by Kevin Kwan
“Sorry—didn’t mean to scare you,” the man said in an accent that sounded just like Nick’s, before giving her a disarming smile. “Hi—I’m Carlton.”
“Oh, hi.” It was all Rachel could say as they gazed at each other, both momentarily transfixed. Rachel studied her brother for the first time. Carlton had the same perpetual nut-brown tan that she did, and hair cropped closely on the sides but thicker and fashionably mussed on top. Nattily dressed in tan corduroys, a faded orange polo shirt, and a Harris Tweed blazer with elbow patches, he looked like he had jumped right out of a fashion shoot for The Rake.
“My God, the two of you look so much alike!” Nick exclaimed.
“I know! The minute I saw Rachel I thought I was meeting Carlton’s long-lost twin!” Colette said breathlessly.
Rachel found herself at a loss for words, but it had nothing to do with her brother’s resemblance to her. She felt an instant, innate connection with him—something that she hadn’t even experienced when she first met her father. She closed her eyes for a moment, overcome with emotion.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked.
“Yes. Never been better, actually,” Rachel said in a slightly choked voice.
Colette placed a hand on Rachel’s arm. “I’m sorry for this madness—it’s all my fault. When we arrived at Three on the Bund, I got recognized immediately and a mob started to follow us up to the restaurant. It was so annoying! And things only got worse at the Whampoa Club, as you could see. Carlton didn’t want to meet you for the first time in front of three million people, so I told him to wait for us a few blocks away.”
“It’s totally fine. But where is everyone else?” Rachel asked.
Carlton began to explain. “My father sends his profuse apologies. The family dinner had to be called off because my parents had to fly to Hong Kong to deal with an emergency. Dad thought he could make it back in time for dinner, but he miscalculated. So I flew back on my own.”
“Wait a minute, you just came from Hong Kong?” Rachel was confused.
“Yes. That’s why we were late.”
Colette jumped in. “When everything went wonky with the dinner plans, I suggested that Carlton and I fly up to meet you.”
“We couldn’t possibly leave you two alone on your first night in Shanghai, could we?” Colette said.
“That’s so nice of you. But Carlton, are your parents okay?” Rachel inquired.
“Yes, yes. It was just a business emergency…at their factories in Hong Kong. My father should be back in a few days,” Carlton said a little haltingly.
“I’m glad to hear it’s nothing too serious,” Rachel said. “Anyway, I’m so thrilled that you and your girlfriend could be here.”
Colette burst out laughing. “Oh how cute! Am I your girlfriend, Carlton?”
“Er, Colette’s just a good friend.” Carlton smiled in embarrassment.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—” Rachel began.
“That’s quite all right. You’re not the first to make that assumption. I’m twenty-three, and unlike most girls my age, I don’t believe in tying myself down to anyone right now. Carlton’s one of many suitors and perhaps someday—if he behaves himself—he will receive the final rose.”
Rachel caught Nick’s eye in the rearview mirror. He shot her a look that said, Did she REALLY just say that? Rachel bit into her lip and looked away, knowing that if she saw his expression again she would burst into laughter. After an awkward pause, she said, “Yes, when I was your age, getting married wasn’t really a priority of mine either.”
Carlton looked over at Colette. “So, Miss Bachelorette, what’s the plan now?”
“Well, we can go anywhere. Do you want to go to a club, a lounge, a restaurant? Do you want to go to a deserted beach off the coast of Thailand?” Colette offered.
“You should know she’s being totally serious,” Carlton added.
“Er, beach later. I think some dinner might be nice,” Nick said.
“What do you feel like eating?” Colette asked.
Rachel was still too frazzled to make any decision. “I’m up for anything. How about you, Nick?”
“Well, we’re in Shanghai—where can we find the best xiao long bao?”
Carlton and Colette glanced at each other for less than a second before chanting in unison, “Din Tai Fung!”
“Wait a minute, is it the same as the Din Tai Fung in LA and Taipei?” Nick asked.
