by Kevin Kwan
“It’s very kind of you to say that, but Nick and I were discussing it earlier today and we’re thinking of changing our travel plans. Peik Lin, my friend from Singapore, is flying up to visit me on Thursday. She wants to take me to Hangzhou for a spa weekend while Nick is off in Beijing doing his research at the National Library. But when we get back next week, I think we’ll head home to New York.”
“Next week? You were supposed to be here until August—you can’t leave so soon!” Carlton began to protest.
“It’s better that way. I realize that it was a huge mistake for me to make this trip so soon. I never gave your mother enough time to adjust to the idea of me. The last thing I want to do is cause a lasting wound between your parents. Really.”
“Let me talk to them. You can’t leave China without seeing Dad again, and I want my mum to meet you. She has to.”
Rachel pondered things for a moment. “It’s up to you. I don’t want to impose on them any more than I already have. Look, we’ve had a fantastic time in China. And Paris, of course. Getting to spend all this time with you is already far more than I could have ever hoped for.”
Carlton locked eyes for a moment with his sister, and nothing more needed to be said.
4
RIVERSIDE VICTORY TOWERS
SHANGHAI
For many Shanghainese who had been born in Puxi—the historic city center—the glittering new metropolis on the other side of the river called Pudong would never be part of the real Shanghai. “Puxi is like Pu-York, but Pudong will always be Pu-Jersey,” the cognoscenti snidely remarked. Jack Bing, who hailed from Ningbo in Zhejiang Province, had no time for such snobberies. He was proud to be part of the new China that built Pudong, and whenever guests came to his triplex penthouse at Riverside Victory Towers—a hulking trio of ultra-luxurious apartment complexes that he had developed on the riverfront of Pudong’s financial district—he would proudly walk them around the sprawling rooftop garden of his 8,888-square-foot penthouse and point out the new city that stretched as far as the eye could see. “A decade ago, all this was farmland. Now it is the center of the world,” he would say.
Today, as Jack sat on the titanium and Mongolian gazelle lounge chair Marc Newson had custom designed for him, sipping his glass of 2005 Château Pétrus on the rocks, his thoughts lingered on the memory of an afternoon spent alone at the Palace of Versailles at the end of a business trip, where he delighted in stumbling upon a small exhibition devoted to Chinese antiquities in the court of Louis XIV. He was admiring a portrait of the Emperor Qianlong in a small gallery tucked behind the Hall of Mirrors when a large tour group of Chinese tourists crowded into the space. A man in head-to-toe Stefano Ricci pointed at the portrait of the emperor dressed in a Manchu-style fur cap and murmured excitedly, “Genghis Khan! Genghis Khan!”
Jack left the gallery hastily, afraid he might be associated with this group of ignorant Chinese. Imagine these heathens not knowing one of their greatest emperors, who ruled for more than sixty years! But as he strolled along the grand canal that bisected the majestic gardens of Versailles, he began to wonder whether the French themselves might today recognize a portrait of their own king who had built such an impressive monument to his power. Now, as Jack stared out at the curving crescent of golden lights along the Pudong waterfront, counting the buildings that belonged to him, he pondered his own legacy, and how the people of this new China might remember him in centuries to come.
The familiar click-click of his daughter’s high heels soon broke the silence, and Jack quickly removed the ice cubes from his wine and tossed them into the potted tan hua plant nearby. He knew Colette would scold him if she saw them. A couple of ice cubes missed the Ming ceramic planter and skidded across the floor, leaving faint red streaks along the Emperador marble.
Colette barged into his study all a-huff. “What’s wrong? Is Mother okay? Is Nainai okay?”
“Your grandmother is still alive as far as I know, and your mother is at her reflexology appointment,” Jack said calmly.
“Then why did you need me so urgently? I was in the middle of a very important dinner with the world’s most acclaimed chefs!”
“And that’s more important than seeing your own father? You come back from Paris and you would rather dine with the help?”
