The People’s Republic of Desire

by Annie Wang

  In fact, Beibei knows that her young lovers just love her money, but she can't go on living without lovers after her husband cheated on her. She needs to feel loved even though that love is only temporary and bought with her money. Beibei is in her midthirties, but she feels like an old woman, full of insecurity, needing the company of young men to gain confidence. "Is this the fate of women who stop believing in love?" she asks Lulu and me.

  I say, "Perhaps Chairman Hua destroyed your faith in love. You lost your faith and your judgment. You searched for love from the wrong people, like Iron Egg."

  "Generally, there are only three types of men we can sleep with," says Lulu. After her experience with Ximu, Lulu seems to have become an expert. "First is the husband type, like Tom Hanks. This type loves you more than you love him. He's responsible, loyal, you can trust him, and you are willing to grow old with him. He will still love you when you become a grandma."

  This sounds so much like my father, I think. I don't plan to marry a father figure.

  "The second is the lover type, like Hugh Grant. This is the type of person you love to appreciate. He is charming and educated. There can be love, passion, and romance between you, but no trust, not suitable for spending a lot of time together. You can talk about literature and art with them, but don't go hoping for marriage or kids with them."

  Len definitely falls into this category, I think. Before my eyes appears the scene when Len and I went to Montmarte in Paris to see the Dali sculptures of melting clocks. Len said, "Dali works are all related to the subconscious. The subconscious is liquid. Our emotions, our instincts, our desires, are all liquid, just like time, melting here before our eyes. Do you feel how time is molten, liquid and flowing?" Len silently gazed at me and didn't speak again. I held my breath and looked at Len. I had never dared to look at Len so directly, because his gaze was so sharp, it could be almost painful. But in the silence of the Dali Museum, we stared at each other, and my heart kept repeating, "Make time solidify. Make it stop right here."' At the time I had left my boyfriend and deferred my studies just to follow Len. Before long, my world had only one thing in it: Len.

  "And the last type?" I ask.

  "The kind of playmate you don't have to talk to or communicate with at all. He is athletic and sexy," says Lulu.

  "Like the exercise trainer in our health club?" Beibei chimes in with a smile.

  "Like the dark-skinned hairdresser at the RichWife?" I follow.

  "Yes. In any case, he doesn't need to have the brains of Woody Allen. As soon as you see each other, you want to tear your clothes off. Everything is for sex! With this type of man, you can be kinky and wild and totally uninhibited in bed," Lulu says.

  "Where did you learn this stupid theory?" asks Beibei.

  "From my Internet dates," says Lulu, winking and tapping her foot to Björk's "Big Time Sensuality" in the background.

  30 The Brief Moment

  CC and Nick have made plans for a long weekend in Shanghai. I agree to come along at CC's request since Hugh has assigned me to write a piece about the clubs and hotels in Shanghai.

  CC, Nick, and I have got a great package at the swank Port-man Ritz-Carlton. On the first day, we play a round of golf, which is usually reserved for the ultrarich in a crowded city like Shanghai; have dinner at a loft-like place called The Door, known for its fusion deco: and cap the day by listening to jazz at the Cotton Club. The next day, we brunch at the lobby of the new Westin Hotel, which offers unlimited drinks of champagne and cocktails. Then we go swimming, have a massage, eat dinner at the M on the Bund, and have drinks at Face, a Southeast Asian bar owned by a Westerner.

  Nick thoroughly enjoys it. Shanghai is the perfect post-colonial playground for him, but not for CC. She especially dislikes the waitress in the Portman's Tea Garden Cafe, Nancy Lu, who shows a much friendlier attitude toward Nick than to her and me. Nancy laughs coquettishly, even flirts with Nick right in front of CC. On the second night, CC overhears Nick calling Nancy, telling her that she's cute and he'd like to meet up with her. CC confronts Nick and they get into an argument. I am in their room as they argue. I can't stop them. Nick finally walks out, saying to CC as he goes, "I didn't come to Asia to find a stuck-up Oxford ice queen. There are plenty of them back home in the UK."

  "I can't believe it!" she cries, "Nick just dumped me."

  "If he's smart, he'll come back and say he's sorry," I say.

