China Rich Girlfriend

by Kevin Kwan

  “Do I have a choice?” Alfred sniggered.

  Harry sat down at the table and scanned the paper quickly. He then put it away and began digging into the first course of chilled mung bean soup.

  “Now Astrid, I heard you were just in Paris. Was it as lovely as always?” Lillian May Tan asked.

  “It was wonderful. The biggest surprise was running into Nicky.”

  “Nicky! Really? I haven’t seen him in ages!”

  Astrid glanced a few paces down to make sure her grandmother was safely out of earshot. “Yes, he was there with Rachel, and we had a rather exciting evening together.”

  “Tell me, what’s his new wife like?” Lillian May asked in a lowered voice.

  “You know, I really like Rachel. Even if she wasn’t married to Nicky, she’s the sort of person I would definitely be friends with. She’s quite—”

  Just then, Astrid felt a gentle nudge on her shoulder. It was one of Su Yi’s lady’s maids, who whispered, “Your grandmother wants you to stop talking about Nicholas right now or leave her table.”

  • • •

  After the luncheon, as everyone made their way back to the cars, Harry walked alongside Astrid and asked, “Do you keep up with that Charlie Wu?”

  “I do from time to time—why?”

  “Uncle Alfred just supplied me with the most intriguing tidbit. You know how you asked the other day if I acquired Michael’s first company? I decided to dig deeper, since it did always strike me as odd how he was able to sell that company for so much money.”

  “Oh, did Charlie lend you a hand?”

  “No, Astrid—Charlie was the one who bought the company.”

  Astrid stopped dead in her tracks. “You’re joking, right?”

  “Not at all. The real joke is Charlie Wu secretly paying three hundred million dollars for a tiny tech start-up.”

  “Dad, are you absolutely sure about this?”

  Harry took out the piece of paper and showed it to Astrid. “Listen, this was really tough info to come by. Even our top finance guys turned up nothing but dead ends, so I had to ask Uncle Alfred to help, and you know he is never wrong. Charlie obviously went to great lengths to hide his ownership in a complex web of shell corporations, but you can see the proof in this document as clear as day. Now, what is he plotting at? That’s what I want to know.”

  Astrid stared at the paper in disbelief. “Dad, do me a favor—please don’t mention a word of this to Michael or anyone else until I find out more.”

  After everyone had departed, Astrid remained at the cemetery. She sat in her car with the air-conditioning on full blast for a few minutes, preparing to leave, but then she turned off the engine and got out. She needed to walk a bit. Her head was spinning, and she desperately needed to make sense of the startling news she had just learned. Why in the world had Charlie bought her husband’s company? And why had he never told her? Did Charlie and Michael have some secret agreement all along? Or was there a darker scheme that she couldn’t even begin to fathom? She didn’t know what to think, but she couldn’t help feeling strangely betrayed by Charlie. She had poured out her heart and soul to him, and he had deceived her. Could she ever trust him again?

  Astrid wandered down an overgrown path into a deeper part of the woods, passing long creepers dangling from the limbs of towering rain trees and old graves covered in moss. Birds cackled loudly in the trees overhead, and small butterflies darted in and out of gigantic ferns. Finally she could breathe again. She felt totally at ease in these woods—they were almost the same as the woods she had spent her childhood playing in at Tyersall Park. At a clearing where rays of sunlight filtered through the verdant foliage, Astrid came upon a small gravestone nestled by the sprawling roots of a large banyan tree. There was a distinctive sculpture of a cherubic angel crouched on top of the tomb, its huge wings unfurled and arching all the way over its head. A tiny oval sepiatoned portrait of an earnest-looking little boy dressed in a white suit was centered behind glass on the headstone. He would have been around Cassian’s age when he died. There was something so tragic and yet beautiful about that gravestone, and Astrid was reminded of the graves at Père Lachaise Cemetery in Paris.

  On one of their frequent trips back when they were living in London during their university days, Charlie had shown her the tomb of Abelard and Héloïse. When they finally arrived at the grand tomb, they found it strewn with love letters, and Charlie explained: “Abelard was a great philosopher in the twelfth century who was hired to teach Héloïse, a young noble woman who was the niece of Notre Dame’s Canon Fulbert. They fell in love and had an affair, which led to Héloïse becoming pregnant and the two of them getting married in secret. When Héloïse’s uncle discovered the affair, he had Abelard castrated and Héloïse sent to a nunnery. They could never see each other again, but they sent each other passionate letters for the rest of their lives, letters that have become among the most famous in history. The bones of the lovers were finally reunited here in 1817, and ever since, lovers from all over the world have been leaving letters on this tomb.”