“This top truffle dealer was about to offer me his prized white Alba truffle when you called, but now I think that sneaky Eric Ripert has snagged it. I was going to surprise you with the truffle.”
Jack let out a snort. “What really surprises me is the way you keep disappointing me over and over again.”
Colette stared at her father quizzically. “What have I ever done to disappoint you?”
“The fact that you don’t even know is so telling. I went to such lengths to help Richie Yang orchestrate the perfect proposal to you, and look what you did in return.”
“You were part of that whole scheme? Of course you were—if I had planned the affair, it would have been so much more tasteful!”
“That’s not the point. The point is that you were supposed to say yes, like any normal girl who is being serenaded by one of the most expensive singers in the world.”
Colette rolled her eyes. “I like John Legend, but even if you had paid John Lennon to rise from the grave and sing ‘All You Need Is Love’ to me, the answer would still be no.”
Colette saw something move out of the corner of her eye and turned to find her mother standing by the doorway. “What are you doing skulking in the shadows? Have you been home all this time? You knew Dad was involved all along, didn’t you?”
“Aiyah, I couldn’t believe it when you turned Richie down! We have both wanted this for you ever since you started dating him three years ago,” her mother said with a deep sigh, planting herself down on the gilded settee.
“It’s not like I’ve been seeing him exclusively. I’ve been dating many other men.”
“Well, you’ve had your fun, and now it’s high time you got married. I had you by the time I was your age,” Mrs. Bing chastised.
“I can’t even believe we’re having this conversation! Why did you send me to the most progressive schools in England if all you expected out of me was to get married at such a young age? Why did I bother studying so hard at Regent’s? I have so many goals, so many things I want to accomplish before I become anyone’s wife.”
“Why can’t you accomplish your goals while you’re married?” Jack argued.
“It’s not the same, Father. Besides, my situation is so different than when the both of you were young. Sometimes I wonder if I even need to get married at all—it’s not like I need a man to look after me!”
“How long do you intend to make us wait until you are ready for marriage?” her mother demanded.
“I think I won’t be ready for at least another decade.”
“Wo de tian ah!* You’ll be thirty-three. What will happen to your eggs? Your eggs will get old and your babies might be born retarded or deformed!” Mrs. Bing screeched.
“Mother, stop being so ridiculous! With all the damn doctors you see every day, you should know that such things don’t happen anymore. They have special genetic tests now, and women are having babies well into their forties!”
“Listen to her!” Mrs. Bing said incredulously to her husband.
Jack leaned forward in his chair and remarked wryly, “I don’t think this has anything to do with age, actually. I think our daughter is in love with Carlton Bao.”
“Even if I was, I wouldn’t want to get married to him right now,” Colette shot back.
“And what makes you think I would ever approve of your marrying him?”
Colette looked at her father in exasperation. “Why is Richie so much more special than Carlton? They both have degrees from top universities, and both come from respectable families. Why, I’d even say that Carlton comes from a higher-status family than Richie.”
Mrs. Bing harrumphed. “I don’t like that Bao Shaoyen. Always acting so
uppity, like she’s so much better and smarter than me!”
“That’s because she IS smarter than you, Mother. She has a PhD in biochemistry and runs a multibillion-dollar company.”
“How dare you say that to me! Don’t you think I’m partly responsible for your father’s success? I was the one who spent all those years—”
Raising his voice to be heard over his arguing wife and daughter, Jack interjected, “CARLTON BAO’S family has two billion dollars at most. The Yangs are on a whole other level. Our level. Don’t you see that this is the perfect dynastic match? The two of you together would make our families the most powerful and influential in China. Do you not see the unique position that you are in to be part of history?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that I was a chess piece in your plan for world domination,” Colette shot back sarcastically.
Jack banged his fist on the desk and stood up from his chair, pointing at her angrily. “You are not my chess piece! You are my prized possession. And I want to see that you are treated like a queen and married off to the best possible man in the whole world!”
“But the fact that I don’t agree with your idea of the best man means nothing to you!”
