by Kevin Kwan
Standing in the living room, with sunlight flooding through the oriole windows and casting origami shadows onto the parquet wood floors, Michael was suddenly reminded of the drawing room at Tyersall Park and the feeling of unutterable awe that came over him the first time he entered that room to meet Astrid’s grandmother. He had originally envisioned his new house as something resembling the contemporary wing of a museum, but now he had another vision of himself in thirty years as a silver-haired eminence, presiding over this grand and historic showplace as business colleagues from all over the world came to pay their respects. He pounded his hand against one of the buttressed walls and said to Astrid, “I like all this old stonework. This house feels rock solid, not like your father’s rickety Black and White.”
“I’m glad you like it. It has a very different feel from my father’s place,” Astrid said measuredly.
It’s also bigger than your father’s house, Michael thought. He could already imagine what his brothers would say when they drove up: Wah lan eh, ji keng choo seeee baaay tua!*5 He turned to Carmen and asked, “So, what will it take to get the keys to the front door?”
Carmen considered his question for a moment. “On the open market, this house would go for sixty-five, seventy million, easily. You’d have to make a compelling enough offer for the family to stop the listing tomorrow morning.”
Michael stood at the top of the staircase and fingered the carved woodwork on the banister. Its art deco sunrays reminded him of the Chrysler building. “C. K. Wong had four children, right? I’ll offer seventy-four. This way every sibling gets an extra million for their trouble.”
“Let me just call my cousin Geik Choo,” Carmen said, reaching into her Saint Laurent handbag for her phone and walking discreetly out of the living room.
A few minutes later, she returned. “My cousin thanks you for the offer. But factoring in stamp duties and my commission, the family is going to need more. At eighty million, you have a deal.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” Michael said with a laugh. He looked over at Astrid and said, “Honey, how badly do you want this?”
Wait a minute—it’s you who wants to move, Astrid thought. Instead, she said, “I will be very happy in this house if you are.”
“Okay then, eighty it is.”
Carmen smiled. This was so much easier than she had imagined. She disappeared into a bedroom down the hallway again to call her cousin back.
“How much do you think it’s going to take to decorate this place?” Michael asked Astrid.
“Really depends on what we want to do. It reminds me of the sort of country houses you see in the Cotswolds, so I could picture some simple English pieces mixed with Geoffrey Bennison fabrics perhaps. I think it would go well with your historic artifacts and some of my Chinese antiques. And downstairs, maybe we can—”
“The entire downstairs is going to be converted into a state-of-the-art car museum for my collection,” Michael interrupted.
“All of it?”
“Of course. That’s the first thing I pictured when I walked in the front door. I was like, let’s tear all these reception rooms down and make it one vast hall. Then I could put car turntables into the floor. It will be so cool to see my cars revolving around between all those columns.”
Astrid looked at him, waiting for him to say, Just kidding, but then she realized he was dead serious. “If that’s what you want,” she finally managed to squeak out.
“Now, what is taking that friend of yours so long? Don’t tell me those Wongs are getting greedy and want to take me for another ride.”
Just then, Carmen reentered the room, looking rather flushed in the face. “I’m sorry—I hope I wasn’t shouting too loudly?”
“No. What happened?” Astrid asked.
“Er, I don’t quite know how to say this, but I’m afraid the house has been sold to someone else.”
“WHAAAT? I thought we had an exclusive first bid,” Michael said.
“I’m very sorry. I thought you did too. But my asshole cousin Quentin played me out. He used your offer to bid up another one that was already in the works.”
“I’ll top whatever offer your cousin got,” Michael said defiantly.
“I already suggested that, but it’s apparently a done deal. The buyer doubled your price to take the house off the market completely. It sold for $160 million.”
“$160 million? That’s ridiculous! Who the hell bought it?”
“I don’t know. My cousin doesn’t even know. Some limited liability company in China, obviously as a cover.”
“Mainlanders. Of course,” Astrid said softly.
“Kan ni na bu chao chee bye!”*6 Michael shouted, kicking the wooden banister in frustration.
“Michael!” Astrid exclaimed in shock.
“What?” Michael looked at her defiantly. “This is all your damn fault! I can’t believe you would waste my time like this!”
Carmen huffed. “Why are you blaming your wife? If there’s anyone you should be blaming, it’s me.”
“You’re both to blame. Astrid, do you have any idea how busy I was today? You shouldn’t have demanded I drop everything to come see this godforsaken house if it wasn’t really available. Carmen, how the hell did you ever get your real estate license when you can’t even do a simple deal like this? Fucking unbelievable!” Michael swore, before storming out of the house.
Astrid sank down onto the top step of the staircase and buried her head in her hands for a moment. “I am so, so sorry.”
“Astrid, please, you have nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry.”
“Is the banister okay?” Astrid asked, gently patting the scuff mark that Michael’s foot had left.
“The banister will be fine. I’m a little more worried about you, to tell the truth.”
“I’m perfectly fine. I think this is a beautiful house, but to be honest, I couldn’t have cared less if we lived here or not.”
