by Kevin Kwan
“If he hasn’t already,” Philip teased.
“Alamak! Do you know something I don’t? Has Nicky told you—”
“No, no, no, don’t panic. Darling, you are letting your silly girlfriends work you up for nothing. You just need to trust our son’s good judgment. I’m sure this girl is going to turn out just fine.” The fish was really tugging at the line now. Maybe it was a barramundi. He could ask his chef to grill it for lunch. Philip just wanted to get off the phone.
That Thursday, at Carol Tai’s Bible study, Eleanor decided that it was time to call in her ground troops. As the ladies sat around enjoying homemade bobo chacha and helping Carol organize her collection of Tahitian black pearls by color grade, Eleanor began her lament as she savored her chilled coconut-and-sago pudding.
“Nicky doesn’t realize what a terrible thing he is doing to us. Now he tells me he’s not even going to stay at our new flat when he arrives. He’s going to stay at Kingsford Hotel with that girl! As if he needs to hide her from us! Alamak, how is this going to look?” Eleanor sighed dramatically.
“So disgraceful! Sharing a hotel room when they aren’t even married! You know, some people might think they eloped and are coming here for their honeymoon!” Nadine Shaw chimed in, though secretly the thought of any potential scandal that might bring those high-and-mighty Youngs down a peg filled her with glee. She continued to fan Eleanor’s flames, not that they needed any further stoking. “How dare this girl think she can just waltz right into Singapore on Nicky’s arm and attend the social event of the year without your approval? She obviously has no clue how things work here.”
“Aiyah, children these days don’t know how to behave,” Daisy Foo said quietly, shaking her head. “My sons are just the same. You’re lucky that Nicky even told you he was bringing someone home. I would never be able to expect that from my boys. I have to find out in the newspapers what they’re doing! What to do, lah? This is what happens when you educate your children overseas. They become too Westernized and aksi borak‡ when they return. Can you imagine—my daughter-in-law Danielle forces me to make an appointment two weeks in advance just to see my grandchildren! She thinks that because she graduated from Amherst she knows better than me how to raise my own grandchildren!”
“Better than you? Everyone knows these ABCs are descended from all the peasants that were too stupid to survive in China!” Nadine cackled.
“Hey, Nadine, don’t underestimate them. These ABC girls can be tzeen lee hai,”§ Lorena Lim warned. “Now that America is broke, all these ABCs want to come to Asia and sink their claws into our men. They are even worse that the Taiwanese tornadoes because they are Westernized, sophisticated, and worst of all, college educated. Do you remember Mrs. Hsu Tsen Ta’s son? That Ivy League–degreed ex-wife of his purposely introduced him to the girl who would become his mistress, and then used that silly excuse to get a huge divorce settlement. The Hsus had to sell so many properties just to pay her off. So sayang!”‖
“My Danielle was so kwai kwaia at first, so dutiful and modest,” Daisy recalled. “Hiyah—the minute that thirty-carat diamond was on her finger, she transformed into the bloody Queen of Sheba! Nowadays she wears nothing but Prada, Prada, Prada, and have you seen how she makes my son waste money by hiring that whole security team to escort her everywhere she goes, as if she is some big shot? Who wants to kidnap her? My son and my grandchildren are the ones who should have the bodyguards, not this girl with the flat nose! Suey doh say!”b
“I don’t know what I would do if my son brought home a girl like that.” Eleanor moaned and put on her saddest expression.
“Come, come, Lealea, have some more bobo chacha,” Carol said, trying to soothe her friend as she ladled more of the fragrant dessert into Eleanor’s bowl. “Nicky is a good boy. You should thank the Lord that he isn’t like my Bernard. I gave up trying to get Bernard to listen to me long ago. His father lets him get away with everything. What to do? His father just pays and pays, while I just pray and pray. The Bible tells us we must accept what we cannot change.”
Lorena looked at Eleanor, wondering whether this was the right time to drop her bombshell. She decided to go for it. “Eleanor, you asked me to do a little investigating for you about this Chu girl’s family in China, and I don’t want you to get too excited, but I’ve just received the most intriguing tidbit.”