  CC mutters sulkily, "I came back to China to find my roots. But everywhere we go, the place is full of local women who want to marry Westerners. It really pisses me off. And it pisses me off even more that Nick seems to love it so much!"

  Another thing that pisses CC off is that she is not considered beautiful in China. Back in Oxford, her delicate bones, petite features, and almond eyes were exotic and won her the nickname Beauty Queen, but in China, people worship European-looking women. She isn't tall enough, her eyes aren't big enough, her skin isn't light enough. She's considered common and unfashionable. But wherever we go, Chinese people will praise Nick for his handsome looks. "Wow, you've got a good-looking boyfriend," they say to her, which annoys her.

  "Tomorrow, let's go somewhere more Chinese. Perhaps we can talk to a Shanghai man! I've heard that Shanghai men really know how to look after women," I say to comfort CC.

  After a late-morning workout at the hotel's spa, we go out for brunch at a teahouse that sells milk tea with tapioca It lacks colonial style, perfect for CC's mood. Sticking to the plan of no martinis or goose liver pate, we order fried dumplings and bubble green tea. Although the teahouse looks traditional, we can't seem to escape the Western influence. Four teenagers sit playing poker at their table, making noises and cracking sunflower seeds. Two girls are eating ice cream while reading the latest Chinese edition of Elle. Two boys are playing video games at the table right next to us.

  A baby-faced Chinese man who sits alone gets my attention. It looks like he is reading the Shanghai Star, but the paper is turned upside-down. Behind the newspaper, the man is dozing off. Even in his sleep, he looks melancholy. I nudge CC. "The re's probably a good story behind this. Otherwise, why would he doze off here in the morning?"

  CC decides to strike up a conversation with the man. She walks over and wakes him up. "Hey, are you okay? Do you need help?"

  The man rubs his eyes and looks at his watch. "Oh, almost noon. I can go home now!"

  "It looks like you've been in this teahouse for a long time now." I join them.

  "I have stayed at this twenty-four-hour teahouse for the entire night. Can you believe it?!" The man sounds frustrated.

  "What happened?" CC asks.

  "You know how it is, jiachou buke waiyang. Domestic scandals shouldn't be told to outsiders. I have to go." The man makes an attempt to get up and leave.

  "We heard that Shanghai men are gentlemen. Are you a native?" I keep the conversation going.

  "Yes," the man nods, "Where are you from?"

  "I'm a Beijinger," I say.

  "I'm a Hong Konger," says CC.

  "You don't look like the type to spend all night in a teahouse. Why are you here?" I probe.

  "To be honest, my wife locked me out last night!" The man almost bursts into tears.

  "So it's true that Shanghai husbands are henpecked by their Shanghai wives!" CC murmurs to me.

  "So tell us your story. Perhaps we can help you," CC says to the man.

  "She works in a nice hotel nearby," the man continues. "It's not that she likes being a waitress. But she hopes to meet some rich guests there who will be willing to sponsor us to go abroad. Last night, she was on a night shift. Around midnight, she called and told me that there was an English man who had his eye on her. The Englishman had asked to visit her place because he was interested in seeing how ordinary Chinese lived. She told me to clean our house. She especially asked me to hide my belongings because she said that the man might not be willing to sponsor her abroad if he knew that she was married.

  "It took me an hour to cl
ean the room. I left the house around one in the morning, before she came back home with her guest. I stayed in this teahouse and waited for her to call me. A little after two o'clock, she called and commanded me not to go home until noon. I begged her, but she said I made her lose face so I had to be punished."

  "How did you make her lose face?" I ask. "You weren't even there!"

  "I forgot to hide my underwear hanging outside on the balcony."

  "Uh…" CC and I manage not to laugh out loud.

