by Kevin Kwan
Stephen and Astrid had met years ago in Paris, when she wandered into the jewelry shop on rue de la Paix where he was doing his apprenticeship. Back then it was as rare to meet a teenage Singapore girl interested in eighteenth-century cameos as it was to see a young Chinese man behind the counter at a joaillier as distinguished as Mellerio dits Meller, so an immediate bond was struck. Astrid was grateful to find someone in Paris who understood her exacting tastes and was willing to indulge her capricious hunt for rare pieces that might have once belonged to the Princesse de Lamballe. Stephen, however, knew immediately that this girl had to be the daughter of some big shot, though it took him another three years of careful cultivating to figure out exactly who she was.
Like many of the world’s greatest jewelry dealers, from Gianni Bulgari to Laurence Graff, Stephen had over the years honed his skills in being perfectly attuned to the whims of the very rich. He had become a consummate soothsayer to the Asian billionaire set, and he had become an expert in recognizing Astrid’s many-faceted moods. He could tell, simply by observing her reactions to the types of pieces he would present to her, what sort of day she was having. Today he was seeing a side to Astrid he had never witnessed in fifteen years of knowing her. Something was clearly wrong, and her mood had worsened dramatically while he was showing her a new series of bracelets by Carnet.
“Aren’t these the most intricately detailed bracelets you’ve ever seen? They look like they could have been inspired by the botanical drawings of Alexander von Humboldt. Speaking of bracelets, did you like the charm bracelet your husband bought you?”
Astrid looked up at Stephen, confused by his question. “The charm bracelet?”
“Yes, the one Michael got you for your birthday last month. Wait a minute, didn’t you know he got it from me?”
Astrid averted her gaze, not wanting to look surprised. She had not received any sort of gift from her husband. Her birthday wasn’t until August, and Michael knew better than to ever buy her jewelry. She could feel all the blood rush to her face. “Oh yes, I forgot—it’s adorable,” she said lightly. “Did you help him pick it out?”
“Yes. He came in one night, all in a hurry. He had such a hard time making up his mind—I think he was afraid you wouldn’t like it.”
“Well, of course I do. Thanks so much for helping him out,” Astrid said, keeping her face completely calm. Oh God oh God oh God. Was Michael actually stupid enough to buy jewelry for someone else from her close friend Stephen Chia?
Stephen wished he hadn’t brought up the bracelet. He suspected that Astrid had not been impressed with the gift from her husband. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure Astrid would ever wear something as quotidian as a bracelet with multicolored pavé diamond teddy bear charms, but it was one of the least expensive things he had in the shop, and he knew that Michael, a typically clueless husband, was making a great effort to find something within his budget. It was quite a sweet gesture really. But now, within twenty minutes of being at his shop, Astrid had already bought an extremely rare three-carat blue diamond set on a diamond eternity band that had just arrived from Antwerp, art deco cuff links that had once belonged to Clark Gable, a signed vintage Cartier platinum-and-diamond link bracelet, and she was seriously considering a fantastical pair of VBH earrings. It was a piece he had brought in to show her for the sheer folly of it, and he would never have imagined her to be interested.
“The pear-shaped stones are kunzites weighing forty-nine carats, and these remarkable sparkling disks are twenty-three-carat ice diamonds. A highly original treatment. Are you thinking of wearing something new to the Khoo wedding next weekend?” he asked, trying to make conversation with his unusually focused shopper.
“Um … maybe,” Astrid replied, staring into the mirror and scrutinizing the multicolored gemstones dangling off the enormous earrings, the bottoms of which were brushing against her shoulders. The piece reminded her of a Native American dream catcher.
“It’s such a dramatic look, isn’t it? Very Millicent Rogers, I think. What kind of dress are you planning to wear?”
“I haven’t really decided yet,” she said, almost mumbling to herself. She wasn’t really looking at the earrings. In her mind, all she could picture was a piece of jewelry from her husband hanging off some other woman’s wrist. First came the text message. Then the receipt from Petrus. Now there was an expensive charm bracelet. Three’s a charm.
