by Kevin Kwan
“You must have the first pork and crabmeat dumpling,” Carlton said as he deftly placed one onto Rachel’s porcelain spoon. Rachel nibbled carefully on the side of her dumpling, slurping most of the flavorful broth inside before downing the rest of the succulent meat.
“Did you see that? Rachel eats her soup dumplings exactly like Carlton does!” Colette said excitedly.
“Score one for genetics!” Nick quipped. “Well, Rachel, what’s the verdict?”
“Oh my God, that’s the best xiao long bao I’ve ever had! The broth is so light and yet so intense. I can probably eat about a dozen of these—they’re like crack cocaine,” Rachel said.
“You must be famished,” Colette said.
“Actually we snacked a little earlier—which reminds me, Carlton, thank you so much for all the gifts!”
“Gifts? Not sure I know what you mean,” Carlton said.
“The boxes of food from Daylesford Organic?”
“Oh, that was from me!” Colette interjected.
“Really? Wow, thank you!” Rachel replied in surprise.
“Yes—when I heard that Carlton’s father had arranged for you to stay at a hotel at the very last minute, I thought, ‘Poor things! They’ll starve at the Peninsula! They are going to need provisions.’ ”
“So the hotel was a last-minute thing?” Nick inquired.
Colette pursed her lips, realizing she had made a slipup.
Carlton quickly came to the rescue. “Er…no…I mean, my father likes to plan things very far in advance, so this was rather last-minute by comparison. He wanted the two of you to have a special honeymoon treat.”
“So did you like the goodies I sent up?” Colette asked.
“Oh, very much. I especially love Daylesford’s marmalade,” Nick said.
“Me too—I’ve been addicted ever since my days at Heathfield,” Colette said.
“You were at Heathfield? I was at Stowe,” Nick said.
“Phwoar! I’m an Old Stoic too!” Carlton pounded the table excitedly.
“I guessed as much. Your blazer was a dead giveaway,” Nick said with a laugh.
“Which house were you in?” Carlton asked.
“Grenville.”
“This is too much of a coincidence! Who was the housemaster? Was it Fletcher?”
“Chitty. You can imagine our nickname for him.”
“Haha—brilliant! Did you play rugby or cricket?”
Colette rolled her eyes at Rachel. “I think we’ve lost the boys for the rest of the night.”
“Clearly. Nick’s like this when he gets together with his Singapore classmates too. A few more drinks and they’ll start singing that song about Old Man whatshisname.”*1
Carlton shifted his attention back to Rachel. “I’m being a terrible bore, aren’t I? I take it you went to school in the States?”
“Monta Vista High in Cupertino.”
“You’re so lucky!” Colette said. “I was shipped away to school in England by my parents, but I always dreamed of going to high school in America. I wanted to be just like Marissa Cooper.”
“Minus the car wreck, of course,” Carlton chimed in.*2
“Speaking of which, I’m glad to see how well you are after your accident,” Nick said.
Carlton’s face clouded over for a split second. “Thanks. You know, I must tell you how grateful I am to your mother. I don’t think I would have made such a quick recovery if I hadn’t done my rehab in Singapore, and of course, if it hadn’t been for your mum, none of us would have ever met.”
“Things have a strange way of working out, don’t they?” Nick said.
As if on cue, Colette’s personal assistant entered the room and announced, “Baptiste is here.”
“At last! Send him in,” Colette said excitedly.
“Baptiste is one of the top sommeliers in the world—he used to work at the Crillon in Paris,” Carlton whispered to Rachel, as a man with a handlebar mustache entered the dining room bearing a wine satchel with such ceremony, one might have thought he was carrying a royal baby to its baptismal font.
“Baptiste! Did you find the right bottle?” Colette asked.
“Yes, Château Lafite Rothschild from the Shanghai private reserve,” Baptiste replied, presenting the bottle to Colette for inspection.
