by Kevin Kwan
Fiona handed back the necklace, and Su Yi slipped it into a yellow silk pouch before handing it to Fiona. “Nah, you should wear it tonight to the wedding banquet.”
“Oh, Ah Ma, I couldn’t possibly—” Fiona began.
“Aiyah, moh hak hei,† it’s yours now. Make sure it goes to Kalliste someday,” Su Yi decreed. She turned to Alexandra and said, “Do you need something for tonight?”
Alexandra shook her head. “I brought my triple-strand pearls.”
“You always wear those pearls,” Victoria complained, casually twirling her new diamonds around her fingers as if they were toy beads.
“I like my pearls. Besides, I don’t want to look like one of those Khoo women. Did you see how much jewelry they piled on this morning? Ridiculous.”
“Those Khoos sure like to flaunt it, don’t they,” Victoria said with a laugh, popping one of the crumbly pineapple tarts into her mouth.
“Aiyah, who cares? Khoo Teck Fong’s father came from a little village in Sarawak—I will always know him as the man who used to buy my mother’s old silver,” Su Yi said dismissively. “Now, speaking of jewelry, I want to talk about Alistair’s girlfriend—that starlet.”
Alexandra flinched, steeling herself for the onslaught. “Yes, Mummy, I’m sure you were as appalled as I was by that woman’s behavior today.”
“The audacity of her to accept that ring from the sultana! It was so undignified, not to mention—” Victoria began.
Su Yi held out her hand to silence Victoria. “Why wasn’t I told that Alistair was engaged to her?”
“It just happened a few days ago,” Alexandra said bleakly.
“But who is she? Who are her people?”
“I don’t know precisely,” Alexandra said.
“How is it possible that you don’t know the family, when your son wants to take her as his wife?” Su Yi said in astonishment. “Look at Fiona here—we have known her family for generations. Fiona, do you know this girl’s family?”
Fiona grimaced, making no attempt to hide her disdain. “Ah Ma, I never set eyes on her until two days ago at Auntie Felicity’s.”
“Cassandra told me the girl showed up at Felicity’s wearing a see-through dress. Is that true?” Su Yi asked.
“Yes,” the three ladies droned in unison.
“Tien,‡ ah, what is this world coming to?” Su Yi shook her head, taking a slow sip from her teacup.
“Clearly the girl has not been brought up well,” Victoria said.
“She’s not been brought up at all. She’s not Taiwanese, even though she claims to be, and she’s certainly not from Hong Kong. I’ve heard that she is from some remote village in northern China,” Fiona offered.
“Tsk, those northern Chinese are the worst!” Victoria huffed, nibbling on a slice of kueh lapis.
“Where she’s from is irrelevant. My youngest grandson is not going to marry some actress, especially one of questionable lineage,” Su Yi said simply. Turning to Alexandra, she said, “You will tell him to break off the engagement immediately.”
“His father has agreed to talk to him when we return to Hong Kong.”
“I don’t think that will be soon enough, Alix. The girl needs to be sent packing before she does something more offensive. I can only imagine what she’s going to wear to the ball tonight,” Victoria said.
“Well, what about Rachel, that girlfriend of Nicky’s?” Alexandra said, trying to deflect the focus from her son.
“What about her?” Su Yi asked, puzzled.
“Aren’t you concerned about her as well? I mean, we know nothing of her family.”
“Aiyah, she’s just a pretty girl that Nicky’s having fun with.” Su Yi laughed, as if the idea of him marrying Rachel was too ridiculous to even consider.
“That’s not the way it looks to me,” Alexandra warned.
“Nonsense. Nicky has no intentions with this girl—he told me so himself. And besides, he would never do anything without my permission. Alistair simply needs to obey your wishes,” Su Yi said with finality.
“Mummy, I’m not sure it’s that simple. That boy can be so stubborn. I tried to get him to stop dating her months ago, but—” Alexandra began.
“Alix, why don’t you just threaten to cut him off? Stop his allowance or something,” Victoria suggested.
