Rich People Problems

by Kevin Kwan

  * Hokkien for “No more.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  TYERSALL ROAD, SINGAPORE

  Goh Peik Lin turned to Rachel from the driver’s seat of her Aston Martin Rapide. “How do you feel?”

  “Well, I didn’t manage to sleep a wink on the plane, so it’s 7:30 a.m. New York time for me right now and I’m about to crash the funeral of a woman who didn’t approve of me marrying her grandson and meet all of her possibly hostile relatives that I haven’t seen in five years. I feel great.”

  “You’re not crashing the funeral, Rachel. You’re part of the family and you’re here to support your husband. You’re doing the proper thing,” Peik Lin tried to assure her. Peik Lin was her closest friend from their Stanford days and had always been such a pillar of support.

  Sitting beside Rachel in the backseat of the sports sedan, Carlton squeezed her hand in a show of support. Rachel leaned her head against her brother’s shoulder and said, “Thanks for flying down from Shanghai. You really didn’t have to do this, you know.”

  Carlton made a face. “Don’t be daft. If you were going to be anywhere in this hemisphere, did you think I could stay away?”

  Rachel smiled. “Well, I’m glad I get to spend a few moments with you both before I get sucked into the matrix. Thanks so much for picking me up, Peik Lin.”

  “Don’t even mention it. Poor Nick, I know he wanted to come get you but he’s totally trapped at the night visit,” Peik Lin said.

  “So what is this night-visit thing, exactly?” Rachel asked.

  “Night visits are like sitting Shiva, Singapore-style. It’s officially for family and close friends to come to the house to pay their last respects, but really, it’s a chance for all the kaypohs*1 to get in on the family gossip and start scheming. I guarantee you everyone at Tyersall Park is furiously speculating about what’s going to happen to the house now that Shang Su Yi has dearly departed, and there are plenty of shenanigans going on in every corner.”

  “Unfortunately I think you may be right,” Rachel said with a slight grimace.

  “Of course I’m right. When my grandfather died, all my uncles and aunties came out of the woodwork and crept around his house during the night visit, putting stickers with their names behind paintings and under antique vases so they could claim that he had given it to them!” Peik Lin said with a chuckle.

  Soon they found themselves in bumper-to-bumper traffic as the line of cars snaking up Tyersall Road to the estate’s gates were stopped at a security checkpoint. Glancing at the policemen peering into the cars ahead of them, Rachel felt her stomach begin to knot up.

  “There’s so much security—I think the president or prime minister must be here,” Peik Lin noted. After passing through all the checkpoints, the car sped up the long driveway, and as they rounded the last curve, Tyersall Park finally came into view.

  “Bloody hell,” Carlton said, impressed by the scene before him. The great house was ablaze in lights, the front driveway resembled a parking lot lined with fancy cars, many with diplomatic plates. Uniformed Gurkhas and policemen were stationed everywhere, trying to manage the traffic flow.

  As the three of them got out of the car, a large black military helicopter swooped into sight over the house and descended gracefully onto the manicured lawn. The doors slid open, and a portly Chinese man in his early eighties dressed in a black suit with a deep purple tie was the first to get out. A woman in a black cocktail dress with art deco patterned jet beading followed behind him.

  Rachel turned to Peik Lin. “Is that the president and First Lady?”

  “No. I have no idea who they are.”

  Then a middle-aged man in a black suit emerged, and Carlton exclaimed, “Well that’s the president of China!”

  Peik Lin looked awestruck. “Oh my God, Rachel, the president of China has come to pay his respects!”

  Much to their surprise, the next person to emerge was a tall, lanky college-age kid with long, messy shoulder-length brown hair, dressed in tight black jeans, steel-tipped black boots, and a black tuxedo jacket. A Chinese man in a pinstripe suit and a blond middle-aged lady in a black dress with a pale green shawl draped around her shoulders emerged next, followed by a cute fair-haired girl of about twelve.

  “Stranger and stranger,” Peik Lin said.

  A small crowd had clustered outside the house to observe the arriving dignitaries, and as Rachel walked up, she saw Nick’s cousin Alistair waving at her.

