China Rich Girlfriend

by Kevin Kwan

  PHILANTHROPIC AFFILIATIONS

  In order to truly ascend to a higher social stratosphere, it is important for you to become affiliated with one charitable cause. My mother of course has long been associated with the Hong Kong Horticultural Society, Connie Ming has a lock on all the art museums, Ada Poon owns cancer, and in a brilliant maneuver, Jordana Chiu was able to wrestle control of irritable bowel syndrome from Unity Ho last year at the Serenity Colon Ball. We can discuss some of your personal interests and decide if there is anything suitable that dovetails with our goals. Otherwise, I will select a cause from whatever available options remain so that we can send a unified message about what you stand for.

  SPIRITUAL LIFE

  When I feel you are ready, I will introduce you to Hong Kong’s most exclusive church, which you are to begin attending on a regular basis. Before you protest, please note that this is one of the cornerstones to my methodology of social rehabilitation. Your true spiritual affiliations do not concern me—it does not matter to me if you are Taoist, Daoist, Buddhist, or worship Meryl Streep—but it is absolutely essential that you become a regular praying, tithing, communion-taking, hands-in-the–air-waving, Bible-study-fellowship-attending member of this church. (This has the added bonus of ensuring that you will be qualified for burial at the most coveted Christian cemetery on Hong Kong Island, rather than having to suffer the eternal humiliation of being interred at one of those lesser cemeteries on the Kowloon side.)

  CULTURE AND CONVERSATION

  Your chief handicap to social success will always be the fact that you did not attend the right kindergarten with any of the right crowd. This eliminates you from participating in seventy percent of the conversations that occur during dinner parties at the best houses. You do not know the gossip that goes back to these people’s childhoods. And this is the secret: They are all still completely obsessed with what happened when they were five. Who was fat or thin? Who wet her pants during choir practice? Who’s father shut down Ocean Park for the day so that he could have a huge birthday party? Who spilled red bean soup all over whose party dress when they were six years old and still has not been forgiven? Twenty percent of the other conversations at parties consist of complaining about Mainlanders, so by default you will not be able to join in that discussion. Another five percent is earmarked for complaining about the Chief Executive, so in order to distinguish yourself in the remaining meager five percent conversational window, you must either have one hell of a good stock tip or learn to become a scintillating conversationalist. Beauty fades, but wit will keep you on the invitation lists to all the most exclusive parties. To that end, you will embark on a reading program that I have designed specifically for you. You will also attend one cultural event per week. This can include but is not restricted to plays, opera, classical music concerts, ballet, modern dance, performance art, literary festivals, poetry readings, museum exhibitions, foreign-language or independent films, and art openings. (Hollywood movies, Cirque du Soleil, and Cantopop concerts do not count as culture.)

  READING LIST

  I noticed many magazines but not a single book in your entire house, with the exception of a Chinese-language translation of Sheryl Sandberg’s Lean In found in one of the maid’s bedrooms. You will therefore complete one book per fortnight, with the exception of Trollope, where you will be allowed three weeks per book. As you read these books, you will hopefully come to understand and appreciate why I am making you read them. The books are to be read in the following order:

  Snobs by Julian Fellowes

  The Piano Teacher by Janice Y. K. Lee

  People Like Us by Dominick Dunne

  The Power of Style by Annette Tapert and Diana Edkins (this is out of print; I will lend you my copy)

  Pride and Avarice by Nicholas Coleridge

  The Soong Dynasty by Sterling Seagrave

  Freedom by Jonathan Franzen

  D. V. by Diana Vreeland

  A Princess Remembers: The Memoirs of the Maharani of Jaipur by Gayatri Devi

  Jane Austen—complete works beginning with Pride and Prejudice

  Edith Wharton—The Custom of the Country, The Age of Innocence, The Buccaneers, The House of Mirth (must be read in strict order—you will understand why when you finish the last one)

  Vanity Fair by William Makepeace Thackeray

  Anna Karenina by Leo Tolstoy

  Brideshead Revisited by Evelyn Waugh

  Anthony Trollope—all the books in the Palliser series, beginning with Can You Forgive Her?

