7

NICK AND RACHEL

SHANGHAI, CHINA

Nick awoke to the vision of Rachel luxuriating in a patch of sunlight by the window, sipping her coffee. “What time is it?” he asked.

“It’s about a quarter to one.”

Nick bolted up reflexively as if an alarm bell had gone off. “Bloody hell! Why didn’t you wake me?”

“You were sleeping so sweetly, and we’re on vacation, remember?”

Nick stretched his arms and let out a groan. “Ugh. It doesn’t feel much like a vacation.”

“You just need some coffee.”

“And aspirin. Lots of it.”

Rachel laughed. Since their arrival last week, the two of them had been swept up in the tornado that was Carlton’s social life. Actually, it was more like Colette’s social life, since they had attended a mind-blowing number of fashion boutique parties, twelve-course banquets, art openings, restaurant soft openings, a recital at the French Consulate, VIP after-parties (followed by several VVIP after-after-parties), and something billed as a “site-specific transmedia performance piece”—all at Colette’s invitation. And this was before hitting the clubs every night till dawn.

“Who knew that Shanghai’s nightlife scene would put New York to shame? I’m ready for a quiet night in. Do you think your brother will be offended?” Nick asked.

“We’ll just tell Carlton we’re too old for his crowd,” Rachel said, blowing on her coffee.

“Says the girl who was hit on about a dozen times last night! I thought I was really going to have to bust out some of my ninja moves to get those French guys to leave you alone at M1NT.”

Rachel laughed. “You’re such a dork!”

“I’m the dork? I’m not the tech geek. Was it just me, or has every European fellow in Shanghai invented some app that’s going to revolutionize the world? And do they all need to have that much stubble? I can’t imagine what it would be like kissing them.”

“Actually, that would be kinda hot—watching you and that cute Polytechnique grad make out! What was his name? Loïc?” Rachel cracked.

“Thanks, but I’d prefer Claryssa or Chlamydia or whatever that friend of Colette’s name was.”

“Haha—Chlamydia is exactly what you’ll get if you kiss her! You’re talking about that girl with the fake eyelashes who asked you point-blank if you had an American passport?”

“Her eyelashes were fake?”

“Honey, everything on her was fake! Did you see how crushed she looked when Colette broke it to her that we were married? I don’t understand how all these people missed the wedding bands on our fingers.”

“You think a little piece of gold is going to stop them? Women here just don’t understand your social cues. You confuse them—you look Chinese, but they don’t get your body language. You don’t behave like a typical wife, so they don’t even realize we’re together.”

“Okay, from now on I’ll be sure to drape myself over you and gaze adoringly into your face at all times. You’re my one and only gaofushuai,” Rachel cooed, fluttering her eyelashes facetiously.

“That’s the spirit! Now where’s my coffee?”

“It’s in the coffeemaker at the bar, and you can refresh my cup too while you’re at it!”

“What happened to my subservient little wife?” Nick padded languidly to the bar as Rachel called out from the other room, “Oh, my father called this morning.”

“What did he have to say?” Nick asked, groggily trying to figure out which button to push on the unnecessarily high-tech espresso machine.

“He apologized again for not being here.”

“Still sorting out problems in Hong Kong?”

“Well today he had to rush to Beijing. Some government emergency this time.”

“Hmmm,” Nick said as he scooped some coffee into the French press. He wondered what was really behind Bao Gaoliang’s Houdini act. He was about to bring it up when Rachel continued, “He wanted us to meet him in Beijing this weekend, but apparently the smog is going to be terrible over the next few days. So he suggested we fly to Beijing next week if things clear up.”

Nick returned to the bedroom and handed Rachel her refilled cup. She looked him in the eye and said, “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting a strange feeling about all this.”

“You’re not the only one,” Nick said, sitting down on the floor against the window. The sunlight pouring onto his back felt more invigorating than the smell of the coffee.

