by Kevin Kwan
Eddie glanced up the staircase and noticed Augustine coming down with Nick and Rachel. “YOU LITTLE SHIT!” he screamed.
“Eddie, control yourself!” Fiona admonished.
“I’m going to teach him a lesson he’ll never forget!” Incandescent with rage, Eddie began to storm up the stairs.
“Stop it, Eddie,” Fiona said, grabbing hold of his arm.
“You’re wrinkling my shirt, Fi!” Eddie scowled. “Like mother like son—”
“Eddie, you need to calm down. Just wear one of the other two tuxes you brought,” Fiona said in a measured tone.
“Don’t be stupid! I’ve already worn both of those the past two nights. I had everything perfectly planned until this little bastard came along! Stop hiding, you little bastard! Be a man and accept your punishment!” Eddie broke free from his wife and lunged toward the boy with his right arm outstretched.
Augustine whimpered, cowering behind Nick. “Eddie, you’re not really going to hit your six-year-old son over a harmless accident, are you?” Nick said lightheartedly.
“Harmless? Fucky fuck, he’s ruined everything! The monochromatic fashion statement I was planning for the whole family is RUINED because of him!”
“And you’ve just ruined the whole trip for me!” Fiona suddenly blurted out. “I’m so sick of all this. Why is it so damn important for us to look picture-perfect every time we walk out the door? Who exactly are you trying to impress? The photographers? The readers of Hong Kong Tattle? You really care so much about them that you’d rather hit your own son over an accident that you caused in the first place by screaming at him for wearing the wrong cummerbund?”
“But, but …” Eddie sputtered in protest.
Fiona turned to Nick, her serene expression returning. “Nick, can my children and I ride with you to the ball?”
“Er … if you’d like,” Nick said cautiously, not wanting to further incite his cousin.
“Good. I have no desire to be seen with a tyrant.” Fiona took Augustine by the hand and started up the stairs. She paused for a moment as she passed Rachel. “You look amazing in that dress. But you know what? It needs something.” Fiona proceeded to take off the sapphire-and-diamond choker she had just been given by Su Yi and placed it around Rachel’s neck. “Now the outfit looks complete. I insist that you borrow it for tonight.”
“You’re too kind, but what will you wear?” Rachel asked in astonishment.
“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Fiona said, giving her husband a dark stare. “I’m not going to be wearing a single piece of jewelry tonight. I was born a Tung, and I have nothing to prove to anyone.”
* * *
* Also known as “thousand-layer cake,” this decadently buttery cake with dozens of thin golden stripes is created by baking each layer of batter separately. Extremely laborious, but sinfully good.
† Cantonese for “don’t be formal.”
‡ Mandarin for “heavens!”
7
Pasir Panjang Road
SINGAPORE
“Never, never let young people plan their own weddings, because this is what you end up with!” Mrs. Lee Yong Chien fumed to Puan Sri Mavis Oon. They were standing in the middle of an enormous warehouse in the Keppel Shipyard along with seven hundred other VIPs and VVIPs, utterly baffled by the Cuban band dressed in forties Tropicana splendor on the stage. People like Mrs. Lee were used to only one kind of Chinese wedding banquet—the kind that took place in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel. There would be the gorging on salted peanuts during the interminable wait for the fourteen-course dinner to begin, the melting ice sculptures, the outlandish floral centerpieces, the society matron invariably offended by the faraway table she had been placed at, the entrance of the bride, the malfunctioning smoke machine, the entrance of the bride again and again in five different gowns throughout the night, the crying child choking on a fish ball, the three dozen speeches by politicians, token ang mor executives and assorted high-ranking officials of no relation to the wedding couple, the cutting of the twelve-tier cake, someone’s mistress making a scene, the not so subtle counting of wedding cash envelopes by some cousin,* the ghastly Canto pop star flown in from Hong Kong to scream some pop song (a chance for the older crowd to take an extended toilet break), the distribution of tiny wedding fruitcakes with white icing in paper boxes to all the departing guests, and then Yum seng!†—the whole affair would be over and everyone would make the mad dash to the hotel lobby to wait half an hour for their car and driver to make it through the traffic jam.
