How to Be Single

by Liz Tuccillo

  The truth is, ever since I met Thomas I had been thinking about children. It was such a cliché, but it was true. I had met someone I loved and suddenly I was imagining having his children. I was embarrassed at how quickly I became so predictable. Of course, it was not a fantasy that ever got very far, since I quickly reminded myself that my beloved was already married. But it had engendered such startling new images in me: Thomas with me at the birth, us lying together in bed with a baby, or clapping at the child’s first step. The idea of a man and a woman falling in love and raising a child together did right now seem like kind of a genius idea.

  Thomas nodded. “You would make a very good mother.” He put his hand on my cheek. He kept it there a long time, and just gazed at me. I wanted to ask him if he wanted children. What his plans were for the future, for a family. He would make a fantastic father. But I reminded myself that none of those plans would include me. So I broke away and closed my eyes. I started feeling a little sleepy.

  Thomas decided to get some investigating done before everyone started sleeping or watching movies. There was a woman who I guessed was in her thirties who was sitting across the aisle from us. She appeared to be Chinese and did not have a wedding band on. Thomas leaned over to her and smiled.

  “Excuse me, do you speak English?”

  The woman looked up from the book she was reading.

  “Forgive me for asking such a question, but my friend here has been traveling the world talking to women about what it’s like to be single in their culture. She’s going to Beijing now to talk to Chinese women. I was wondering if you might have any knowledge of this subject.”

  The woman glanced over at me. I tried to put on the most trustworthy face I could, no matter how groggy I was. She was quite pretty, and looked sweet; possibly a little shy. I wondered if she would be offended at this brazen question.

  “I do, yes. I’m single and I live in Beijing.”

  Thomas turned to me, as if to give me a little nudge.

  “Hi, my name is Julie.” I leaned over Thomas and extended my hand to her. She shook it.

  “My name is Tammy. Nice to meet you. What is it that you would like to know?”

  “Well, there have been reports in the news, that because of the one-child policy of the eighties, and all the girls that have been adopted, that there is now a woman drought in China, and the men are having a hard time dating.”

  Tammy laughed and shook her head. “Maybe in the countryside, yes, but not in the cities, not at all.”

  “Really?” Thomas asked.

  “Really. The men have it so good in Beijing. They can date as much as they want, and when they do settle down, they often have mistresses. The rich ones at least.”

  Even with my Lexomil, I started to get depressed. “Seriously?”

  Tammy just nodded her head, amused. “Yes, unfortunately. Your theory is not correct at all.”

  I leaned back on my chair. This was not what I had wanted to hear. I whispered to Thomas.

  “So we’re going all the way to China to find out that the men here have a hard time committing and like to cheat?”

  Thomas laughed. “This is not good news—for us, or for the Chinese women.”

  I leaned over Thomas again to talk to Tammy. This would be my last attempt at conversation before I passed out. “So what do you do about this?”

  Tammy shrugged. “I never date Chinese men. I think they’re awful.”

  “Never?”

  “I haven’t had a Chinese boyfriend since I was a teenager. I only date foreigners. Australian, German, American. But never Chinese. Never.”

  Thomas was interested as well. “So tell me, where do you meet these men?”

  “I work for an American company, so my last boyfriend I met at the office. But there’s also a bar I like to go to, Brown’s, where there are a lot of expats.”

  “Brown’s?” Thomas repeated. “Like the color?”

  She nodded. “Yes, it’s in the Chaoyang District. It’s a lot of fun.”

  Thomas looked at me. “So, to Brown’s tonight? Yes?”

  “Yes,” I mumbled, and then fell asleep.

  When we got out of the cab at our hotel in Beijing, it was quite a scene. We were staying at one of the nicer places in the center of the city. In front of us, some very fancy woman had gotten out of her big black car and twenty to thirty photographers snapped away as she walked into the lobby. We walked inside, right behind her, where there were another dozen important-looking people waiting to greet her officially. Then they whisked her away into an elevator, for what I assumed would be some kind of press conference. When we finally were allowed to walk up to the reception desk, I asked who the woman was.

  “The vice president of Spain.”

  This, it seems, was the perfect introduction to Beijing. Things were happening here, from the high-rises being built everywhere you turned your head, to the influx of businesses trying to get a piece of this growing global power, to the vice president of Spain stopping by for a visit. This was the new China. And Thomas and I had a very important job to do. I had to go to a bar tonight and talk to women about dating.

  It was a little sad. Our first night in Beijing and we were having beers at an English pub and eating buffalo chicken wings. There was a DJ who was playing “Get Right with Me” by Jennifer Lopez and the place was packed with foreigners of all shapes and sizes. I heard German, British English, Australian English, American English. There were some Italians in the bunch and a couple of French people. And yes, some Chinese as well. The crowd seemed to be mainly in their thirties, and everyone was having a good time dancing, talking, and flirting.

  Thomas was still taking his job as assistant cultural observer seriously, and soon enough he was talking to some German men at the bar. I let him go it alone, thinking he might be able to get more information out of them than I could.

  A young woman, around twenty-five, came up to me and handed me her business card. Her name was Wei and her card said she was a “tourist consultant.”