  Alistair greeted Rachel with a big bear hug before excitedly hugging Carlton and Peik Lin as well. “Peik Lin, I haven’t seen you since Rachel’s wedding! I love your new red hair! I’m so glad you guys are finally here—it’s been soooo lame inside…all anyone wants to talk about is ‘Who’s getting the house?’ And now things are about to get even stuffier,” he said, gesturing to the arriving VIPs.

  “Who are those people with the president of China?” Rachel asked.

  Alistair looked momentarily surprised. “Oh, you haven’t met them yet? Those people are the Imperial Shangs. The old farts are my uncle Alfred and auntie Mabel. The younger farts are my cousin Leonard and his very posh wife, India, who’s apparently descended from Mary Queen of Scots or something like that, and those are his kids, Casimir and Lucia. Doesn’t Cass look like Harry Styles from One Direction?”

  Everyone laughed.

  “I think Harry’s shorter,” Peik Lin quipped.

  “So they all just came from China?” Rachel asked, still confused.

  “No, the Shangs just had dinner with the president at the Chinese embassy. The president’s only here because of Uncle Alfred. He never knew Ah Ma, of course.”

  “I believe my father knows him,” Rachel remarked.

  “They’ve been good friends since their university days, and Dad serves on his standing committee,” Carlton chimed in.

  “Of course, I keep forgetting your father is Bao Gaoliang,” Alistair said.

  “One last question…who is that girl?” Carlton asked.

  Stepping out last from the helicopter was an astonishing Eurasian beauty in her early twenties. She had waist-length, sun-streaked hair and wore a long, sleeveless black linen Rochas dress and gold sandals from Da Costanzo, looking like she had just stepped in from a beach party on Majorca.

  “I think I’ve just met my future wife,” Carlton declared as he watched the girl’s hair billow around her sensationally under the draft of the helicopter rotors.

  “Best of luck, mate! That’s my cousin Scheherazade Shang. She’s working on her dissertation at the Sorbonne. Brains and beauty. You know, I’ve heard there’s another dude that’s been trying to get her number for years with absolutely no success. His name’s Prince Harry.”

  ···

  As the Shangs retreated into the house with the president of China, Rachel, Carlton, and Peik Lin followed a few paces behind. In the grand foyer, they ran into Oliver T’sien staring disapprovingly as hordes of people passed through, navigating past the hundreds of floral wreaths—some bigger than Michelin tires—that now invaded the space.

  “Rachel! Wonderful to see you! Isn’t this awful?” Oliver whispered in her ear. “Singaporeans just love sending these ghastly funeral wreaths.” Rachel glanced at the card on the nearest wreath: GREAT EASTERN LIFE ASSURANCE OFFERS CONDOLENCES ON THE DEATH OF MADAM SHANG SU YI.

  As they continued past the dining room where an enormous dinner buffet had been set up, Rachel could see guests standing in a long queue that snaked out the terrace doors, waiting to devour the delicacies at the various food stations. A little boy dashed past Rachel, shouting, “Auntie Doreen wants more chili craaaaab!”

  “Whoa!” Rachel said, narrowly dodging the boy who was precariously clutching a heaping platter of crustaceans.

  “Not what you were expecting?” Peik Lin said with a laugh.

  “Not quite. It’s all so…festive,” Rachel remarked.

  “It’s the funeral of the year!” Oliver quipped. “Don’t you know everyone who’s any
one wants to be here? A little earlier, a rather pushy young socialite named Serena Tang tried to take a selfie with Su Yi’s coffin. She got thrown out, of course. Here, let’s take a shortcut.” He directed them through a side door and the atmosphere changed completely.

  They found themselves in the magnificent Andalusian Cloister, an enclosed courtyard surrounded by carved columns open to the sky. Rows of chairs with white slipcases had been arranged around the reflecting pool in the center of the courtyard, and the guests who gathered here murmured quietly amid the sound of the trickling water. Antique silk lamps had been placed in each of the arched alcoves surrounding the courtyard, the flickering candles within each lamp adding to the monastic stillness of the space.

  At the far end of the courtyard, in front of the carved lotus blossom fountain, Su Yi’s simple black teakwood casket rested on a marble dais surrounded by orchids. In a nearby alcove, Nick, his parents, and many members of the extended Young clan stood in an informal receiving line. Nick was dressed in a white button-down shirt with black trousers, and Rachel noticed that all the men present—Nick’s father, Alistair Cheng, and a few other men she didn’t recognize—were dressed in the same manner.