“I usually prefer the even years for Bordeaux, but you’ll notice that I chose a very special year—1981. Isn’t that the year you were born, Rachel?”
“It sure is,” Rachel said, touched by Colette’s thoughtfulness.
“Allow me to make the first toast,” Colette said, raising her glass. “Here in China, it’s so rare for kids of our generation to have siblings. I have always dreamed of having a sibling, but I’ve never been so lucky. I’ve known Carlton for several years now, but I’ve never seen him more excited than the day he discovered he had a sister. So here’s to the both of you—Carlton and Rachel. Brother and sister!”
“Here, here!” Nick cheered.
Carlton stood up next and declared, “First, I want to make a toast to Rachel. I’m glad you made it here safely, and I look forward to getting to know you and catching up on all the lost years. And to Colette—thank you for making this wonderful evening possible. I’m so glad you kicked my arse in gear and made me do this. Tonight I feel like I’ve gained not just a sister but a brother too. So here’s to Rachel and Nick! Welcome to China! We’re going to have a brilliant summer, aren’t we?”
Nick wondered what Carlton had meant by Colette “kicking his arse in gear,” but he said nothing for the moment. He looked over tenderly at Rachel, whose eyes brimmed with tears. This evening had turned out far better than he ever dared to dream.
* * *
*1 ACS Old Boys, all together now: “In days of yore from western shores, Oldham dauntless hero came…”
*2 See The O.C., season three. If you ask me, the show jumped the shark after its heroine, Marissa Cooper, played by the incomparable Mischa Barton, was (spoiler alert!) misguidedly killed off in a car accident.
5
CHARLIE
WUTHERING TOWERS, HONG KONG
“Mr. Wu? It’s 9:00 a.m. in Italy now,” Charlie’s executive assistant said, poking her head into his office.
“Thanks, Alice.” Charlie reached for his ultra-private phone line and called Astrid’s cell phone. She picked up after three rings.
“Charlie! Oh my God—thanks for calling me back.”
“Am I calling too early?”
“No, I’ve been up for hours. I guess you heard about last night?”
“Yes—I am so sorry—” Charlie began.
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said a thing to Isabel.”
“Nonsense—I’m the one who screwed up. I should have communicated better with my wife.”
“So you talked to her? Did you explain that my cousin Alistair was with us the whole time in California?”
Charlie paused for a few seconds. “I did. Don’t worry about it anymore.”
“Are you sure? I couldn’t sleep at all last night—I kept imagining that I had gotten you into trouble and that Isabel thought I was some philandering home wrecker. I was trying to find ways to contact her myself.”
“Everything’s fine. Once I explained how our California road trip was last-minute—that we all just happened to be there at the same time—she was fine.” He wondered how convincing he sounded.
“I hope you told her that the most romantic thing that happened was watching Alistair projectile vomit out the car window after stuffing down too many In-N-Out burgers.”
“I left that part out, but don’t worry—it’s all good,” Charlie said, trying to add a little laugh.
Astrid let out a deep sigh of relief. “I’m so glad. You know, I should have been more circumspect. After all, she was meeting me for the first time, and I am the woman who—” She paused, suddenly unsure of how to put it.
“You’re the woman who dumped her husband,” Charlie said matter-of-factl
y.
“Yes, that’s right. I hope she knows that we’re much better friends now than we ever could have been before. My God, we were a terrible couple,” Astrid said with a laugh.
“I think she realizes that now,” Charlie said cautiously. He desperately wanted to change the subject. “So how’s Venice? Where are you staying?”
“I’m staying with Domiella Finzi-Contini. Her family has the most spectacular palazzo near Santa Croce—I walked onto my balcony this morning and thought I had stepped into a Caravaggio. Do you remember Domiella from our London days? She was at LSE, but part of that whole crazy set that ran around with Freddie and Xan.”
“Ah yes—messy blond hair, right?”
“It was platinum blond then, but she’s back to her natural chestnut now. Anyway, we were having the most marvelous time together until last night.”
