by Kevin Kwan
“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 Cantonese 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 in
to 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?”
“Gotta love that burned-wok flavor,” Nick remarked.
“I bet you’ll love this,” Araminta said, handing Rachel a plate of roti paratha. Rachel tore off some of the doughy golden pastry and dipped it into the rich curry sauce.
“Mmmm … heaven!”
Then it was time for the satay. Rachel bit into the succulent grilled chicken, savoring its smoky sweetness carefully. The rest of them watched her intently. “Okay Nick, you were right. I’ve never had decent satay until now.”
“To think you doubted me,” Nick tut-tutted with a smile.
“I can’t believe we’re pigging out at this hour!” Rachel giggled, reaching for another stick of satay.
“Get used to it. I know you probably want to go straight to bed, but we have to keep you up for a few more hours so that you’ll adjust better to the time change,” Colin said.
“Aiyah, Colin just wants to monopolize Nick for as long as possible,” Araminta declared. “These two are inseparable whenever Nick’s in town.”
“Hey, I have to make the most out of this time, especially since mommie dearest is away,” Colin said in his own defense. “Rachel—you’re in luck, not having to deal with Nicky’s mum the minute you arrive.”
“Colin, don’t you start scaring her,” Nick chided.
“Oh Nick, I almost forgot—I ran into your mum the other day at Churchill Club,” Araminta began. “She grabbed me by the arm and said, ‘Aramintaaaaa! Aiyoh, you’re too dark! You better stop going into the sun so much, otherwise on your wedding day you will be so black people will think you are Malay!’ ”
Everyone roared with laughter, except Rachel. “She was kidding, I hope?”
“Of course not. Nick’s mum doesn’t kid,” Araminta said, continuing to laugh.
“Rachel, you’ll understand once you meet Nicky’s mum. I love her like my own mother, but she’s one of a kind,” Colin explained, trying to put her at ease. “Anyway, it’s perfect that your parents are gone, Nick, because this weekend your presence is required at my bachelor party.”
“Rachel, you’ll have to come to my bachelorette party,” Araminta declared. “Let’s show the boys how it’s really done!”
“You bet,” Rachel said, clinking her beer with Araminta’s.
Nick gazed at his girlfriend, thrilled that she had so effortlessly charmed his friends. He could still hardly believe that she was actually here with him, and that they had the whole summer ahead of them. “Welcome to Singapore, Rachel,” he joyously declared, lifting up his bottle of Tiger beer in a toast. Rachel gazed into Nick’s sparkling eyes. She had never seen him as happy as he was tonight, and she wondered how she could possibly have been worried about coming on this trip.
“How does it feel to be here?” Colin asked.
“Well,” R
achel mused, “an hour ago we landed in the most beautiful, modern airport I’ve ever seen, and now we’re sitting under these huge tropical trees by a nineteenth-century food hall, having the most glorious feast. I don’t ever want to leave!”
Nick grinned broadly, not noticing the look Araminta had just given Colin.
* * *
* Not to be confused with the Singapore academy where students are taught in—horrors—Mandarin, Nanyang is Mandarin for “Southern Sea.” The word also became a common reference for the large ethnic Chinese migrant population in Southeast Asia.
† Malay for “eat.”
15
Astrid
SINGAPORE
Whenever Astrid felt in need of a pick-me-up, she would pay a visit to her friend Stephen. Stephen had a small jewelry shop on one of the upper levels of the Paragon shopping center, tucked away from all the other high-end boutiques in a back hallway. While it lacked the visibility of high-profile local jewelers like L’Orient or Larry Jewelry, with their gleaming flagship stores, Stephen Chia Jewels was highly regarded by the island’s most discerning collectors.
Not to disregard his studied eye for spectacular gemstones, but what Stephen truly offered was absolute discretion. His was the sort of niche operation where, for instance, a society matron in need of a quick cash infusion to pay off her idiot son’s bad margin calls might go to dispose of an heirloom bauble without anyone finding out, or where a “very important piece” about to go on the block in Geneva or New York might be flown in for private inspection by a VIP client, away from the eyes of gossipy auction-house staffers. Stephen’s shop was said to be a particular favorite of the wives of Persian Gulf sheikhs, Malay sultans, and the Indonesian Chinese oligarchs, who had no need to be seen buying up millions of dollars’s worth of jewelry at the tony Orchard Road boutiques.
The shop consisted of a very small, rather stark front room where three French Empire vitrines displayed a small collection of moderately priced pieces, mainly by emerging artists from Europe. The mirrored door behind the Boulle desk, however, hid a vestibule where another security door opened to reveal a narrow corridor of individual chambers. It was here that Astrid liked to hide out, in the tuberose-scented private salon lined from floor to ceiling in pale blue velvet, with its plush velvet Récamier settee where she could curl up her feet, sip a soda with lemon, and gossip with Stephen as he came in and out of the room bearing trays and trays of glorious gems.