  I shall do an assessment when you have completed these books to see whether you are ready to attempt some light Proust.

  FINAL NOTE

  There’s no easy way to put this: We need to talk about Bernard. None of our goals will be effective if people are under the impression that your husband is somehow incapacitated, in a coma, or has become your sex slave in a dungeon. (That is the latest rumor going around.) We need to orchestrate a very public appearance with your husband and daughter very soon. Let’s discuss the options tomorrow at the Mandarin over tea and scones.

  * * *

  *1 A direct descendant of Confucius who was also rather fabulously known as the “Holy Duke of Yen.”

  *2 In Asia, the new generation of ruling class are using the term “helper” to refer to the people their parents call “maids” and their grandparents call “servants.”

  *3 An open-air roadside food stall. The dai pai dong where Corinna stages all her paparazzi shots is a particularly picturesque one located on St. Francis Yard, opposite the Club Monaco men’s concept shop.

  2

  RACHEL AND NICK

  SHANGHAI, JUNE 2013

  “And this,” the general manager said with a flourish, “is your living room.” Rachel and Nick walked through the foyer and into a room with double-height ceilings and a grand art deco–style fireplace. One of the associates in the general manager’s entourage pushed a button, and the sheer curtains in front of the tall picture window parted silently to reveal a breathtaking view of the Shanghai skyline.

  “No wonder you call this the Majestic suite,” Nick said. Another associate popped open a bottle of Deutz champagne and began pouring the bubbly into a pair of tall flutes. To Rachel, the sprawling hotel suite felt like a decadent box of chocolates—from the black marble bathroom with its oval soaking tub to the ridiculously plush pillows on the bed, every corner was just waiting to be savored.

  “Our yacht is at your disposal, and I would highly recommend a late-afternoon cruise so that you can see the city transition from day to night.”

  “We’ll definitely keep that in mind,” Nick said, eyeing the plush sofa longingly. Could these lovely people please just leave so I can kick off my shoes and crash for a bit?

  “Please let us know if there is anything else we can do to make your stay more enjoyable,” the manager said, placing his hand on his chest and making an almost imperceptible bow before discreetly exiting the room.

  Nick plopped down on the sofa lengthwise, grateful to be able to stretch out after their fifteen-hour flight from New York. “Well this is a surprise.”

  “I know! Can you believe this place? I’m pretty sure the bathroom alone is larger than our whole apartment! I thought our hotel in Paris was something else, but this is on a whole other level,” Rachel gushed as she returned to the living room.

  They were supposed to be staying with her father for the first couple of weeks of their vacation in China, but upon landing at Pudong International Airport, they were greeted at the gate by a man in a gray three-piece suit who had a note from Bao Gaoliang. Rachel took the piece of paper out of her purse and read it again. Written in Mandarin script in bold black ink, the note translated to:

  Dear Rachel and Nick,

  I trust you had a good flight. My apologies that I am unable to greet you at the airport myself, but I had to be in Hong Kong at the last minute and will only be returning later today. Since you are now officially on your honeymoon, I fel
t it would be much more fitting for you to spend your first days at the Peninsula Hotel as my guest. It will certainly be far more romantic than my house. Mr. Tin will speed your way through passport control and the Peninsula has sent a car to take you to the hotel. Have a relaxing afternoon, and I look forward to introducing you to your family at a celebratory dinner tonight. I will contact you with more details before the evening, but let’s plan on meeting at 7:00 p.m.

  Yours truly,

  Bao Gaoliang

  Nick noticed Rachel’s face light up as she reread the letter, her eyes skimming over the words “your family” for the umpteenth time. Taking another sip of the champagne, he said, “It was so cool of your father to arrange all this for us. Very thoughtful.”

  “Wasn’t it? It’s all a bit over the top—from this ginormous suite to the Rolls that picked us up at the airport. I felt a little embarrassed to be riding in it, didn’t you?”