“So fast? What did you find out?” Eleanor perked up.
“Well, there’s a fellow who claims to have ‘very valuable’ info on Rachel,” Lorena continued.
“Alamak, what, what?” Eleanor asked, getting alarmed.
“I don’t know exactly, but it comes from a source in Shenzhen,” Lorena said.
“Shenzhen? Did they say what kind of information?”
“Well, they just said it was ‘very valuable,’ and they won’t talk over the phone. They will only give you the information in person, and it’s going to cost you.”
“How did you find these people?” Eleanor asked excitedly.
“Wah ooh kang tao, mah,”c Lorena said mysteriously. “I think you should go to Shenzhen next week.”
“That won’t be possible. Nicky and that girl will be here,” Eleanor replied.
“Elle, I think you should go precisely when Nicky and that girl arrive,” Daisy suggested. “Think about it—they are not even staying with you, so you have the perfect excuse not to be here. And if you are not here, you have all the advantage. You will show everyone that you are NOT rolling out the red carpet for this girl, and you won’t lose face if she turns out to be a total nightmare.”
“Plus you’ll have gained some vital new information,” Nadine added. “Maybe she’s already married. Maybe she already has a child. Maybe she’s running some huge scam and—”
“Aiyah, I need a Xanax,” Eleanor cried, reaching into her purse.
“Lorena, stop scaring Lealea!” Carol interjected. “We don’t know this girl’s story, maybe it’s nothing at all. Maybe God will bless Eleanor with a dutiful God-fearing daughter-in-law. ‘Judge not lest ye be judged.’ Matthew 7:1.”
Eleanor considered everything that her friends had to say. “Daisy, you’re always so smart. Lorena, can I stay at your beautiful flat in Shenzhen?”
“Of course. I was going to come with you. Also, I’ve been dying to go on another shopping marathon in Shenzhen.”
“Who else wants to come to Shenzhen this weekend? Carol, are you in?” Eleanor asked, hoping that Carol could be roped in and they would get to use her plane.
Carol leaned over from her bed and said, “I’ll check, but I think we can take the plane if we leave before the weekend. I know my husband has to fly to Beijing to take over some Internet company called Ali Baibai earlier in the week. And Bernard’s using the plane for Colin Khoo’s bachelor party on Saturday.”
“Let’s all go to Shenzhen for a ladies’ spa weekend!” Nadine declared. “I want to go to that place where they soak your feet in those wooden buckets and then massage them for an hour.”
Eleanor was beginning to get excited. “This is a good plan. Let’s go shop till we drop in Shenzhen. We’ll let Nicky and this girl manage on their own, and then I will return with my valuable information.”
“Your valuable ammunition,” Lorena corrected.
“Haha, that’s right,” Nadine cheered, digging into her handbag and beginning to text her stockbroker covertly. “Now Carol, what was the name of that Internet company the dato’ is planning to take over?”
* * *
* Malay for “remote,” “far from civilization.”
† Hokkien for “jump off a building.”
‡ A Malay slang term that means “to act like a show-off or know-it-all” (basically, a pompous ass).
§ Hokkien for “very sharp” or “dangerous.”
‖ Malay for “what a waste.”
a Hokkien for “goody-goody.”
b Ca
ntonese for “so atrocious I could die!”
c Hokkien for “I have my secret contacts, of course.”
14
Rachel and Nicholas
SINGAPORE
The plane banked sharply to the left, breaking out of the clouds as Rachel caught sight of the island for the first time. They had departed New York twenty-one hours ago, and after one refueling stop in Frankfurt, she was in Southeast Asia now, in the realm her ancestors called the Nanyang.* But the view she could glimpse from the plane did not resemble some romantic terrain swathed in mist—rather, it was a dense metropolis of skyscrapers glittering in the evening sky, and from six thousand feet Rachel could already feel the pulsating energy that was one of the world’s financial powerhouses.
As the electronic doors of the customs area slid open to reveal the tropical oasis that was the arrival hall of Terminal Three, the first thing Nick saw was his friend Colin Khoo holding up a large placard with BEST MAN printed on it. Beside him stood an exceedingly tan, willowy girl clutching a bunch of silver balloons.