Charlie groaned audibly. “I’m sorry again.”
“No, no, it’s nothing to do with Isabel. There’s another drama brewing back home—I have two stubborn boys who are refusing to behave.”
“They probably miss Mommy.”
“Now, don’t you start on me too! I feel bad enough as it is that Cassian’s getting locked up in a closet.”
“Who locked him in a closet?”
“His father.”
“What?” Charlie said incredulously.
“For four hours yesterday, apparently. And he’s only five.”
“Astrid, I would never lock my child in a closet, no matter what age.”
“Thank you. My feelings exactly. I think I need to cut this trip short.”
“Um, sure sounds like it!”
Astrid sighed. “When is Isabel coming home?”
“Friday, I think.”
“She’s incredibly beautiful. She looked so elegant last night—I adored the necklace she was wearing. And she was perfectly civil to me even after I must have given her quite a shock. I’m so glad everything’s okay now.”
“I am too,” Charlie said, forcing himself to smile. He heard somewhere that people could sense the smile in your voice, even over the phone.
Astrid paused. She felt she needed to make one more gesture to make up for her faux pas. “The next time Michael and I are in Hong Kong, we should go on a double date. I want to get to know Isabel under better circumstances.”
“Yes, we should do that. A double date.”
Charlie ended the conversation and got up laboriously from his desk. He was light-headed, and his stomach suddenly felt like someone had poured a gallon of bacon grease into it.
“Alice, I’m just going to pop downstairs for some fresh air,” Charlie said into the intercom. He took his private express elevator to the lower street level and walked through the parking garage toward a side exit door. The moment he was outside, he leaned against the concrete wall and began inhaling and exhaling deeply. After a few minutes, he lumbered toward his favorite spot.
Sandwiched between Wuthering Towers and its neighboring skyscraper on Chater Road was a pedestrian alleyway where there was a small makeshift drink stand. A blue-and-white-striped plastic tarp stretched over the stall, anchored by two refrigerator units filled with soft drinks, packet juices, and fresh fruit. Under the single tube of fluorescent lighting was the owner, a middle-aged woman who stood all day preparing fresh soybean milk and juicing oranges, pineapples, and watermelons. There was always a queue during lunchtime and in the evenings when people left work, but in midafternoon, it was quiet.
“Playing hooky again?” the woman asked, teasing Charlie in Cantonese. She knew him as the office worker who always came down from one of the buildings for a drink at odd hours.
“Every chance I get, auntie.”
“I worry for you, son—you take too many breaks. One day your boss is going to find you here and fire your ass.”
Charlie cracked a smile. She was the one person in the vicinity that had no idea who he was, let alone that he owned the fifty-five-story tower that shaded her all day long. “Can I get a cold soybean milk, please?”
“Your color is no good today. Why are you as pale as a ghost? You shouldn’t be drinking anything cold—you need something hot to help awaken your chi.”
“I get like this sometimes, when I’m feeling a bit overworked,” Charlie explained rather unconvincingly.
“You spend all day in air-conditioning. Bad recycled air. That’s no good for you too,” the woman continued. Her cell phone rang, and she began jabbering for a few minutes. While she spoke, she poured some hot water into a FIFA World Cup mug and filled it with a few slices of ginseng root. Then she stirred a few spoonfuls of grass jelly and sugar syrup into the concoction. “Drink this!” she ordered.
“Thanks, auntie,” Charlie said, sitting on the plastic milk crate by a little folding Formica table. He took a few measured sips, too polite to tell her he didn’t care much for grass jelly.
The woman finished her call and said excitedly, “That was my stockbroker. Here, let me give you a hot tip. You must start shorting TTL Holdings. You know TTL? Owned by Tai Toh Lui, that fellow who dropped dead of a heart attack two years ago in a brothel in Suzhou? My stockbroker knows for a fact that his good-for-nothing son who inherited the empire has been kidnapped by the Eleven Finger Triad. Once everyone finds out, the shares will collapse. You should start shorting it now.”
