by Kevin Kwan
“How can you tell they are about to bloom?” Rachel asked him.
“See how swollen they’ve become, and how the whiteness of the bulbs are peeking through these red tentacles? Within the hour, you will see them open fully. You know, it’s considered to be very auspicious to witness tan huas blooming in the night.”
“Really?”
“Yes, indeed. They bloom so rarely and so unpredictably, and it all happens so fast. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime event for most people, so I’d say you’re very lucky to be here tonight.”
As Rachel strolled around the reflecting pool, she noticed Nick under an arcade chatting intently with the striking lady who had been sitting next to Nick’s grandmother. “Who is that woman talking to Nick? You were with her earlier,” Rachel asked.
“Oh, that’s Jacqueline Ling. An old family friend.”
“She looks like a movie star,” Rachel commented.
“Yes, doesn’t she? I’ve always thought that Jacqueline looks like a Chinese Catherine Deneuve, only more beautiful.”
“She does look like Catherine Deneuve!”
“And aging better too.”
“Well, she’s not that old. What is she, in her early forties?”
“Try adding twenty years to that.”
“You’re kidding!” Rachel said, staring in awe at Jacqueline’s ballerina-like figure, shown to great advantage by the pale yellow halter top and palazzo pants that she wore with a pair of silver stilettos.
“I’ve always thought it a bit of a pity that she hasn’t done more with herself than disarm men with her looks,” Oliver observed.
“Is that what she’s done?”
“Widowed once, almost married a British marquess, and since then she’s been the companion of a Norwegian tycoon. There’s a story I heard as a child: Jacqueline’s beauty was so legendary that when she visited Hong Kong for the first time in the sixties, her arrival attracted a throng of spectators, as if she were Elizabeth Taylor. All the men were clamoring to propose to her, and fights broke out at the terminal. It made the newspapers, apparently.”
“All because of her beauty.”
“Yes, and her bloodline. She’s the granddaughter of Ling Yin Chao.”
“Who’s that?”
“He was one of Asia’s most revered philanthropists. Built schools all over China. Not that Jacqueline is following in his footsteps, unless you consider her donations in aid of Manolo Blahnik.”
Rachel laughed, as both of them noticed that Jacqueline had one hand on Nick’s upper arm, stroking it gently.
“Don’t worry—she flirts with everyone,” Oliver quipped. “Do you want another piece of juicy gossip?”
“Please.”
“I’m told Nick’s grandmother very much wanted Jacqueline for Nick’s father. But she didn’t succeed.”
“He wasn’t swayed by her looks?”
“Well, he already had another beauty on his hands—Nick’s mother. You haven’t met Auntie Elle yet, have you?”
“No, she went away for the weekend.”
“Hmm, how interesting. She never goes away when Nicholas is in town,” Oliver said, turning around to make sure no one was within earshot before leaning closer in. “I’d tread extra carefully around Eleanor Young if I were you. She maintains a rival court,” he said mysteriously before walking off toward the cocktails table.
Nick stood at one end of the desserts, wondering what to have first: the goreng pisang with ice cream, the blancmange with mango sauce, or the chocolate chiffon cake.
“Oh, your cook’s chocolate chiffon! Now this is the reason I came tonight!” Jacqueline ran her fingers through her shoulder-length curls and then brushed her hand softly against his arm. “So tell me, why haven’t you been calling Amanda? You’ve only seen her a handful of times since she moved to New York.”
“We tried getting together a couple of times this spring, but she’s always overbooked. Isn’t she dating some high-flying hedge-fund guy?”
“It’s not serious; that man is twice her age.”
“Well, I see her pictures in the newspapers all the time.”
“That’s just the problem. That has to stop. It’s so unseemly. I want my daughter to mix with quality people, not the so-called Asian jet set in New York. All those pretenders are riding Amanda’s coattails—she’s just too naïve to see that.”
“Oh, I don’t think Mandy’s that naïve.”