“Allowance? He doesn’t get an allowance. Alistair isn’t concerned about money—he supports himself with those odd jobs on films, so he has always done exactly as he pleases.”
“You know, Alistair might not care about money, but I’ll bet you that trollop does,” Victoria expostulated. “Alix, you need to give her a good talking-to. Make her understand that it is impossible for her to marry Alistair, and that you will cut him off forever if she does.”
“I don’t know how I would even begin,” Alexandra said. “Why don’t you talk to her, Victoria? You’re so good at this sort of thing.”
“Me? Good grief, I don’t intend to exchange a single word with that girl!” Victoria declared.
“Tien, ah, you are all hopeless!” Su Yi groaned. Turning to one of her lady’s maids, she ordered, “Call Oliver T’sien. Tell him to come over right away.”
On the way home from the wedding reception, Nick had assured Rachel that his relationship with Mandy was ancient history. “We dated on and off till I was eighteen and went off to Oxford. It was puppy love. Now we’re just old friends who meet up every once in a while. You know, she lives in New York but we hardly ever meet—she’s way too busy going to A-list parties with that Zvi fellow,” Nick said.
Still, Rachel had sensed a distinctly territorial vibe coming from Mandy back at the fort, making her wonder if Mandy was truly over Nick. Now, as she was getting dressed for the most formal event she had ever been invited to, she wondered how she would compare to Mandy and all the other impossibly chic women in Nick’s orbit. She stood in front of the mirror, assessing herself. Her hair had been swept up into a loose French twist and pinned with three violet orchid blossoms, and she was wearing a midnight blue off-the-shoulder gown that draped elegantly across her hips before flaring out just above the knees into luxuriant folds of silk organza scattered with tiny freshwater pearls. She scarcely recognized herself.
There was a jaunty rap on the door. “Are you decent?” Nick called out.
“Yes, come in!” Rachel replied.
Nick opened the bedroom door and stopped dead in his tracks. “Oh wow!” he said.
“You like it?” Rachel asked bashfully.
“You look stunning,” Nick said, almost in a whisper.
“Do these flowers in my hair look silly?”
“Not at all.” Nick circled around her, admiring how the thousands of pearls shimmered like faraway stars. “It makes you look glamorous and exotic at the same time.”
“Thanks. You look pretty awesome yourself,” Rachel declared, admiring how utterly debonair Nick looked in his dinner jacket, with its streamlined grosgrain lapels perfectly accentuating his crisp white bow tie.
“Ready for your carriage?” Nick asked, entwining his arm through hers in a courtly manner.
“I guess so,” Rachel said, exhaling deeply. As they walked out of the bedroom, little Augustine Cheng came racing down the corridor.
“Whoa, Augustine, you’re going to break your neck,” Nick said, stopping him in his tracks. The little boy looked terrified.
“What’s wrong, little man?” Nick asked.
“I need to hide.” Augustine was panting.
“Why?”
“Papa’s after me. I spilled Orange Fanta all over his new suit.”
“Oh no!” Rachel said, trying not to giggle.
“He said he was going to kill me,” the boy said, shaking, with tears in his eyes.
“Oh, he’ll get over it. Come with us. I’ll make sure your father doesn’t kill you.” Nick laughed, taking Augustine by the
hand.
At the bottom of the stairs, Eddie was arguing in Cantonese with Ling Cheh, the head housekeeper, and Nasi, the head laundry maid, while Fiona stood next to him in her Weimaraner-gray evening gown looking exasperated.
“I’m telling you, this type of fabric needs to soak for a few hours if you want to get the stain out properly,” the head laundry maid explained.
“A few hours? But we need to be at the wedding ball by seven thirty! This is an emergency, do you understand?” Eddie shouted, glaring at the Malay woman as if she didn’t understand English.
“Eddie, there’s no need to raise your voice. She understands,” Fiona said.
“How many laundry maids does my grandmother keep? There must be at least ten of you! Don’t tell me you people can’t fix this right now,” Eddie complained to Ling Cheh.
“Eddieboy, even if there were twenty of them, there’s no way it will be ready for tonight,” Ling Cheh insisted.