“Yes, it’s the same Taiwanese chain. But believe it or not, it’s better here. Ever since they opened, it’s become wildly popular even with locals. There’s always quite a queue, but thankfully, we’re in special company tonight,” Carlton said, winking at Colette.
“Let me text Roxanne—she’ll arrange for us to get in through the back door. I’m done meeting my public for today,” Colette declared.
• • •
Fifteen minutes later, Rachel and Nick found themselves comfortably ensconced in a private dining room with windows overlooking the skyline.
“Does everyone always dine in private rooms in China?” Rachel asked as she stared out at the nighttime view. Almost every building seemed to be putting on some kind of light show. A few towers looked like they were edged in Day-Glo, while others pulsated neon lights like giant boom boxes.
“Is there any other way? I can’t imagine dining with the masses—all those people staring at you and taking pictures while you eat,” Colette said, giving Rachel a look of horror.
Soon stacks of bamboo steamers containing Shanghai’s most famous delicacy were paraded into the room. There were juicy xiao long bao dumplings of every imaginable variety along with other crowd-pleasing dishes—hand-pulled noodles with minced pork, chicken and golden egg fried rice, sautéed string beans with garlic, vegetable and pork wontons in a spicy sauce, Shanghai rice cake with shrimp, sweet taro buns. Before they began to eat, Roxanne rushed into the room and took a few pictures of Colette smiling over the food.
“Sorry to keep everyone from eating—I just have to throw my fans a bone every hour!” Colette explained. She quickly perused the selection of images with Roxanne and instructed, “Just tweet the one of the black truffle dumplings.”
Nick tried not to laugh. This Colette was a trip. He realized that she wasn’t intentionally trying to sound pretentious—she was just perfectly blunt. Like someone who was born famous or royal, Colette seemed genuinely oblivious to how the rest of the world lived. Carlton, on the other hand, was down-to-earth compared to Colette. Nick had been forewarned by his mother that Carlton was “terribly spoiled,” but he was nothing if not impressed by his impeccable manners. He expertly picked out all the dishes, ordered a round of beers, and made sure everyone—especially the ladies—had plenty of food on their plates before placing any on his own.
“You must have the first pork and crabmeat dumpling,” Carlton said as he deftly placed one onto Rachel’s porcelain spoon. Rachel nibbled carefully on the side of her dumpling, slurping most of the flavorful broth inside before downing the rest of the succulent meat.
“Did you see that? Rachel eats her soup dumplings exactly like Carlton does!” Colette said excitedly.
“Score one for genetics!” Nick quipped. “Well, Rachel, what’s the verdict?”
“Oh my God, that’s the best xiao long bao I’ve ever had! The broth is so light and yet so intense. I can probably eat about a dozen of these—they’re like crack cocaine,” Rachel said.
“You must be famished,” Colette said.
“Actually we snacked a little earlier—which reminds me, Carlton, thank you so much for all the gifts!”
“Gifts? Not sure I know what you mean,” Carlton said.
“The boxes of food from Daylesford Organic?”
“Oh, that was from me!” Colette interjected.
“Really? Wow, thank you!” Rachel replied
in surprise.
“Yes—when I heard that Carlton’s father had arranged for you to stay at a hotel at the very last minute, I thought, ‘Poor things! They’ll starve at the Peninsula! They are going to need provisions.’ ”
“So the hotel was a last-minute thing?” Nick inquired.
Colette pursed her lips, realizing she had made a slipup.
Carlton quickly came to the rescue. “Er…no…I mean, my father likes to plan things very far in advance, so this was rather last-minute by comparison. He wanted the two of you to have a special honeymoon treat.”
“So did you like the goodies I sent up?” Colette asked.
“Oh, very much. I especially love Daylesford’s marmalade,” Nick said.
“Me too—I’ve been addicted ever since my days at Heathfield,” Colette said.
“You were at Heathfield? I was at Stowe,” Nick said.
“Phwoar! I’m an Old Stoic too!” Carlton pounded the table excitedly.
“I guessed as much. Your blazer was a dead giveaway,” Nick said with a laugh.
“Which house were you in?” Carlton asked.