  “Hello, my name is Wei. Where are you from?”

  “New York,” I said loudly, trying to be heard over the music.

  “I love New York,” Wei said, laughing. “I love New York so much!” She laughed even louder. She had long black hair that went straight down her back and she was wearing a short black skirt and tall black suede boots. She couldn’t have been cuter.

  “Do you know that show Sex and the City? I love it so much!” Again, with much laughter. “Me? I am Samantha. That’s who I am!”

  I raised my eyebrows, understanding exactly what that meant, but not knowing exactly how to respond. “Oh, wow. That’s great. So you must be having fun being single.”

  She laughed again. “Yes. I love being single. I love it. I am so happy not to have to be married and having babies. I love my freedom!” She laughed again and pointed to her card that I was now holding.

  “If you need any help while you’re in Beijing, anything, you let me know. I work for a travel agent. We help people with everything they need.”

  “Thank you, that’s very nice of you.” But not wanting her to leave just yet, I added, “So, are you here for business tonight, or just to meet a nice expat boy?”

  Wei laughed again loudly. “Both! You are so smart!”

  I laughed with her, trying to be polite, and asked, “So, are you not so interested in Chinese men?”

  Now Wei stopped laughing. Her eyebrows furrowed and she pursed her lips.

  “Chinese men are boring. All they care about is money. They don’t know how to communicate. They don’t know how to be romantic.” Then she shook her head in disgust. “No, only Western men. They are much more fun.”

  Wei looked over and saw a tall blond man that she knew. She started waving and laughing. “Ben! Ben!” She turned to me. “What do you do in New York?”

  “Well, I was a book publicist, but now I’m sort of…”

  “Really? I am writing a book about my crazy lif
e in Beijing. Just like New York!”

  “Wow, that’s great,” I said enthusiastically.

  “I must go, but I’ll come back, okay?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Wei ran up to the guy named Ben and gave him a big laughing hug.

  Just then, Thomas came back. “Julie, I have been working very hard for you. We have much to discuss.” He pulled up two available bar stools and we sat.

  “I spoke to two German men who said they were here to meet Chinese women.”

  I smiled, enjoying his enthusiasm about this subject. “Really? What else?”

  “They said that they like Chinese women more because they are more devoted than Western women. With their German women, they said, it’s too much about power and negotiation. But with Chinese women, they let them be men, they don’t try and change them.”

  My eyebrows rose again. Thomas shrugged. “I’m just telling you what they told me.”

  “Well, this really is perfect then. Western men are here to meet Chinese women, and Chinese women are here to meet Western men.”

  “Yes,” Thomas said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m very upset I didn’t think of this idea. There is a lot of money to be made in this.”

  Just then, Wei came back over.

  “We are all going to Suzie Wong’s next. It’s much fun. You must come.” She then burst out laughing.

  They say that to understand the Chinese people, you have to understand their language. So at Suzie Wong’s, as Thomas and I sipped our Long Island iced teas in a little side room that we shared with two Chinese businessmen, Jin and Dong, we were given a lesson in Mandarin.

  Jin broke it down for us. First of all, there are four different tones in the Mandarin language. So for each word, it may have four different meanings depending on how you say it, sometimes more. For instance, the word ma, said in a straight, flat tone, means “mother.” But said in a tone that sort of dips slightly and then comes back up, it means “troublesome.” When you say ma with a deeper dip, almost as if you are disapproving of something, it means “horse.” When you say it sharply, it means “to curse.” Now add to this that you have two different ways of learning the language, either with pinyin, which is when it is spelled out in Roman letters, or in the original Chinese characters. All forty thousand of them. These two men told us that in school it takes most Chinese people—who, by the way, speak Chinese—four to six years to actually learn the language.

  So. The next time you want to make fun of some Chinese person’s inability to speak English, just keep in mind that that person, even if he or she is just a short-order cook at your local Chinese restaurant, can kick your ass at one of the hardest languages in the world. And think of this: when it takes that much discipline and determination simply to speak your own language, you could easily end up with a work ethic that just might help you take over the world. I’m just saying.

  After two rounds of Long Island iced teas, I was able to move them from Mandarin to the language of love.

  “So tell me, is it true because of China’s recent history, that there aren’t enough women for the men?”

  The two men started laughing immediately. Jin said, “No, where did you hear that?”

  I thought for a moment. “Um, I think the New York Times? And maybe 60 Minutes?”

  Dong shook his head. “Maybe in the country, but here? This is not true at all. This is a very good time to be a single man in Beijing. A very good time.”

  Jin nodded in agreement. “It’s not difficult to find women to date. But frankly, I prefer Western women.”

  I perked up a bit at that. “Really? Why?”

  “The Chinese women have become very materialistic. All they care about is how much money the man makes.”

  I turned and looked at Dong. “Do you agree?”

  Dong nodded. “I had a girlfriend who when we broke up after two years, asked me to pay her seventy thousand yuan.”

  “For what?” I asked, confused.

  Dong shrugged. “I don’t know. For her time?”

  “Were you the one that ended it?” Thomas interjected. “Was she angry?”