“I’m so glad to hear you say that! I’m not being totally paranoid, am I? I mean, his excuses are beginning to sound pretty lame. Smog in Beijing? Isn’t it always smoggy there? I flew three thousand miles to get to know him—I’m not going to let some pollution get in the way. I kinda thought I’d be seeing a lot more of my dad, and I feel like he’s avoiding us.”

“I’m not disagreeing with you.”

“Do you think Shaoyen has something to do with all this? I mean, we haven’t heard a peep from her.”

“It’s possible. Has Carlton said anything to you?”

“Carlton doesn’t say a thing! You know, we’ve seen him every night since we got here, but I don’t feel like I’ve really got a read on him yet. I mean, he’s very sweet, and a great conversationalist like all you British-public-school-educated boys, but he doesn’t reveal much about himself. And he can be rather moody sometimes, don’t you think?”

“Yeah, I’ve definitely noticed that. There are moments when he just seems to check out, like the other night when we were at that bar on top of the Ritz Pudong, having drinks with that woman with the big hair.”

“Chinese Afro girl? Yeah, what was her name again?”

“No idea, but she was giving off strange vibes, and for a while Carlton went absolutely quiet and just stared at the view. I thought maybe he didn’t like her or something, but then he snapped out of it and was back to his normal self again.”

Rachel gave Nick a worried look. “You think maybe it’s his drinking? I mean, the way he’s been putting it away this week alone makes my liver ache.”

“Well, it seems like everyone here takes drinking to a whole other level! But let’s not forget his accident not too long ago—he did suffer major head trauma.”

“You know, he seems so fit, I keep forgetting he even had that accident.”

Rachel got up from her armchair and sat down next to Nick on the floor. She stared out the window at the twisting skeletal form of Shanghai Tower, a new skyscraper being built across the river that would one day be the tallest structure in the world. “It’s so strange. I had this idea that we’d be spending all our time getting to know my dad, meeting other relatives over meals, that sort of thing, but it feels like all we’ve been doing day after day is partying with Shanghai’s Gossip Girl crowd.”

Nick nodded in agreement, but he didn’t want to sound discouraging. “At some point, your dad has to show up. And you know, it’s entirely possible we are being paranoid, and things haven’t worked out because they haven’t. Your father is a very important man and there’s a lot cooking on the political front with the changeover in leadership that just happened. Maybe there’s some other drama playing out that has nothing to do with you.”

Rachel gave him a dubious look. “Do you think I should try to bring it up casually with Carlton?”

“If there really is something going on with the family, that might put him in an awkward position. Technically speaking, we have been very well looked after by the Baos, haven’t we? I mean, we’ve been enjoying this fabulous suite, and Carlton’s been entertaining us every day. Let’s see how it plays out. In the meantime, I think it may finally be time for me to try that juice cleanse.”

“Before you do—we have dinner tonight with Colette’s parents.”

“Oh—I’d forgotten about that. Do you know where? I wonder if it’s going to be yet another bacchanalian twenty-course feast.”

“Carlton said something about going to a resort.”

“Maybe they’ll have cheeseburgers. I would kill for a burger and fries tonight.”

“Me too! But I don’t think that’s in the cards. Something tells me Colette’s not a burger-and-fries kind of gal.”

“What gave that away? I bet you anything her monthly clothing budget exceeds our combined annual incomes.”

“Monthly? Her weekly clothing budget is probably more accurate. Did you see those carved-dragon-heel shoes she was wearing last night? I swear to God I think they were made of ivory. She’s basically Araminta 2.0.”

Nick chortled. “Colette is not Araminta 2.0. Araminta is essentially a Singapore girl—she can glam it up when she wants to, but she’s equally comfortable hanging out in yoga sweats and eating fresh coconut on the beach. Colette’s a whole other advanced species yet to be classified. I think she’ll either be running China or Hollywood in a few years.”

“And yet she’s grown on me. She’s been the nicest surprise so far, hasn’t she? When I first met her, I was like, This girl cannot be for real. But she’s so sweet and so generous—she hasn’t let us pick up a single tab since we got here.”