Nick and Rachel rolled their luggage carts toward them. “What are you doing here?” Nick exclaimed in surprise as Colin squeezed him into a bear hug.
“Come on! Of course I had to welcome my best man properly! This is full service, man,” Colin beamed.
“My turn!” the girl beside him declared, leaning over and giving Nick a hug followed by a quick peck on the cheek. She turned next to Rachel, stretched out her hand, and said, “You must be Rachel. I’m Araminta.”
“Oh sorry, let me make proper introductions—Rachel Chu, meet Araminta Lee, Colin’s fiancée. And this, of course, is Colin Khoo,” Nick said.
“So nice to finally meet you.” Rachel smiled, shaking their hands vigorously. She wasn’t prepared for this welcoming party, and after all those hours on the plane, she could only imagine how she must look. She studied the cheery couple for a bit. People always looked so different from their pictures. Colin was taller than she imagined, roguishly handsome with dark freckles and an unruly shock of hair that made him look a bit like a Polynesian surfer. Behind her wire-frame spectacles, Araminta had a very pretty face, even without a stitch of makeup. Her long black hair was pulled into a rubber-banded ponytail that reached down to the small of her back, and she looked far too skinny for her tall frame. She was wearing what appeared to be a pair of plaid pajama pants, a pale orange tank top, and flip-flops. Though she was probably in her mid-twenties, she looked more like a schoolgirl than someone about to walk down the aisle. They were an unusually exotic couple, and Rachel wondered how their children might end up looking.
Colin began texting away on his cell phone. “The drivers have been circling around for a while. Let me just make sure they know we’re ready.”
“I can’t believe this airport—it makes JFK look like Mogadishu,” Rachel remarked. She stared up in wonder at the soaring ultramodern structure, the indoor palm trees, and the immense, lush vertical hanging garden that seemed to make up an entire length of the terminal. A fine mist of water began to spread over the cascading greenery. “Are they misting the entire wall? I feel like I’m at some upscale tropical resort.”
“This whole country is an upscale tropical resort,” Colin quipped as he led them toward the exit. Waiting at the curb were two matching silver Land Rovers. “Here, pile all your luggage into this one, it’s going straight to the hotel. We can all ride in the other one without being cramped.” The driver in the first car got out, nodded to Colin, and went to join the other driver, leaving an empty car for them. In her jet-lagged fog, Rachel didn’t know what to make of all this and just climbed into the backseat of the SUV.
“What a treat! I don’t think I’ve been welcomed at the airport like this since I was a little kid,” Nick said, recalling the times in his childhood when a large group of family members would gather at the airport. A visit to the airport back then was a thrilling event, since it also meant that his father would take him for a hot fudge sundae at the Swensen’s Ice Cream Parlor in the old terminal. People seemed to go away on longer trips back then, and there were always tears from the women saying goodbye to relatives heading overseas or welcoming home children who had spent the school year abroad. He once even overheard his older cousin Alex whisper to his father just before Harry Leong was about to board a plane, “Be sure to pick me up the latest Penthouse on your layover in Los Angeles.”
Colin settled behind the wheel and began adjusting the mirrors to fit his sightlines. “Where to? Straight to the hotel, or makan?”†
“I can definitely eat,” Nick said. He turned around to look at Rachel, knowing she probably wanted to go straight to the hotel and collapse into bed. “Feeling okay, Rachel?”
“I’m great,” Rachel replied. “Actually, I’m kinda hungry too.”
“It’s breakfast time back in New York, that’s why,” Colin noted.
“Did you have a good flight? Did you watch a lot of movies?” Araminta asked.
“Rachel went on a Colin Firth binge,” Nick announced.
Araminta squealed. “OMG—I love him! He’ll always be the one and only Mr. Darcy for me!”
“Okay, I think we can be friends now,” Rachel declared. She looked out the window, amazed by the swaying palm trees and profusion of bougainvillea that lined the sides of the brightly lit highway. It was almost ten o’clock at night, but everything about this city seemed unnaturally bright—effervescent, almost.