  The man continues. "Yesterday before going to work, I had washed some underwear and left it hanging on the balcony. I didn't think it was a big deal, but she said it made her look very bad. The Englishman went to the balcony straightaway after he came in. He never lived as high as the twenty-fourth floor. He loved the view. Then he saw a string of underwear. My wife said that foreigners don't hang their underwear outside as if it was an art exhibition. So she felt quite awkward. Then, the man spotted the man's briefs on the line. He asked my wife whose underwear it was. She told him the truth. The man laughed. He pointed at the hole in the underwear and told my wife that she had better buy me a few new pairs of undershorts. After saying that, he left, shaking his head while muttering something in English that my wife didn't understand. My wife felt humiliated. She said that it was my fault, so I had to be punished. The door would remain locked. Sleep somewhere else, she said."

  "Does your wife work for the Portman?" CC asks.

  "Yes, how did you know?" The man is shocked.

  "If I'm not wrong, her name is Nancy," CC says.

  "Yes. But who are you?" The Shanghai man looks at CC nervously.

  "If you are a wronged man, then I'm the wronged woman."

  POPULAR PHRASES

  JIACHOU BUKE WAIYANG: Ugly or embarrassing domestic issues shouldn't be told to outsiders. Although most personal issues such as income are open topics for discussion, this one usually is not.

  31 Internet Date No. 1

  After Lulu ended her five-year-long relationship with her cheating boyfriend Ximu, her friend Mary, an editor for Family, the most popular women's magazine in China, suggested that she try checking the Internet personal ads.

  At first, Lulu was skeptical. She called me and told me about Mary's idea. "A sex goddess in the fashion world, why do I need to resort to personal ads? Aren't they for the desperate and dateless?"

  Then she called me again. "Mary said I've got it all wrong. I'll find men of quality there. They are tech-savvy and private. They're just too busy to be social…" She edited two Internet dating stories: in one, a Karaoke girl in Shenzhen got to know a married Hong Kong movie star via the Internet and they fell in love. The man divorced his wife and married the girl. Now they live happily in Hong Kong and the man is helping the girl to become the next Zhang Ziyi.

  "And there was this Sichuan girl who met an American in a chat room. Then the man came to China on a business trip and went to see her and fell in love. A year later, they got married and she moved to the United States. Only when she got there did the lucky girl realize that she had married a multimillionaire and the grandson of a former governor. She sent pictures and letters to her friends from America."

  "I've heard the new Polish president candidate is married to a Chinese lady he met online. I believe these stories. Try it." I said.

  Fast-forward six weeks.

  At Al-Muhan, a Muslim restaurant opposite the Australian embassy in Beijing, Lulu speaks to Beibei and me in a sullen voice.

  "Fairy tales come from Europe. Europe is the birthplace of knights and damsels in distress. Do you know what China is capable of producing? Tragedy. Human tragedies and liars." Even for Lulu this is an especially dark thing to say.

  "Hey, do you know that you sound very fandong, reactionary? Do you know that you'd have been thrown into jail during the Cultural Revolution for saying things like that. You're lucky to live in this era of reform!" I tease Lulu while eating a lamb shish kebab. Lulu must have had troubles with men again.

  "I'd rather be in jail than be played like a fool!" Lulu says through clenched teeth.

  Beibei has been winking at a young handsome Uighur waiter until Lulu's angry voice pulls her back to the conversation, "So what was the story with your men?"

  "My Internet dating experience was a complete disaster! I don't know why I keep bumping into married men who pretend to be single!" Lulu cries.

  "Do you know that MBAs are popular nowadays?" I ask Lulu.

  "What do you mean?" Lulu is confused.

  "MBA – Married But Available," I say.

  "Ha-ha!" Lulu laughs bitterly. "I've met two of these fucking MBAs over the Internet. They both claimed they're single in their ads. The first man was a returnee who divided his time between London and Beijing. He owned a graphic design company. He was into the arts and, you know me, I'm a big fan of artists," Lulu says, as she rolls her eyes. "We talked about cubism, dadaism, fauvism, and impressionism in our e-mails. Like me, his favorite painter was also Matisse. So I decided to meet him.

  "The first three dates, we met in different galleries: first, Yan Huang Art Museum at the Asian Games Village, the second time at the Melodic Gallery near the Friendship Store, and the third time, we had a rendezvous in an art gallery in Hong Kong's Mid-Levels. I attended a fashion show in Hong Kong that day. Around dinnertime, I found myself at the Yan Gallery in Lan Kwai Fong. Guess who showed up in that small gallery?"

