by Kevin Kwan
“I’m as mystified as you are,” Colette said agitatedly. A few moments later, when a model took to the catwalk in a pearlescent satin coat embroidered with a scarlet dragon, Colette had seen enough. She stood up imperiously and stormed to the edge of the runway, where the fashion show’s producer, Oscar Huang, was frantically directing the models.
“Stop the show!” Colette demanded.
“What?” Oscar said, confused.
“I said stop the damn show!” Colette said. She glanced at Roxanne, who had already sprinted over to the audio booth where the sound engineer stood. The music was abruptly cut, the house lights came up, and the models stood awkwardly in their places in inch-deep water, unsure of what to do.
Colette grabbed Oscar’s headset angrily, tore off her ruby-encrusted stilettos, and jumped onto the Plexiglas catwalk that hid just beneath the surface of the water. She strolled to the middle of the pool and announced, “I’m so sorry, everyone. This fashion show is over. This was not the show I was expecting, and this was not what I had promised you. Please accept my sincere apologies.”
Virginie de Bassinet, the founder of Prêt-à-Couture, came rushing onto the runway. “What is the meaning of this?” she screeched.
Colette turned to Virginie. “I should be asking you that question. You assured me that you would be sending over the hottest looks from London, Paris, and Milan.”
“These clothes are straight off the runway!” Virginie insisted.
“Which runway would that be? Ürümqi airport? Tell me, what’s with all this dragon and phoenix rubbish and the excessive beading? I feel like I’m looking at Russian ice-skater outfits! Would Hubert de Givenchy ever have embroidered pavé crystals on a cashmere cape? This is the sort of fashion that panders to ignorant fu er dai*4 from the western provinces, and it is an insult to my guests! I invited the most stylish brand influencers and key opinion leaders in the country to come here tonight, and I think I can speak for all of them: There isn’t a single dress I’ve seen so far that we would even let our maids be caught dead in!”
Virginie stared at Colette, utterly dumbstruck.
• • •
After most of the guests had dispersed, Colette invited Carlton, Rachel, Nick, TingTing, and a few of her closest friends back to the house for a light supper.
“Where’s Richie?” Perrineum Wang asked Colette as they entered the grand salon.
“I sent him packing after the stunt he pulled earlier. Imagine presuming I would need him to escort me to my seat, as if he owned me or something!” Colette said in a huff.
“Bravo, Colette!” Adele Deng said. “I couldn’t agree with you more. And you also did the right thing by shutting down that fashion show. It would have ruined your reputation as a style icon to let it go on any longer.”
Rachel gave Nick a look of bafflement, before venturing to ask, “Forgive my ignorance, but I still don’t really understand what happened. What was wrong with the show? From my iPad guide, it seemed like we were looking at clothes from all the top designers.”
“They were the top designers. But we were seeing only the clothes that they specifically designed to appeal to the Chinese market. It was extremely patronizing. This is part of a rather alarming trend where brands are sending all these China-centric pieces to Asia, but not giving us access to the truly fashion-forward pieces that women in London, Paris, or New York get to buy,” Colette explained.
“Every week, all the top designers send me racks and racks of these outfits, hoping I will wear them, but most of them remind me of what we just saw coming down that runway,” TingTing said.
“I had no idea this was happening,” Rachel said.
“Where was the Gareth Pugh, I ask you? Where was the Hussein Chalayan? If one more one-shouldered sequin gown came down that catwalk, I was going to projectile vomit!” Perrineum huffed, the gold antennae on her head wobbling in fury.
Sprawled out on one of the sofas, Tiffany Yap sighed. “I was hoping to do all my shopping for next season tonight, but this has been an utter failure.”
“You know, I’ve completely given up trying to shop in China these days. I just go straight to Paris,” Stephanie Shi sniffed.
“We should all go to Paris one of these days. That’d be a fun trip,” Adele said.
A spark came into Colette’s eyes. “Why don’t we go now? Let’s take my plane and go straight to the source!”
“Colette, are you serious?” Stephanie said excitedly.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Turning to Roxanne, Colette asked, “What’s the jet schedule like? Is Trenta in use next week?”