  “Nah, the new Phantoms are perfectly discreet. Colin’s grandmother had a vintage Silver Cloud from the 1950s that looked like it came straight from Buckingham Palace. Now that was embarrassing to ride in.”

  “Well, I’m still not used to all this, but I guess this is how the Baos live.”

  As if reading her mind, Nick asked, “How are you feeling about tonight?”

  “I’m excited to meet everyone.”

  Nick remembered the hints his mother had made about the Baos back in Santa Barbara, and he had shared all the details of that conversation with Rachel a few days after their wedding. At that time, Rachel had said, “I’m happy that my father and his family have done well, but it really makes no difference to me whether they are rich or poor.”

  “I just wanted you to know what I know. It’s part of my new ‘full disclosure policy,’ ” Nick had said with a smile.

  “Ha—thanks! Well, I’m a lot more comfortable navigating around the Richie Rich crowd, thanks to you. I’ve already gone through a baptism of fire with your family. Don’t you think I’m ready for anything now?”

  “You survived my mother—I think everything else from here on out is a piece of cake,” Nick had laughed. “I just want you to be fully aware of what you’re getting yourself into this time.”

  Rachel had given him a thoughtful look. “You know, I’m really going to try to approach this with no illusions—I know it’ll take a while to get to know my new family. I imagine it’s just as much of a shock for my brother and my stepmother as it is for me. They probably have issues out the wazoo about all this, and I’m not expecting to bond with them overnight. It’s enough for me to know they exist and to meet them.”

  Now that they were actually on Chinese soil, Nick could sense that Rachel wasn’t feeling as laid-back as she had been in Santa Barbara. He could feel her nervous energy even as she lay nestled against him on the sofa, both of them trying to battle through their jet lag. Even though she tried to play it cool, Nick knew how much she longed to be accepted by this newfound family of hers. He had grown up rooted in a long-established lineage: The hallways of Tyersall Park had always been hung with ancestral portraits in ancient rosewood frames, and in the library, Nick had spent many a rainy afternoon paging through volumes of hand-bound books containing intricate family trees. The Youngs had documented their ancestors going all the way back to AD 432, and it was all there in the brittle, brown pages of these ancient tomes. He wondered what it was like for Rachel to grow up not knowing a thing about her father, about the other half of her family. A soft buzz interrupted his thoughts.

  “I think someone’s at the door,” Rachel said with a yawn, as Nick got up reluctantly to open it.

  “Delivery for Ms. Chu,” the green-uniformed bellman said cheerily. He entered the suite pulling a luggage cart groaning with stacks of immaculately wrapped boxes. Behind him was another bellboy with a second luggage cart packed full of cartons.

  “What’s all this?” Nick asked. The bellboy smiled and handed over an envelope. Scrawled on a plush creamy note card was: “Welcome to Shanghai! Thought you could use some essentials. Cheers, C.”

  “It’s from Carlton!” Rachel exclaimed in surprise. She opened the first box and found four different jams nestled against the packing hay: Seville Orange Marmalade, Redcurrant Jelly, Nectarine Compote, Lemon and Ginger Curd. Stamped on the minimalist glass jars in elegant white type were the words DAYLESFORD ORGANIC.

  “Oh! Daylesford is an organic farm in Gloucestershire owned by my friends the Bamfords. They make the most glorious foods. Are all the boxes from them?” Nick asked, duly impressed.

  Rachel opened another carton and found it full of bottles of Sparkling Apple and Bilberry Juice. “Who’s even heard of bilberries?” she remarked. As the two of them dove into the boxes, they discovered that Carlton had for all intents and purposes supplied them with Daylesford’s entire product line. There were crackers with sea salt, shortbreads, and biscuits of dizzying variety to go along with the fine cheeses, farmed Shetland Isles Smoked Salmon, and exotic chutneys. And there were sparkling wines, cabernet francs, and bottles of whole milk to wash it all down.

  Rachel stood amid the open boxes in astonishment. “Can you believe all this? There’s enough stuff here to last us for a year.”