“Well if Carlton Bao is the best man for you, then why hasn’t he proposed to you?” Jack challenged her.
“Oh, he’ll propose whenever I want him to. Don’t you understand? I keep telling you, I’m just not ready! WHEN I want to get married and IF I choose Carlton, you can be sure he will exceed your expectations. The Baos might have more money than the Yangs by then. You have no idea how smart Carlton is! Once he really devotes his attention to his family’s business, there’s no telling how well he can do.”
“Is that going to happen in my lifetime? Your mother and I are not getting any younger—I want to see my grandsons grow up while we are still healthy enough to enjoy them!”
Colette’s eyes narrowed as she stared at her father, seeing things in a whole new light. “So this is what it’s really all about…you are just dying for grandsons, aren’t you?”
“Of course! What grandparents wouldn’t want lots and lots of grandsons?” Mrs. Bing said.
“This is just too funny…it’s like I’m trapped in some time warp.” Colette laughed to herself. “And what if I only produce girls? What if I don’t want any children at all?”
“Don’t talk nonsense,” her mother snapped.
Colette was about to argue back when it hit her—her mother’s very name, Lai Di, meant “hoping for a son.” Her mother couldn’t escape her mind-set—it had literally been branded on her since the day she was born. Colette looked at her parents squarely and said, “The two of you might have grown up like peasants, but I am not a peasant, and you did not raise me to be one. It is 2013, and I am not going to get married and pump out babies just because you want a barrel full of grandsons.”
“Ungrateful child! After all we’ve given you in life!” Mrs. Bing blurted out.
“Yes, thank you, you’ve given me a great life, and I intend to live it!” Colette declared, storming out of the room.
Jack gave a sharp little laugh. “Let’s see how she intends to live her life once I put a freeze on her accounts.”
* * *
* Mandarin for “Oh my God!”
5
PULAU CLUB
SINGAPORE
Michael was huddled in his office preparing for a big presentation with his head venture partner and his chief technology adviser when his phone buzzed with a text message from Astrid:
WIFEY: Mum called—she’s having a meltdown about the magazine article.
MT: Big shocker.
WIFEY: My dad’s requested that you meet him at Pulau club at 10:30 a.m.
MT: Sorry, I’ll be in a meeting then.
WIFEY: You’re going to have to face him sooner or later.
MT: I know, but I’m busy right now. Some of us HAVE TO WORK FOR A LIVING.
WIFEY: I’m just passing along the message.
MT: Tell him I have a very important meeting with the Monetary Authority of Singapore this AM. My assistant will call his assistant to set up another time to meet.
WIFEY: Okay. Good luck at your meeting.
Several minutes later, Michael’s executive assistant, Krystal, buzzed on the intercom. “Michael, ah? I just receive call from your father-in-law’s seck-ree-teh-ry Miss Chua. He wants you to meet him at Pulau Club in half an hour.”
Michael rolled his eyes in frustration. “I already know about this, Krystal. It’s been dealt with. Now, no more interruptions, please. We only have an hour left before our big pitch.”
He turned back to his partners. “Sorry, guys. Now, where were we? Yes, we can reinforce that our new finance-data app is a quarter of a second faster than Bloomberg’s terminals—”
The intercom buzzed again. “Michael—I know you said not to kachiao*1 you, but—”
“So why the hell did you?” Michael raised his voice angrily.
“I just got an-nah-der call…the meeting with gahmen*2 people postpone, lah.”
“The Monetary Authority meeting?” Michael tried to clarify.
“Yah lah.”
“Until what time?”
“Postpone, postpone, lor! They never say.”
“What the fuck?”
“And your father-in-law’s office call again with an-nah-der message. Miss Chua said to read it aloud to you. Wait, ah! I get message. Okay, here it is: Please meet Mr. Leong at Pulau Club at 10:30 a.m. No more excuses.”
“Kan ni nah!” Michael swore, kicking his desk.
