Non-Chinese can never be Chinese,” said Easton purposefully.

  “Anyway, that’s kind of what brings me down here,” said Chanel, changing the subject.

  “Cousin Redflag?” Easton said before Chanel could get to it.

  “Yeah. I mean, I can’t just ask Milana for a million bucks or whatever. I’m her Dame. It would mean a HUMONGOUS loss of mianzi if I did, you know?”

  Easton nodded. “Yeah, absolutely. Of course.”

  “What’s the plan then?” he asked. But Chanel was done talking.

  “I’m sorry, Easton, it’s really great talking and catching up – but I’m tired now, can I just go to bed?”

  “Sure – let me show you where your room is,” said Easton, wearily. One the way upstairs he asked her, “so Taylor – you’re in love with him? Still? After all the problems?”

  Chanel pushed him lightly on the back as she followed him up. “Of course, stupid. I wouldn’t exactly be here trying to fix things for him if I didn’t love him, would I?”

  “I dunno. I just thought it was your situation you were trying to fix, I guess. That’s all.”

  Chanel looked at him curiously. “It’ll take time; you know?” she said at last. “Getting over Sofia not being here. She was the center of everything, or at least, it was becoming that way. To be honest, I’ve so much going on right now, even I’ve barely had time to face that myself. You’ve always been one of my best friends, you know that though, right? Like – it’s as if we’ve gone past that stage together where we might have sex, might not have sex, may or may not fall in love. ’Cause what – I’ve known you all my life. It’s nice. It’s a relaxing feeling.”

  Easton desperately wanted to kiss her, standing here in the corridor upstairs. He felt like such a fool. What was he thinking? She had been dating Taylor for over a year now. They were an item, inseparable. He was a disloyal friend, too. Taylor was his bro. He ought to have be trying to work on ways to help him out of this fix. Instead he was too busy falling for his girlfriend far away in Macau. Staying silent and putting up with Mason’s shit.

  Easton showed Chanel to her room. She looked so beautiful standing there, in the pale yellow light, her hair swept from the car ride, her eyes tired and hungry, her youth splenetic in her soft, white skin and smooth, slightly downturned eyes and oval lips. She kissed him on the cheek and he felt that erotic smell of hers he had smelt this morning, but this time it was mixed in with that same smell that he had known all her life, the one she had had when she was just five years old and he was eight. He had missed his opportunity, Easton realized; Taylor had got there first. Despite the fact that he had known her longer, much longer.

  “Good night, Easton. I really don’t know where I’d be without you. It feels funny,” she shivered a little, but a smile crept over her face. “It feels like when we were kids again, being here in Macau with just the two of us, doesn’t it?” Her smile broadened into that beautiful, half-geeky-clumsy smile of her younger days, half-sophisticated, womanly smile of these ones.

  “It does,” said Easton.

  “By the way,” said Chanel. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about earlier?”

  Easton thought back to his conversation with Mason, and the unavoidable reality that he would have to pull his performing artists from Taylor’s nightclubs. That would only hurt Chanel even more, however. He was fucked.

  “It’s nothing. Like you said – we’ve talked enough tonight.”

  “It feels nice though,” Chanel replied. “Really nice, like –”

  “What?” He had no idea what she was thinking. Didn’t she just say they had past the point of wanting to sleep with each other? And yet why was she looking at him now with the biggest fuck-me eyes he’d ever been looked at with before? What is it with girls? Especially those that are your childhood friends – they’re so damn peculiar, he thought.

  “Goodnight, baby,” said Chanel, almost pecking him on the cheek, but drawing back. “Thanks for giving me all this. It means something special.”

  Watching her small, slim figure disappear into the bedroom, standing there with her voice ringing in his head, knowing that he had missed his opportunity with her, he knew right then for sure that he was in love with her and that somehow, some day, she was the one he had to have.

  Ω

  Mason surveyed the enormous rows of tables with
tourists clamoring for front position, all throwing fifty, one-hundred, one-thousand, some ten-thousand Hong Kong dollars per hand at Player or Banker, some betting with their own intuition, others riding the bets on the previous luck of those whose intuition had made them fortunate throughout the night’s multi-hour gambling sessions. The noise was incredible – like something out of a train station or an airport, screams upon screams upon screams …

  “Hey, Lucky Treasure Lee – lose me five grand on that pig-humping Player again and I’ll sock you one outside!”

  “Little Pearl, kiss the dice before we throw – just for luck!”

  “Banker always wins, Uncle Big Shine – banker, always! Player is just for frog-fucking monkeys –”

  “I’ll show you some frog-fucking monkeys in minute if you don’t shut your greasy hole, Second Nephew Pragmatic Leader!”

  This was the sound of the desperate, of those who had more debts than good sense and less credit than a Nat’s eyesight, thought Mason Feng Lee to himself, as he strode briskly through the large, open-plan casino. Gradually he ascended the sweeping staircase and made his way to two oversized, heavy mahogany doors. He rang the bell, whereupon a young, stunning half-Portuguese local girl greeted him. She was beautiful to look at: tall and thin like a European, but essentially Chinese in frame: her breasts perky little pricks, pointing through her white blouse-shirt, her feet small and delicate, making it hard to balance on the high-heels of her uniform. Mason handed her his business card. She was pure Macau. He spoke to her in Mandarin.

  “I’m in the Presidential Suite at the Conrad, Room 504. Do you like to party?”

  “Only if there’s no politics, and as long as it’s all in the flesh. No online virtual worlds for me, Master Bold Sharp Blade,” said the girl, her lips playing with every syllable suggestively.