Tonight, however, there was none of that. There was just an industrial space with waiters bearing mojitos and a woman with short, slicked-back hair in a white tuxedo belting out “Besame Mucho.” Glancing around, Rachel was amused by the looks of bafflement on the faces of the arriving guests decked out in their most ostentatious finery.
“These women really brought out the big guns tonight, didn’t they?” Rachel whispered to Nick as she eyed a woman sporting a cape of metallic-gold feathers.
“Sure looks like it! Was that Queen Nefertiti who just walked by?” Nick joked.
“Shut your mouth, Nicholas—that’s Patsy Wang. She’s a Hong Kong socialite renowned for her avant-garde style. There are dozens of blogs out there devoted to her,” Oliver commented.
“Who’s the guy with her? The one in the diamond-studded jacket who looks like he’s wearing eye shadow?” Rachel queried.
“That’s her husband, Adam, and he is wearing eye shadow,” Oliver answered.
“They’re married? Really?” Rachel raised a doubting eyebrow.
“Yes, and they even have three children to prove it. You have to understand, many Hong Kong men revel in being fashionistas—they are dandies in the truest sense of the word. How flamboyantly dressed they might be is no indication of which team they play on.”
“Fascinating,” Rachel said.
“You can always tell Singapore men from Hong Kong men,” Nick chimed in. “We’re the ones dressed like we’re still wearing our school uniforms, while they look more like—”
“David Bowie impersonators,” Oliver finished.
“Thanks, Ollie. I was going to go with Elton John.” Nick chuckled.
As if on cue, the lights in the warehouse dimmed and the loading-dock doors behind the stage began to rise, revealing a line of sleek white ferries waiting harborside. Flaming torches lit the way to the pier, and a line of men dressed in Swedish sailor outfits stood ready to guide the guests onto the ferries. The crowd roared in approval.
“The other shoe drops,” Oliver said gleefully.
“Where do you think we’re going?” Rachel asked.
“You’ll soon see,” Nick said with a wink.
As the guests streamed onto the pier, Astrid made sure to board the ferry carrying a mix of international guests rather than the one filled with her nosy relatives. She had already been asked “Where’s Michael?” too many times and was sick of parroting new variations of her excuse. As she leaned against the railing at the back of the ferry, peering at the frothy waves as the vessel pulled away from the embankment, she felt someone staring at her. She turned to see Charlie Wu, her old flame, on the upper deck. Charlie flushed bright red when he realized he’d been caught staring. He hesitated for a moment, and then decided to come downstairs.
“Long time no see,” he said as nonchalantly as possible. In fact, it had been almost ten years since that fateful day when Astrid had thrown a Frosty in his face outside of the old Wendy’s on Orchard Road.
“Yes,” Astrid said with an apologetic smile. She assessed him for a moment, thinking that he looked better with a little age on him. Those rimless glasses suited him, his gangly frame had filled out, and the once problematic acne scarring now gave his face a finely weathered look. “How’s life treating you? You moved to Hong Kong a few years ago, didn’t you?”
“I can’t complain. Too busy with work, but isn’t that the case with everyone?” Charlie mused.
&nb
sp; “Well, not everyone owns the largest digital technology company in Asia. Aren’t they calling you the Asian Steve Jobs these days?”
“Yeah, unfortunately. Impossible shoes to fill.” Charlie looked at her again, unsure of what to say. She looked more exquisite than ever in that chartreuse cheongsam. Funny how you could be so intimate with someone for so many years, and yet feel so painfully awkward around them now. “So I hear you got married to some hotshot army guy, and you have a son.”
“Yes, Cassian … he’s three,” Astrid replied, adding preemptively, “and my husband works in the tech industry like you now. He had to run off to China at the last minute to handle some huge system meltdown. And you have a son and a daughter, don’t you?”
“No, two daughters. Still no boy yet, much to my mother’s dismay. But my brother Rob has three boys, which keeps her placated for the time being.”
