Crazy Rich Asians by Kevin Kwan (45)

8

At nine o’clock sharp, the wedding-ball attendees were led into the vast banquet hall set amid the indigenous tropical rain forest. Along the south walls were archways that led to grotto-like alcoves, while the curved north wall consisted of a curtain of glass that overlooked a man-made lagoon and a dramatic waterfall tumbling over moss-covered boulders. All along the edge of the lagoon, a profusion of exotic flowers and plants seemed to glow in iridescent colors.

“Did they build all this just for the wedding banquet?” Carol Tai asked in astonishment.

“No, lah! Those Lees always have business on their mind—this building is the centerpiece of a new luxury eco-resort they are developing—Pulau Samsara, they’re calling it,” her husband revealed.

“What, are they going to try to sell us condos after the wedding cake is served?” Lorena Lim sniggered.

“They can give this resort some fancy new name, but I know for a fact the island used to be called Pulau Hantu—‘Ghost Island.’ It was one of the outlying islands where the Japanese soldiers took all the young able-bodied Chinese men and had them shot during World War II. This island is haunted with ghosts of the war dead,” Daisy Foo whispered.

“Alamak, Daisy, if you truly have faith in the Lord, you won’t believe in such things as ghosts!” Carol admonished.

“Well, what about the Holy Ghost, Carol? Isn’t he a ghost too?” Daisy retorted.

Minutes after Rachel and Nick were seated, the dinner began with military precision as a battalion of waiters marched in with glowing LED-domed trays. The engraved menu card indicated that it was Giant South Sea Scallop Consommé with Washington State Ginseng Vapors and Black Mushrooms, but Rachel wasn’t quite sure what to do when the white-gloved waiter at her side lifted the shimmering dome off her plate. In front of her was a bowl, but encasing the surface of the bowl was what appeared to be a pinkish, membrane-like bubble that wobbled on its own accord.

“What are we supposed to do with this?” Rachel asked.

“Just pop it!” Nick encouraged.

Rachel looked at it, giggling. “I’m afraid! I feel like some alien creature is going to burst out of it.”

“Here, stand back, I’ll pop it for you,” Mehmet, who was on her right, offered.

“No, no, I’ll do it,” Rachel said bravely. She gave it a jab with her fork, and the bubble immediately collapsed on itself, releasing a burst of pungent medicinal steam into the air. As the filmy pink membrane met the surface of the soup, it created a beautiful marbleized pattern across its surface. Rachel could now see an enormous poached scallop in the middle of the bowl and thinly julienned black mushrooms artfully positioned like sun rays around it.

“Hmm. I gather the bubble was the ginseng,” Mehmet said. “It’s always guesswork when you’re eating molecular cuisine, even more so when it’s Pacific Rim fusion molecular cuisine. What is the name of this culinary genius again?”

“I can’t remember exactly, but supposedly he trained with Chan Yan-tak before going to do an apprenticeship at El Bulli,” Nick replied. “It’s really quite yummy, but I can see from my mum’s expression that she’s having a fit.”

Four tables away, Eleanor was turning as red as the coral-beaded bolero jacket she wore over her intricately pleated Fortuny silk gown, but it had nothing to do with the soup. She had been in shock ever since she spotted Rachel on the promenade wearing the Grand Duchess Zoya sapphire necklace. Could her disapproving mother-in-law really have loaned the necklace to Rachel? Or, even more unthinkable, had she given Rachel the necklace? What sort of black magic was Rachel doing at Tyersall Park?

“Are you going to drink your soup or not?” Philip asked, interrupting her thoughts. “If you’re not going to have it, hand over the bowl before it gets cold.”

“I’ve lost my appetite tonight. Here, swap seats with me—I need to talk to your sister for a minute.” Eleanor took her husband’s seat and smiled prettily at Victoria, who was huddled in conversation with her cousin Dickie.

“Wah, Victoria, you should really wear jewelry more often—you look so pretty in these cognac diamonds.”

Victoria wanted to roll her eyes. Eleanor had never once in three decades given her a compliment, but now, when she had this heap of vulgar stones on her chest, Eleanor was suddenly gushing. She was like all her other Sung sisters, so vain and materialistic. “Yes, isn’t it fun? Mummy gave them to me. She was in a good mood today after the wedding and was doling out heaps of jewels to everyone.”

“How nice for you,” Eleanor said breezily. “And isn’t that Mummy’s sapphire necklace on Rachel Chu’s neck?”

