Crazy Rich Asians

by Kevin Kwan

  “What the fuck! I’m a VVIP here, and I booked the most expensive suite in this entire hotel almost a week ago. How can it not be ready?” Bernard raged to the manager.

  “I do apologize, Mr. Tai. Checkout time for the Presidential Penthouse is four o’clock, so the previous guests have not yet vacated the room. But as soon as they do, we’ll have the suite serviced and turned around for you in no time at all,” the manager said.

  “Who are these bastards? I’ll bet they’re Hongkies! Those ya yaa Hongkies always think they own the world!”

  The manager never broke his smile throughout Bernard’s tirade. He didn’t want to do anything to jeopardize the business of Dato’ Tai Toh Lui’s son—the boy was such a bloody brilliant loser at the baccarat tables. “Some of the grand salon suites reserved for your party are ready. Please allow me to escort you there with a few bottles of your favorite Cristal.”

  “I’m not going to dirty my Tod’s setting foot in one of those rat holes! I want my duplex or nothing,” Bernard said petulantly.

  “Bernard, why don’t we visit the casino first?” Colin calmly suggested. “It’s what we would have done anyway.”

  “I’ll go to the casino, but you guys need to give us the best private VVIP gambling salon right now,” Bernard demanded of the manager.

  “Of course, of course. We always have our most exclusive gaming salon available to you, Mr. Tai,” the manager said deftly.

  Just then, Alistair Cheng wandered into the lobby, looking slightly disheveled.

  “Alistair, so glad you found us!” Colin greeted him heartily.

  “Told you it wouldn’t be a problem. Hong Kong’s just thirty minutes away by hydrofoil, and I know Macau like the back of my hand—I used to skip school and come here all the time with my classmates,” Alistair said. He caught sight of Nick and went over to give him a hug.

  “Aiyoh, how sweet. Is this your boyfriend, Nickyboy?” Bernard said mockingly.

  “Alistair’s my cousin,” Nick replied.

  “So you guys played with each other’s cocks while growing up,” Bernard taunted, laughing at his own joke.

  Nick ignored him, wondering how it was possible that Bernard hadn’t changed one bit since they were in primary school. He turned back to his cousin and said, “Hey, I thought you were coming to visit me in New York this spring. What happened?”

  “A girl happened, Nick.”

  “Really? Who’s the lucky girl?”

  “Her name’s Kitty. She’s an amazingly talented actress from Taiwan. You’ll meet her next week—I’m bringing her to Colin’s wedding.”

  “Wow, I can’t wait to meet the girl who finally stole the heart-breaker’s heart,” Nick teased. Alistair was just twenty-six, but his baby-face good looks and laid-back persona had already made him renowned for leaving a trail of broken hearts all over the Pacific Rim. (Aside from ex-girlfriends in Hong Kong, Singapore, Thailand, Taipei, Shanghai, and one summer fling in Vancouver, a diplomat’s daughter at his college in Sydney famously became so obsessed that she attempted to overdose on Benadryl just to get his attention.)

  “Hey, I heard you brought your girlfriend to Singapore too,” Alistair said.

  “Word travels fast, doesn’t it?”

  “My mum heard it from Radio One Asia.”

  “You know, I’m beginning to suspect that Cassandra has me under surveillance,” Nick said wryly.

  The group entered the sprawling casino where the gaming tables seemed to glow with a peachy, golden light. Colin crossed the opulent sea anemone–patterned carpet and approached the Texas hold ’em table. “Colin, the VIP salons are this way,” Bernard said, trying to steer Colin toward the sumptuous salons reserved for high rollers.

  “But it’s more fun to play five-dollar poker,” Colin argued.

  “No, no, we’re moguls, man! I created that whole scene with the manager just so we could score the best VIP room. Why would you want to mix with all these smelly Mainlanders out here?” Bernard said.

  “Let me just play a couple of rounds here and then we’ll go to the VIP room, okay?” Colin pleaded.

  “I’ll join you, Colin,” Alistair said, sliding into a seat.