“I hate to burst your bubble, but I think we’ve been comped at every restaurant or club we’ve been to. Do you notice how Colette gets Roxanne to take pictures of her everywhere we go? She just tweets or blogs about every place, and the rest of us eat for free. It’s quite a racket.”

“Still, I think she’s good for Carlton.”

“Yeah, but don’t you think she’s toying with him? She’s clearly into him, and yet she’s still chanting this ‘He’s just one of my many suitors’ BS.”

Rachel gave Nick a teasing look. “You just don’t like it when the tables are turned! Colette’s got her own career and her own goals and she’s in no rush to get married. I think it’s so refreshing. Most Chinese girls are under such enormous pressure to get married and have kids by their early twenties. I mean, how many Chinese girls do we get every semester that are really just at NYU to find the perfect husband?”

Nick cocked his head and thought about it for a moment. “I can’t think of any besides you.”

“Oh, har har. Jerk!” Rachel said, smacking him with a tasseled pillow.

At five that afternoon, as Nick and Rachel stood outside their hotel waiting for Carlton to pick them up, a thunderous roar could be heard coming from the Bund. Nick was dressed casually in jeans, a light blue oxford shirt, and his fawn-colored Huntsman summer blazer, while Rachel opted for an Erica Tanov summer linen smock dress. Moments later, a burned-apricot McLaren F1 pulled into the driveway of the Peninsula, its engines making a low, deliriously expensive rumble that sent the valet attendants scurrying around excitedly, each hoping for the chance to park this exotic driving machine. Their hopes were dashed when Carlton poked his head out the window and beckoned Nick and Rachel to get in.

“You take the front seat,” Nick gallantly offered his wife.

“Don’t be ridiculous—my legs are much shorter than yours,” Rachel said. Their argument ended up being completely moot, because as the wing doors rose, they saw that the driver’s seat was in the center of the car, with a passenger seat flanking either side.

“How cool! I’ve never seen anything like this!” Rachel said.

Nick peered in. “This is one sexy car you have here—is it street legal?”

“Hell if I know,” Carlton said with a smirk.

“And here I thought you people went around in nothing but Audis,” Rachel said as she climbed in on the right side.

“Oh, the Audis belong to Colette’s family. You know why everyone drives Audis, don’t you? It’s the car most high-level politicians drive, so many people drive them because they think that other cars will give way and the police are more likely to leave them alone.”

“How interesting,” Rachel said as she settled into her surprisingly comfortable bucket seat. “I love this new-car smell.”

“Actually, this car isn’t new at all—it’s from 1998,” Carlton said.

“Really?” Rachel said in surprise.

“It’s considered a classic—I only drive it on sunny, cloudless days like today. You’re smelling the hand-stitched Connolly leather hides—made from cows even more pampered than the ones in Kobe.”

“Looks like we’ve discovered another of Carlton’s passions,” Nick commented.

“Oh yeah! I’ve been importing cars for several years now and selling them to friends. I started during my Cambridge days, whenever I came up to London on weekends,” Carlton explained as he sped onto Yan’an Elevated Road.

“You must have witnessed the Arab sports-car parade around Knightsbridge every year,” Nick said.

“You bet! My friends and I would grab a table outside the Ladurée and watch them roll by!”

“What are you guys talking about?” Rachel asked.

Nick proceeded to explain. “Every June, all these young Arab squillionaires descend on London, bringing with them the most stupendous sports cars in the world. And they race them around Knightsbridge as if the streets are their private Formula One track. On Saturday afternoons, the cars converge behind Harrods at the corner of Basil Street like some swap meet. All these kids—some not more than eighteen, dressed in expensive tattered denim, and their girlfriends, covered up in their hijabs but wearing blinged-out sunglasses sitting in these million-dollar automobiles. It’s an incredible sight.”

