by Kevin Kwan
“It’s still going! You’re not going to believe this, but Kitty Pong made quite the entrance and has been bidding up the painting like there’s no tomorrow.”
“Kitty Pong?”
“Yes, in a Madame X cocktail dress with two borzois on diamond leashes. It’s quite the spectacle.”
“When did she become an art collector? Is Bernard there? I didn’t think he spent his money on anything but drugs and boats.”
“Bernard is nowhere to be seen. But if Kitty succeeds in acquiring this painting, they will immediately be considered the top collectors of Asian art in the world.”
“Hmm—I am missing out on all the fun.”
“So it’s down to Kitty, Araminta Lee, some Mainland couple that Corinna Ko-Tung is bidding for, and the Getty Museum. We’re up to ninety-four million on the painting. I know you didn’t set a limit, but I just want to be sure you want to keep going.”
“Ninety-four? Keep going. Cassian, stop playing with those frozen peas!”
“It’s ninety-six now. Oops. Holymarymotherofgod—we’ve just broken a hundred million! Bid?”
“Sure.”
“The Mainlanders have finally dropped out—poor things, they look like they’ve just lost their firstborn child. We’re at one hundred and five.”
“Cassian, I don’t care how much you beg, I’m not letting you eat microwavable mini sliders. Think of all the preservatives in that beef—put them back!”
“This is Guinness book territory here, Astrid. No one has ever paid this much for a Chinese painting. One ten. One fifteen. It’s Araminta against Kitty. Keep going?”
Cassian was trapped inside the ice-cream freezer. Astrid stared at her child in exasperation. “I have to go. Just get it. As you said, this is something the museum ought to have, so I don’t really care what I have to pay.”
Ten minutes later, as Astrid stood in line at the checkout counter, her phone rang again. She smiled apologetically at the cashier as she took the call.
“Sorry to bother you again, but we’re at a hundred and ninety-five million now—your bid,” Oliver said, sounding a bit frazzled.
“Really?” Astrid said, as she snatched away the Mars bar that Cassian was trying to hand to the cashier.
“Yes, the Getty dropped out at one fifty, and Araminta at one eighty. It’s just you against Kitty, and it looks like she’s hell-bent on having it. At this point, I can’t in good conscience recommend it. I know Chor Ling at the museum would be horrified to find out you paid this much.”
“She’ll never know—I’m giving it anonymously.”
“Even so. Astrid, I know it’s not about the money, but at this price, we’re in idiot territory.”
“How annoying. You’re right—one hundred and ninety-five million is just silly. Let Kitty Pong have it if she wants it that badly,” Astrid said. She fished a stack of super-saver coupons out of her purse and presented them to the cashier.
Thirty seconds later, the gavel went down on The Palace of Eighteen Perfections. At one hundred and ninety-five million, it was the most expensive Chinese work of art ever sold at auction. The glittering crowd burst into deafening applause as Kitty Pong preened for the cameras, the flashes going off like IEDs in downtown Kabul. One of the Russian wolfhounds started to bark. Now the whole world would know that Kitty Pong—or Mrs. Bernard Tai, as she now insisted on being called—had indeed arrived.
* * *
*1 Oliver T’sien—one of Christie’s most highly valued deputy chairmen—has long-standing relationships with many of the world’s top collectors. (Being related to practically every important family in Asia didn’t hurt.)
*2 Cantonese for “So rotten I could die!”
*3 The authenticity of the painting was later questioned, and the buyer retracted the bid. (They probably realized it wouldn’t match their sofa.)
*4 Hokkien for “Are you out of your mind?”
2
CUPERTINO, CALIFORNIA
FEBRUARY 9, 2013—CHINESE NEW YEAR’S EVE
“The boys are back from their football game. Steer clear of Jason—he’s going to be one giant sweat rag,” Samantha Chu warned her cousin Rachel as soon as she heard the boisterous echoes coming from the garage. The two of them were perched on wooden stools in the kitchen of Rachel’s uncle Walt and auntie Jin, making dumplings for the Chinese New Year’s Eve feast.