  “Rachel, why don’t you go to Nick first. We don’t want to disrupt your reunion,” Peik Lin suggested. Rachel nodded and descended the few steps into the courtyard toward the receiving line, feeling her stomach tense up in a sudden wave of anxiety. Nick was hugging Lucia Shang and was just about to be introduced to the president of China when he saw her approach. He quickly stepped out of the receiving line and dashed to her.

  “Darling!” he said, sweeping her into an embrace.

  “Oh my, did you just dis the president of China?” Rachel asked.

  “Did I? Oh well, who cares? You’re far more important.” Nick laughed, and taking Rachel by the hand, led her to the receiving line and announced proudly, “Everyone—my wife has arrived!”

  Rachel immediately felt every eye in the room turn to take her in. Philip and Eleanor welcomed Rachel and the avalanche of introductions began. Nick’s uncles, aunts, and cousins from all the various branches greeted her far more warmly than she had expected, and suddenly Rachel found herself face-to-face with the president of China. Before she could say anything, Nick stepped forward and announced in Mandarin, “This is my wife. I believe her father, Bao Gaoliang, serves on your standing committee?”

  The president looked momentarily startled, and then he broke into a wide grin. “You’re Gaoliang’s daughter? The economics professor from New York? It’s a pleasure to meet you at last. My God, you look just like your brother, Carlton.”

  “He’s right over there,” Rachel replied in perfect Mandarin, waving her brother over.

  “Carlton Bao, you seem to be everywhere these days! Didn’t I just see you at my daughter’s birthday dinner two nights ago? I hope you’re flying on air miles,” the president said in mock seriousness.

  “Of course, sir,” Carlton replied. He beamed at the gathered group, making sure to catch Scheherazade’s eye.

  Alfred Shang, who had observed the whole scene silently, looked at Rachel and Carlton with a newfound curiosity.

  Rachel turned to Nick and said in a quiet voice, “Can I pay my respects to your grandmother?”

  “Of course,” he said. They walked up to the casket, which was surrounded by exquisite orchids in delicate celadon pots. “My grandmother was most proud of her prizewinning orchids. I don’t think I ever saw her happier than the day the National Orchid Society named one of her hybrids after her.”

  Rachel peered into the casket a little hesitantly, but she was surprised by how splendid Su Yi looked. She lay majestically swathed in a robe of shimmering yellow silk intricately embroidered with flowers, and her hair was crowned by the most spectacular Peranakan headpiece made of gold and pearls. Rachel bowed her head for a moment, and when she looked up at Nick, she saw that his eyes were brimming with tears. Placing her arm around his waist, she said, “I’m so glad you got to see her before she passed. She looks very peaceful.”

  “Yes, she does,” Nick said, sniffing quietly.

  Rachel noticed something glistening between Su Yi’s teeth. “Um, what’s that in her mouth?”

  “It’s a black pearl. It’s an old Chinese custom…the pearl ensures a smooth transition into the afterlife,” Nick explained. “And do you see the Fabergé case beside her?”

  “Yeah?” Rachel noticed a small rectangular bejeweled box next to the pillow.

  “Those are her glasses, so she can have perfect vision in her next life.”

  Before Rachel could make another comment, a strange, whimpering sound could be heard echoing from one of the alcoves. They turned to see Alistair and his father, Malcolm, holding up a frail man as he limped toward them slowly. Rachel realized with a start that the man was Nick’s cousin Eddie, and behind him walked his wife, Fiona, and their three children, all dressed in matching black linen and silk bespoke outfits.

  “Kaiser Wilhelm has arrived,” Oliver pronounced, rolling his eyes.

  Eddie collapsed into a heap dramatically at the foot of the casket and began to convulse and emit deep, hacking sobs.

  “Ah Ma! Ah Ma! What will I do without you now?” he wailed, flailing his arms wildly, almost knocking over one of the orchid pots.

  Felicity Leong whispered to her sister Alix, “He better not break any of those vases! They’re worth a fortune!”

  “What a devoted grandson!” the president of China observed.