“You should let me check on that rumor before you start shorting,” Charlie advised.
“Hiyah, I already told my broker to start shorting. If I don’t jump on it, I won’t make any money.”
Charlie took out his cell phone and called his chief financial officer, Aaron Shek. “Hey, Aaron—I know you’re golfing buddies with the CEO of TTL. There’s some rumor going around that Bernard has been kidnapped by the Eleven Finger Triad. Can you please check on that for me? What do you mean there’s no need?” Charlie paused for a moment to listen to Aaron, and then burst into laughter. “Are you sure? Man, that’s way better than the kidnapping rumor, but if that’s what you’re telling me, I believe you.”
He ended the call and looked at the woman. “I just spoke to my friend who knows Tai Toh Lui’s son very well. He has not been kidnapped. He is very much alive and free.”
“Really?” the woman said in disbelief.
“Cover your shorts before the end of the day and you’ll make a good profit. It’s just a vicious rumor, I promise. You may trust your stockbroker, but I’m sure you know there are others out there who are not so honest. They spread rumors just to move the price of the share a few points to make a quick profit.”
“Hiyah, all these people and their rumors! I tell you, this is what’s wrong with the world. People lying about everything.”
Charlie nodded. Suddenly his father’s words from a long time ago echoed in his head. It was one of the many occasions when Wu Hao Lian was in the hospital and thought his time was almost up. Charlie would stand at the foot of the bed while his father issued his final dictums, which went on for hours. Among the various exhortations about making sure his mother never had to move out of the big house in Singapore and that all his younger brother’s Thai ladyboys needed to be paid off was this constant refrain: I worry that when you’re in charge, you’ll run everything I’ve built over the last thirty years into the ground. Stick to the innovation side, because you’re never going to manage on the finance side. You need to make sure management is always stocked with the biggest motherfucking assholes—only hire Harvard or Wharton MBAs—and then get out of the way. Because you’re too damn honest—you’re just not a good enough liar.
Charlie had proved his father wrong when it came to running the business, but what he’d said was true. He hated being dishonest, and his stomach would feel like it was being put through a vise whenever he was forced to tell an untruth. He knew he was still feeling sick because of the lies he had told Astrid.
“Finish your drink—it’s expensive ginseng I gave you, you know!” the woman admonished.
“Yes, auntie.”
From: Charlie Wu
Date: June 10, 2013 at 5:26 PM
To: Astrid Teo
Subject: confession
Hi Astrid,
I don’t quite know how to begin this, so I’ll just go for it. I haven’t been completely honest with you. Isabel is furious at me. She called me up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder, and then she had our daughters taken over to her parents’ house. She refused to listen to my explanations, and now she won’t return my calls. Grégoire told me that she’s conveniently sailed away on Pascal Pang’s yacht this morning. I think they are heading for Sicily.
The truth is, Isabel and I were not able to patch things up even after that Maldives second honeymoon. Things between us have been worse than ever, and I’ve been back at my Mid-Levels flat for a while now. The only agreement we’ve had is that I not do anything that would publicly embarrass her, anything that would give her a loss of face. Unfortunately, that happened last night. Her image of being happily married was shattered in front of Pascal Pang, and you know whatever he knows the rest of Hong Kong will soon know. I’m not sure I even care anymore.
You have to understand something, Astrid. My marriage to Isabel was a mistake even before it began. Everyone thinks I was sent to Hong Kong to take over my family’s operations there, but the truth is I fled. I was devastated after our breakup and depressed for months. I was a complete failure at business, and my father ended up shoving me into a role in our R&D department just to get me out of the way, but that’s where I began to thrive. I got lost in developing new product lines rather than just being a copycat contractor that steals from the best Silicon Valley tech firms. As a result, our business grew exponentially. I have you to thank for that.