Carlton nodded, his eyes flashing with excitement. “The same thing is happening here! This is now the number-one market for luxury cars in the world—especially exotic sports cars. The demand is unquenchable, and all my friends know I’m the best at finding the rarest of the rare. This McLaren we’re sitting in—only sixty-four were ever built. So before a car even arrives on the dock in Shanghai, I have a waiting list of buyers.”

“Sounds like a fun way to make a living,” Nick commented.

“Tell that to my parents when you see them. They think I’m wasting my life.”

“I’m sure they are just concerned for your safety,” Rachel said, holding her breath as Carlton suddenly cut across three lanes at ninety miles per hour.

“Sorry, I just need to get around those trucks. Don’t worry—I’m a very safe driver.”

Nick and Rachel exchanged dubious looks, knowing Carlton’s recent history. Rachel checked that her seat belt was securely fastened and tried not to look at the zigzagging cars in front of them.

“Everyone on the highway seems totally schizo—they’re changing lanes constantly,” Nick quipped.

“Listen, if you try to drive in an orderly fashion here and stay in your lane all the time, you’ll just get killed,” Carlton said, accelerating again to overtake a truck full of pigs. “The rational rules of driving do not apply in this country. I learned to drive in the UK, and when I came back to Shanghai the first time after getting my license, I got pulled over on my first day driving. The police officer screamed at me, ‘You bloody fool! Why did you stop at that red light?’ ”

“Oh yeah, Rachel and I have almost gotten killed trying to cross the road several times. Traffic signals mean nothing to Shanghai drivers,” Nick said.

“They are merely suggestions,” Carlton agreed, suddenly slamming on the brakes and veering sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding a van in the far left lane.

“SWEET JESUS! WAS THAT VAN ACTUALLY BACKING UP IN THE FAST LANE?” Rachel screamed.

“Welcome to China,” Carlton said nonchalantly.

Twenty minutes outside of downtown Shanghai, they finally exited the highway, much to Rachel’s relief, and turned onto what appeared to be a recently paved boulevard.

“Where are we?” Rachel asked.

“This is a new development called Porto Fino Elite,” Carlton explained. “It’s modeled after those fancy neighborhoods in Newport Beach.”

“Clearly,” Nick commented as they passed a Mediterranean-style strip mall painted in shades of ochre, complete with a Starbucks. They turned off the main street and drove down a long avenue flanked by high stucco walls, at the end of which stood a cascading sculptural waterfall next to a gatehouse. Carlton pulled up in front of a massive gate with decorative steelwork panels, and three uniformed guards emerged from the gatehouse. One of the guards walked around the car warily, as if he was looking for hidden explosives, while another used an inspection mirror to peer under the car. The guard in charge recognized Carlton and checked him off a list. He gave Nick and Rachel a careful once-over, before nodding and waving the car through.

“That’s pretty serious security,” Nick commented.

“Yep—it’s very private here,” Carlton said.

The heavy gates clanked open, and the McLaren sped down a pristine white gravel road lined with Italian cypresses. Between the trees, Rachel and Nick could make out several small artificial lakes, from the middle of which sprouted fountains; sleek glass and steel buildings here and there; and the undulating mounds of a golf course. Finally, as they passed a pair of weathered obelisks, they came upon the main reception building—a majestic yet minimalist stone-and-glass structure surrounded by artfully planted pagoda trees.

“I had no idea they were building resorts like this in the suburbs outside Shanghai. What’s this place called?” Nick asked Carlton.

“This isn’t actually a resort. This is Colette’s weekend retreat.”

“Excuse me? This whole property is hers?” Rachel sputtered.

“Yes, all thirty acres of it. Her parents built it for her.”

“And where do they live?”

“They have houses in many cities—Hong Kong, Shanghai, Beijing—but they spend most of their time in Hawaii these days,” Carlton explained.

“They must have done rather well,” Rachel commented.

Carlton gave her a look of amusement. “I guess I never mentioned—Colette’s father is one of the five richest men in China.”