Five Star Billionaire: A Novel

by Tash Aw

  13.

  LUXURIATE IN SERENDIPITOUS EVENTS

  AS SHE STOOD UP TO PUT HER COAT ON, PHOEBE TOOK ONE LAST look around the luxurious place she had wandered into. She had never been in an upmarket beauty spa like this, which looked like something out of a magazine, with low lighting and white orchids standing against dark stone. Even the air was perfumed; it smelled of lemongrass and spicy herbs that cleansed the smoky taste of the pollution that lingered in her nostrils every minute of her day. Sometimes at night when she woke up from a nightmare, she would taste this bitter ash in her mouth. She wished she could stay here longer, absorb the smells and the glorious atmosphere of peacefulness and wealth, but this was not her place, she knew that now. She should not pretend anymore; she should leave and go back to Yanyan.

  She put her coat on and began to walk slowly to the door, but then she heard footsteps behind her, a hurried clack-clack of heels on the hard floor, and when she turned around there was a woman standing in front of her, wrapped up in a thick sand-colored coat and a soft blue scarf. Although Phoebe could see that the clothes were very expensive, she thought that the woman looked very unstylish, honestly, like a country farmworker who had been given a new outfit without thinking whether it suited her. Her short hair was dull and a bit greasy; she probably had not even washed it that morning. She was obviously someone who did not spend a lot of time taking care of her feminine appearance. She was holding a slim black briefcase and an umbrella, and her face was crumpled in a frown. She looked at Phoebe, her eyes falling to Phoebe’s shoes, before glancing at the clock on the wall.

  “You’re very late,” she said to Phoebe. “I was just going out. Next time, if you want to reschedule a meeting you have to give my PA more than forty-eight hours’ notice.”

  Phoebe tried to think if she knew this person, but she was sure she did not. She tried to think of a response, but all she could think of was “Sorry.”

  “Sorry, sorry. That’s what everyone says these days as an excuse for their lack of professionalism. If you keep changing appointment times, if you are so unreliable, how are you going to make a good receptionist?”

  Phoebe looked down at the floor. She repeated, “Sorry.” She didn’t even know why she was apologizing to someone she had never met before.

  The woman looked at her watch. “I suppose you still want an interview now? It’ll have to be quick, because I have another appointment over in Pudong. And I’m never late for my appointments, unlike many people.”

  “An interview,” Phoebe repeated blankly.

  The woman sighed. “Yes, but I can give you fifteen minutes maximum. To be honest, for a receptionist’s job there’s not much I need to know from you. Besides, I already have an idea of your approach to punctuality.” She turned and walked behind the counter, opening a door that led into a series of small rooms lit by stark fluorescent lighting—a bare sitting room with cheap armchairs, a microwave oven and drinking water dispenser, a storeroom full of towels and plastic bottles full of liquid, and, finally, an office that smelled of fresh varnish and paint.

  “The building work isn’t quite finished, but we need to start business later this week. Our first bookings are for this weekend, so I need someone who can begin work immediately,” the woman said, sitting down in a large black leather chair and gesturing to Phoebe to sit in the chair across the table. Phoebe took off her coat but noticed that the woman did not do so; she did not even take off her scarf.

  “So frustrating when people cancel at the last minute. I had a receptionist lined up, contract signed, everything settled—then she rings up and says she’s found a job at a new hotel that opened opposite Jing’an Temple. Just like that. Now we need to find a replacement in only four days. People say that Shanghai is the place of limitless opportunity because you can find people willing to work at anything—what nonsense! People here are so picky. Pay’s not right, they’re off the next day. Work environment’s not comfortable, they’re off too. New boyfriend, they disappear. Ask them to work extra hours, they go to your competitor. Sometimes they don’t turn up for work because they’ve argued with their husbands the night before. I don’t know … I think people here are becoming like Westerners.”