• • •
Anyone standing at the third hole of the Island Course at Pulau Club—quaintly referred to as the “old course”—would feel as if they were transported back to an earlier time. Carved out of natural virgin jungle in 1930, the undulating green hills gave way to tropical groves of casuarinas and tembusus on one side and the oasis-like Peirce Reservoir on the other. Not a hint of the densely packed skyscrapers that were modern Singapore could be seen from this vantage point. Harry Leong, dressed in his usual golfing outfit of short-sleeved white cotton shirt, khaki pants, and a faded blue Royal Air Force cap*3 to protect his thinning silvery hair, was watching his golf buddy adjust a swing when his son-in-law came storming up the fairway.
“Oh—here he comes, looking blacker than the devil. Let’s have some fun with him, shall we?” Harry said to his friend. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” he called out.
“It might have been, had you not…” Michael began in a surly tone, before catching sight of the man standing next to his father-in-law. It was Hu Lee Shan, the minister of commerce, nattily dressed in a brightly striped Sligo golf shirt.
“Good morning, Mr. Teo,” the minister said jovially.
Forcing a smile, Michael said, “Good morning, sir.” Bloody hell! No wonder he was able to sabotage my meeting so quickly. He’s golfing with the friggin’ boss of the boss of the Monetary Authority!
“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice,” Harry continued politely. “Now, I’ll get right to the point: this matter over the silly magazine story.”
“I’m sorry, Dad. It was never my intention for your name to get mentioned,” Michael began.
“Oh I don’t care about my name. I mean, who am I in the grand scheme of things, right? I’m a public servant—people can print any sort of nonsense they want about me. It’s all much ado about nothing in my opinion, but, you see, other names were mentioned in that article. Other people who are touchy about such things. Like my wife and my mother-in-law. That side of the family. You know how we mustn’t ever upset Astrid’s grandmother, or Uncle Alfred.”
“Heh heh heh—no one should ever upset Alfred Shang,” chuckled the minister.
Michael wanted to roll his eyes. What was the big deal about Alfred Shang that made every man so bo lam pa*4 in his presence? “I really had no idea that reporter was going to go digging. It was only supposed to be a flattering stor—”
Harry cut him off mid-word. “The Tattle people know never to write about us. So you went to the other magazine, Pompous or whatever it’s called. Tell me, what did you hope to achieve?”
“I thought the article would allow me to increase my company’s profile while respecting Astrid’s—and your family’s—need for privacy.”
“And do you think it does? I’m assuming you’ve read the article by now.”
Michael swallowed hard. “It doesn’t quite do what I had hoped.”
“Makes you out to be a pretentious buffoon, doesn’t it?” Harry said, as he reached for another putter. “Try this Honma, Lee Shan.”
Michael’s jaw tightened. If the minister wasn’t right there, he would give this old man a piece of his mind!
The minister executed a precise chipping swing and the golf ball rolled smoothly into the hole.
“Nice shot, sir,” Michael said.
“Do you play, Mr. Teo?”
“I do when I can.”
The minister glanced at Harry as he stepped up to the tee box and said, “You’re a lucky man—you have a son-in-law who golfs. My kids are far too preoccupied with their important lives to ever play with me.”
“We should all play at my club at Sentosa sometime. The ocean views are spectacular,” Michael offered.
Harry paused in the middle of his golf swing. “You know, I’ve never set foot in that club and I plan to die never having set foot there. If I’m not at St. Andrews or Pebble Beach, the only place I play is the old course right here.”
“I feel the same way, Harry,” the minister said. “Didn’t you use to catch Concorde to London on Fridays after work and then hop over to Edinburgh just to play a round at St. Andrews?”
“Those were the old days when I only had the weekends to spare. Now that I’m semiretired, I can go a whole week at Pebble Beach.”
Michael fumed in silence, wondering when this audience was ever going to end. As if reading his mind, his father-in-law looked him in the eye and said, “I need you to do something for me. I need you to go in person and apologize to your mother-in-law.”
