by Kevin Kwan
Isabel was reduced to a puddle of tears.
Rachel couldn’t believe what she had just heard—this crowd made Upper East Side girls look like Mennonites. She tried to shift her attention back to the food. The second course had just been served—a surprisingly tasty langoustine and calamansi lime geleé terrine. Unfortunately, the girls on her right seemed to be loudly fixating on some couple named Alistair and Kitty.
“Aiyah, I don’t understand what he sees in her,” Chloé Ho lamented. “With the fake accent and fake breasts and fake everything.”
“I know exactly what he sees in her. He sees those fake breasts, and that’s all he needs to see!” Parker cackled.
“Serena Oh told me that she ran into them at Lung King Heen last week, and Kitty was in Gucci, head to toe. Gucci purse, Gucci halter top, Gucci satin mini-shorts, and Gucci python boots,” Chloé said. “She kept her Gucci sunglasses on all through dinner, and apparently even made out with him at the table with her sunglasses on.”
“Alamaaaaak, how tacky can you get!” Wandi hissed, patting her diamond-and-aquamarine tiara.
Parker suddenly addressed Rachel from across the table. “Wait a minute, have you met them yet?”
“Who?” Rachel asked, since she was trying to tune the girls out rather than listen in on their salacious gossip.
“Alistair and Kitty!”
“Sorry, I wasn’t really following … who are they?”
Francesca glanced at Rachel and said, “Parker, don’t waste your time—it’s obvious Rachel doesn’t know anybody.”
Rachel didn’t understand why Francesca was being so icy toward her. She decided to ignore the comment and took a sip of her Pinot Gris.
“So Rachel, tell us how you met Nicholas Young,” Lauren asked loudly.
“Well, it’s not a very exciting story. We both teach at NYU, and we were set up by a colleague of mine,” Rachel answered, noticing that all eyes at the table were fixed on her.
“Oh, who is the colleague? A Singaporean?” Lauren asked.
“No, she’s Chinese American, Sylvia Wong-Swartz.”
“How did she know Nicholas?” Parker asked.
“Um, they met on some committee.”
“So she didn’t know him very well?” Parker continued.
“No, I don’t think so,” Rachel replied, wondering what these girls were getting at. “Why the interest in Sylvia?”
“Oh, I love setting up my friends too, so I was just curious to know what motivated your friend to set the two of you up, that’s all.” Parker smiled.
“Well, Sylvia’s a good friend, and she was always trying to set me up. She just thought Nick was cute and a total catch …” Rachel began, instantly regretting her choice of words.
“It sure sounds like she did her homework on that, didn’t she?” Francesca said with a sharp laugh.
After dinner, while the girls took off for the disco marquee precariously erected on a jetty, Rachel headed alone to the beach bar, a picturesque gazebo overlooking a secluded cove. It was empty except for the tall, strapping bartender who grinned broadly when she entered. “Signorina, can I make you something special?” he asked in an almost comically seductive accent. Hell, did Araminta’s mother only hire dashing Italians?
“I’ve actually been craving a beer. Do you have any beer?”
“Of course. Let’s see, we have Corona, Duvel, Moretti, Red Stripe, and my personal favorite, Lion Stout.”
“That’s one I’ve never heard of.”
“It’s from Sri Lanka. It’s creamy and bittersweet, with a rich tan head.”
Rachel couldn’t help giggling. It sounded like he was describing himself. “Well if it’s your favorite, then I have to try it.”
As he poured the beer into a tall frosted glass, a girl whom Rachel hadn’t previously noticed strolled into the bar and slipped onto the stool next to her.
“Thank God there’s someone else here who drinks beer! I am so sick of all those pissy low-cal cocktails,” the girl said. She was Chinese, but spoke with an Australian accent.
“Cheers to that,” Rachel replied, tipping her glass at the girl. The girl ordered a Corona, and grabbed the bottle from the bartender before he could pour it into a glass. He looked personally wounded as she tilted her head back and downed her beer in full-bodied gulps. “Rachel, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. But if you’re looking for the Taiwanese Rachel Chu, you’ve got the wrong girl,” Rachel shot back preemptively.
The girl smiled quizzically, a little baffled by Rachel’s response. “I’m Astrid’s cousin Sophie. She told me to look out for you.”
“Oh, hi,” Rachel said, disarmed by Sophie’s friendly smile and deep dimples. Unlike the other girls sporting the latest resort fashions, she was dressed plainly in a sleeveless cotton shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. She had a no-nonsense pageboy haircut, and wore no makeup or jewelry except for a plastic Swatch on her wrist.
“Were you on the plane with us?” Rachel asked, trying to remember her.
“No, no, I flew in on my own and just arrived a little while ago,”
“You have your own plane too?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Sophie laughed. “I’m the lucky one who flew Garuda Airlines, economy class. I had some hospital rounds to do, so I couldn’t get away until later this afternoon.”