  Bernard smiled tightly, looking like a rabid Boston terrier. “Well I’m going to our VIP room. I can’t play at these kiddie tables—I only get hard when I’m betting at least thirty thousand per hand,” he said with a sniff. “Who’s with me?” Most of Bernard’s entourage peeled off with him, with the exception of Nick, Mehmet, and Lionel. Colin’s face clouded over.

  Nick took the other seat beside Colin. “I have to warn you guys, two years in New York has made me quite a cardsharp. Prepare to be schooled by the master … Colin, remind me what game this is?” he said, trying to lighten the mood. As the dealer began to expertly flick the cards across the table, Nick quietly fumed. Bernard had always been a troublemaker. Why should things be any different this weekend?

  SINGAPORE, 1986

  It all happened so fast, the next thing Nick remembered was the feeling of cold damp mud against his neck and a strange face looking down on him. Dark skin, freckles, a shock of brownish-black hair.

  “Are you okay?” the dark boy asked.

  “I think so,” Nick said, his vision coming back into focus. His entire back was soaked in muddy water from being pushed into the ditch. He got up slowly and looked around to see Bernard leering at him, red-faced, arms crossed like an angry old man.

  “I’m going to tell your mum that you hit me!” Bernard shouted at the boy.

  “And I’m going to tell your mum that you’re a bully. Plus, I didn’t hit you—I just pushed you away,” the boy replied.

  “It was none of your bloody business! I’m trying to teach this little dick here a lesson!” Bernard seethed.

  “I saw the way you shoved him into the ditch. You could have really hurt him. Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” the boy replied calmly, not the least intimidated by Bernard.

  At that point, a metallic-gold Mercedes limousine pulled up to the driveway outside the school. Bernard glanced at the car briefly, and then turned back to Nick. “This isn’t over. Get ready for part two tomorrow—I’m really going to hun tumb you!” He got into the backseat of the car, slammed the door, and was driven away.

  The boy who had come to Nick’s rescue looked at him and said, “You okay? Your elbow’s bleeding.”

  Nick looked down and noticed the bloody scrape on his right elbow. He wasn’t sure what to do about it. At any moment, one of his parents could arrive to pick him up, and if it happened to be his mother, he knew she would get all gan cheongc if she saw him bleeding like this. The boy took a white, perfectly folded handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to Nick. “Here, use this,” he said.

  Nick took the handkerchief from his rescuer and held it to his elbow. He had seen this boy around. Colin Khoo. He had transferred in this semester, and he was hard to miss, with his deep-caramel skin and wavy hair with the strange light brown streak in the front. They weren’t in the same class, but Nick had noticed during PE that the boy had swim practice alone with Coach Lee.

  “What did you do to piss off Bernard so much?” Colin asked.

  Nick had never heard someone use the term “piss off” before, but he knew what it meant. “I caught him trying to cheat off my maths test, so I told Miss Ng. He got in trouble and was sent to Vice Principal Chia’s office, so now he wants to pick a fight.”

  “Bernard tries to pick a fight with everyone,” Colin said.

  “Are you good friends with him?” Nick asked carefully.

  “Not really. His father does business with my family, so I’m told I have to be nice to him,” Colin said. “But to tell you the truth, I can’t really stand him.”

  Nick smiled. “Whew! For a second I thought Bernard actually had one friend!”

  Colin laughed.

  “Is it true you’re from America?” Nick asked.

  “I was born here, but I moved to Los Ang
eles when I was two.”

  “What’s LA like? Did you live in Hollywood?” Nick asked. He had never met anyone his age who had lived in America.

  “Not Hollywood. But we weren’t very far—we lived in Bel Air.”

  “I’d like to visit Universal Studios. Did you ever see famous movie stars?”

  “All the time. It’s no big deal when you live there.” Colin looked at Nick, as if assessing him for a moment, before continuing. “I’m going to tell you something, but first you have to swear not to tell anyone.”

  “Okay. Sure,” Nick replied earnestly.

  “Say, ‘I swear.’ ”

  “I swear.”

  “Have you heard of Sylvester Stallone?”

  “Of course!”

  “He was my neighbor,” Colin said, almost in a whisper.

  “Come on, that’s bullshit,” Nick said.

  “I’m not bullshitting you. It’s the truth. I have a signed photo from Stallone in my bedroom,” Colin said.