Roxanne began scrolling through her iPad. “Your father has Trenta on Thursday, but I have you scheduled on Venti on Monday. You’re supposed to fly to Guilin with Rachel and Nick.”
“Oh I forgot about that,” Colette said, glancing at Rachel a little sheepishly.
“Colette, you should absolutely go to Paris. Nick and I can see Guilin on our own,” Rachel insisted.
“Nonsense. I promised to show you my favorite mountains in Guilin, and we’ll definitely go. But first, you and Nick must come to Paris with us.”
Rachel shot Nick a glance he could tell translated as, Jesus, not another private jet trip! He responded, carefully, “We really wouldn’t want to impose.”
Colette turned to Carlton. “Aiyah, tell Nick and Rachel to stop being so polite with me!”
“Of course they’re coming with us to Paris,” Carlton said matter-of-factly, as if it was a foregone conclusion.
“How about you, TingTing? Can you come?” Colette asked.
For a split second, TingTing looked like a deer caught in headlights. I’d rather get a scorching case of herpes than be trapped on a plane with these girls for twelve hours. “Wow—I wish I could come to Paris, but I’m due back on the set in London first thing next week,” said the actress, giving everyone a mournful look.
“That’s too bad,” Colette said.
Roxanne cleared her throat loudly. “Ahem, there’s one little snag…your mother is using Trenta tomorrow.”
“What for? Where’s she going?” Colette demanded.
“Toronto.”
“Mother!” Colette shouted at the top of her lungs.
Mrs. Bing came waddling into the grand salon holding a bowl of fish congee.
“Why do you need to go to Toronto, of all places?” Colette asked.
“There’s a foot doctor there that Mary Xie recommended.”
“What’s wrong with your foot?”
“Aiyah, it’s not just my feet. It’s my calves and my thighs. They burn like fire every time I walk for more than ten minutes. I think I have spinal phimosis.”
“Well, if you really have foot problems, you shouldn’t be going to Toronto—you should go to Paris.”
“Paris, France?” Mrs. Bing said dubiously as she continued to eat her congee.
“Yes, don’t you know the best foot doctors in the world are in Paris? They have to deal with all those women killing their feet trying to walk on cobblestone streets in their Roger Viviers. We want to go to Paris tonight. You should come with us and I’ll get you to the top specialist there.”
Mrs. Bing stared at her daughter with a mixture of shock and delight. This was the first time Colette had taken an interest in any of her ailments. “Can Nainai*5 and Auntie Pan Di come too? She’s always wanted to visit Paris, and Nainai needs to do something about her bunions.”
“Of course. We have plenty of room! Invite anyone you want.”
Mrs. Bing gave Stephanie a thoughtful look. “Why don’t you invite your mother too? I know she’s been so sad ever since your brother got kicked out of Yale.”
“What a fantastic idea, Mrs. Bing! I’m sure she’d love to come along, especially if you’re going,” Stephanie replied.
Colette turned to Roxanne as soon as her mother had left the room. “You need to google ‘foot doctor Paris.’ ”
“Already done,” Roxanne replied. “And Trenta can
be fully staffed and ready in three hours.”
Colette turned to her friends. “Why don’t we all meet at Hongqiao Airport at midnight?”
“Everybody get out your Goyards! We’re going to Paris!” Perrineum cheered.
* * *
*1 St. Germain elderflower liqueur, gin, and white Lillet mixed with grapefruit juice create this classic effervescent aperitif. Chin-chin!
*2 A Mandarin term for the children of top government officials.
*3 Mandarin for “bullshit!”
*4 A Mandarin term that means “second generation of the rich.” Generally a derogatory term for the sons and daughters of the Chinese nouveaux riches who profited from the early years of China’s reform-era boom.
*5 Mandarin for “Grandmother.”
14
TRENTA
SHANGHAI TO PARIS ON THE BINGS’ PRIVATE JET*1
The security guard at the Hongqiao International Airport Private Aviation entrance handed Carlton, Rachel, and Nick their passports and waved them through. As Carlton’s SUV approached a Gulfstream VI surrounded by arriving cars, Rachel commented, “I have a bit of a phobia of private jets, but I gotta admit, Colette’s got a beautiful plane.”