“Nicky, where should we take Rachel for her first local meal?” Colin asked.
“Hmm … should we welcome Rachel with a feast of Hainanese chicken rice at Chatterbox? Or should we head straight for chili crab at East Coast?” Nick asked, feeling excited and torn at the same time—there were about a hundred different eating places he wanted Rachel to experience right now.
“How about some satay?” Rachel suggested. “Nick is always going on and on about how you’ve never tasted decent satay until you’ve had it in Singapore.”
“That settles it—we’re going to Lau Pa Sat,” Colin announced. “Rachel, you’ll get to experience your first true hawker center. And they have the best satay.”
“You think so? I like that place in Sembawang better,” Araminta said.
“NOOOO! What are you talking about, lah? The fellow from the original Satay Club is still at Lau Pa Sat,” Colin said insistently.
“You’re wrong,” Araminta replied firmly. “That original Satay Club guy moved to Sembawang.”
“Lies! That was his cousin. An imposter!” Colin was adamant.
“Personally, I’ve always liked the satay at Newton,” Nick cut in.
“Newton? You’ve lost your mind, Nicky. Newton is only for expats and tourists—there aren’t any good satay stalls left,” Colin said.
“Welcome to Singapore, Rachel—where arguing about food is the national pastime,” Araminta declared. “This is probably the only country in the world where grown men can get into fistfights over which specific food stall in some godforsaken shopping center has the best rendition of some obscure fried noodle dish. It’s like a pissing contest!”
Rachel giggled. Araminta and Colin were so funny and down-to-earth, she liked them both instantly.
Soon they were on Robinson Road, in the heart of the downtown financial district. Nestled in the shadows of massive towers was Lau Pa Sat—or “old market” in the Hokkien dialect—an octagonal open-air pavilion that housed a bustling hive of food stalls. Walking from the car park across the street, Rachel could already smell the delicious spice-filled aromas wafting through the balmy air. As they were about to enter the great food hall, Nick turned to Rachel and said, “You’re going to go nuts for this place—it’s the oldest Victorian structure in all of Southeast Asia.”
Rachel stared up at the soaring cast-iron filigree arches that radiated out across the vaulted ceilings. “Looks like the inside of a cathedral,” she said.
“
Where the masses come to worship food,” Nick quipped.
Sure enough, even though it was past ten, the place teemed with hundreds of fervent diners. Rows and rows of brightly lit food stalls offered up a greater array of dishes than Rachel had ever witnessed under one roof. As they walked around, peering at the various stalls where men and women were frenziedly cooking their delicacies, Rachel shook her head in awe. “There’s just so much to take in, I don’t know where to start.”
“Just point to whatever looks interesting and I’ll order it,” Colin offered. “The beauty of the hawker center is that each vendor basically sells just one dish, so whether it’s fried pork dumplings or fish-ball soup, they’ve spent a lifetime perfecting it.”
“More than one lifetime. A lot of these people are second- and third-generation hawkers, cooking old family recipes,” Nick chimed in.
A few minutes later, the four of them were seated just outside the main hall under a huge tree strung with yellow lights, every inch of their table covered with colorful plastic plates piled high with the greatest hits of Singaporean street cuisine. There was the famous char kuay teow, a fried omelet with oysters called orh luak, Malay rojak salad bursting with chunks of pineapple and cucumber, Hokkien-style noodles in a thick garlicky gravy, a fish cake smoked in coconut leaves called otah otah, and a hundred sticks of chicken and beef satay.
Rachel had never seen anything like this feast. “This is insane! Every dish looks like it came from a different part of Asia.”
“That’s Singapore for you—the true originators of fusion cuisine,” Nick boasted. “You know, because of all the ships passing through from Europe, the Middle East, and India in the nineteenth century, all these amazing flavors and textures could intermingle.”
As Rachel tasted the char kuay teow, her eyes widened in delight at the rice noodles flash-fried with seafood, egg, and bean sprouts in a dark soy sauce. “Why doesn’t it ever taste like this at home?”