by Kevin Kwan
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.
Victoria shook her head in fury. “I don’t want to hear any more of this nonsense! We Christians do not require worldly things in the kingdom of heaven! Remove this monstrosity at once!”
“Do you know how much I spent on this mansion? This cost me over a quarter of a million dollars! We are burning it, and we are burning it now!” Eddie shouted back as he gave Kaspar the signal.
“Wolfgang! Juergen! Helmut! Schatzi! Entzündet das Feuer!” Kaspar commanded.
The Aryan minions dashed around the structure, dousing it with kerosene, and Eddie theatrically flicked a long matchstick and held it high for all to see.
“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare burn it on this property! It’s satanic, I tell you!” Victoria screamed, as she ran up to Eddie and began trying to wrestle the burning matchstick out of his hand. Eddie lobbed the match onto the structure and it ignited instantly, the force of the flames billowing outward suddenly and almost singeing both their heads.
As the enormous replica of Tyersall Park began to be consumed by the fire, all the guests streamed out of the house and surrounded it like a bonfire, taking out their phones and snapping photos. Eddie stared in triumphant silence at the burning house, while Victoria sobbed on the shoulder of the president of China. Cassian, Jake, Augustine, and Kalliste ran around the structure gleefully.
“It’s actually rather beautiful, isn’t it?” Rachel said as Nick came up behind her, wrapping her in his arms as they stared at the fire together.
“It is. I have to agree with Eddie this time—I think Ah Ma would have enjoyed this. And why shouldn’t she have a Birkin bag in heaven?”
Carlton glanced at Scheherazade, marveling at how her hair seemed to glow the most spectacular shades of gold against the rising flames. He took a deep breath, straightened his jacket, and strolled over to where she was standing. “Je m’appelle Carlton. Je suis le frère de Rachel. Ça va?”
“Ça va bien,” Scheherazade replied, impressed by his perfect French accent.
Breaking into English, Carlton said, “They don’t have anything quite like this in Paris, do they?”
“No, they sure don’t,” she answered with a smile.
As the paper house and all the paper luxury accoutrements smoldered into black ashes, the crowd began to make their way back into the house. Walking through the rose garden, Mrs. Lee Yong Chien shook her head and leaned over to Lillian May Tan’s ear. “What did I tell you? Su Yi’s body isn’t even cold yet, and the family is already up in smoke!”
“This is nothing. Things are going to get far worse when they find out who will get the house,” Lillian May said, her eyes flashing in anticipation.
“I think they are in for the shock of their lives,” Mrs. Lee whispered back.
—
A humongous, full-page color notice appeared in the obituary section of The Straits Times for five consecutive days:
* * *
*1 Hokkien slang for “busybody.”
*2 If you’re looking to make some extra cash, many families in Singapore will hire you to cry at the funerals of their loved ones. Because the more mourners there are at a funeral, the more impressive it looks. Professional mourners usually come in groups, and they offer a variety of packages (i.e., normal crying, moaning hysterically, foaming at the mouth, and collapsing in front of the coffin).
*3 In 2016, Gucci sent out warning letters about trademark infringement to several mom-and-pop shops in Hong Kong that were selling paper Gucci tomb offerings. After a backlash from Chinese shoppers and an avalanche of bad publicity, Gucci issued an apology.
CHAPTER THREE
THE CLAYMORE, SINGAPORE
Oliver T’sien was in the middle of his morning shave in his condo when Kitty rang, so he put her on speaker.
“I’m going to see you today! I’m going to Alistair Cheng’s grandmother’s funeral this afternoon,” Kitty chirped.
“You received an invitation?” Oliver tried to mask the astonishment in his voice.
“I thought since Alistair is my ex-boyfriend, and I did meet his grandmother once, it would only be appropriate to convey my condolences in person. It will be so nice to see his family again.”
“Where did you even hear about the funeral?” Oliver asked, as he arched his neck toward the mirror and focused his razor on the stray hairs under his chin.
“Everyone was talking about it at Wandi Meggaharto Widjawa’s party last night. Apparently, Wandi knows a few of the people from Jakarta flying in for the funeral. She said it was going to be the society funeral of the century.”
“I bet she did. But I’m afraid the funeral is really by invitation only.”
“Well, you’ll be able to get me an invitation, won’t you?” Implicit in Kitty’s coquettish tone was, since you’re on my payroll.
Oliver rinsed off his shaving cream. “Kitty, I’m afraid that this is one time where I really don’t have the power to help you.”
“What if I get dressed up in a very conservative black Roland Mouret dress and wear a nice hat? I’ll even use the Bentley instead of the Rolls and bring a few bodyguards along. Surely they won’t turn me away?”
“Kitty, you need to trust me on this. This is one funeral you don’t want to crash. It would be a faux pas of epic proportions. This is a funeral for family and very close friends only. I assure you there will be no one you know, and it really won’t matter if you’re not there.”
“Can you assure me that Colette won’t be there?”
“Kitty, I can assure you she has probably never even heard of my family.”