“Well, I think you’d want to go with something dead simple if you wear these earrings,” Stephen added. He was getting a bit concerned. The girl was not being herself today. Usually she would breeze in and they would spend the first hour chatting and munching on the delicious homemade pineapple tarts she always brought before he took out anything to show her. After another hour or so of looking at pieces, she might hand one thing over to him and say, “Okay, I’m going to think about this one,” before blowing a kiss goodbye. She was not the sort of client who spent a million dollars in ten minutes.
And yet Stephen always cherished her visits. He loved her sweet nature, her impeccable manners, and her complete lack of pretension. It was so refreshing, not like the sort of ladies he usually had to deal with, the egos that required constant stroking. He enjoyed reminiscing with Astrid about their crazy younger days in Paris, and he admired the originality of her taste. She cared about the quality of the stones, of course, but she couldn’t have cared less about the size and was never interested in the ostentatious pieces. Why would she need to be, when her mother already had one of the grandest jewelry collections in Singapore, while her grandmother Shang Su Yi possessed a trove of jewels so legendary he had only ever heard them mentioned in hushed whispers. “Ming dynasty jade like you’ve never seen before, jewels from the czars that Shang Loong Ma cunningly bought from the grand duchesses fleeing into Shanghai during the Bolshevik Revolution. Wait till the old lady dies—your friend Astrid is the favorite granddaughter, and she’s going to inherit some of the most unparalleled pieces in the world,” Stephen had been told by the acclaimed art historian Huang Peng Fan, one of the few people who had ever witnessed the splendor of the Shang collection.
“You know what? I must have these earrings too,” Astrid declared, standing up and smoothing out her short pleated skirt.
“Are you leaving already? Don’t you want a Diet Coke?” Stephen asked in surprise.
“No, thank you, not today. I think I need to hurry off. So many errands. Do you mind if I take the cuff links now? Promise I’ll have the funds transferred to your account by the end of day.”
“My dear, don’t be silly, you can have everything now. Let me just get you some nice boxes.” Stephen left the room, thinking that the last time Astrid had been impulsive like this was after her breakup with Charlie Wu. Hmm … was there trouble in paradise?
Astrid walked back to her car in the parking garage of the mall. She unlocked the door, got in, and placed the black-and-cream-colored parchment shopping bag subtly embossed with STEPHEN CHIA JEWELS on the passenger seat beside her. She sat in the airless vehicle, which was getting more stifling by the second. She could feel her heart pounding so quickly. She had just bought a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar diamond ring she didn’t much care for, a twenty-eight thousand dollar bracelet she quite liked, and a seven hundred and eighty-four thousand dollar pair of earrings that made her look like Pocahontas. For the first time in weeks, she felt bloody fantastic.
Then she remembered the cuff links. She rummaged through the bag, searching for the box that contained the art deco cuff links she had purchased for Michael. They were in a blue velvet vintage box, and she stared at the pair of little silver-and-cobalt cuff links fastened against a satin lining that had long since become mottled with pale yellow spots.