Samantha’s twenty-one-year-old brother came bursting through the screen door ahead of Nicholas Young. “We made the Lin brothers eat dirt!” Jason triumphantly announced, grabbing two Gatorades from the fridge and tossing one to Nick. “Hey, where did the parentals go? I expected to find more hysterical aunties fighting over kitchen counter space.”
“Dad’s picking up Great-auntie Louise from the retirement home, and Mom, Auntie Flora, and Auntie Kerry went to 99 Ranch,” Samantha reported.
“Again? Glad I didn’t get roped into driving them this time—that place is always so packed with fobbies,*1 the parking lot looks like a Toyota dealership! What did they run out of this time?” Jason asked.
“Everything. Uncle Ray called—he’s bringing the whole family after all, and you know how much those boys can eat,” Samantha said as she scooped some minced-pork-and-chive filling onto a dough wrapper and handed it off to Rachel.
“Get ready, Jase—I’m sure Auntie Belinda’s going to say something about your new tattoo,” Rachel teased as she folded little pleats on the top of the dumpling and molded it into a perfect crescent shape.
“Who’s Auntie Belinda?” Nick inquired.
Jason made a face. “Dude! You haven’t met her yet, have you? She’s Uncle Ray’s wife. Uncle Ray is this megabucks oral surgeon, and they have this huge McMansion in Menlo Park, so Auntie Belinda acts like she’s the Queen of Downtown Abbey. She’s insanely uptight, and every year she drives Mom nuts by waiting till the very last minute to decide whether she and her spoiled-rotten kids will grace us with their presence.”
“It’s Downton Abbey, Jase,” Samantha corrected. “And come on, she’s not that bad. She’s just from Vancouver, that’s all.”
“You mean Hongcouver,” Jason retorted, tossing his empty bottle from across the kitchen into the oversized Bed Bath and Beyond plastic bag on the pantry door that served as the recycling bin. “Auntie Belinda’s going to love you Nick, especially when she hears you speak like that dude from Notting Hill!”
By six thirty, twenty-two members of the extended Chu clan had arrived at the house. Most of the older uncles and aunties sat around the big rosewood dining table that was covered in thick protective plastic sheeting, while the younger adults sat with the children at three folding mah-jongg tables that spilled out into the living room. (The teens and college-age Chus were spread out in front of the big-screen television in the den watching basketball and gobbling down fried pot stickers by the dozen.)
As the aunties began bringing out the heaping platters of roast duck, jumbo shrimp deep fried in batter, steamed kai-lan with black mushrooms, and Chinese long-life noodles with barbecued pork and scallops, Auntie Jin looked around at the gathered crowd. “Ray is still not here? We’re not waiting any longer or the food will get cold!”
“Auntie Belinda is probably still trying to decide which Chanel dress to wear,” Samantha quipped.
Just then the doorbell rang, and Ray and Belinda Chu swept into the house with their four teenage sons, all sporting Ralph Lauren polo shirts in different hues. Belinda wore high-waisted cream silk trousers, an iridescent orange blouse with billowing organza sleeves, her trademark Chanel gold belt, and a pair of oversize champagne pearl earrings more appropriate for the opening night of the San Francisco Opera.
“Happy New Year, everyone!” Uncle Ray announced jovially as he presented his eldest brother, Walt, with a big box of Japanese pears, while his wife ceremoniously handed Auntie Jin a covered Le Creuset dish. “Would you mind warming this up for me in the oven? Just 115 degrees for twenty minutes.”
“Hiyah, you didn’t
have to bring anything,” Auntie Jin said.
“No, no, this is my dinner—I’m on a raw food diet now,” Belinda announced.
When everyone had finally settled into their seats and begun attacking the dishes with gusto, Uncle Walt beamed across the table at Rachel. “I’m still not used to seeing you at this time of the year! You usually only come back for Thanksgiving.”
“It worked out because Nick and I had to deal with some last-minute wedding stuff,” Rachel explained.
Auntie Belinda suddenly exclaimed imperiously, “Rachel Chu! I can’t believe I’ve been here ten minutes and you STILL HAVEN’T SHOWN ME YOUR ENGAGEMENT RING! Get over here right now!” Rachel got up from her seat and walked toward her aunt dutifully, stretching out her hand for inspection.