  “I agree,” Phoebe said. “Shanghai people are really quite arrogant. I don’t think they are unreliable, but maybe they are too proud of themselves. They are not lazy like Westerners; they are rich like Westerners. That’s why they can be picky—because they can afford to be. If they don’t work that well, it’s because they have options; they are always thinking of things outside work. People only work well when they are desperate, I think. When they have no other option for happiness. Well, I mean, that’s just my opinion.”

  The woman looked at Phoebe for a moment before reaching for a ring-bound file on the desk. Phoebe noticed that the skin on her hands was dry and scaly, and her nails were cut short—she did not even have nail polish to disguise how cracked and unattractive they were. “That’s an interesting point of view,” the woman said. “You’re not a Shanghai local, obviously.”

  “Of course not,” Phoebe said in the Shanghai dialect. She had learned a few phrases since arriving here, but it was such a harsh and difficult language that she could not master even its most basic sounds. “No, I’m from the far south. Guangdong province. But I’ve lived here for some time. That’s why my accent is strange.”

  “I see. I don’t really care where people are from—what’s important is that they can do the job,” the woman said, flipping through her file. “Remind me what your name is, please? I can’t remember which candidate you are—we got so many, and I don’t think my PA printed off all the résumés for me.”

  “Xu Chunyan,” Phoebe said. The name from the ID card she’d stolen two months previously came so easily to her. She had repeated it and repeated it, preparing for a time like this, when she would need to say it as if she had been born with it.

  The woman traced her finger down a list. “Xu Chunyan, Xu Chunyan … no, I can’t find you. No matter—you seem quite bright, even if you are not very punctual. Why don’t you just tell me what experience you have. I can always find your résumé later.”

  Phoebe found she could lie so easily—the list of imaginary jobs she had done came so naturally to her that she did not hesitate for a second. Even as she described one job function, a new one came into her head, and she found herself recounting skills she never knew she had. Bookkeeping, PowerPoint, Excel—things she had heard of but never experienced.

  “It sounds as if you’ve had some quite important positions,” the woman said. “Are you sure you want to be a receptionist in a spa?”

  “To be totally honest with you, I would like a change of direction; I would like to work somewhere more sophisticated than a big office. Besides, like you, I’m sort of, well, fed up with these arrogant Shanghai people!” She said that last bit in a hushed voice.

  The woman laughed. “I know what you mean. It’s a great city, but life here is not easy.”

  “I’m just joking, but I knew you would know what I meant. You’re not local either, are you?”

  “No, I’m from Malaysia—although if you’re from Guangdong, you’re as much a foreigner in Shanghai as I am.”

  “True,” Phoebe said. “Malaysia, huh? I knew your accent sounded familiar.”

  “Familiar?”

  “What I mean is, I’ve known many Malaysians in my previous workplaces. Well, to tell the truth, I once had a Malaysian boyfriend, not for long, though. It must be nice over there. I would like to go someday.”

  The woman closed her file and scribbled on a notepad. “Can you speak English?”

  “Of course,” Phoebe said. “No problem. And I’m learning French too.”

  “Ah, bon, tu parles français?”

  “Actually I have not yet started, I’ve only just bought the book.”

  The woman wrote something on the notepad and finished by drawing a double line firmly under what she had written. Phoebe tried t
o peer over to see what it was but could not quite make it out. “I like your attitude,” the woman said. “I like people who always try to improve themselves. Why don’t we start you as a receptionist; then, if you prove yourself capable, we can move you on to more duties, maybe administration or managerial roles given your background. But let’s see how you get on with answering the phone and dealing with clients—it doesn’t sound like much, but it’s very important.”

  “Yes. Knowing how to deal with different people and situations is the key to all successful business,” Phoebe said, remembering a line from one of the books she had read.

  “Hmm,” the woman said, smiling as she fastened the buckle on her briefcase. “You’re obviously a person who takes her work seriously. That’s good. When would you be able to start?”

  “I can start anytime. I believe in responding swiftly and positively to all work demands.”