  “Ohh—how romantic!” Astrid sighed. “Will you promise you’ll never stop sending me love letters?”

  Charlie kissed her hands and declared, “I promise I will never stop sending you letters of love, Astrid. Until my dying day.”

  As Astrid stood alone in the middle of the forest recalling his words, it was as if she could suddenly hear the trees speaking to her. In the deepest hollows of bark, in the rustling of leaves, she could hear them whisper, He did it out of love, he did it out of love. And suddenly it all became so clear. Charlie had bought Michael’s company to help save her marriage. He had overpaid by hundreds of millions because he wanted Michael to have a fortune of his own, to give him a chance to overcome his feelings of inadequacy. It was an act of pure, unselfish love. Everything Charlie had done three years ago began to make sense now—advising her to wait at least a year before agreeing to a divorce, telling her, I have a feeling Michael could have a change of heart. Michael did have a change of heart, but not in the way that anyone could have anticipated. He had transformed into a completely unrecognizable man. The modest, unassuming soldier had become a brash, maniacal billionaire. And he wanted her to become a different type of wife to match him. Astrid realized how much she had struggled to change for Michael, and how much she no longer wanted to. What she truly wanted, what she had always wanted but failed to realize until this moment, was someone who loved her just the way she was. Someone like Charlie. Oh, Charlie. In another lifetime they could have been happy together. If only she hadn’t broken his heart the first time. If only she had been stronger and stood up to her parents the first time. If only he wasn’t married with two beautiful kids of his own. If only.

  * * *

  * Henry Leong Jr.’s personal net worth is conservatively estimated at $420 million, since his father is still very much alive and he has yet to inherit any of his real fortune. For that reason, and because he commutes daily to the Woodlands for his job, Harry drives a very fuel-economical car. His wife, the attorney Cathleen Kah (herself an heiress to the Kah Chin Kee fortune), walks from their consulate-like house on Nassim Road to the bus stop and takes Bus 75 to her office at Raffles Place every day.

  12

  MAR VISTA

  LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA

  “When was the last time you saw them?” Corinna asked Kitty when they were comfortably seated in the Tesla that had come to fetch them from the airport.

  “Three weeks ago. I try to spend a week every month here, but honestly, it’s become a huge challenge lately because of my daughter’s regimen.”

  “So it is true. Bernard and your daughter are here in LA for medical treatment?”

  Kitty let out a weary laugh. “I have no idea how that rumor got started. Bernard was here for treatments, but not the kind you’re thinking of.”

  “What kind of rare disorder is it?” Corinna asked, her eyes widening.

  Taking a deep br
eath, Kitty began her story: “It all started right after we got married in Las Vegas. We stayed there for a few days, and one night we went to see the latest Batman film. I didn’t realize then how obsessed Bernard was with Batman, how he saw himself as an Asian version of Bruce Wayne. With his obsession for exotic cars and creepy interior design, I should have guessed. So when we got back to Hong Kong, Bernard was fixated on wanting to look like that actor from Batman. He found this top plastic surgeon who supposedly specialized in making people look like celebrities, this doctor in Seoul. We had long talks about it, and hey, I didn’t mind if my husband wanted to look like some handsome actor. I thought it was quite exciting, actually. But then…”

  “My God, they botched the surgery, didn’t they?” Corinna said, on the edge of her bucket seat.

  “No, the surgery actually turned out perfect. But a colossal mistake was made by the prep team before the surgery took place. It was a computer mistake—the most advanced plastic surgery in Korea is all computer-aided these days, and the AutoCAD 3D imaging program that was ‘designing’ Bernard’s new face received the wrong information. It was a language issue—the nurse heard the name wrongly from the doctor before the surgery and she typed the wrong actor’s name into the computer. So all the anatomical impressions they made were a mistake, and all implants were fabricated for the wrong face. Bernard came out of the surgery looking nothing like what he intended to.”

  “I have to ask, who was the actor the nurse confused him with?”