“That’s a nice plane, but it’s not Colette’s. That one is,” Carlton said, steering the car to the right. Parked in the distance on the tarmac was an alpine white Boeing 747 jumbo jet with one undulating scarlet stripe painted along its fuselage like a giant calligraphy brushstroke. “This Boeing 747-81 VIP was a fortieth-birthday present for Colette’s mother.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” Rachel said, staring at the humongous plane glistening under floodlights.
Nick chuckled. “Rachel, I don’t know how you can still be surprised. Bigger is always better for the Bings, isn’t it?”
“They spend so much time crisscrossing the globe, it makes sense for them. And especially for businessmen like Jack Bing, time is money. With the long delays at the airports in Shanghai and Beijing these days, it’s an advantage to have your own plane—you can just pay to jump the runway queue,” Carlton explained.
“Isn’t that precisely what’s causing the flight delays at Chinese airports? All the private jets getting to skip ahead of commercial airliners?” Nick asked.
“No comment,” Carlton said with a wink as he pulled up to the red carpet that extended from the airplane’s staircase onto the tarmac. The ground crew immediately bustled around the car, opening doors and removing the luggage while Carlton handed off his car to the valet. Along the length of the carpet, fifteen flight crew members stood at attention like troops ready for inspection, attired in the same crisp black James Perse uniforms seen at Colette’s house.
“I feel like Michelle Obama about to board Air Force One,” Rachel whispered to Nick as they walked along the plush red carpet.
Overhearing them, Carlton quipped, “Wait till you get on board. This plane makes Air Force One look like a sardine tin.”
At the top of the steps, they entered the cabin door and were immediately greeted by the chief purser. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Bao. Good to see you again.”
“Hi, Fernando.”
Next to Fernando stood a flight attendant who bowed deeply before asking Rachel and Nick, “Your shoe sizes, please?”
“Er…I’m a size six, and he’s a ten and a half,” Rachel said, wondering why she asked.
Moments later, the flight attendant returned with velvet drawstring bags for everyone. “A gift from Mrs. Bing,” she announced. Rachel looked inside and saw a pair of Bottega Veneta leather slippers.
“Colette’s mum prefers for everyone to wear these on board,” Carlton explained, slipping off his loafers. “Come, let me give you a quick tour before everyone else gets here.” He led them down a hallway paneled in a lacquered gray maple wood and tried to open a set of double doors. “Bugger, I guess it’s locked. This is a staircase that leads downstairs to the clinic. There’s an operating theater with a full life-support system, and there’s always a doctor on board.”
“Let me guess…Mrs. Bing’s idea?” Nick asked.
“Yes, she’s always worrying that she’ll fall ill on the plane on the way to visit her doctors. Let’s try going this way.”
They followed Carlton along another passage and down a wider set of steps. “Here’s the main cabin, or the Grand Lounge, as they call it.”
Rachel’s jaw dropped. She knew, on an intellectual level, that she was still on an airplane. But what she was seeing was something that couldn’t possibly exist on a plane. They were standing in a vast, semicircular room filled with sleek Balinese teak sofas, consoles that looked like antique silver chests, and silk-covered lamps in the shape of lotus blossoms. But the focal point of the space was a three-story rock wall carved with ancient-looking Buddhas. Growing out of the wall were live ferns and other exotic botanicals, while off to the side, a spiral glass-and-stone staircase wound its way to an upper floor.
“Mrs. Bing wanted the Grand Lounge to feel like an ancient Javanese temple,” Carlton explained.
“It’s just like Borobudur,” Nick said in a hushed whisper as he touched the moss-covered stone.
“You got it. I think she fell in love with some resort there many years ago and wanted it replicated on her plane. The wall is an actual temple façade from an archaeological dig. They had to smuggle it out of Indonesia, from what I’m told.”
“I guess you can do whatever you want with a 747 if you don’t need to fit four hundred seats,” Nick surmised.