“But what am I going to wear? I had this tux specially made for me in Milan! Do you know how much it cost me?”
“I’m sure it was very, very expensive. And that’s exactly why we need to be gentle and let the stain lift properly,” Ling Cheh said, shaking her head. Eddieboy had been a pompous little monster even when he was five.
Eddie glanced up the staircase and noticed Augustine coming down with Nick and Rachel. “YOU LITTLE SHIT!” he screamed.
“Eddie, control yourself!” Fiona admonished.
“I’m going to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget!” Incandescent with rage, Eddie began to storm up the stairs.
“Stop it, Eddie,” Fiona said, grabbing hold of his arm.
“You’re wrinkling my shirt, Fi!” Eddie scowled. “Like mother like son—”
“Eddie, you need to calm down. Just wear one of the other two tuxes you brought,” Fiona said in a measured tone.
“Don’t be stupid! I’ve already worn both of those the past two nights. I had everything perfectly planned until this little bastard came along! Stop hiding, you little bastard! Be a man and accept your punishment!” Eddie broke free from his wife and lunged toward the boy with his right arm outstretched.
Augustine whimpered, cowering behind Nick. “Eddie, you’re not really going to hit your six-year-old son over a harmless accident, are you?” Nick said lightheartedly.
“Harmless? Fucky fuck, he’s ruined everything! The monochromatic fashion statement I was planning for the whole family is RUINED because of him!”
“And you’ve just ruined the whole trip for me!” Fiona suddenly blurted out. “I’m so sick of all this. Why is it so damn important for us to look picture-perfect every time we walk out the door? Who exactly are you trying to impress? The photographers? The readers of Hong Kong Tattle? You really care so much about them that you’d rather hit your own son over an accident that you caused in the first place by screaming at him for wearing the wrong cummerbund?”
“But, but …” Eddie sputtered in protest.
Fiona turned to Nick, her serene expression returning. “Nick, can my children and I ride with you to the ball?”
“Er … if you’d like,” Nick said cautiously, not wanting to further incite his cousin.
“Good. I have no desire to be seen with a tyrant.” Fiona took Augustine by the hand and started up the stairs. She paused for a moment as she passed Rachel. “You look amazing in that dress. But you know what? It needs something.” Fiona proceeded to take off the sapphire-and-diamond choker she had just been given by Su Yi and placed it around Rachel’s neck. “Now the outfit looks complete. I insist that you borrow it for tonight.”
“You’re too kind, but what will you wear?” Rachel asked in astonishment.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Fiona said, giving her husband a dark stare. “I’m not going to be wearing a single piece of jewelry tonight. I was born a Tung, and I have nothing to prove to anyone.”
* * *
* Also known as “thousand-layer cake,” this decadently buttery cake with dozens of thin golden stripes is created by baking each layer of batter separately. Extremely laborious, but sinfully good.
† Cantonese for “don’t be formal.”
‡ Mandarin for “heavens!”
7
Pasir Panjang Road
SINGAPORE
“Never, never let young people plan their own weddings, because this is what you end up with!” Mrs. Lee Yong Chien fumed to Puan Sri Mavis Oon. They were standing in the middle of an enormous warehouse in the Keppel Shipyard along with seven hundred other VIPs and VVIPs, utterly baffled by the Cuban band dressed in forties Tropicana splendor on the stage. People like Mrs. Lee were used to only one kind of Chinese wedding banquet—the kind that took place in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel. There would be the gorging on salted peanuts during the interminable wait for the fourteen-course dinner to begin, the melting ice sculptures, the outlandish floral centerpieces, the society matron invariably offended by the faraway table she had been placed at, the entrance of the bride, the malfunctioning smoke machine, the entrance of the bride again and again in five different gowns throughout the night, the crying child choking on a fish ball, the three dozen speeches by politicians, token ang mor executives and assorted high-ranking officials of no relation to the wedding couple, the cutting of the twelve-tier cake, someone’s mistress making a scene, the not so subtle counting of wedding cash envelopes by some cousin,* the ghastly Canto pop star flown in from Hong Kong to scream some pop song (a chance for the older crowd to take an extended toilet break), the distribution of tiny wedding fruitcakes with white icing in paper boxes to all the departing guests, and then Yum seng!†—the whole affair would be over and everyone would make the mad dash to the hotel lobby to wait half an hour for their car and driver to make it through the traffic jam.