“But that doesn’t necessarily mean she won’t be there. I heard she got back to Singapore two days ago. It was mentioned in Honey Chai’s gossip blog: ‘Countess of Palliser is staying at the Raffles Hotel.’ Did she leave her orangutans to come to the funeral?”
Oliver rolled his eyes in exasperation. “There is no way Colette or Lady Mary or whatever she calls herself these days will be anywhere near that funeral. I promise.”
“I guess I’ll go spend the day on Tatiana Saverin’s new yacht then. She says it was designed by the same guy that did Giorgio Armani’s boat.”
“Yes, it is a beautiful day for sailing. Why don’t you slip on your sexiest Eres bikini, put on your sailing diamonds, and spend the day sipping Aperol spritzes on a yacht? Stop wasting your precious time thinking about this dreary funeral that I wish I didn’t have to attend!” (Oliver lied. As much as he adored Su Yi, he had to admit that today was truly going to be the social event of the century.)
“Okay, okay.” Kitty laughed and hung up.
Oliver leaned against his bathroom sink, methodically patting some Floris aftershave on his cheeks and throat. The phone rang again.
“Hello, Kitty.”
“What are sailing diamonds? Do I need to get some?”
“It’s just an expression, Kitty. I made it up.”
“But do you think I should wear a diamond necklace with my bikini? I could put on my Chanel Joaillier diamonds, the one in the sunburst floral pattern. Diamonds are waterproof, aren’t they?”
“Of course. Go for it. I have to run now, Kitty, or I’m going to be late for the funeral.” Two seconds after hanging up, Oliver’s mother, Bernadette, walked into the bathroom.
“Mother, I’m not dressed
!” Oliver groaned, tightening the towel around his waist.
“Hiyah, what do you have that I haven’t already seen? Tell me, is this okay?”
Oliver scrutinized his sixty-nine-year-old mother, slightly annoyed by the graying roots that were showing on the top of her head. Her Beijing hairdresser really wasn’t doing a good job maintaining her color. Bernadette, who was born a Ling, came from a family where all the women were renowned for their beauty. Unlike her sisters or her cousins—Jacqueline Ling being the prime example, who appeared preternaturally preserved—Bernadette looked her age. Actually, in the tailored dark blue silk brocade suit with the ribbon tie at the collar, she looked older. This is what happens when you spend twenty-five years toiling away in China, Oliver thought to himself.
“Is this the only dark dress you brought with you?”
“No, I brought three dresses, but I already wore the other two during the night visits.”
“Then I suppose this one will have to do. Did your tailor in Beijing make this one for you?”
“Aiyah, this one was very pricey compared to my Beijing tailor! Mabel Shang’s girl in Singapore made this for me more than thirty years ago. It’s a copy of some famous Paris designer. Pierre Cardin, I think.”
Oliver exploded in laughter. “Mother, no one would copy a Pierre Cardin. It’s probably one of those 1980s designers Mabel used to love. Scherrer, Féraud, or Lanvin back when Maryll was in charge. Well, at least you can say it still fits. You didn’t bring one of your little cloche hats, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. I packed for Singapore weather. But Oliver, what do you think of this?” Bernadette asked, fingering the impressive jade-and-ruby butterfly brooch pinned to her lapel.
“Oh, it’s fabulous.”
“You sure no one will be able to tell? Heaven forbid I get seated next to your grandmother and she notices,” Bernadette fretted.
“With grandma’s glaucoma, I don’t think she can even see that you have the brooch on. Trust me, I had the best jeweler I know in London replicate it.”
“I should never have let the real thing go.” Bernadette sighed.
“We didn’t really have a choice, did we? Just forget it ever happened. You still have the brooch, right here. The jade looks flawless, the rubies look real, the diamonds are sparkling like they came straight out of Laurence Graff’s hands. If I can’t tell, no one will be able to tell.”
“If you say so. Now, do you have a tie Dad can borrow? The only one he brought got all stained with chocolate cake last night. So sad, once Tyersall Park goes, I’m going to miss that chocolate cake.”
“Of course. Go to my closet and pick out anything you’d like for him. One of the Borrellis might be nice. Actually, give me a second and I’ll do it.” As his mother left the bathroom, Oliver thought to himself, I’ve learned my lesson. Next time I’m going to put them up at a hotel, even if they kick and scream.* This flat is just too small for three people.
* * *
* Asian parents visiting their adult children who live in other cities ALWAYS INSIST on staying with them, no matter if the child lives in a studio apartment or the house is already bursting at the seams with too many hormonal teenagers, and even if the parents could afford to buy out a whole floor of the Ritz-Carlton. And of course, even if you’re forty-six years old, suffering from sleep apnea and chronic sciatica, you’re still expected to give up your master bedroom to your parents and sleep on the inflatable mattress in the living room. Because that’s just how it is.
CHAPTER FOUR
ST. ANDREW’S CATHEDRAL, SINGAPORE
Inside the lead Mercedes escorting the funeral cortege from Tyersall Park to the cathedral, Harry Leong was staring out the window, trying to ignore the incessant chatter that came from his wife, Felicity, arguing over last-minute details with her sister Victoria.
“No, we have to let the president of Singapore speak first. That follows official protocol,” Victoria said.