“And your wife? Is she here tonight?” Astrid asked.
“No, no, I’m the only one flying the flag for my family. You know, they only invited eight hundred and eighty-eight guests, so I hear that unless you were family, a head of state, or a member of royalty, your spouse didn’t get invited.”
“Is that so?” Astrid laughed. I treated Charlie horribly. He didn’t deserve to be chucked aside like that, but everyone was putting so much pressure on me about marrying Wu Hao Lian’s son back in those days. There was an awkward silence, but they were thankfully saved by the gasps of astonishment from the crowd. The ferry was fast approaching one of the outlying islands, and coming into view was what looked like a crystal palace glowing in the middle of the dense forest. Charlie and Astrid stared in awe as the full complexity of the structure became apparent.
The cathedral-like banquet hall consisted of immense trapezoidal canopies of glass that were seemingly integrated into the tropical rain forest. Trees grew out from some of the glass panels, while others were contained within its dramatically angled panes. Intersecting the main structure were cantilevered terraces of varying heights, with a profusion of tropical vines and flowers spilling out over each terrace. The whole place looked like a futuristic Hanging Gardens of Babylon, and standing at the harbor promenade flanked by a row of travertine columns were Colin and Araminta, both dressed in white, waving to the arriving guests.
Astrid took one look at them and deadpanned in a Latin accent, “Welcome to Fantasy Island!”
Charlie laughed. He had forgotten her wacky sense of humor.
“I guess this is how you spend forty million on a wedding,” Astrid remarked drily.
“Oh, that thing costs way more than forty million,” Charlie said.
Araminta, in a pleated white chiffon-silk gown with long straps of hammered gold and diamond links that crisscrossed her bodice, greeted her guests. Her hair was piled high into a mound of intricate braids and festooned with diamonds, baroque pearls, and moonstones. As the gown billowed around her in the ocean breeze, she could have been mistaken for an Etruscan goddess. Standing at her side, looking a little worn out from the day’s festivities, was Colin in a white linen tuxedo.
Looking through the crowd, Araminta asked Colin, “Do you see your cousin Astrid anywhere?”
“I saw her brothers, but I haven’t spotted her yet,” Colin answered.
“Let me know the minute you spot her—I need to know what she’s wearing tonight!”
“I spy Astrid disembarking from the third ferry,” Colin reported.
“Alamak, she’s wearing a cheongsam! Why didn’t she wear one of her fabulous couture creations?” Araminta sighed.
“I think she looks lovely, and that cheongsam was probably handmade—”
“But I was waiting to see what designer she would turn up in! I go to all this trouble, and she doesn’t even bother to make the effort. What’s the whole fucking point of this wedding?” Araminta moaned.
When the last boatload of guests had disembarked, the illuminated crystalline façade of the banquet hall suddenly morphed into an intense shade of fuschia. Haunting New Age music boomed from the surrounding forest, and the trees were bathed in golden light. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, golden cords descended from the thick foliage. Wrapped cocoon-like in these cords were acrobats with bodies that had been painted gold. “Oh my goodness—I think it’s Cirque du Soleil!” the guests began murmuring excitedly. As the acrobats started to unfurl and spin around the cords as effortlessly as lemurs, the crowd broke into rapturous applause.
Kitty jumped up and down like a hyperactive child.
“You seem to be having a good time,” Oliver said, sidling up next to her and noticing that her breasts didn’t seem to jiggle naturally inside that lacey turquoise gown. He also noticed that she had a thin sheen of body glitter on. Bad combo, he thought.
“I love Cirque du Soleil! I’ve gone to every single one of their performances in Hong Kong. Now, I must have these acrobats at my wedding too.”
“My goodness, that will be costly,” Oliver said in exaggerated awe.
“Oh, Alistair can handle it,” Kitty replied breezily.
“You think so? I didn’t realize Alistair was doing that well in the movie business.”
“Hiyah, don’t you think his parents will pay for the wedding?” Kitty said as she stared at the gold-painted acrobats while they began to form a human arch.