“You’re a nurse?”
“Pediatric surgeon.”
Once again, Rachel was reminded that one could never judge a book by its cover, especially in Asia. “So you’re Astrid and Nick’s cousin?”
“No, just Astrid’s, on the Leong side. Her father is my mum’s brother. But of course I know Nick—we all grew up together. And you grew up in the States, right? Where did you live?”
“I spent my teenage years in California, but I’ve lived in twelve different states. We moved around quite a bit when I was younger.”
“Why did you move around so much?”
“My mom worked in Chinese restaurants.”
“What did she do?”
“She usually started out as a hostess or a waitress, but she always managed to get promoted quickly.”
“So she took you everywhere with her?” Sophie asked, genuinely fascinated.
“Yes—we lived the Gypsy life until my teenage years, when we settled down in California.”
“Was it lonely for you?”
“Well, it was all I knew, so it seemed normal to me. I got to know the back rooms of suburban strip-mall restaurants very well, and I was pretty much a bookworm.”
“And what about your father?”
“He died soon after I was born.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sophie said quickly, regretting that she had asked.
“That’s fine—I never knew him.” Rachel smiled, trying to put her at ease. “And anyway, it wasn’t all bad. My mom put herself through night school, got a college degree, and has been a successful real estate agent for many years now.”
“That’s amazing,” Sophie said.
“Not really. We’re actually one of the many clichéd ‘Asian immigrant success stories’ that politicians love to trot out every four years during their conventions.”
Sophie chuckled. “I can see why Nick likes you—you both have the same dry wit.”
Rachel smiled, looking away toward the disco marquee on the jetty.
“Am I keeping you from the dance party? I hear Araminta flew in some famous DJ from Ibiza,” Sophie said.
“I’m enjoying this, actually. It’s the first real conversation I’ve had all day.”
Sophie glanced at the girls—most of whom were now writhing wildly with several of the Italian waiters to the pounding eurotrance-disco music—and shrugged. “Well, with this crowd, I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“Aren’t these your friends?”
“A few, but most of these girls I don
’t know. I recognize them, of course.”
“Who are they? Are some of them famous?”
“In their own minds, perhaps. These are the more social girls, the type that are always appearing in the magazines, attending all the charity galas. Far too glamorous a crowd for me. I’m sorry, but I work twelve-hour shifts and don’t have the time to go to benefit parties in hotels. I have to benefit my patients first.”
Rachel laughed.
“Speaking of which,” Sophie added, “I’ve been up since five, so I’m going to turn in now.”
“I think I will too,” Rachel said.
They walked down the jetty toward their bungalows.
“I’m in the villa at the end of this walkway if you need anything,” Sophie said.
“Good night,” Rachel said. “It’s been lovely talking with you.”
“Likewise,” Sophie said, flashing that deep-dimpled smile again.
Rachel entered her villa, gladly returning to some peace and quiet after a draining day. None of the lights were on in the suite, but the bright silvery moonlight glimmered through the open screen doors, casting serpentine ripples along the walls. The sea was so still that the sound of the water lapping slowly against the wood stilts had a hypnotic effect. It was the perfect setting for a night swim in the ocean, something she’d never done. Rachel padded toward the bedroom for her bikini. As she passed the vanity table, she noticed that the leather satchel she’d left hanging on the chair seemed to be leaking some sort of liquid. She walked toward the bag and saw that it was completely drenched, with brownish water dripping out of the corner into a large puddle on the bedroom floor. What the hell happened? She turned on the lamp by the table and opened the front flap of her bag. She screamed, jerking backward in horror and knocking over the table lamp.
Her bag was filled with a large fish that had been badly mutilated, blood seeping out from its gills. Violently scrawled on the vanity mirror above the chair in fish blood were the words “CATCH THIS, YOU GOLD-DIGGING CUNT!”
* * *
* Central Provident Fund, a mandatory savings scheme that Singaporeans contribute to each month to fund their retirement, health care, and housing. It’s a bit like the U.S. Social Security program, except that the CPF won’t be going broke anytime soon. CPF account holders earn an average of five percent interest per year, and the government also periodically gifts its citizens with bonuses and special shares, making Singapore the only country in the world that gives dividends to all its citizens when the economy does well. (Now you know why that Facebook fellow became a Singaporean.)
12
Eleanor
SHENZHEN
“Thirty thousand yuan? That’s ridiculous!” Eleanor seethed at the man in the poly-blend gray jacket seated across from her in the lounge off the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton. The man looked around to make sure that Eleanor’s outburst wasn’t attracting too much attention.
“Trust me, it will be worth your money,” the man said quietly in Mandarin.
“Mr. Wong, how can we be sure your information has any value when we don’t even know what it is exactly?” Lorena asked.