“She needs proper company, Nicky. Gar gee nang.† I want you to look out for her. Will you promise to do that for me?”
“Of course. I spoke to her last month and she told me that she was too busy to come back for Colin’s wedding.”
“Yes, it’s too bad, isn’t it?”
“I’ll call her when I’m back in New York. But I do think I’m far too boring for Amanda these days.”
“No, no, she would benefit from spending more time with you—you were so close once upon a time. Now tell me about this charming girl you’ve brought home to meet your grandmother. I see she’s already won over Oliver. You better tell her to be careful with him—he’s such a vicious gossip, that one.”
Astrid and Rachel sat by the lotus fountain, watching a lady dressed in flowing apricot silk robes play a guqin, the traditional Chinese zither. Rachel was entranced by the mesmerizing speed of the lady’s long red fingernails plucking gracefully at the strings, while Astrid desperately tried to stop obsessing over what Oliver had said earlier. Could he have really seen Michael walking with some little boy in Hong Kong? Nick sank into the chair next to her, dexterously balancing two steaming cups of tea with one hand and holding a plate of half-eaten chocolate chiffon cake with the other. He handed the cup with smoked lychee tea to Astrid, knowing it was her favorite, and offered some cake to Rachel. “You’ve got to try this—it’s one of our cook Ah Ching’s greatest hits.”
“Alamak, Nicky, get her a proper piece of her own,” Astrid scolded, temporarily snapping out of her funk.
“It’s okay, Astrid. I’ll just eat most of his, like always,” Rachel explained with a laugh. She tasted the cake, her eyes widening instantly. It was the perfect combination of chocolate and cream, with an airy melt-in-your-mouth lightness. “Hmmm. I like that it isn’t too sweet.”
“That’s why I can never eat other chocolate cakes. They’re always too sweet, too dense, or have too much frosting,” Nick said.
Rachel reached over for another bite. “Just get the recipe and I’ll try making it at home.”
Astrid arched her eyebrows. “You can try, Rachel, but trust me, my cook has tried, and it never comes out quite this good. I suspect Ah Ching’s withholding some secret ingredient.”
As they sat in the courtyard, the tightly rolled red petals of the tan huas unfurled like a slow-motion movie to reveal a profusion of feathery white petals that kept expanding into an explosive sunburst pattern. “I can’t believe how big these flowers are getting!” Rachel observed excitedly.
“It always reminds me of a swan ruffling its wings, about to take flight,” Astrid remarked.
“Or maybe about to go into attack mode,” Nick added. “Swans can get really aggressive.”
“My swans were never aggressive,” Great-aunt Rosemary said as she walked up, overhearing Nick’s comment. “Don’t you remember feeding the swans in my pond when you were a little boy?”
“I remember being rather afraid of them actually,” Nick replied. “I would break off little bits of bread, throw them into the water, and then run for cover.”
“Nicky was a little wimp,” Astrid teased.
“Was he?” Rachel asked in surprise.
“Well, he was so tiny. For the longest time everyone was afraid that he would never grow—I was so much taller than him. And then suddenly he shot up,” Astrid said.
“Hey, Astrid, stop discussing my secret shame,” Nick said with a mock frown.
“Nicky, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. After all, you’ve grown up to be quite the strapping specim
en, as I’m sure Rachel would agree,” Great-aunt Rosemary said saucily. The women all laughed.
As the flowers continued to transform before her eyes, Rachel sat sipping lychee tea from a red porcelain cup, entranced by everything around her. She watched the sultan taking pictures of his two wives in front of the blossoms, their jewel-embroidered kebayas reflecting shards of light every time the camera flash went off. She observed the cluster of men sitting in a circle with Astrid’s father, who was engrossed in a heated political debate, and she looked at Nick, now crouched beside his grandmother. She was touched to see how caring Nick seemed to be with his grandmother, holding the old lady’s hands as he whispered into her ear.
“Is your friend having a nice time tonight?” Su Yi asked her grandson in Cantonese.