These had once brushed against Clark Gable’s wrists, Astrid thought. The gorgeous, romantic Clark Gable. Hadn’t he been married several times? Surely he must have romanced many women in his time. Surely he must have cheated on his wives, even Carole Lombard. How c
ould anyone ever want to cheat on a woman as beautiful as Carole Lombard? But sooner or later, it was bound to happen. Every man cheats. This is Asia. Every guy has mistresses, girlfriends, flings on the side. It’s a normal thing. A status thing. Get used to it. Great-grandpa had dozens of concubines. Uncle Freddie had that whole other family in Taiwan. And how many mistresses has cousin Eddie had by now? I’ve lost count. It was all meaningless. Guys just need a cheap thrill, a quick shag. They need to go on the hunt. It’s a primal thing. They need to spread their seed. They need to put their pricks inside things. MISS U NSIDE ME. No no no. It was nothing serious. Probably some girl he met on his work trip. A fancy dinner. A one-night stand. And he bought her off with a bracelet. A silly charm bracelet. So cliché. At least he was discreet. At least he went and screwed the girl in Hong Kong, not Singapore. Many wives have to put up with so much more. Think of some of my friends. Think of what Fiona Tung has to go through with Eddie. The humiliation. I am lucky. I am so lucky. Don’t be so bourgeois. It’s just a fling. Don’t make this a big deal. Remember, grace under pressure. Grace under pressure. Grace Kelly slept with Clark Gable while they were filming Mogambo. Michael is as handsome as Clark Gable. And now he will have Gable’s cuff links. And he will love them. They weren’t too expensive. He won’t get mad. He will love me. He still loves me. He hasn’t been that distant. He’s just stressed out. All that work pressure. We’ll be married five years this October. Oh my God. Not even five years and he is already cheating. He isn’t attracted to me anymore. I’m getting too old for him. He’s tired of me. Poor Cassian. What’s going to happen to Cassian? My life is over. It’s all over. This isn’t happening. I can’t believe this is happening. To me.
16
The Gohs
SINGAPORE
Rachel peered at the clock and figured that she’d only slept about five hours, but it was dawn and she was too excited to go back to sleep. Nick was snoring softly beside her. She looked around at the room, wondering how much this hotel must be costing Nick per night. It was an elegant suite decorated in understated pale wood, the only burst of color coming from the fuchsia orchids on the console table against the mirrored wall. Rachel got out of bed, put on a plush pair of terrycloth slippers, and padded quietly into the bathroom to splash some water on her face. Then she walked over to the window and peeked through the curtains.
Outside was a perfectly manicured garden with a large, inviting swimming pool lined with deck chairs. A man in a white-and-teal uniform was walking around the pool with a long pole and net, meditatively fishing out the stray leaves that had settled on the surface of the water during the night. The garden was set within a quadrangle of poolside rooms, and just beyond the serenity of the low-rise Victorian structure rose a cluster of high-rise buildings, reminding her that they were in the heart of Singapore’s fashionable Orchard Road district. Rachel could already feel the early-morning heat permeating through the double-pane windows. She closed the curtains and went into the sitting room to rummage for her laptop. After logging on, she began to draft an e-mail to her friend Peik Lin. Seconds later, an instant message popped up on her screen:
GohPL: You’re awake! Are you really here?
me: Sure am!
GohPL: Yippeeee!!!!
me: It’s not even 7 and already SO HOT!
GohPL: This is nothing! Are you staying @Nick’s parents?
me: No. We’re @Kingsford Hotel.
GohPL: Nice. Very central. But why are you at a hotel?
me: Nick’s parents are out of town, and he wanted to be at a hotel during wedding week.
GohPL: …
me: But secretly, I think he didn’t want to show up at parents’ house with me on the very first night. LOL!
GohPL: Smart guy. So can I see you today?
me: Today’s great. Nick’s busy helping the groom.
GohPL: Is he the wedding planner? LOL! Meet up at noon @ your lobby?
me: Perfect. Can’t wait to see you!!!
GohPL: XOXO
At noon sharp, Goh Peik Lin came walking up the wide staircase of the Kingsford Hotel, and heads turned as she entered the grand lobby. With her broad nose, round face, and slightly squinty eyes, she was not a natural-born raving beauty, but she was one of those girls who really knew how to make the most out of what she had. And what she had was a voluptuous body and the confidence to pull off bold fashion choices. Today she was wearing a very short white shift dress that hinted at her curves and a pair of strappy gold gladiator sandals. Her long black hair was pulled into a tight, high ponytail and a pair of gold-rimmed sunglasses were clamped on her forehead like a headband. On her earlobes were three-carat diamond solitaire studs, and on her wrist a chunky gold-and-diamond watch. She finished off the look with a gold mesh tote bag, flung casually on her shoulder. She looked like she was ready for the beach club in Saint-Tropez.