  Dong hit his hand to the table, his voice raised. “This is what was so crazy. She broke up with me!” He shook his head at the memory of it. “Western women, they’re better. More independent. Less materialistic.”

  In terms of dating and China, it seems the grass is always greener on the other side of the world.

  After the full effects of our drinks took hold, Thomas and I made our way down to the dance floor. There were some Westerners here and there, but this was a place where trendy locals came to mingle.

  Wei was on the dance floor with a few of her beautiful, chic friends. She saw me and waved us over.

  “These are my friends, Yu and Miao. They want to talk to you about being single here in Beijing.”

  “Wow, great,” I said loudly over the music. “What do you want to tell me?”

  Yu’s English wasn’t that great, but she made her point. “We are so lucky, to be able to be free. To be independent. To travel, to work. I love it so much!”

  Her other friend, Miao, agreed. “I can have sex with whoever I want. It’s very exciting to me!”

  Just then I saw Thomas take out his cell phone, which must have been vibrating in his pocket. He looked at the number and his expression became quite serious. He made a motion to me that he was going outside to take the call.

  We all started dancing to Shakira’s “Hips Don’t Lie.” I was jealous of these women, in a way. They were experiencing the joy of newfound independence. The world had opened up for them only a few years ago, and now they had options, from what shoes to buy to what kind of man to sleep with. I wish I could see singlehood in that way again, with that kind of excitement and delight. I looked at all these made-up, miniskirted, and writhing cuties and I was envious. They were young, they were single, and they were having the time of their lives.

  After a few songs, Thomas was still nowhere to be seen. I excused myself and walked outside. Thomas was leaning against the wall of the neighboring building, still on the phone, talking intimately, emotionally. My stomach tied into a little knot. Again, my French was limited, but I knew that there was some kind of negotiation going on. There was arguing and explaining and cajoling.

  I knew she was calling him right now and demanding that he come back home. And I knew that she knew he would ultimately listen to her—because he was hers. I was just borrowing him and everyone knew that.

  “Okay. Je comprends. Oui.” He hung up.

  I decided to just be brave and say it first.

  “You can leave tomorrow if you need to. I don’t want to keep you…”

  Thomas wrapped his arms around me. “But I don’t want to leave you; this is the problem.” He kissed me on the forehead. He gently said, “She is threatening to come here and drag me back home.” I must have looked quite alarmed, because he added, “I’ve never done this before. She understands this is different.”

  I said quickly, “Well, then you have to go home. That’s it.” I felt myself get choked up but I swallowed hard and continued. “This has been very nice, but you’re married. You’re married.” I took a quick, deep breath to control myself. It worked. I looked up at him, calmly. “We knew it had to end. So. This is it. It’s okay. It’s been fantastic. It will be a beautiful memory.” I then looked down at the sidewalk and took another deep breath. I was proud, I didn’t fall apart. Thomas nodded.

  Thomas wrapped his arms around me again. “So, in three days I must go back to France.” It was now official. There was a bottom line.

  “This agreement my wife and I had, it has worked very well up to now. Very well.”

  I buried my head into his chest.

  “You are a very exciting woman, Julie. So funny, so filled with life. I had no idea this would happen.”

  He kissed me on my forehead. “But that is life, I guess. This is what happens when you keep yourself open.” He tightened
his grip around me. “I am very sorry for all this drama.”

  We stood there for what seemed like forever. He was going to go back to her. This would be just another story in their crazy life together. She would win. Of course she would win; she should win, she is his wife, his history, his promise to the world.

  “I love you very much, Julie. I hope you know that.”

  It was merely a consolation prize, that admission, but it was nice to hear anyway. We went back to our hotel and lay on the bed together, our arms wrapped around each other until we went to sleep. It was too sad to do much else.

  Back in the States

  Serena had always, deep down—and maybe not so deep down—resented them all. Let me phrase that better. It wasn’t resentment; that’s too strong a word. It was a little touch of envy. It’s the hazard of any job where one is being paid to take care of someone who is wealthy enough to hire someone to take care of them. At first Serena chalked it up to being in such proximity to wealth. And it wasn’t ostentatious, wasteful, stomach-turning wealth. Theirs was something much, much more enviable. For the three years that Serena was the cook to a famous movie star, his lovely former-model wife, and their one young son, Serena got to see firsthand that money does indeed buy happiness. Don’t let anyone tell you differently, because the equation is simple: Money buys you the freedom to do more of the things you want to do, and less of the things you don’t want to do. Thus, you are spending more of your time happy, less of your time unhappy. Therefore, money buys happiness.

  Then let’s just talk about where money can let you live in New York while you are spending more of your time being happy. You can live in a five-thousand-square-foot loft on West Street off Franklin, in Tribeca. The entire back wall of your huge loft can have windows facing the Hudson, so when you walk into the apartment you feel as if you’ve just boarded an ocean liner.

  Money also made everyone look good. The wife, Joanna, was gorgeous and fit, Robert was gorgeous and fit, and their son, Kip, was adorable mainly due to winning the genetic lottery, but he also wore perfect cute boy outfits that made him look even more adorable than his DNA already did.