“Listen, your brother explained to Mr. Tin what the situation was, and Mr. Tin and I go way back—I have worked for him for more than twenty years. We are the best at this sort of thing. Now, I’m not sure what exactly you’re planning, and I don’t want to know, but I can assure you that this information will be extremely beneficial to whoever possesses it,” Mr. Wong said confidently. Lorena translated his response for Eleanor.
“Who does he think we are? There isn’t any sort of information that’s worth thirty thousand yuan to me. Does he think I’m made of money?” Eleanor was indignant.
“How about fifteen thousand?” Lorena asked.
“Okay, for you, twenty thousand,” Mr. Wong countered.
“Fifteen thousand, and that’s our last offer,” Lorena insisted again.
“Okay, seventeen thousand five hundred, but that’s my last offer,” the man said, getting frustrated by all the bargaining. Mr. Tin had told him that these ladies were millionaires.
“No—ten thousand, or I leave,” Eleanor suddenly declared in Mandarin. The man glared at her as if she had insulted all of his ancestors. He shook his head in dismay.
“Lorena, I’m done with this extortion,” Eleanor huffed, getting up from her red velvet club chair. Lorena stood up as well, and both women began to walk out of the lounge into the soaring three-story atrium lobby, where there was a sudden traffic jam of men in tuxedos and women in black, white, and red ball gowns. “Must be some sort of big function going on,” Eleanor noted, scrutinizing a woman ablaze with diamonds around her neck.
“Shenzhen is not Shanghai, that’s for sure—all these women are dressed in fashions from three years ago,” Lorena observed wryly as she tried to navigate her way through the crowd. “Eleanor, I think you’ve gone too far with your bargaining tactics this time. I think we’ve lost this guy.”
“Lorena, trust me—keep walking and don’t turn around!” Eleanor instructed.
Just as the ladies reached the front entrance of the hotel, Mr. Wong suddenly came running out of the lounge. “Okay, okay, ten thousand,” he said breathlessly. Eleanor beamed in triumph as she followed the man back to the table.
Mr. Wong made a quick phone call on his cell, and then said to the ladies, “Okay, my informer will be here very soon. Until then, what would you ladies like to drink?”
Lorena was a little surprised to hear this—she had assumed that they would be taken to some other place to meet the informer. “Is it safe to meet right here?”
“Why not? This is one of the best hotels in Shenzhen!”
“I mean, it’s so public.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll see that it will be just fine,” Mr. Wong said, grabbing a handful of macadamia nuts from the silver bowl on the table.
A few minutes later, a man entered the bar, walking with trepidation toward their table. Eleanor could tell just by looking at him that he was from some rural area and that it was the first time he had set foot in a hotel as fancy as this. He wore a striped polo shirt and ill-fitting dress pants, and carried a metallic-silver briefcase. It looked to Lorena like he had just picked up the suitcase an hour ago from one of those cheap luggage stalls at the train station, to make himself seem more professional. He looked nervously at the women as he approached the table. Mr. Wong had a short exchange with him in a dialect that neither woman could understand, and the man set his briefcase onto the granite-top table. He fiddled with the combination and clicked the locks on each side in unison before opening the briefcase lid ceremoniously.
The man took out three items from the suitcase and placed them on the table in front of the ladies. There was a small rectangular paper box, a manila envelope, and one photocopy of a newspaper clipping. Lorena opened the manila envelope and fished out a yellowed piece of paper, while Eleanor opened the box. She peered into it, and then looked at the piece of paper Lorena was holding. She only read very basic Mandarin, so she was mystified by it. “What does all this mean?”
“Just give me a minute to finish, Elle,” Lorena said, scanning the last document up and down. “Oh my God, Elle,” she exclaimed, suddenly staring at Mr. Wong and the informer. “Are you sure this is completely accurate? There will be big trouble for all of you if it isn’t.”
“I swear on the life of my firstborn son,” the man replied haltingly.
“What is it? What is it?” Eleanor asked urgently, hardly able to contain herself. Lorena whispered into Eleanor’s right ear. Her eyes grew large, and she looked up at Mr. Wong.
“Mr. Wong, I’ll give you thirty thousand yuan in cash if you can take me right now,” Eleanor commanded.
13
Rachel
SAMSARA ISLAND
Sophie was splashing some water on her face when she heard an urgent rapping. She went to the do
or and found Rachel standing there, her lips white and her whole body shaking.
“What’s wrong? Are you cold?” Sophie asked.
“I … think … I think I’m in shock,” Rachel stuttered.
“WHAT? What happened?”
“My room … I can’t describe it. Go see for yourself,” Rachel said numbly.
“Are you okay? Should I call for help?”
“No, no, I’ll be fine. I’m just shaking involuntarily.”
Sophie immediately slipped into doctor mode, grabbing hold of Rachel’s wrist. “Your pulse is a bit elevated,” she noted. She grabbed the cashmere throw on her chaise lounge and handed it to Rachel. “Sit down. Take long, slow breaths. Wrap this around yourself and wait right here,” she instructed.