  Kitty sighed. “It was supposed to be Christian Bale, but instead the nurse heard Kristen Bell.”

  Corinna’s jaw dropped. “That perky blond actress?”

  “Yes. Turns out they had another patient from Hong Kong that was transitioning from male to female. It was an honest mistake.”

  “Is this why Bernard has been hiding from everyone in Asia?”

  “No. I mean, at first, yes, but that’s not really the reason anymore. Bernard and I came to Los Angeles so he could get corrective plastic surgery. He found a great doctor who has been slowly transforming his face back to normal. But now the problem goes far beyond his surgery.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This experience has completely changed Bernard. Not just physically but psychologically. You’ll understand when you see him.”

  At this point, they arrived at a small two-story English cottage–style house in Mar Vista where a little girl and a man were doing yoga in the front yard with a tall blond instructor.

  “Oh my goodness—is that cute little girl your daughter?” Corinna asked, staring at the girl with the long braided hair executing a perfect downward-facing dog.

  “Yes, that’s Gisele. Here, put on some of this organic hand sanitizer before you meet her.”

  As soon as the car came to a stop, Gisele broke from her yoga pose and came running toward them.

  “Did you put on the Dr. Bronner’s?” Bernard yelled urgently at Kitty.

  “Of course,” Kitty yelled back, as she hugged her daughter tightly. “My darling! I’ve missed you so much!”

  “You’re not supposed to say that! We don’t want to implant attachment issues,” Bernard chastised. “And you’re supposed to speak to her in Mandarin only. I get English and Cantonese, remember?”

  “Hoy es el día de español, no?”*1 the little Chinese girl said, furrowing her brow.

  “My goodness, she can speak Spanish so well already! How many languages is she learning?” Corinna inquired.

  “Just five right now—she has a part-time Colombian nanny who only speaks to her in Spanish, and our live-in chef is French,” Kitty replied. “Gisele, this is Auntie Corinna. Can you say hello to Auntie Corinna?”

  “Buenos días, Tía Corinna,” Gisele said sweetly.

  “We’re going to start her on Russian when she turns three,” Bernard said, coming up to greet the ladies.

  “Bernard, my goodness, it’s been much too long!” Corinna said, trying not to appear too shocked as she studied his new face. The man she had seen at so many galas was transformed in a way she could never have possibly imagined. His roundish Cantonese features had been replaced with an angular jawline, but it was incongruously paired with the tiniest birdlike nose. His cheekbones were newly chiseled, but his eyes were strangely elfin and upturned at the corners. He looks like the love child of Jay Leno and that Hermione girl from the Harry Potter movies, Corinna thought, unable to stop staring at his face.

  “Come now, it’s time for Gisele’s cranial-sacral session, and then we can have lunch,” Bernard said as he shepherded the girl indoors.

  Corinna was already quite shocked that Bernard Tai, who grew up in huge mansions and on the biggest superyachts, would be living in such modest surroundings, but nothing prepared her for what she saw upon entering the house. The living room had been turned into a kind of clinic, with all sorts of unusual therapeutic contraptions everywhere, and Gisele lay quietly on a professional massage table as her cranial-sacral specialist gently stroked her scalp. Next to this was an alcove room that resembled a Scandinavian classroom, with simple blond-wood stools and little tables, hemp fabric cushions on the floor, and a corkboard wall where dozens of children’s drawings and finger paintings were pinned up.

  “This used to be the dining room, but since we always have mealtime in the kitchen, we’ve turned it into a learning space. Gisele’s coding class meets here three times a week now. Come, let me show you to your guest room, where you can freshen up before lunch,” Bernard said to Corinna.

  Corinna tried to do a bit of unpacking in her cramped bedroom. She took out the tin of Almond Roca candies that she had splurged on and went downstairs, where she found the family was already seated around a wooden farm table on the small patio deck.

  “I brought you a little present, Gisele,” Corinna said. She handed her the shiny pink tin with the plastic lid, and the two-and-a-half-year-old stared at it in absolute puzzlement.

  “Wah lao! Plastic! Put that down now, Gisele!” Bernard gasped in horror.

  “Oh I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you—there’s no plastic in this house,” Kitty whispered to Corinna.

  “Not a problem. I’ll just take the candies out for her and you’ll never see the container again,” Corinna said calmly.