“Yeah, and having five thousand square feet of space to play with also helps. These sofas, by the way, are upholstered in Russian reindeer leather. And up those stairs, there’s a karaoke lounge, a screening room, a gym, and ten bedroom suites.”
“Sweet Jesus! Nick, come over here right now!” Rachel said in a panicked voice from across the room.
Nick rushed over to her. “Are you okay?”
Rachel stood dead in her tracks at the edge of what appeared to be a lap pool, shaking her head in disbelief. “Look—it’s a koi pond.”
“God, you scared me. For a moment I thought something was wrong,” Nick said.
“You don’t think anything’s wrong? THERE’S A FRIGGING KOI POND IN THE MIDDLE OF THIS PLANE, NICK!”
Carlton came over, highly amused by his sister’s reaction. “These are some of Mrs. Bing’s prized koi. You see that fat white one over there with the big red spot right in the middle of its back? Some Japanese tosser who was a guest on the plane once offered the Bings $250,000 for that fish. It reminded him of the Japanese flag. I do wonder if these poor koi ever get jet-lagged.”
Just then, Colette entered the main cabin swathed in a hooded angora poncho, trailed by a large entourage that included her mother, grandmother, Roxanne, a few of the girls from earlier, and a retinue of maids. “I can’t believe those idiots let you on board! I wanted to give Nick and Rachel the tour myself,” Colette said with a little pout.
“We haven’t seen anything except this room,” Rachel said meekly.
“Okay, great! Knowing your love of bathrooms, I wanted to show you the hydromassage room myself.” Lowering her voice, she said to Rachel, “I wanted to warn you ahead of time. My parents bought and designed this plane while I was away at Regent’s. So I can’t be held responsible for the decor.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Colette. This plane is unfathomably gorgeous,” Rachel assured her.
Colette looked genuinely relieved. “Here, come meet my grandmother. Nainai, these are my friends from America, Rachel and Nick,” Colette announced to a plump septuagenarian with a standard-issue Chine se-grandma perm.
The old lady smiled tiredly at them, baring a couple of gold teeth. She looked as if she had been hastily yanked out of bed, shoved into a St. John knit jacket two sizes too small, and hustled aboard the plane.
Colette surveyed the cabin, looking rather displeased. She glanced at Roxanne and said, “Send for Fernando right now.”
>
The man arrived momentarily, and Colette gave him a lethal glare. “Where’s the tea? There should always be cups of steaming-hot Bird’s Tongue Longjing tea*2 waiting for my mother and grandmother the minute they get on board! And little plates of hua mei*3 to suck on during takeoff! Hasn’t anyone read the Aircraft Standards Manual?”
“I apologize, Miss Bing. We only landed a little over an hour ago and haven’t had time to turn around the plane properly.”
“What do you mean you just landed? Wasn’t Trenta here all weekend?”
“No, Miss Bing. Your father just returned from Los Angeles.”
“Really? I had no idea. Well, get us the tea and tell the captain we’re ready for takeoff.”
“Right away, Miss Bing,” the chief purser said, turning to leave.
“One more thing…”
“Yes, Miss Bing?”
“There is something in the air tonight, Fernando.”
“We’ll readjust the cabin climate right away.”
“No, that’s not it. Can you smell the air, Fernando? It’s nothing like Frédéric Malle’s Jurassic Flower. Who changed the cabin scent without my permission?”
“I’m not sure, Miss Bing.”
After Fernando left the room, Colette turned to Roxanne again. “When we get to Paris, I want new copies of the Aircraft Standards Manual printed and bound for every member of the flight crew. I want them to memorize every page, and then we’re going to give them a pop quiz during the return flight.”
* * *
*1 The passenger list included Rachel, Nick, Carlton, Colette Bing, Mrs. Bing, Grandma Bing, Auntie Pan Di, Stephanie Shi, Mrs. Shi, Adele Deng, Wen Pi Fang, Mrs. Wen, Perrineum Wang, Tiffany Yap, Roxanne Ma, and six maids (every one of Colette’s girlfriends brought along a personal maid).