  “Whatever we can’t eat we’ll save for the zombie apocalypse. I must say Carlton seems to be a rather generous fellow.”

  “That’s putting it mildly! What a sweet welcome gift—I can’t wait to meet him!” Rachel said excitedly.

  “Judging by his taste, I think I’m going to like him. Now, what should we try first? The white-chocolate-dipped lemon biscuits or the chocolate-dipped ginger biscuits?”

  BAO RESIDENCE, SHANGHAI

  EARLIER THAT MORNING

  Gaoliang was on his way upstairs to shower after his morning jog when he encountered two maids coming down with several pieces of black-and-tan Tramontano luggage.

  “Whose bags are those?” he asked one of the maids.

  “Mrs. Bao’s, sir,” the girl replied, not daring to make eye contact with him.

  “Where are you taking them?”

  “Just out to the car, sir. They are for Mrs. Bao’s trip.”

  Gaoliang headed into his bedroom, where he found his wife seated at her dressing table putting on a pair of opal-and-diamond earrings.

  “Where are you off to?” he asked.

  “Hong Kong.”

  “I didn’t know you had a trip planned today.”

  “It’s a last-minute thing—there are some problems at the Tsuen Wan factories I need to sort out,” Shaoyen replied.

  “But Rachel and her husband are arriving today.”

  “Oh, was that today?” Shaoyen said.

  “Yes. We have a private room booked at the Whampoa Club tonight.”

  “I’m sure dinner will be very good. Be sure to order the drunken chicken.”

  “You won’t be back in time?” Gaoliang said, a little surprised.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Gaoliang sat down on the chaise lounge beside his wife, knowing full well why she was making this sudden trip. “I thought you said you were okay with all this.”

  “For a while, I thought I was…” Shaoyen said slowly, letting her voice trail off as she methodically wiped one of the earring posts with a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant. “But now that it’s really happening I’ve realized I’m not comfortable with any of it.”

  Gaoliang sighed. Since his reunion with Kerry and Rachel back in March, he had spent many a long night trying to placate his wife. Shaoyen had been shocked, of course, by the bombshell he had dropped after returning from California, but over the past two months, he thought he had succeeded in reassuring her. Kerry Chu was a woman he had loved, ever so briefly, when he was only eighteen. He was a boy. It was a lifetime ago. When he brought up the idea of inviting Rachel to visit, thinking it would actually help her see that everything would be fine, Shaoyen raised no objections. He should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

  “I know h
ow difficult this must be for you,” Gaoliang ventured to say.

  “Do you? I’m not so certain you do,” Shaoyen said, spritzing her neck with Lumière Noire.

  “Surely you can imagine that this isn’t easy for Rachel either…” Gaoliang began.

  Shaoyen glared into her husband’s eyes in the mirror for a few seconds, and then she smashed the perfume bottle against the table. Gaoliang jumped out of his seat in shock.

  “Rachel, Rachel, all you’ve talked about for weeks is Rachel! But you haven’t really listened to a word I’ve said! You haven’t thought about my feelings,” Shaoyen screamed.

  “All I have been trying to do is be considerate of your feelings,” he said, trying to remain calm.

  Shaoyen glowered at her husband. “Huh! If you were truly being considerate, you wouldn’t expect me to sit there and smile through dinner while you parade your bastard daughter around to a room full of our family and friends. You give me no face!”

  Gaoliang winced at her words, but he tried to defend himself. “I’ve only invited our closest relatives—people who need to know about her.”

  “Still, for her to meet our family—your parents, Uncle Koo, your sister and her husband and his big mouth—the word will get out in no time and you will have no more face in Beijing. You can kiss any hope of becoming the vice-premier goodbye.”

  “It’s precisely to avoid any scandal that I wanted to be open about all this from the very beginning. I didn’t want to have any secrets. You’re the one who’s stopped me from telling anyone. Don’t you think people will see that I’m only doing the right thing, the honorable thing, for my daughter?”