“But then the Sultan of Borneo will be terribly insulted. Royalty should always come before elected officials,” Felicity argued back.
“Rubbish, this is our country, and our president has precedence. You only care about the sultan because of all the Leong plantations in Borneo.”
“I care about him not urinating all over the pulpit at St. Andrew’s. His Majesty is an elderly diabetic with a weak bladder. He should get to have the first word. Besides, he knew Mummy even before the president was born.”
“Reverend Bo Lor Yong is going to have the first word. He’s going to read the blessing.”
“WHAT? You invited Bo Lor Yong too? How many pastors are going to be at this funeral?” Felicity asked incredulously.
“Only three. Reverend Bo will deliver the blessing, Bishop See will give the sermon, and Pastor Tony Chi will say the closing prayer.”
“What a pity. Is it too late to ask Tony to deliver the sermon? He’s so much better than that See Bei Sien,” Felicity scoffed.
Harry Leong groaned. “Can you speak softer? You two are giving me a migraine. If I knew you were going to argue all the way, I would have ridden in Astrid’s car.”
“You know your security won’t let you ride with her. She doesn’t have bulletproof windows,” Felicity said.
—
In the Jaguar XJL (which was not bulletproof) following behind them, Eleanor Young sat scrutinizing her son’s face intently. “I think next week I should make an appointment for you to see my dermatologist. Those puffy lines under your eyes…I’m not happy with them. Dr. Teo can do wonders with his laser.”
“Mum, it’s fine. I just didn’t get much sleep last night,” Nick said.
“He was up all night writing his tribute to Ah Ma,” Rachel explained.
“Why did it take all night?” Eleanor asked.
“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write, Mum. You try condensing Ah Ma’s entire life into a thousand words.”
Rachel squeezed Nick’s hand encouragingly. She knew how much he had struggled over his speech, working on it until the wee hours and getting out of bed several times after that to make a change or add another anecdote.
Eleanor kept prodding. “Why should there be a word limit?”
“Auntie Victoria insisted that I only have five minutes for my speech. And that’s about a thousand words.”
“Five minutes? What nonsense! You were her closest grandson, and the only Young. You should be allowed to speak as long as you wish!”
“Apparently there are going to be a lot of speeches, so I’m just toeing the party line,” Nick said. “It’s fine, Mum. I’m very happy with my speech now.”
“Oh my. Who is that woman in the car beside us?” Rachel suddenly asked. Everyone turned to look into the Rolls that was trying to overtake them, where there was a woman wearing a black hat with a dramatic black veil draped over her face.
“Looks like Marlene Dietrich,” Philip chuckled as he drove.
“Aiyah, Philip! Pay attention to the road!” Eleanor yelled. “Actually, it does look like Marlene Dietrich. I wonder which sultan’s wife that could be?”
Peering over, Nick laughed. “That’s no sultana. That’s Fiona Tung behind that getup.”
—
In the backseat of the Rolls-Royce Phantom—the only Rolls in the stately procession of cars—Fiona fidgeted with her hat uncomfortably. “I don’t know why you made me wear this ridiculous veil. I can’t see out of it, and I can hardly breathe.”
Eddie snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Kalliste can breathe just fine in hers, can’t you?”
Eddie’s tween daughter was wearing a hat and veil identical to her mother’s, and she stared straight ahead, not answering her father.
“Kalliste, I SAID: CAN YOU BREATHE?”
“She’s got headphones on, Dad. She can’t see or hear a thing. She�
�s like Helen Keller right now,” Augustine said.
“At least Helen Keller could speak!” Eddie said in annoyance.
“Um, actually, she couldn’t, Pa. She was mute,” Constantine responded from the front passenger seat. Eddie reached over and tugged his daughter’s veil aside. “Get those headphones off! Don’t you dare wear them into the church!”
“What difference does it make? No one will be able to see me under this thing. Can’t I just listen to Shawn Mendes while I’m in the church? I promise you his songs will make me cry buckets like you want me to.”
“No Shawn Mendez! And no Mario Lopez, Rosie Perez, or Lola Montez either! Kids, you are all going to sit in the church with ramrod-straight posture, singing all the hymns and crying pitifully. Cry as if I’ve cut off your allowance!”
“That’s really going to work, Dad. Boo hoo hoo, what am I going to do without my twenty dollars this week?” Constantine said sarcastically.
“Okay, you’ve just lost your allowance for the rest of the year! And if I don’t see you crying until your eyes bleed, especially while I’m singing my song—”
“Eddie, ENOUGH! What is the point of trying to force the kids to cry when they don’t wish to cry?” Fiona snapped.
“How many times do I have to tell you…we need to be the chief mourners at this funeral. We need to show everyone how much we care, because all eyes will be on us! Everyone knows that we are going to be benefiting the most!”
“And how would they know that?”
“Fiona, have you been in dreamland all week? Ah Ma died before she could make any changes to her will! We’re going to be the ones getting the lion’s share! In a few days, we’re going to become bona fide members of the three-comma club!*1 So we have to really go all out to display our grief!”
Fiona shook her head in disgust. At this moment, her husband truly made her feel like crying.