“Yes, Ah Ma. She’s having a lovely time. Thank you for inviting her.”
“She seems to be quite the talk of the town. Everyone is either trying delicately to ask me about her or trying delicately to tell me things about her.”
“Really? What have they been saying?”
“Some are wondering what her intentions are. Your cousin Cassandra even called me from England, all flustered up.”
Nick was surprised. “How does Cassandra even know about Rachel?”
“Aiyah, only the ghosts know where she gets her information! But she is very concerned for you. She thinks you are going to get trapped.”
“Trapped? I’m just on holiday with Rachel, Ah Ma. There is nothing to be concerned about,” Nick said defensively, annoyed that Cassandra had been gossiping about him.
“That’s exactly what I told her. I told her that you are a good boy, and that you would never do anything without my blessing. Cassandra must be bored out of her mind in the English countryside. She’s letting her imagination run as wild as her silly horses.”
“Would you like me to bring Rachel over, Ah Ma, so that you can get to know her better?” Nick ventured.
“You know I won’t be able to stand all the craning necks if that happens. Why don’t you both just come to stay next week? It’s so silly to be staying at a hotel when your bedroom is waiting right here.”
Nick was thrilled to hear these words from his grandmother. He had her seal of approval now. “That would be wonderful, Ah Ma.”
In a corner of the darkened billiard room, Jacqueline was in the midst of a heated phone conversation with her daughter, Amanda, in New York. “Stop making excuses! I don’t give a damn what you told the press. Do what you have to do, but just make sure you’re back next week,” she fumed.
Jacqueline ended her call, looking out the window at the moonlit terrace. “I know you’re there, Oliver,” she said sharply, not turning around. Oliver emerged from the shadowy doorway and approached slowly.
“I can smell you from a mile away. You need to lay off the Blenheim Bouquet—you’re not the Prince of Wales.”
Oliver arched his eyebrows. “Aren’t we getting testy! Anyway, it’s quite clear to me that Nicholas is completely smitten. Don’t you think it’s a little too late for Amanda?”
“Not at all,” Jacqueline replied, carefully rearranging her hair. “As you yourself have often said, timing is everything.”
“I was talking about investing in art.”
“My daughter is an exquisite piece of art, is she not? She belongs only in the finest collection.”
“A collection you failed to become part of.”
“Fuck you, Oliver.”
“Chez toi ou chez moi?” Oliver naughtily arched an eyebrow as he sauntered out of the room.
In the Andalusian courtyard, Rachel allowed her eyes to close for a moment. The strums of the Chinese zither created a perfect melody with the trickling waters, and the flowers in turn seemed to be choreographing their bloom to the mellifluous sounds. Every time a breeze blew, the copper lanterns strung against the evening sky swayed like hundreds of glowing orbs adrift in a dark ocean. Rachel felt like she was floating along with them in some sybaritic dream, and she wondered if life with Nicholas would always be like this. Soon, the tan huas began to wilt just as swiftly and mysteriously as they had bloomed, filling the night air with an intoxicating scent as they shriveled into spent, lifeless petals.
* * *
* Banana fritters deep-fried in batter, a Malay delicacy. Some of the best goreng pisang used to be found in the school canteen of the Anglo-Chinese School and were often used by teachers (especially Mrs. Lau, my Chinese teacher) as a reward for good grades. Because of this, a whole generation of Singaporean boys from a certain social milieu have come to regard the snack as one of their ultimate comfort foods.
† Hokkien for “same kind” or “our own people,” usually used to refer to family or clan associations.
5
Astrid and Michael
SINGAPORE
Whenever her grandmother’s parties ran late, Astrid would normally opt to spend the night at Tyersall Park. She preferred not to wake Cassian if he was sleeping soundly, and she would head for the bedroom (just opposite from Nick’s) that had been set aside for her frequent visits since she was a little girl. Her adoring grandmother had created an enchanted emporium for her, commissioning whimsical hand-carved furniture from Italy and walls painted with scenes from her favorite fairy tale, “The Twelve Dancing Princesses.” Astrid still loved the occasional night spent in this childhood bedroom, cosseted by the most fantastical dolls, stuffed animals, and tea sets that money could buy.