  "He must have been stalking you!" Beibei cuts in.

  "He said it was fate that we ran into each other in another city because we had yuanfen, affinity. We looked around the gallery together and he talked about classic realism with me. Then we went to Cubana in Soho for dinner, where he told me he was in love with me.

  "So you slept with him that night!" says Beibei, flashing the I-know-you expression.

  "Well, yes, in my hotel room in the Renaissance Harbor View in Wanchai." Lulu bows her head.

  "Was it good?" I ask.

  "With the hills, the harbor, and the views, Hong Kong is a city of romance. While we were looking out of the window at Victoria Harbor, we were very passionate." Lulu lowers her voice, "Violently passionate."

  "Not too bad so far. At least you had an orgasm – or two." Beibei says hopefully.

  Lulu continues. "After we returned to Beijing, he sent me a note telling me how special that night in Hong Kong was to him, and how much he wants to see me again. But he had to attend a conference in London the next day and would be back in ten days!"

  "And you believed him? Just like you believed Ximu?" Beibei asks, raising her eyebrow.

  Lulu rolls her eyes. "Call me an idiot, but I thought I was happily in love again." She licks her lower lip. "I even enjoyed the bittersweet feeling of missing him. On the third day after he left for London, I went to the San Wei Bookstore to find something to read.

  "In the bookstore, I saw him, with a woman and a child waiting in line to buy the new Harry Potter. I overheard the woman calling him laogong and the boy calling him Daddy. I thought of the messages he sent to me through Yahoo Instant Messenger about London 's weather and the prestigious conference. I walked right up to him – boy, was he flustered. His handsome face became so ugly. Before he could stammer anything out, I said, 'I suppose we do have yuanfen, as you said. Once again we share an unexpected rendezvous.' I turned on my heels and left him to explain himself."

  POPULAR PHRASES

  FANDONG: Reactionary.

  YUANFEN: The fate that brings people together.

  LAOGONG: "Hubby."

  32 Internet Date No. 2

  In Henderson Center 's Irish Bar, some men are watching sports, and some are playing darts. Lulu, Beibei, and I are here to drink imported beer. Lulu updates us on her latest Internet dating fiasco. "After what happened with the 'MBA,' that married-but-available jackass, I told myself, 'You can't be so gullible anymore. Be smarter and take better control of your libido.' "

  "That's exactly what I was going to suggest to you," I say.
r />   "This Internet date was a handsome French-language interpreter in the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs – a diplomat," Lulu says. "In his e-mails, he told me about his journey from a poor fishing village to Beijing. The hardship he endured was beyond understanding to those of us who were born with silver chopsticks. He walked thirty miles every day to his high school and had to work in the fields after school. He dreamed of being China 's Henry Kissinger. I was so moved."

  "Perhaps he tried to win your sympathy. A trick Japanese women love to use to get their men," Beibei says.

  "We first met at the Boys and Girls Bar in Sanlitun. He complimented me in French – calling me mon amour and ma belle and so on. It was romantic, but I told myse lf, let him keep on sweet-talking, but I am going to maintain control!"

  "Sounds like mission impossible," I say.

  "I stayed cool till our fifth date. On the evening of the Mid-Autumn Festival, we took a boat ride in the moat around the Forbidden City. On the boat, a girl in a traditional Chinese costume was playing the pipa for us, and two other girls were serving us tea and rice wine. All three of these chicks were pretty, but his gaze always stayed with me. Then we lit paper lanterns, put them in the water, and let them float away."

  "Oh, yeah, I know, that's a tradition from southern China. The lanterns are in the shapes of lilies. You make a wish every time you light one, right?" I say.

  "Yes. You know that the lily is my favorite plant. Every time the diplomat lit a paper lily, he looked into my eyes, murmuring 'I love you' in French. Just close your eyes and imagine the scene: a moon-lit autumn night, ancient towers and pavilions all around, pink lily lanterns floating on the water and casting their golden glow, a handsome young diplomat telling you that he loves you in the most romantic language in the world, plaintive ancient tunes being played on the pipa in the background…" Lulu closes her eyes, enraptured.