The People’s Republic of Desire

by Annie Wang

  "Yes!" CC agrees. "They even envy those young women who marry old ugly men simply because the men are rich."

  "That's why strong women like us are left single." CC sighs. "I've found it is so difficult to find a good man in China. It's either that they think I'm too aggressive as a woman or vice versa."

  "So that means aggressive women and men don't click? Does a man of power have to find a weak, mild woman? Can a strong woman fall in love with a strong man, like the Clinton couple?" I continue the debate.

  Beibei speaks. "This American model doesn't apply here in this culture. That's why poor Zhou Yu has to die at the end of the movie. I think the director chooses such an ending because he knows that Zhou Yu is too noble for this shallow era we live in. In my humble opinion, women in Asia have three choices. First, to be cute and dumb, hoping to find a rich daddy to take care of them. Second, to be single forever or to leave China before it's too late. Third, to be like me, strong, rich, and tough. I'm just like a man who has the power to buy lovers."

  "What about love and passion?" I cry out.

  " You're still single because you think like that," Beibei says, not just to me, but to everyone. Her words are a proclamation of bloody honesty, but I am a hopeless romantic. I replay the love scene from the movie in my head. I feel like crying. Bravo, Zhou Yu.

  72 A Woman Warrior or a Demure Bride?

  The depressed economy is making everyone at Lulu's workplace nervous. A new policy has been introduced, requiring workers to evaluate each other's performance regularly. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the office has changed from friendly to antagonistic.

  Everyone pays attention to what time others start work and leave the office and who they talk to or don't talk to.

  Office politics don't bother Lulu. She tries to stay above it. She is a high-calibre editor, a quick writer, and a first-class interviewer. After the magazine's editor is forced to retire at fifty-five, the rumor mill says that Lulu may be promoted as the new editor. She also feels confident that she is the best choice. But to her disappointment, it turns out that Jenny, who is junior to Lulu, is named editor-in-chief.

  Everyone in the office speaks privately in support of Lulu, saying the owner's decision is unfair. The truth is, nobody likes Jenny.

  She is relatively new but arrogant. She talks only to those whom she thinks are useful, and she treats her subordinates coldly.

  One of the colleagues, Little Ma, tells Lulu, "Do you know how Jenny got the job? I've heard she is the owner's mistress."

  "I can't believe it. I'll go and ask her!" Lulu says in anger.

  "Are you out of your mind? She is your boss now. She can hire you or fire you. You can't just march into her office and ask her this type of question. If you dislike her, bide your time-a little sabotage here and there-and give her a hard time, but not so she notices," Little Ma says.

  "I can't do things like that. I have to find out why and hear it from her own mouth," Lulu says.

  "You got the subsidized apartment and she gets the editor-in-chief job. So why do you have to make her hate you? You should come to terms with life," Little Ma says.

  Lulu ignores Little Ma, and rushes off to Jenny's big corner office with glass windows facing Beijing 's Avenue of Eternal Peace.

  Jenny looks at Lulu. "You come in without even knocking! What's so urgent?"

  Lulu, clearly in a huff, asks directly, "Is it true that you and the owner are lovers?"

  Jenny doesn't show any surprise or irritation with such a provocative question. She answers calmly: "We're good friends. I know what you are thinking. You can say I got the editor position because of our friendship, but it doesn't matter. Nowadays, corporate culture demands emphasis on end results. How you get these results is not the priority."

  "But you're married. Does your husband know?" Lulu asks Jenny, who replies: "He's broad-minded and understanding."

  Jenny's audacity makes Lulu think of the Chinese saying sizhu bupa reshui tang:dead pigs aren't afraid of boiling water.

  "I'd rather you cover it up. It seems to me that you don't really care if your coworkers know about this scandal," Lulu says as she throws her arms up in frustration.

  Jenny smiles again. "I can't really seal their lips, can I? Gossip is their right. After all, maybe it's not too bad for them to know, so they won't mess with me. If they don't like me or care for my work style, they can take a hike. One thing China doesn't lack is people."