  “Excellent, Miss … Xu.”

  “My friends call me by my Western name, Phoebe.”

  “That’s a nice name—we’re anticipating a number of foreign clients, so it’ll be easier for them to pronounce too. Hopefully you’ll build up relationships with them and encourage them to return.” They stood to leave the office. “One more thing, Phoebe: Can I take a few copies of your ID for our files please? Sorry to be troublesome, it’s just that I like everything to be in order. Besides, I can’t afford to risk breaching any regulations. We were going to hire a Filipina girl, very charming, excellent English and decent Mandarin, lived here for over three years so I assumed her position had been, well, normalized. Turned out she was illegal.”

  “Oh, sure.” Phoebe shrugged, opening her wallet and producing the stolen ID card. She handed it over without even glancing at it, as if it were the most boring object in the world. “As you can see, I’m much more attractive in real life.”

  The woman took the card from Phoebe before walking over to the photocopying machine in the corridor. She laughed and said, “Everyone is much more attractive in real life.” She took a while to figure out which buttons to press, and finally, while the copies were being printed out, she looked up at a calendar pinned to the wall in front of her. It had a photo of a snowy valley, the hills covered in frosted pine trees. “In fact, everything is better in real life. Reality is beautiful; imagination is dangerous—it’ll let you down if you’re not careful.”

  Phoebe did not answer. She looked at the sheets of paper sliding out of the photocopier into the tray. Xu Chunyan, twenty-two years of age, slim-jawed, dreamy, full of hope. The machine fell silent and the woman looked at the copy of the ID card. “Yes, you do look better in real life!”

  They walked back out into the black-marbled reception area and paused in front of the exit. The music was still playing in the empty space—flowing water and birds in a bamboo forest—anticipating the many customers who would soon be walking through the doors. But for now they were the only two people there.

  “Can you come on Saturday morning, please? My PA will be here to give you some basic training. I like my people to work to certain uniform standards throughout my companies. She’ll also sort out paperwork and finances. We haven’t got the accounts a hundred percent ready, so when you come we will give you your first month’s salary in cash. Is that okay? My PA will work everything out with you. Hey, we haven’t even discussed salary. But let me assure you, we will pay more than most of our competitors.”

  “For me, financial remuneration is not as important as job satisfaction,” Phoebe said. She was amazed by how much of her books she had absorbed.

  “Great. I have to rush now. I don’t know how often I will be able to come here, but I will get reports of your progress from my PA.” She reached into her pocket for her cardholder and handed Phoebe her name card as she left. Her name was written in Chinese on one side and English on the other. She did not have an elegant Western-sounding name like Landy or Wena or Apple or Bambi, just a transliteration of her Chinese name. LEONG YINGHUI. It was boring but inspired confidence, Phoebe thought. Knowing the woman’s name made her feel safe, though she could not explain why. It was an unremarkable name but it suited the woman so well; she wasn’t pretending or trying to be anyone else. Phoebe wanted to work for this woman; she would work hard and do her best. She felt a seed of unease remembering the face of the girl on the ID card, the face that was hers now, yet she found she was quickly able to suppress those anxieties with the sheer force of her mental strength. You must overturn all your old beliefs in order to succeed in life. All she had to do was to concentrate on the glorious future ahead of her and none of her lies would ever matter again.

  “Phoebe Xu Chunyan, see you again. Good luck. I think you will be a success with us. I hope so.” She switched the lights and the music off, then held the door open for Phoebe before locking it behind her. A car pulled up alongside the pavement, a large silver Toyota. Leong Yinghui got into the car; she was already checking her BlackBerry and did not look up as the car pulled away, leaving Phoebe standing alone.