  Nick jumped up onto the metal guardrail in front of the ditch, balancing himself nimbly on the thin railing as he moved back and forth like a tightrope walker.

  “Why are you here so late?” Colin inquired.

  “I’m always here late. My parents are so busy, sometimes they forget to pick me up. Why are you here?”

  “I had to take a special test in Mandarin. They don’t think I’m good enough, even though I took classes every day in LA.”

  “I suck at Mandarin too. It’s my least favorite subject.”

  “Join the club,” Colin said, jumping up onto the railing with him. Just then, a large black vintage car pulled up. Ensconced in the backseat was the most curious woman Nick had ever seen. She was rotund with the most immense double chin, probably in her sixties, dressed entirely in black with a black hat and a black veil over her face, which was powdered an extreme shade of white. She looked like an apparition straight out of a silent film.

  “Here’s my ride,” Colin said excitedly. “See you later.” The uniformed chauffeur got out and opened the door for Colin. Nick noticed that the car door opened opposite from the way other cars normally did—outward from the end nearest to the driver’s door. Colin climbed in beside the woman, who bent down to kiss him on the cheek. He looked out of the window at Nick, clearly embarrassed that Nick had witnessed this scene. The woman pointed at Nick, talking to Colin while the car idled. A moment later, Colin jumped out of the car again.

  “My grandma wants to know if you need a ride home,” Colin asked.

  “No, no, my parents are on their way,” Nick replied. Colin’s grandmother rolled down the window and beckoned Nick to come closer. Nick approached hesitantly. The old lady looked pretty scary.

  “It’s almost seven o’clock. Who’s coming to fetch you?” she asked in concern, noticing that it was already getting dark.

  “Probably my dad,” Nick said.

  “Well, it’s far too late for you to be waiting here all by yourself. What is your daddy’s name?”

  “Philip Young.”

  “Good gracious, Philip Young—James’s boy! Is Sir James Young your grandfather?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “I know your family very well. I know all your aunties—Victoria, Felicity, Alix—and Harry Leong’s your uncle. Why, we’re practically family! I’m Winifred Khoo. Don’t you live at Tyersall Park?”

  “My parents and I moved to Tudor Close last year,” Nick replied.

  “That’s very close to us. We live on Berrima Road. Come, let me call your parents just to make sure they are on their way,” she said, reaching for the car phone on the console in front of her. “Do you know your telephone number, dearie?”

  Colin’s grandmother made fast work of it, and soon discovered from the maid that Mrs. Young had unexpectedly jetted off to Switzerland that afternoon, while Mr. Young was held up by a work emergency. “Please call Mr. Young at work and tell him that Winifred Khoo is going to be sending Master Nicholas home,” she said. Before Nick knew what was happening, he found himself inside the Bentley Mark VI, sandwiched between Colin and the well-cushioned lady in the black veiled hat.

  “Did you know your mother was going away today?” Winifred asked.

  “No, but she does that a lot,” Nick replied softly.

  That Eleanor Young! So irresponsible! How on earth Shang Su Yi ever allowed her son to marry one of those Sung girls, I will never understand, Winifred thought. She turned to the boy and smiled at him. “What a coincidence! I’m so glad that you and Colin are friends.”

  “We just met,” Colin interjected.

  “Colin, don’t be rude! Nicholas is a classmate of yours, and we’ve known his family for a long time. Of course you are friends.” She looked at Nick, smiled her gum-baring smile, and continued. “Colin has made so few friends since moving back to Singapore, and he’s rather lonely, so we must arrange for you to play together.”

  Colin and Nick sat there completely mortified, but in their own ways rather relieved. Colin was astonished by how friendly his normally disapproving grandmother was being toward Nick, especially since she had previously forbidden any guests at their house. He had recently tried to invite a boy from St. Andrew’s over after a swim meet and had been disappointed when his grandmama told him, “Colin, we can’t have just anyone over, you know. We must know who the family is first. This isn’t like California—you have to be so very careful about what sort of people you associate with here.”

  As for Nick, he was just glad to be getting a ride home and excited that he might soon discover whether Colin really had an autographed photo of Rambo.