“My, it’s so…pretty!” Auntie Belinda remarked in a shrill voice, barely concealing her surprise. Wasn’t this Nick fellow supposed to come from money? How did poor Rachel get saddled with this little pebble? It couldn’t have been more than a carat and a half!
“It’s just a simple ring—exactly what I wanted,” Rachel said modestly, eyeing the huge marquis-cut rock on her aunt’s finger.
“Yes, it’s very simple, but it suits you perfectly,” Auntie Belinda pronounced. “Wherever did you find a ring like this, Nick? Is it from Singapore?”
“My cousin Astrid helped me. It’s from her friend Joel in Paris,”*2 Nick answered politely.
“Hmm. Imagine going all the way to Paris for this,” Auntie Belinda murmured.
“Hey, didn’t you get engaged in Paris?” Rachel’s older cousin Vivian, who lived in Malibu, excitedly cut in. “I think my mom told me something about a troupe of mimes performing at your proposal.”
“Mimes?” Nick gave Vivian a look of horror. “I assure you, no mimes were ever involved!”
“Hiyah, then tell us the whole story!” Auntie Jin cajoled.
Nick glanced over at Rachel. “Why don’t you take this one? You tell it much better.”
Rachel took a deep breath as everyone around the table looked at her expectantly. “Okay, here goes. On the last night of our Paris trip, Nick arranged a surprise dinner. He wouldn’t tell me where we were going, so I had a feeling something was up. We ended up at this beautiful historic residence on an island in the middle of the Seine—”
“The Hôtel Lambert, right at the tip of the Île Saint-Louis,” Nick offered.
“Yes, and there was a candlelit table for two set up on the roof. The moonlight was reflecting off the river, a cellist sat in the corner playing Debussy, everything was just perfect. Nick had hired this French Vietnamese chef from one of Paris’s top restaurants to prepare the most exquisite meal, but I was so nervous I completely lost my appetite.”
“In retrospect, a six-course tasting menu was probably not the best idea,” Nick mused.
Rachel nodded. “Every time the waiter lifted the silver dome from a dish, I thought I’d find a ring underneath. But nothing happened. By the time the dinner was over and the cellist began packing up her stuff, I thought, I guess tonight’s not the night. But then, as we were about to leave, we heard these horns coming from the river. It was one of those Bateaux Mouches tourist barges, and all these people were assembled on the top deck. As the barge passed below the building, music started blaring out of the loudspeakers and the people started leaping on the benches like gazelles. Turns out they were from the Paris Opera Ballet, and Nick had commissioned them to perform a special dance just for me.”
“How lovely!” Auntie Belinda gasped, finally impressed. “And after that did Nick propose?”
“Noooo! The performance ended and we began to descend the staircase. I was still on a high from seeing this amazingly choreographed performance, but a bit disappointed that it didn’t end in a proposal. So when we got downstairs, the street was deserted except for a guy standing under a tree overlooking the river. Then the guy started playing his guitar, and I recognized it was the Talking Heads’ ‘This Must Be the Place’—the song that we had heard a street musician performing in Washington Square Park on the first night we met. The guy began to sing, and I suddenly realized it was the very same guy from the park!”
“Shut up!” Samantha clasped both hands to her mouth, as everyone in the room continued to listen in rapt attention.
“Nick had somehow tracked the singer down all the way in Austin and had flown him to Paris. He no longer had blond dreads, but I could never forget that voice. Then before I knew what was happening, Nick was down on one knee, staring up at me with a little velvet box in his hand. That’s when I completely lost it! I started bawling uncontrollably, and before Nick could finish asking me to marry him, I said yes, yes, yes and all the dancers on the barge began cheering like crazy.”
“That’s the coolest proposal I’ve ever heard!” Samantha gushed, wiping the tears from her eyes. When she had first heard about what had happened to Rachel in Singapore, Samantha had been furious with Nick. How could he not have noticed how badly Rachel was being treated? Rachel had moved out of Nick’s place immediately after returning from Asia, and Samantha was glad her cousin was rid of him. But as the months passed and Rachel began to see Nick again, Samantha found herself having a change of heart as well. After all, he had come to Rachel’s rescue and sacrificed his relationship with his own family to be with her. He had waited patiently in the wings, giving Rachel all the time she needed to heal. And now they were getting married at long last.