  Bernard gave Corinna a withering look. “Gisele is on a sugar-free, gluten-free organic farm-to-table Paleo diet.”

  “I am terribly sorry—I had no idea.”

  Seeing the look on Corinna’s face, Bernard softened a little. “I’m sorry. I don’t think guests, especially those visiting from Asia, are prepared for our lifestyle. But I hope you will appreciate the conscious, nourishing food we consume in this house. We have our own farm up in Topanga where we grow all our produce. Here, try some of this fennel-stuffed acorn squash. We just harvested it yesterday. Gisele plucked the fennel with her own hands, didn’t you, Gisele?”

  “Sólo comemos lo que cultivamos,”*2 Gisele chirped, as she began chewing carefully on her tiny slices of medium-rare grass-fed-and-finished filet mignon.

  “I guess you probably won’t be drinking the Johnnie Walker Black Label I brought for you,” Corinna remarked.

  “I honor your gesture, but I only drink reverse-osmosis water these days,” Bernard said.

  “I honor your gesture?” My God, look what happens to Hong Kong men when they move to California, Corinna thought in horror.

  After Corinna had politely swallowed down the blandest meal of her entire life, she stood in the foyer watching as Bernard helped Gisele put on her TOMS sneakers and her little hemp sun hat.

  Kitty pleaded with Bernard. “We just arrived. Can’t Gisele skip one session today and be with us? I want to take her to buy some cute clothes at Fred Segal.”

  “You’re not buying her any more clothes from that temple of materialism. The last time you got her those frilly pink princess dresses, we ended up donating all of it to Union Rescue Mission. I really don’t want her to be wearing clothes that reinforc
e gender stereotypes and fairytale narratives.”

  “Okay, then, can we just take her to the beach or something? The beach is still allowed, right? Isn’t sand gluten-free or whatever?”

  Bernard took Kitty around the corner and said in a hushed tone, “I don’t think you really understand how much Gisele needs these biweekly mindfulness sessions in the sensory deprivation float tank. Her Reiki practitioner tells me that she still struggles with retained trauma and anxiety related to her passage through the birth canal.”

  “Are you kidding me? In case you don’t remember, I was there when she was born, Bernard. The real trauma was how she murdered my birth canal because you wouldn’t let me have an epidural!”

  “Shhh! Do you want to add to her repressed guilt?” Bernard said in hushed whisper. “Anyway, we’ll be back by six. Her float session in Venice Beach only lasts forty-five minutes, and then she has an hour of undirected play with her real-world-immersion friends in Compton.”

  “So why would that take five hours?”

  Bernard gave Kitty an exasperated look. “Traffic, of course. Do you know how many times I have to get on the 405?”

  After saying adiós to Gisele as she was being carefully strapped into the custom-designed car seat in Bernard’s Tesla, Kitty and Corinna sat down to talk.

  “I understand now why you said I had to see this with my own eyes. When did things get this bad?” Corinna asked.

  Kitty looked at Corinna sadly. “The problem began when Bernard started getting his corrective surgeries in LA. He would spend a great deal of time at Dr. Goldberg’s clinic, and he became friends with some of the patients in the waiting room—mainly these super-competitive young Westside mothers. One of them invited him to a weekend retreat in Sedona, and that was all it took. He came back to Singapore a changed person, declaring that he wanted to stop all the surgeries and embrace his new face. He talked about his terrible childhood and how he had a father who ignored him and just threw money in his direction and a mother who was too obsessed with her church to care. He wanted to undo all the generations of damage by becoming an enlightened, conscious parent. The first year after Gisele was born was the worst. Bernard moved us to Los Angeles when Gisele was just two months old—claiming that Singapore was toxic for her, that his parents were toxic for her. Here, I was totally isolated, with Bernard hovering over us every second of the day, policing every single thing I did. Nothing I ever did was right—I was always exposing the baby to something. I mean, the only thing I was exposing her to were my tits! We went to about fifty different specialists a week for every little problem. The last straw was when he redesigned the master bedroom to suit Gisele’s sleep patterns. I couldn’t sleep in there with all those strange glowing LED lights, the over-purified air, and the Mozart playing in her crib throughout the night. That’s when I started coming back to Hong Kong every month. I couldn’t take it anymore. I mean, just look at how we live!”