“I’m not talking about that. I’m just…” Carmen paused for a moment, pondering whether to open a Pandora’s box. “I’m just wondering what happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Okay, I’m going to be very frank with you because we’re such old friends: I can’t believe the way Michael talks to you, and how you let him get away with it.”
“Tsk, that was nothing. Michael just got angry for a moment because he got outbid. He’s used to getting what he wants.”
“You don’t say. But I’m not referring to the fit he threw before he stormed out. I didn’t like the way he was talking to you from the moment he arrived.”
“How do you mean?”
“You really don’t see it, do you? You don’t see how much he’s changed?” Carmen sighed in frustration. “When I first met Michael six years ago, he seemed like such a gentle soul. Okay, he didn’t say very much, but I saw the way he looked at you, and I thought, ‘Wow, this guy truly worships her. This is the kind of guy I want.’ I was so used to all these spoiled mama’s boys who expected to be waited on hand and foot, like my ex, but here was this man. This strong, reserved man who was always doing thoughtful little things for you. Do you remember the day we were shopping at Patric’s atelier, and Michael ran all around Chinatown for an hour trying to hunt down kueh tutu*7 just because you mentioned that your nanny used to take you there to buy it from the kueh tutu man who sold it out of those old metal carts?”
“He still does nice little things for me—” Astrid began.
“That’s not the point. The man who came to look at this house today was a completely different person than the one I first met.”
“Well, he’s gained much more confidence. I mean, he’s made such a huge success of his business. It’s bound to change anyone.”
“Clearly. But has he changed for better or worse? When Michael first got here, he gave me
a kiss on the cheek. That was the first thing that surprised me—it was so Continental, so unlike the chin chye*8 guy I know. And then to top it off he pays me a compliment. But then you’re standing there right next to me in the prettiest Dries Van Noten floral dress I’ve ever seen and he doesn’t even say a thing to you.”
“Come on, I don’t expect him to gush over me every time we see each other. We’ve been married for so many years now.”
“My father gives a million compliments to my mother all day long, and they’ve been married over forty years. But aside from that, it was his whole manner to you the entire time he was here that got to me. His body language. His little asides. There was this undercurrent of…of…contempt to everything.”
Astrid tried to laugh off her comment.
“This is no joke. The fact that you don’t even see it is what’s alarming. It’s like you’ve got Stockholm syndrome or something. What happened to “The Goddess”? The Astrid I know would never have put up with this.”
Astrid remained silent for a few moments, and then she looked up at her friend. “I do see it, Carmen. I see it all.”
“Then why are you letting it happen? Because take it from me, this is a slippery slope you’re on. First it’s just a few digs here and there, but then one morning you wake up and realize that every conversation you have with your husband is a shouting match.”
“It’s more complicated than that, Carmen.” Astrid took a deep breath and then continued. “The truth is Michael and I hit a big speed bump a few years ago. We were separated for a while and on the brink of divorce.”
Carmen’s eyes widened. “When?”
“Three years ago. Right around the time of Araminta Lee’s wedding. You’re the only person on this entire island I’ve told this to.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a long story, but it basically boiled down to the fact that Michael was having a hard time coping with the power dynamic in our marriage. Even though I tried my best to be supportive, he felt emasculated by…you know, the whole money thing. He felt like a trophy husband, and the way my family treated him wasn’t helping much either.”
“I can see how being married to Harry Leong’s only daughter can’t be easy, but come on, most men can only dream of being so lucky,” Carmen said.
“That’s exactly it. Michael’s not like most men. And that’s what attracted me to him. He is so smart, and so driven, and he really wanted to make it on his own terms. He’s never wanted to use a single family connection to help him get a leg up in his business, and he’s always insisted on not taking a cent from me.”
“Is that why you guys were living in that little place on Clemenceau Avenue?”
“Of course. He bought that flat with his own money.”
“No one could figure that out! I remember everyone was talking about it—Can you believe Astrid Leong married this ex-army guy and moved into some TINY OLD FLAT? The Goddess has really come down to earth.”
“Michael didn’t marry me because he wanted some goddess. And now that he’s finally made it, I’m trying to be more like a traditional wife. I’m trying to let him have his way more, and to win some battles, some of the time.”
“Just as long as you don’t lose yourself in the process.”
“Come on, Carmen, would I ever let that happen? You know, I’m happy that Michael’s finally taken an interest in some of the things that matter to me. Like how he dresses. And how we live. I’m glad that he’s developed strong opinions, and that he challenges me sometimes. It’s quite a turn-on, actually. It reminds me of what originally drew me to him.”
“Well, as long as you’re happy,” Carmen conceded.
“Look at me, Carmen. I’m happy. I’ve never been happier.”
* * *
*1 Hokkien for “cheap, stingy.”
*2 Believe it or not, this is the Singapore real estate industry term for luxury properties that have a minimum lot size of 15,070 square feet and a height of only two stories. On an island of 5.3 million, there remain only about 1,000 Good Class Bungalows. They are located exclusively in the prime residential districts 10, 11, 21, and 23, and a nice starter-level GCB can be yours for around US$45 million.
*3 Malay slang for “contact, connection.”
*4 Hokkien for “afraid to lose out” to something or someone.
*5 Hokkien slang for “Fucking hell, this house is friggin’ HUGE!”