  Lulu listens with growing disbelief and anger. "Jenny, I guess with the owner's support, you have a free hand. In that case, I quit."

  "No. I didn't mean you," Jenny immediately replies. "You can't quit. I really like you. I plan to give you a forty percent raise. Lulu, don't go sour on me. I'm your friend. Unlike others, you're a real treasure. I'll do whatever I can to keep you." Jenny softens her tone. Bossy and sympathetic at the same time, she certainly knows how to use both carrots and sticks.

  Before Lulu can respond, Jenny adds: "Lulu, don't rush your decision. Take a few days to think clearly and then come back to me. I really think you'll like working with me." Jenny smiles like a boss. Lulu sees that smile, and immediately thinks of a crocodile.

  Lulu nods, ready to leave.

  "Wait." Jenny stops Lulu. "Now as a true friend, I want to give you some womanly advice."

  "What?" Lulu almost feels like crying. This is so humiliating.

  "You're smart and beautiful. You could easily win the world if you wanted to."

  "Win the world? How?"

  "Make use of what you have to get what you don't. Remember, you won't always be this young." Jenny sounds like a mother.

  "I guess I can never be as talented as you are," Lulu says, and leaves Jenny's office, muttering "You bitch" under her breath. She is not in Jenny's league when it comes to office politics. Should she accept Jenny's condescending offer of the 40 percent raise or should she just quit? If she quits, who is going to support her and her mother? Neither of them has a husband to rely on. Luckily, she had already bought the subsidized apartment and it was a done deal.

  She calls me. "Should I make husband searching my fulltime job or should I get the book How to Succeed in the Dirty Games of Office Politics? "

  "Be a woman warrior instead of a demure bride," I say firmly.

  POPULAR PHRASES

  SIZHU BUPA RESHUI TANG: Dead pigs aren't afraid of boiling water.

  73 The Soap Opera Business

  Lulu quits her job.

  In the following weeks, her life has changed dramatically. She unplugs the phone, declines all invitations to parties and dinners, and hides at home. I take a few days off and spend time with her. We rent soap operas from Blockbuster. With a bowl of instant noodles and a cup of coffee on the stand next to her sofa, we watch the videos around the clock, living in a fantasy world that takes Lulu away from reality.

  Yes, soap opera is Lulu's way of escaping. First of all, there is no more bombardment with news of devastating wars or terrible diseases. Second, instead of getting herself into real cat-fights, dirty tricks, office politics, or heartbreaking relationships with men, she watches other people suffer. Their torment makes her feel not too bad about her own situation.

  Third, soap operas are silly and melodramatic, and it doesn't matter if they are Japanese, Korean, Taiwanese, Chinese, American, or Mexican. As she cries and laughs over their silliness, she feels she outsmarts them.

  Lulu's favorite genre is kung fu soap operas such as The Water Marshals and The Eagle-Shooting Heroes. Kung fu stories always have beautiful settings in a desert or near a lake or forest that is totally different from the concrete jungle she lives in. They are always about integrity, honor, chivalrous knights, and the sacrifices of the ancient Chinese. These are the precise qualities that modern people lack. At times, the scenes and the fights are violent, but they are aesthetically violent.

  One time, as we see a duel on screen, Lulu says, "I wish to have a duel with Jenny."

  "It would perhaps be more honorable than b
ehind-the-back mischievousness," I say.

  Because Lulu has rented so many videos and DVDs, Blockbuster sends her a free gift. It's Robert Kiyosaki's Rich Dad, Poor Dad series workshop. Lulu watches it for the sake of practicing her English and as a change of pace. But soon, she is captivated. In the video, Mr. Kiyosaki talks about the cash-flow quadrant and the differences between an employee and a business owner, and he explains why most employees go from job to job while others quit their jobs and go on to build business empires. According to the legendary Robert Kiyosaki, one can get rich as a business owner, but only be a member of the middle class as an excellent employee. He encourages people to find their own business models rather than relying on big corporations for financial freedom. Lulu is totally inspired and cheered up by this god-sent video.