  * * *

  * The Singlish equivalent of “faggot” or “fairy” (Hokkien).

  † With 1.5 billion eager gamblers on the Mainland, the annual gambling revenue of Macau exceeds $20 billion—that’s three times more than what Las Vegas takes in every year. (Celine Dion, where are you?)

  ‡ Malay slang term used to denote an experience that is amazing or something (usually food) that’s out of this world.

  § Racial slur for a Sikh person, used in this instance to refer to anyone of Middle Eastern origins.

  ‖ Hokkien for “oh penis.” This extremely popular and versatile term can be used—depending on the tone—to convey anything from “oh wow” to “oh fuck.”

  a Singlish slang of Javanese origin meaning “arrogant,” “show-off.”

  b Malay slang meaning to pummel, beat up, or basically kick someone’s ass.

  c Cantonese for “panicky,” “anxious.”

  10

  Eddie, Fiona, and the Children

  HONG KONG

  Eddie sat on the fleur-de-lis-patterned carpet of his dressing room, carefully unwrapping the tuxedo that had just arrived from Italy, which he had ordered especially for Colin’s wedding. He took extra care to peel off the embossed sticker from the tissue-like wrapping paper that covered the large garment box, as he liked to save all the stickers and labels from his designer clothes in his Smythson leather scrapbook, and slowly eased the garment bag out of its box.

  The first thing he did was try on the midnight-blue trousers. Fucky fuck, they were too tight! He tried fastening the button at the waist, but no matter how much he sucked his gut in, the damn thing wouldn’t button. He took the trousers off in a huff and scrutinized the size label sewn into the lining. It read “90,” which seemed correct, since his waistline was thirty-six inches. Could he have put on so much weight in just three months? No way. Those fucking Italians must have screwed up the measurements. So bloody typical. They made beautiful things, but there was always some problem or other, like the Lamborghini he once had. Thank God he got rid of that pile of cow dung and bought the Aston Martin. He would call Felix at Caraceni first thing tomorrow and tear him a new asshole. They needed to fix this before he left for Singapore next week.

  He stood by the mirrored wall in nothing but his white dress shirt, black socks, and white briefs, and gingerly put on the double-breasted
tuxedo jacket. Thank God, at least the jacket fit nicely. He buttoned the top button of the jacket and found to his dismay that the fabric pulled a little against his belly.

  He walked over to the intercom system, pushed a button, and bellowed, “Fi! Fi! Come to my dressing room now!” A few moments later, Fiona entered the room, wearing just a black slip and her padded bedroom slippers. “Fi, is this jacket too tight?” he asked, buttoning the jacket again and moving his elbows around like a goose flapping its wings to test the sleeves.

  “Stop moving your arms and I’ll tell you,” she said.

  He put his arms down but kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, impatiently awaiting her verdict.

  “It’s definitely too tight,” she said. “Just look at the back. It’s pulling at the center seam. You’ve put on weight, Eddie.”

  “Rubbish! I’ve hardly gained a pound in the last few months, and definitely not since they took my measurements for this suit back in March.”

  Fiona just stood there, not wanting to argue with him over the obvious.

  “Are the children ready for inspection?” Eddie asked.

  “I’m trying to get them dressed right now.”

  “Tell them they have five more minutes. Russell Wing is coming over at three to take some family pictures of us in the wedding clothes. Orange Daily might do a feature on our family attending the wedding.”

  “You didn’t tell me Russell is coming over today!”

  “I just remembered. I called him only yesterday. You can’t expect me to remember everything when I have much more important matters on my mind, can you?”

  “But you need to give me more time to prepare for a photo shoot. Don’t you remember what happened the last time when they shot us for Hong Kong Tattle?”

  “Well, I’m telling you now. So stop wasting time and go get ready.”

  Constantine, Augustine, and Kalliste stood obediently in a straight line in the middle of the sunken formal living room, all dressed up in their new outfits from Ralph Lauren Kids. Eddie sprawled on the plush velvet brocade sofa, inspecting each of his children, while Fiona, the Chinese maid, and one of the Filipino nannies hovered close by. “Augustine, I think you should wear your Gucci loafers with that outfit and not those Bally moccasins.”