  Hearing this, Eddie cried out even more bitterly, “How can I go on living, Ah Ma? How will I survive?” Tears poured down his face, mixing with lines of dangling snot as he continued to prostrate himself beside his grandmother’s casket. Eddie’s two younger children, Augustine and Kalliste, knelt on either side of their father and began to rub his back soothingly. He elbowed the kids quickly, and they started to cry on cue.

  Standing at a distance, Alistair whispered to Peik Lin, “I guess we didn’t need to hire any professional mourners.”*2

  “Well, your brother can certainly do this professionally! The kids are doing a great job too.”

  “I’m sure they were forced to rehearse a million times,” Alistair said.

  Eddie suddenly turned around and glared at his other son. “Constantine, my firstborn! Come! Give your great-grandma a kiss!”

  “No fucking way, Dad! I don’t care how much you say you’ll pay me, I’m not going to kiss a dead body!”

  Eddie’s nostrils flared in rage, but since everyone was staring at them he simply gave his son a big you’re-gonna-get-your-ass-wupped-later smile and sprang up from the ground. He smoothed out his Mandarin-collared linen suit and announced, “Everyone, I have a surprise in honor of Ah Ma. Please follow me.”

  He led the group of relatives out to the walled rose garden that bordered the east wing of the house. “Kaspar, we’re ready!” he shouted. Suddenly, a bank of floodlights illuminated the darkened garden, and everyone gasped. In front of them was a three-story structure made out of wood and paper. It was an intricately constructed scale model of Tyersall Park, with every pillar, eave, and awning painstakingly replicated down to the last detail.

  “Kaspar von Morgenlatte, my personal decorator, had a whole team of artisans working on this for weeks,” Eddie proudly announced, bowing to the crowd that had by now gathered in front of the house replica.

  “I am not a decoratur! I am an interieur arkitect und art konsultant!” declared a tall, exceedingly thin man with slicked-back white-blond hair, dressed in a white turtleneck sweater and high-waisted white linen trousers. “Ladies und gentlemen, pleazzze pay attention! The interieur of this maknificent schloss opens up…”

  Four equally blond assistants scurried out from the shadows. They unfastened a few hinges along the side columns, allowing the entire front façade of the house to open and reveal interior rooms that had been decorated to excruciating detail, but unfortunately did not replicate the real interiors of Tyersa
ll Park.

  “The walls are twenty-four-carat gold leaf, the fabrics are all Pierre Frey, the crystal chandeliers are Swarovski, und the furnishings are hand-krafted by the same people that did the set designs for Wes Anderson’s Graaand Hotel Budapeshhhhhhhht,” Kaspar continued.

  “Good God, what an insult to Wes. This looks more like a Ukrainian bordello,” Oliver whispered to Rachel. “Thank God it’s about to be set on fire.”

  Rachel laughed. “I know you don’t care for it, but don’t you think that’s a bit extreme?”

  “Rachel—Oliver’s not joking,” Nick cut in. “This is a paper tomb offering. People burn these at funerals as gifts for the deceased to ‘enjoy’ in the afterlife. It’s an ancient ritual.”

  “It’s more of a…working-class custom,” Oliver continued. “The families buy paper objects and accessories that represent aspirational things the deceased couldn’t afford in this life. Paper mansions, Ferraris, iPads, Gucci bags.*3 But the paper mansions are usually quite small—like dollhouses. Eddie, of course, has to do everything to the extreme,” Oliver noted as Eddie walked around the three-story house excitedly showing off all the objects he had commissioned.

  “Check out her closet—I had some little dresses made in her favorite lotus silk. And I even had them make exact replicas of Hermès Birkin bags, so Ah Ma will have a good selection of handbags to use in heaven!”

  The family members stared at the structure in stunned silence. Finally, Eddie’s mother said, “Mummy would never use an Hermès handbag. She never carried a handbag—her lady’s maids held everything for her.”

  Eddie glared at his mother angrily. “Ugh! You just don’t get it, do you? I know she wouldn’t normally carry an Hermès. I’m trying to give Ah Ma the best of everything, that’s all.”

  “It’s very impressive, Eddie. Mummy would have been touched,” Catherine said, trying to be diplomatic.

  Victoria suddenly piped up. “No, no, this is all wrong. It’s incredibly tasteless, and what’s more, it’s extremely un-Christian.”

  “Auntie Victoria, this is a Chinese tradition—it has nothing to do with religion,” Eddie argued.