  "I'm on the right track to financial freedom by quitting my job. I should have my own business and be my own boss," she tells me. "My next step is to find the business. That is to say, what can I do?"

  I look at the piles of videos and DVDs on the carpet of her living room, and have an idea,

  "What about manufacturing soap operas? Isn't our life like a soap opera? The parties, the dinners, and the dates we've had."

  "Sounds wonderful! But it probably would take me ten years to finish it."

  "But remember what Jenny told you? The only thing China doesn't lack is people," I say to her.

  "Yes, you are so right, Niuniu. If I can hire a team of writers to work with me, we can form several production lines. Networks need content to fill in their time slots. We can even go international since we can sell the rights to other countries!" She yells happily.

  Lulu is a go-getter. A week later, she asks me to accompany her to meet a producer in the lobby of the Shangri-la Hotel. The producer is a good-looking, well dressed, smooth man in his forties. Lulu tosses around her ideas for the soap opera. He says he wants to hear more, and they can meet the next day.

  Lulu arrives at the hotel the next day and rings him in his room. He says, "Come upstairs." Lulu gets suspicious. It's a gorgeous room and he's got wine, soft music, and cheese and crackers. After three glasses of this marvelous California mountain chablis, the man puts his hand on her thigh and his other arm around her. Lulu moves away.

  "Is this also part of your job?" she asks him.

  "Yes," he answers.

  "Do you feel ashamed?" she asks.

  "I love women. My job allows me to meet lovely women like you. It's a privilege. Why should I feel ashamed?"

  "I love your honesty. Welcome to my first reality TV show!" Lulu points at the concealed camera she just set up while he was opening the wine in the kitchen. The man stares at the small red light, dumbfounded.

  74 Got Kids?

  Beibei's sister Baobao returns to China from the United States with her Taiwanese-born husband and American-born kids. This visit is her first trip home after living in the States for sixteen years.

  During the Cultural Revolution, being the oldest kid of a heiwulei family, one of the "five black types" of counterrevolutionaries, Baobao was humiliated and discriminated against as a student. Under Deng Xiaoping's open-door policy, Baobao's grandparents were rehabilitated and offered prominent positions in the party. Baobao enjoyed privileges as a gaogan zidi, or a child of high -ranking Communist Party officials.

  This roller-coaster life turned young Baobao into a cynical rebel who loathed inequality and "special treatment." While most children with connections cashed in their opportunities for nice jobs, she dreamed of finding a fairer life in the United States, the land of equal opportunity. In the mid-1980s, she received a government grant to study engineering at the University of Texas. Chinese who received this type of grant were normally required to go back after they had finished their studies to "serve the motherland." But all Chinese in the United States were granted green cards after Liu Si, the Tiananmen uprising in 1989. Baobao stayed in the United States and became a chemical engineer. She later married a civil engineer from Taiwan.

  None of her family came to the States to attend the wedding because her husband was the son of a Nationalist general that her Communist grandfather had fought against during the Civil War. She settled down in San Antonio, living a middle-class life and had three kids. China slowly faded away from her quiet suburban life until eventually the closest she felt to China was in the video shop around the corner that carried Jackie Chan's DVDs. As her kids grew up, she realized that they needed more exposure to Chinese culture.

  The first stop after arrival is Lijiang, Yunnan, where the kids' grandparents grew up. Baobao is amazed that Lijiang is so modernized and so traditional at the same time. The river around the town reminds her of the Riverwalk back in San Antonio. Unlike the Riverwalk, there aren't any clubs featuring jazz bands, but there are bands featuring eighty-year-old musicians playing the theme song from Titanic on their erhu. There is no Hard Rock Cafe, but you can always find bars selling margaritas under ancient roofs.

  Her hometown, Beijing, is unrecognizable, not only because of the new tall buildings but also because of the looks of the people. All of a sudden, Beijing women have become fashion experts, looking both confident and beautiful. But nothing is more incredible than seeing her little sister Beibei's lifestyle. Designer clothes, a German car, beauty salon memberships, a maid, a driver, a chef, several lovers – she lives like a queen.