“Grenville.”
“This is too much of a coincidence! Who was the housemaster? Was it Fletcher?”
“Chitty. You can imagine our nickname for him.”
“Haha—brilliant! Did you play rugby or cricket?”
Colette rolled her eyes at Rachel. “I think we’ve lost the boys for the rest of the night.”
“Clearly. Nick’s like this when he gets together with his Singapore classmates too. A few more drinks and they’ll start singing that song about Old Man whatshisname.”*1
Carlton shifted his attention back to Rachel. “I’m being a terrible bore, aren’t I? I take it you went to school in the States?”
“Monta Vista High in Cupertino.”
“You’re so lucky!” Colette said. “I was shipped away to school in England by my parents, but I always dreamed of going to high school in America. I wanted to be just like Marissa Cooper.”
“Minus the car wreck, of course,” Carlton chimed in.*2
“Speaking of which, I’m glad to see how well you are after your accident,” Nick said.
Carlton’s face clouded over for a split second. “Thanks. You know, I must tell you how grateful I am to your mother. I don’t think I would have made such a quick recovery if I hadn’t done my rehab in Singapore, and of course, if it hadn’t been for your mum, none of us would have ever met.”
“Things have a strange way of working out, don’t they?” Nick said.
As if on cue, Colette’s personal assistant entered the room and announced, “Baptiste is here.”
“At last! Send him in,” Colette said excitedly.
“Baptiste is one of the top sommeliers in the world—he used to work at the Crillon in Paris,” Carlton whispered to Rachel, as a man with a handlebar mustache entered the dining room bearing a wine satchel with such ceremony, one might have thought he was carrying a royal baby to its baptismal font.
“Baptiste! Did you find the right bottle?” Colette asked.
“Yes, Château Lafite Rothschild from the Shanghai private reserve,” Baptiste replied, presenting the bottle to Colette for inspection.
“I usually prefer the even years for Bordeaux, but you’ll notice that I chose a very special year—1981. Isn’t that the year you were born, Rachel?”
“It sure is,” Rachel said, touched by Colette’s thoughtfulness.
“Allow me to make the first toast,” Colette said, raising her glass. “Here in China, it’s so rare for kids of our generation to have siblings. I have always dreamed of having a sibling, but I’ve never been so lucky. I’ve known Carlton for several years now, but I’ve never seen him more excited than the day he discovered he had a sister. So here’s to the both of you—Carlton and Rachel. Brother and sister!”
“Here, here!” Nick cheered.
Carlton stood up next and declared, “First, I want to make a toast to Rachel. I’m glad you made it here safely, and I look forward to getting to know you and catching up on all the lost years. And to Colette—thank you for making this wonderful evening possible. I’m so glad you kicked my arse in gear and made me do this. Tonight I feel like I’ve gained not just a sister but a brother too. So here’s to Rachel and Nick! Welcome to China! We’re going to have a brilliant summer, aren’t we?”
Nick wondered what Carlton had meant by Colette “kicking his arse in gear,” but he said nothing for the moment. He looked over tenderly at Rachel, whose eyes brimmed with tears. This evening had turned out far better than he ever dared to dream.
* * *
*1 ACS Old Boys, all together now: “In days of yore from western shores, Oldham dauntless hero came…”
*2 See The O.C., season three. If you ask me, the show jumped the shark after its heroine, Marissa Cooper, played by the incomparable Mischa Barton, was (spoiler alert!) misguidedly killed off in a car accident.
5
CHARLIE
WUTHERING TOWERS, HONG KONG
“Mr. Wu? It’s 9:00 a.m. in Italy now,” Charlie’s executive assistant said, poking her head into his office.
“Thanks, Alice.” Charlie reached for his ultra-private phone line and called Astrid’s cell phone. She picked up after three rings.
“Charlie! Oh my God—thanks for calling me back.”
“Am I calling too early?”
“No, I’ve been up for hours. I guess you heard about last night?”
“Yes—I am so sorry—” Charlie began.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said a thing to Isabel.”
“Nonsense—I’m the one who screwed up. I should have communicated better with my wife.”