*6 A popular and charmingly eye-watering Hokkien phrase that translates literally as “Fuck your mother’s smelly rotten pussy.”
*7 This traditional Singaporean delicacy consists of a small, flower-shaped steamed cake of pounded rice flour filled with brown sugar and either ground peanuts or grated coconut. It is served on a pandan leaf for extra fragrance. The “kueh tutu man” used to be a familiar sight in Singapore’s Chinatown district but these days is an increasing rarity.
*8 Hokkien for “easygoing, down-to-earth.”
16
PARIS
Excerpts from Rachel’s Diary
Sunday, June 16
Traveling to Paris Colette Bing–style was like entering an alternate universe. I never thought I’d eat the best Peking duck of my life at an altitude of 40,000 feet in a dining room more lavish than Empress Cixi’s Summer Palace, or get to see Man of Steel in the plane’s IMAX-designed screening room (it just opened in the U.S., but Adele Deng’s family owns one of the biggest cinema chains in the world, so she gets advance screeners of everything). I never imagined I’d witness the sight of six extremely sloshed Chinese girls doing a rendition of “Call Me Maybe” off-key in Mandarin in the plane’s karaoke lounge, which had marble walls embedded with pulsating LED lights. Before we knew it, we had landed at Le Bourget Airport, and it was all so civilized—no lines, no customs, no fuss, just three officials who came aboard to stamp our passports and a fleet of black Range Rovers waiting on the tarmac. And, oh yeah, six bodyguards who all looked like Alain Delon in his prime. Colette hired this security detail of ex–French Foreign Legionnaires to follow us around 24/7. “It’ll be a fun sight gag,” she said.
The gleaming black cars whisked us to the city in no time at all and deposited us at the Shangri-La Hotel, where Colette bought out all the rooms on the two top floors. The whole place had the feel of a private residence, precisely because it used to be the palace of Prince Louis Bonaparte, Napoleon’s grandson,*1 and four years were spent painstakingly restoring it. Everything in our ginormous suite is done in splendid shades of cream and celadon, and there’s the prettiest dressing table with a three-way folding mirror that I took a million pictures of from every angle. Somewhere in Brooklyn, I know there’s a hipster carpenter/literary agent who can replicate it. I tried to get some shut-eye like Nick but I’m too excited, jet-lagged, and hungover at the same time. 11 hours on a plane + 1 genius Filipino bartender = bad combo
Monday, June 17
Woke up this morning to the sight of Nick’s cute naked butt silhouetted against a view of the Eiffel Tower and thought I was still dreaming. Then it finally hit me—we’re really in the City of Lights! While Nick spent the day poking around bookshops in the Latin Quarter, I joined the girls on their first big shopping expedition. In the motorcade of SUVs, I ended up in a car with Tiffany Yap, who gave me the lowdown on all the other girls: impeccably mannered Stephanie Shi hails from a top political family, and her mother’s family has huge mining and property holdings throughout the country. Adele Deng, who has had the same pageboy haircut since kindergarten, is the shopping mall and cinema heiress, and she’s married to the son of another party patriarch. Wen Pi Fang’s father is the Natural Gas King, and Perrineum Wang, whose chin, nose, and cheekbones are apparently rather new, also possesses the newest fortune. “Ten years ago her father started an e-commerce company in their living room, and now he’s China’s Bill Gates.” And Tiffany herself? “My family’s in beverages�
� was all the girl with the beguiling overbite would say. But guess what? All these girls work at P. J. Whitney Bank, and all have very impressive-sounding titles—Tiffany is an “Associate Managing Director—Private Client Group.” So it wasn’t a problem for all of you to take off at a moment’s notice and come to Paris? “Of course not,” Tiffany said.
We arrived at rue Saint-Honoré and everyone scattered to different boutiques. Adele and Pi Fang made a beeline for Balenciaga, Tiffany and Perrineum went mad for Mulberry, Mrs. Bing and the aunties glided toward Goyard, and Colette did Colette. I accompanied Stephanie into Moynat, a leather goods boutique that I’d never even heard of until today. The most exquisite Rejane clutch bag was calling my name, but there was no way I was shelling out €6,000 for a piece of leather—even if it’s from a cow that’s never known the existence of mosquitoes. Stephanie circled around the curved wall filled from floor to ceiling with bags, studying everything intently. Then she pointed out three handbags. “Would you like to see those three bags, mademoiselle?” the saleswoman asked. “No, I will take everything on that wall except those three,” Stephanie said, handing over her black palladium credit card. #OMFG #thisjustgotreal
Tuesday, June 18
I guess word got out that six of China’s biggest weapons of mass consumption were in town, because emissaries from the top boutiques began hand-delivering invitations to the Shangri-La this morning, all offering exclusive perks and dedicated suck-up time. We started out the day on avenue Montaigne, where Chanel opened early for us and hosted a sumptuous breakfast in Colette’s honor. As I stuffed my face with the fluffiest omelet I’ve ever tasted, the girls ignored the food and instead began stuffing themselves into these fluffy fringe dresses. Then it was time for lunch at the Chloé boutique, followed by tea at Dior.