  In a massage parlor, the two sisters are enjoying a foot massage. Beibei says, to Baobao, "My income is considered only so-so in America. It's a matter of choosing between living like a queen in the third world and living a middle-class life in the States."

  "I'd choose equality and freedom over living like a queen," Baobao says, sounding very American. "What about you?"

  "I've learned to enjoy privilege," Beibei admits, "but I also feel guilty about my wealth. I know part of the reason I'm able to lead a luxurious life is there are so many poor Chinese people – cheap laborers, especially those peasants who come to the big cities to da gong. For example, the kids here who are massaging us only make one-twentieth of what I earn. They work seven days a week, twelve hours a day, and sleep on the sofas we are sitting on. I feel bad for them. But at the same time, the contrast can also make you feel good about yourself. For example, it's nothing special owning a car in the United States, but here, it is quite something."

  "Especially when you cruise around Beijing hutongs in your BMW 750." Baobao teases Beibei, "I guess it makes you feel like those colonials who lived in one of the old foreign concessions in Donghua Gate. I drive a Honda back in the States. Japanese cars use less gasoline.

  "But one thing you don't have is freedom. For example, the freedom to have three children like me!" Baobao adds.

  "Who wants kids? I don't want kids." Beibei shrugs. "Especially after seeing that your kids speak no Chinese."

  "You're so patriotic, voluntarily applying the family planning policy?" Baobao snaps back.

  "We are the first generation of Chinese women who have learned to love ourselves. I don't want to be called 'mother of my kids' like our mother was," Beibei states firmly.

  "Not having kids might be cool now, but everyone grows old one day. Your children are the continuation of your youth. Even Hillary Clinton and Madonna have children," Baobao argues.

  "You sound more like our mother now. I can't believe you've come all the way from America!" Beibei says.

  Seeing that Beibei won't change her mind, Baobao asks the girl who is giving her a foot massage: "What do you say, as a woman – do you want children in the future?"

  "That depends on who I marry," the girl speaks in a Henan accent. "If I got lucky, like you, and my children could be born in the United States, then I'd have five or six. One of them might even become president of the United States! If I married someone even poorer than me, then I wouldn't want children. I don't want to see my kid grow up in a place like this, full of smelly feet and smelly shoes."

  Her words remind me of my stepmother Jean Fang, who has the
same dream of giving birth to a candidate for American president. But I wonder to myself if Asian Americans can hold high positions in the American government? Even if they don't become president, I suppose their lives would be better than that of a foot massager.

  "Both the rich and the poor have their reasons for limiting the size of their family," Baobao mutters. "I guess the one-chi ld policy works."

  Beibei doesn't hear a word that Baobao says. She is looking at her own feet. She has them sprayed with the lemongrass foot spray she bought from the Body Shop. She sniffs her shoes, absolutely sure that her shoes don't smell. After all, she has sixty-six pairs.

  POPULAR PHRASES

  HEIWULEI: Five black types, jargon used in the Cultural Revolution to identify those deemed to be reactionaries.

  GAOGAN ZIDI: Children of high-ranking Communist Party officials: privileged rich kids in China.

  LIU SI: The Tiananmen uprising of June 4, 1989.

  ERHU: Two-stringed Chinese musical instrument. DA GONG: To work in order to make a living. It especially refers to peasants who migrate to the cities to become manual laborers. In a broader sense, it refers to all employees who work for others instead of themselves. Since entrepreneurship is encouraged by the market economy, many Chinese consider being a boss more successful than working for someone else.

  75 In the Time of SARS

  SARS has changed my life.

  Gone are the days with decadent lewd banquets with ten people eating twenty dishes. At home, I cook frozen dumplings.

  Gone are the days that a gang of friends raids my house, drinking up my collection and taking away everything I store in my fridge. Yinsi, or privacy, once such a foreign concept, becomes a notion that everybody embraces. They don't show up unexpectedly. Instead, they talk to me by e-mails.