“Peik Lin!” Rachel cried, running toward her with her arms out-stretched. Peik Lin squealed loudly upon seeing her, and the friends hugged tightly. “Look at you! You look terrific!” Rachel exclaimed, before turning to introduce Nick.
“Great to meet you,” Peik Lin said in a voice that was surprisingly loud for her tiny frame. She gave Nick the once-over. “So, it took a local boy to finally get her out here.”
“Glad to be of service,” Nick said.
“I know you’re playing wedding planner today, but when do I get to do my CIA debriefing on you? You better promise I’ll see you soon,” Peik Lin said.
“I promise.” Nick laughed and kissed Rachel goodbye. As soon as he was out of earshot, Peik Lin turned to Rachel and raised her eyebrows. “Well he was easy on the eyes. No wonder he managed to get you to stop working and take a holiday for once in your life.”
Rachel just giggled.
“Really, you have no right to poach one of our endangered species! So tall, so fit, and that accent—I normally find Singapore boys with posh English accents to be incredibly pretentious, but on him it just works.”
As they walked down the long flight of red-carpeted stairs, Rachel asked, “Where are we going for lunch?”
“My parents have invited you to our house. They are so excited to see you, and I think you’ll enjoy some traditional home cooking.”
“That sounds great! But if I’m going to be seeing your parents, should I change?” Rachel asked. She was wearing a white cotton blouse with a pair of khaki slacks.
“Oh, you’re fine. My parents are so casual, and they know you are traveling.”
Waiting for them at the entrance was a large metallic-gold BMW with tinted windows. The driver quickly got out and opened the door for them. As the car left the hotel grounds and turned onto a busy street, Peik Lin began to point out the sights. “This is the famous Orchard Road—tourist central. It’s our version of Fifth Avenue.”
“It’s Fifth Avenue on steroids … I’ve never seen so many boutiques and shopping malls, lined up as far as the eye can see!”
“Yes, but I prefer the shopping in New York or LA.”
“You always did, Peik Lin,” Rachel teased, remembering her friend’s frequent shopping jaunts when she was supposed to be in class.
Rachel always knew that Peik Lin came from money. They met during freshman orientation at Stanford, and Peik Lin was the girl who showed up to 8:00 a.m. classes looking as if she had just come from a shopping spree on Rodeo Drive. As a newly arrived international student from Singapore, one of the first things she did was buy herself a Porsche 911 convertible, claiming that since Porsches were such a bargain in America “it’s an absolute crime not to have one.” She soon found Palo Alto to be too provincial, and tried at every opportunity to lure Rachel into skipping class and driving up to San Francisco with her (the Neiman Marcus there was so much better than the one at Stanford Shopping Center). She was generous to a fault, and Rachel spent most of her college years being showered with gifts, enjoying glorious meals at culinary destinations like Chez Panisse and Post Ranch Inn, and going on weekend spa
trips all along the California coast courtesy of Peik Lin’s handy American Express black card.
Part of Peik Lin’s charm was that she made no apologies for being loaded—she was completely unabashed when it came to spending money or talking about it. When Fortune Asia magazine did a cover profile on her family’s property development and construction company, she proudly forwarded Rachel a link to the article. She threw lavish parties catered by the Plumed Horse at the town house she rented off campus. At Stanford, this did not exactly make her the most popular girl on campus. The East Coast set ignored her, and the low-key Bay Area types found her much too SoCal. Rachel always thought Peik Lin would have fit in better at Princeton or Brown, but she was glad that fate had sent her this way. Having grown up under far more modest circumstances, Rachel was intrigued by this free-spending girl, who, while being filthy rich, was never a snob about it.
“Has Nick filled you in on the real estate insanity here in Singapore?” Peik Lin asked as the car zipped around Newton Circus.
“He hasn’t.”
“The market is really hot at the moment—everyone’s flipping properties left and right. It’s practically become the national sport. See that building under construction on the left? I just bought two new flats there last week. I got them at an insider price of two point one each.”
“Do you mean two-point-one million?” Rachel asked. It always took her a while to get used to the way Peik Lin spoke about money—the numbers just seemed so unreal.