  The rain had dampened everything, and the fallen leaves were a thick slippery carpet that made the ground beneath Phoebe’s feet feel uncertain, as if she were moving in a world of no fixed place. When she was working in Guangdong, drifting from one temporary job to another together with millions of other migrant workers, people used to call her kind of existence “a floating life.” For so long, that was how she lived, in a floating world in which everyone longed for something more stable, in which every minute of her day was spent waiting for real life to happen, a life that would make it possible to have a home and a family. She had spent so long in that situation that even now she found it hard to lose this feeling of transience, the sense that nothing would last. But she knew that she was leaving that floating world behind, finally, and that from now on her life would become firm and rooted in the concrete foundations of this city.

  Her feet had become wet from walking in the rain and kicking through the leaves, and when she looked down she could see where the moisture had seeped through the toes of her shoes, staining them a dark red, almost black, like blood. That’s what happens when you buy cheap goods, Phoebe thought; fake leather looks great until you use it in demanding situations, and then it shows its true colors and lets you down. This was the last pair of fake-leather shoes she would ever buy in her life, she thought, because in three days’ time she would have the normal salary of a normal working person in Shanghai. She would be able to buy clothes from the big Japanese chain stores and eat in restaurants in the new shopping malls all over the city, where the floors were clean and there were no bad smells from the open drains.

  The rain was falling heavily now, the drops tapping noisily on the hood of her coat. The air smelled of moss and smoke. She stopped walking and, turning around, raised her hand. There was a taxi approaching, and it stopped as it reached her. When she opened the door and got in, the driver simply waited to be told where to go, as he would with anyone else in the world. He did not look at her shoes or criticize her dress; he only glanced at her briefly in the rearview mirror, repeated the destination, and nodded his head. He did not know it was the first time she had ever taken a taxi in Shanghai; he simply assumed she was just like everyone else.

  She did not take the taxi home; she asked instead to be taken to People’s Square. She joined the queue at a famous xiaolongbao store that she had heard of, the long line of people trailing halfway down Zhenghe Lu. She stood patiently in the rain, the hood of her coat pulled loosely over her head. When it was her turn, she bought the best crabmeat dumplings, and then she took another taxi home.

  “Waaaaaaahhh,” Yanyan cried when Phoebe showed her the dumplings. “Toooo good!” Phoebe ate two and left the rest for Yanyan. They were delicious, the best food she had ever tasted in her whole life, so rich in flavor that they made her realize how colorless her life had become, so empty of perfume and complexity. Only two mouthfuls, two morsels of food, made her whole body yearn for more. But she didn’t mind leavi
ng the rest for Yanyan, because in just three days’ time she could afford to eat them whenever she wanted. She would have more. And more and more.

  IN THE WEEKS THAT followed, Phoebe made sure she seized every opportunity to present her most outstanding qualities, such as her willingness to learn and absorb new ideas, as well as her capacity for hard work over long hours. Even when she felt herself coming down with the winter flu that was afflicting everyone in the city, she pretended that nothing was wrong, for she did not want to risk taking one day off work. She feared being replaced, even temporarily. She needed to grasp each chance that came her way and treat every day as a new challenge.

  She took bookings by phone, speaking with the utmost courtesy, even subservience, to the female clients, and allowing just the smallest amount of flirtatiousness to enter her voice if ever she spoke to a man. She did so by nature nowadays, occasionally catching herself if she went too far. She was nice to men not because she had to be but because she wanted to be. She was glad she no longer had to tell men any lies or flatter them outrageously. If she laughed with them or cajoled them into taking the most expensive massages, it was because she genuinely wanted them to enjoy the best experience possible. Give yourself entirely to your work, and in return your work will treat you with respect. She remembered everything she had read from her books, and now it was paying off.

  For the first two weeks, the manager apologized for not having yet hired a second receptionist to relieve Phoebe’s workload, and even Boss Leong rang several times to apologize for the difficulty they were having in finding a suitable colleague for Phoebe. “It’s no hardship at all,” Phoebe replied brightly, “I can manage everything. Please, take your time. Even if you don’t want to hire anyone, it’s fine with me. Actually, I think that one receptionist is sufficient.”