“So you talked to her? Did you explain that my cousin Alistair was with us the whole time in California?”
Charlie paused for a few seconds. “I did. Don’t worry about it anymore.”
“Are you sure? I couldn’t sleep at all last night—I kept imagining that I had gotten you into trouble and that Isabel thought I was some philandering home wrecker. I was trying to find ways to contact her myself.”
“Everything’s fine. Once I explained how our California road trip was last-minute—that we all just happened to be there at the same time—she was fine.” He wondered how convincing he sounded.
“I hope you told her that the most romantic thing that happened was watching Alistair projectile vomit out the car window after stuffing down too many In-N-Out burgers.”
“I left that part out, but don’t worry—it’s all good,” Charlie said, trying to add a little laugh.
Astrid let out a deep sigh of relief. “I’m so glad. You know, I should have been more circumspect. After all, she was meeting me for the first time, and I am the woman who—” She paused, suddenly unsure of how to put it.
“You’re the woman who dumped her husband,” Charlie said matter-of-factly.
“Yes, that’s right. I hope she knows that we’re much better friends now than we ever could have been before. My God, we were a terrible couple,” Astrid said with a laugh.
“I think she realizes that now,” Charlie said cautiously. He desperately wanted to change the subject. “So how’s Venice? Where are you staying?”
“I’m staying with Domiella Finzi-Contini. Her family has the most spectacular palazzo near Santa Croce—I walked onto my balcony this morning and thought I had stepped into a Caravaggio. Do you remember Domiella from our London days? She was at LSE, but part of that whole crazy set that ran around with Freddie and Xan.”
“Ah yes—messy blond hair, right?”
“It was platinum blond then, but she’s back to her natural chestnut now. Anyway, we were having the most marvelous time together until last night.”
Charlie groaned audibly. “I’m sorry agai
n.”
“No, no, it’s nothing to do with Isabel. There’s another drama brewing back home—I have two stubborn boys who are refusing to behave.”
“They probably miss Mommy.”
“Now, don’t you start on me too! I feel bad enough as it is that Cassian’s getting locked up in a closet.”
“Who locked him in a closet?”
“His father.”
“What?” Charlie said incredulously.
“For four hours yesterday, apparently. And he’s only five.”
“Astrid, I would never lock my child in a closet, no matter what age.”
“Thank you. My feelings exactly. I think I need to cut this trip short.”
“Um, sure sounds like it!”
Astrid sighed. “When is Isabel coming home?”
“Friday, I think.”
“She’s incredibly beautiful. She looked so elegant last night—I adored the necklace she was wearing. And she was perfectly civil to me even after I must have given her quite a shock. I’m so glad everything’s okay now.”
“I am too,” Charlie said, forcing himself to smile. He heard somewhere that people could sense the smile in your voice, even over the phone.
Astrid paused. She felt she needed to make one more gesture to make up for her faux pas. “The next time Michael and I are in Hong Kong, we should go on a double date. I want to get to know Isabel under better circumstances.”
“Yes, we should do that. A double date.”
Charlie ended the conversation and got up laboriously from his desk. He was light-headed, and his stomach suddenly felt like someone had poured a gallon of bacon grease into it.
“Alice, I’m just going to pop downstairs for some fresh air,” Charlie said into the intercom. He took his private express elevator to the lower street level and walked through the parking garage toward a side exit door. The moment he was outside, he leaned against the concrete wall and began inhaling and exhaling deeply. After a few minutes, he lumbered toward his favorite spot.
Sandwiched between Wuthering Towers and its neighboring skyscraper on Chater Road was a pedestrian alleyway where there was a small makeshift drink stand. A blue-and-white-striped plastic tarp stretched over the stall, anchored by two refrigerator units filled with soft drinks, packet juices, and fresh fruit. Under the single tube of fluorescent lighting was the owner, a middle-aged woman who stood all day preparing fresh soybean milk and juicing oranges, pineapples, and watermelons. There was always a queue during lunchtime and in the evenings when people left work, but in midafternoon, it was quiet.