“Are you kidding me?” Oliver lowered his voice, continuing, “Do you have any idea how cheap his mother is?”
“She is?”
“Haven’t you been to that flat of theirs on Robinson Road?”
“Er … no. I was never invited.”
“That’s probably because Alistair was too embarrassed to show it to you. It’s a very basic three-bedroom flat. Alistair had to share a bedroom with his brother until he went to college. I went to visit in 1991, and there were these yellow floral bath mats in the toilet. And when I went again last month, the yellow floral bath mats were still there, except that they are grayish floral now.”
“Really?” Kitty said in disbelief.
“Well, look at his mother. You think she wears those old eighties dresses on purpose? She wears them to save money.”
“But I thought Alistair’s father is a famous heart doctor?” Kitty was confused.
Oliver paused. Thank God she didn’t seem to know about the Chengs’ massive real estate holdings. “Do you have any idea how much malpractice insurance costs these days? Doctors don’t make as much money as you think. Do you know how much it costs to send three children to study overseas? Eddie went to Cambridge, Cecilia went to UBC,‡ and Alistair—well, you know how long Alistair took to graduate from Sydney University. The Chengs spent most of their savings on their children’s education.”
“I had no idea.”
“And you know how Malcolm is. He’s a traditional Cantonese man—what remaining money he has will all go to his eldest son.”
Kitty went quiet, and Oliver prayed he hadn’t laid it on too thick.
“But of course, I know none of that is important to you,” he added. “You’re in love, and you don’t really need Cirque du Soleil performing at your wedding, do you? I mean, you’ll get to stare at that cute puppy-dog face of Alistair’s every morning for the rest of your life. That’s worth all the money in the world, isn’t it?”
* * *
* The custom at Chinese weddings is for guests to contribute a cash gift meant to help defray the cost of the lavish banquet, and it is usually the task of some unfortunate second cousin to collect and keep track of all these cash-stuffed envelopes.
† The traditional Singaporean toast, which literally means “finish drinking.”
‡ University of British Columbia in Vancouver, commonly referred to by locals as “University of a Billion Chinese.”
8
Pulau Samsara
OFF THE SOUTHERN COAST OF SINGAPORE
At nine o’clock sharp, the wedding-ball attendees were led into the vast banquet hall set amid the indigenous tropical rain forest. Along the sou
th walls were archways that led to grotto-like alcoves, while the curved north wall consisted of a curtain of glass that overlooked a man-made lagoon and a dramatic waterfall tumbling over moss-covered boulders. All along the edge of the lagoon, a profusion of exotic flowers and plants seemed to glow in iridescent colors.
“Did they build all this just for the wedding banquet?” Carol Tai asked in astonishment.
“No, lah! Those Lees always have business on their mind—this building is the centerpiece of a new luxury eco-resort they are developing—Pulau Samsara, they’re calling it,” her husband revealed.
“What, are they going to try to sell us condos after the wedding cake is served?” Lorena Lim sniggered.
“They can give this resort some fancy new name, but I know for a fact the island used to be called Pulau Hantu—‘Ghost Island.’ It was one of the outlying islands where the Japanese soldiers took all the young able-bodied Chinese men and had them shot during World War II. This island is haunted with ghosts of the war dead,” Daisy Foo whispered.
“Alamak, Daisy, if you truly have faith in the Lord, you won’t believe in such things as ghosts!” Carol admonished.
“Well, what about the Holy Ghost, Carol? Isn’t he a ghost too?” Daisy retorted.
Minutes after Rachel and Nick were seated, the dinner began with military precision as a battalion of waiters marched in with glowing LED-domed trays. The engraved menu card indicated that it was Giant South Sea Scallop Consommé with Washington State Ginseng Vapors and Black Mushrooms,* but Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to do when the white-gloved waiter at her side lifted the shimmering dome off her plate. In front of her was a bowl, but encasing the surface of the bowl was what appeared to be a pinkish, membrane-like bubble that wobbled on its own accord.