“Well done, Nick! We’re all looking forward to the big day next month in Montecito!” Uncle Ray declared.
“We decided to spend a few extra nights at Ojai Valley Inn and Spa,” bragged Auntie Belinda, looking around the table to make sure all the family had heard her.
Rachel chuckled to herself, knowing that her other relatives wouldn’t even have a clue what Belinda was talking about. “That sounds wonderful. I wish we had the time to do something like that. We’re going to have to wait till the semester ends in May before we go on our honeymoon.”
“But weren’t you and Nick just in China?” Uncle Ray inquired.
Rachel’s auntie Jin tried to make eyes at Ray from across the table, warning him off the topic, while his wife pinched him hard on his left thigh. “Owww!” he let out before realizing his gaffe. Belinda had told him that Rachel and Nick had been to Fuzhou again, chasing yet another false lead in the search for her father, but this apparently was another in a long list of family secrets he wasn’t supposed to talk about.
“Yes, we made a short trip,” Nick answered quickly.
“Well, you two are brave souls. I for one cannot stomach any of the food over there. I don’t care how ‘gourmet’ they say the food has gotten, all their animals are loaded with carcinogens. And look at this duck you’re all eating! I bet it was fed with growth hormones too,” Auntie Belinda scoffed as she gnawed on her turnip.
Rachel stared at the plump roast duck with its glossy amber sheen, suddenly losing her appetite.
“Yes, you can trust the food in Hong Kong, but not anywhere on the Mainland,” Auntie Jin said, deftly removing every bit of fat from her roast duck with her chopsticks.
“That’s just not true!” Samantha argued. “Why are you guys still so prejudiced against China? When I was there last year, I had some of the best meals of my life. You really haven’t had good xiao long bao*3 until you’ve eaten it in Shanghai.”
At the end of the table, Great-auntie Louise, the oldest member of the Chu clan, suddenly blurted out, “Rachel, what news of your father? Have you found him yet?”
Cousin Dave spat out a half-chewed piece of barbecued pork in surprise. The dining room fell silent, a few people exchanging furtive glances. Rachel’s face clouded over a bit. She inhaled deeply before responding, “No, we haven’t found him.”
Nick grasped Rachel’s hand and added encouragingly, “We thought we had a very interesting prospect last month, but that didn’t pan out.”
“Things can be very tricky over there,” Uncle R
ay mused, trying for one more jumbo shrimp fritter but finding his hand smacked away by his wife.
“At least we are certain now that Rachel’s father changed his name. Because all official documentation of him stops in 1985, shortly before he graduated from Beijing University,” Nick explained.
“Speaking of universities, does everyone know that Penny Shi’s daughter, who was the class valedictorian at Los Gatos, didn’t get into any of the Ivy League schools that she applied to?” Auntie Jin chirped, trying to change the subject. It was so dreadful to bring up Rachel’s father in front of Kerry, Rachel’s mother, who had already suffered enough over the past three decades as a single parent.
Cousin Henry, ignoring his auntie Jin’s remark, chimed in, volunteering, “You know, my firm works with this amazing lawyer based out of Shanghai. Her father is very high up in the government and she’s super-well-connected. Do you want me to see if she can help out?”
Kerry, who had been silent until now, suddenly slammed her chopsticks onto the table and said, “Hiyah, this is all such a waste of time. It’s no use chasing ghosts!”
Rachel looked at her mother for a moment. Then she got up from the table and walked out of the room without a word.
Samantha spoke up, her voice cracking a little with emotion. “He’s not a ghost, Auntie Kerry. He’s her father, and she has a right to have some sort of relationship with him. I can’t even imagine what my life would be like without my dad. Can you blame Rachel for wanting to find him?”
* * *
*1 A nickname for “fresh off the boat” Asian immigrants, used mainly by second-, third-, or fourth-generation Asian Americans to denote their superiority.
*2 Joel Arthur Rosenthal, aka JAR of Paris, whose precious handmade jewels are among the most coveted in the world. If Belinda had a more discerning eye, she might have realized that Rachel’s ring was a flawless oval-cut diamond held in place by ribbons of white gold almost as thin as hairs, interwoven with tiny blue sapphires. (Nick would not tell Rachel how much he paid for it.)