Tonight, however, there was none of that. There was just an industrial space with waiters bearing mojitos and a woman with short, slicked-back hair in a white tuxedo belting out “Besame Mucho.” Glancing around, Rachel was amused by the looks of bafflement on the faces of the arriving guests decked out in their most ostentatious finery.
“These women really brought out the big guns tonight, didn’t they?” Rachel whispered to Nick as she eyed a woman sporting a cape of metallic-gold feathers.
“Sure looks like it! Was that Queen Nefertiti who just walked by?” Nick joked.
“Shut your mouth, Nicholas—that’s Patsy Wang. She’s a Hong Kong socialite renowned for her avant-garde style. There are dozens of blogs out there devoted to her,” Oliver commented.
“Who’s the guy with her? The one in the diamond-studded jacket who looks like he’s wearing eye shadow?” Rachel queried.
“That’s her husband, Adam, and he is wearing eye shadow,” Oliver answered.
“They’re married? Really?” Rachel raised a doubting eyebrow.
“Yes, and they even have three children to prove it. You have to understand, many Hong Kong men revel in being fashionistas—they are dandies in the truest sense of the word. How flamboyantly dressed they might be is no indication of which team they play on.”
“Fascinating,” Rachel said.
“You can always tell Singapore men from Hong Kong men,” Nick chimed in. “We’re the ones dressed like we’re still wearing our school uniforms, while they look more like—”
“David Bowie impersonators,” Oliver finished.
“Thanks, Ollie. I was going to go with Elton John.” Nick chuckled.
As if on cue, the lights in the warehouse dimmed and the loading-dock doors behind the stage began to rise, revealing a line of sleek white ferries waiting harborside. Flaming torches lit the way to the pier, and a line of men dressed in Swedish sailor outfits stood ready to guide the guests onto the ferries. The crowd roared in approval.
“The other shoe drops,” Oliver said gleefully.
“Where do you think
we’re going?” Rachel asked.
“You’ll soon see,” Nick said with a wink.
As the guests streamed onto the pier, Astrid made sure to board the ferry carrying a mix of international guests rather than the one filled with her nosy relatives. She had already been asked “Where’s Michael?” too many times and was sick of parroting new variations of her excuse. As she leaned against the railing at the back of the ferry, peering at the frothy waves as the vessel pulled away from the embankment, she felt someone staring at her. She turned to see Charlie Wu, her old flame, on the upper deck. Charlie flushed bright red when he realized he’d been caught staring. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to come downstairs.
“Long time no see,” he said as nonchalantly as possible. In fact, it had been almost ten years since that fateful day when Astrid had thrown a Frosty in his face outside of the old Wendy’s on Orchard Road.
“Yes,” Astrid said with an apologetic smile. She assessed him for a moment, thinking that he looked better with a little age on him. Those rimless glasses suited him, his gangly frame had filled out, and the once problematic acne scarring now gave his face a finely weathered look. “How’s life treating you? You moved to Hong Kong a few years ago, didn’t you?”
“I can’t complain. Too busy with work, but isn’t that the case with everyone?” Charlie mused.
“Well, not everyone owns the largest digital technology company in Asia. Aren’t they calling you the Asian Steve Jobs these days?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. Impossible shoes to fill.” Charlie looked at her again, unsure of what to say. She looked more exquisite than ever in that chartreuse cheongsam. Funny how you could be so intimate with someone for so many years, and yet feel so painfully awkward around them now. “So I hear you got married to some hotshot army guy, and you have a son.”
“Yes, Cassian … he’s three,” Astrid replied, adding preemptively, “and my husband works in the tech industry like you now. He had to run off to China at the last minute to handle some huge system meltdown. And you have a son and a daughter, don’t you?”