Tonight, however, Astrid was determined to get home. Even though it was well past midnight, she swept Cassian into her arms, buckled him into his child seat, and headed for her apartment. She was desperate to know if Michael was back “from work” yet. She was kidding herself in thinking she could just look the other way while Michael carried on. She was not like those wives. She was not going to be a victim, like Eddie’s wife, Fiona. All these weeks of speculation and uncertainty had become a crushing weight on her, and she had to resolve this issue once and for all. She needed to see her husband with her own eyes. She needed to smell him. She needed to know whether there truly was another woman. Although, if she was being brutally honest with herself, she had known the truth ever since those four simple words flashed across his iPhone screen. This was the price she had to pay for falling for Michael. He was a man whom all women found irresistible.
SINGAPORE, 2004
The first time Astrid laid eyes on Michael, he was in a camouflage-print speedo. The sight of anyone over the age of ten in one of these banana hammocks was usually repellant to Astrid’s aesthetic sensibilities, but when Michael strutted down the runway in his Custo Barcelona speedo, his arm around an Amazonian girl clad in a sheer black Rosa Cha bathing suit and emerald necklace, Astrid was transfixed.
She had been dragged to Churchill Club for a charity fashion show organized by one of her Leong cousins and had sat bored stiff throughout the proceedings. For someone used to a front-row seat at Jean Paul Gaultier’s elaborate flights of stagecraft, this hastily constructed catwalk lit with yellow gels, fake palm fronds, and flashing strobe lights seemed like underfunded community theater.
But then Michael appeared, and suddenly everything went into slow motion. He was taller and bigger than most Asian men, with a gorgeous nut-brown tan that wasn’t the sort you could spray on at a salon. His severe military buzz cut served to accentuate a hawklike nose that seemed so incongruous to the rest of his face, it took on an overtly sexual quality. Then there were those piercing, deep-set eyes and the washboard abs rippling along his lean torso. He was only on the runway for less than thirty seconds, but she immediately recognized him a few weeks later at Andy Ong’s birthday party even though he was fully clothed in a V-neck T-shirt and faded gray jeans.
This time it was Michael who noticed her first. He was leaning against a ledge at the bottom of the garden at the Ong bungalow with Andy and some friends when Astrid appeared on the terrace in a long white linen dress with delicate lace cutouts. Here’s a girl who does no
t belong at this party, he thought to himself. The girl soon spotted the birthday boy, and made a beeline toward them, giving Andy a big hug. The guys around him stared openmouthed.
“Many happy returns!” she exclaimed, handing over a small present exquisitely wrapped in purple silk fabric.
“Aiyah, Astrid, um sai lah!”* Andy said.
“It’s just a little something I thought you’d like from Paris, that’s all.”
“So did you get that city totally out of your system? Back for good now?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Astrid said carefully.
The guys were all jockeying for position, so as reluctant as he was, Andy felt that it would be rude not to introduce them. “Astrid, allow me to introduce Lee Shen Wei, Michael Teo, and Terence Tan. All army buddies.”
Astrid smiled sweetly at everyone before fixing her gaze on Michael. “If I’m not mistaken, I’ve seen you in a speedo,” she said.
The guys were equal parts stunned and baffled by her statement. Michael just shook his head and laughed.
“Er … what is she talking about?” Shen Wei asked.
Astrid peered at Michael’s sculpted torso, which was clearly evident despite his loose T-shirt. “Yes, it was you, wasn’t it? At Churchill Club’s fashion show to benefit juvenile shopaholics?”
“Michael, you modeled in a fashion show?” Shen Wei said in disbelief.
“In a speedo?” Terence added.
“It was for charity. I got dragged into it!” Michael sputtered, his face turning beet red.