“Yes, doesn’t it look marvelous on her? Mummy thought so too,” Victoria said with a smile. She knew perfectly well that Fiona had been given the necklace and had loaned it to Rachel (after that delicious scene on the stairs with Eddie that Ling Cheh had breathlessly reenacted for her), but she chose not to share that detail with Eleanor. Far more amusing to see Eleanor get worked up over nothing.

“Alamak, aren’t you the least bit concerned about Rachel?” Eleanor queried.

“Concerned about what?” Victoria asked, knowing full well what Eleanor meant.

“Well, her dubious family background, for starters.”

“Oh, come on, Eleanor. You need to stop being so old-fashioned. Nobody cares about that kind of stuff anymore. Rachel is so well educated and down-to-earth. And she speaks perfect Mandarin.” She took care to mention all the things Eleanor was not.

“I didn’t know she spoke perfect Mandarin,” Eleanor said, getting more worried by the minute.

“Yes, she’s very accomplished. Why, I had the most fascinating conversation with her this morning about the importance of micro-lending in sub-Saharan Africa. You should feel lucky that Nicky has a girlfriend like her, and not someone like that spendthrift Araminta Lee. Can you imagine what the Khoos must be thinking right now, sitting here in the middle of this mosquito-infested jungle eating this absurd food? I’m so bloody sick of this Chinese fusion trend. I mean, it says on this menu card that this is Caramelized Peking Duck y Chocolat Molé, but it looks like peanut brittle. Where’s the duck, I ask you? Where’s the damn duck?”

“Will you excuse me a moment?” Eleanor said, getting up from the table abruptly.

Francesca was just about to take a pensive first bite into her Hawaiian Suckling Pig Truffle Tacos when Eleanor interrupted her. “Will you please come with me at once?”

Eleanor walked her into one of the cavern-like lounges surrounding the main banquet hall. She sank into a white mohair ottoman and inhaled deeply, as Francesca bent over her in concern, the ruffles on her flame-orange ball gown billowing around her like frothy waves. “Are you okay, Auntie Elle? You look like you’re having a panic attack.”

“I think I am. I need my Xanax. Can you get me some water? And please blow out all those candles. The smell is giving me a migraine.”

Francesca quickly returned with a glass of water. Eleanor downed a few pills quickly and sighed. “It’s worse than I thought. Far worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you see that sapphire necklace on that girl?”

“How could I miss it? Yesterday she was wearing Ann Taylor Loft and today she’s in an Elie Saab gown from next season and those sapphires.”

“It’s my mother-in-law’s. It used to belong to the Grand Duchess Zoya of St. Petersburg, and now it’s been given to that girl. What’s more, the whole family seems to have fallen in love with her, even my bitchy sister-in-law,” Eleanor said, almost choking on the words.

Francesca looked grave. “Don’t worry, Auntie Elle. I promised you I would see to it, and after tonight, Rachel Chu will wish she had never set foot on this island!”

After the sixth and final course had been served, the lights in the great hall dimmed, and a voice boomed out, “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our very special guest!” The live band struck up a tune, and the wall of glass behind the stage began to part. The water in the lagoon started to glow an iridescent aquamarine before draining away completely, and from the middle of the lagoon, the figure of a woman rose up as if by magic. As she walked slowly toward the banquet hall, someone screamed, “Oh my goodness, it’s Tracy Kuan!” The usually grimfaced vice premier of China jumped out of his seat and began clapping like a man possessed, as everyone in the hall cheered and rose to a standing ovation.

“Who’s that?” Rachel asked, amazed by the huge surge of excitement.

“It’s Tracy Kuan—she’s like the Barbra Streisand of Asia. Oh my God, I can die now!” Oliver practically swooned, getting all choked up.

“Tracy Kuan is still alive? ” Cassandra Shang turned in astonishment to Jacqueline Ling. “The woman must be at least a hundred and three by now, and she doesn’t look a day over forty! What on earth does she do to herself?”

“Whale vomit from New Zealand. Works miracles on your face,” Jacqueline shot back in dead seriousness.

Tracy Kuan sang Dolly Parton’s classic “I Will Always Love You,” with alternating verses in English and Mandarin, as the lagoon outside began to shoot elaborate fountain jets of water into the sky, synchronized to the music. Colin led Araminta onto the dance floor, and the crowd oohed and aahed as they danced to the ballad. When the song was over, all of the surfaces along the stage suddenly transformed into giant LED panels, projecting rapid stop-motion video sequences as Tracy Kuan launched into her classic dance hit “People Like Us.” The crowd roared in approval and rushed onto the dance floor.

Oliver grabbed Cecilia Cheng by the arm and said, “You are under orders from your grandmother to help me. I’m going to cut in on Alistair and Kitty, and you need to keep your baby brother distracted. All I need is one song alone with Kitty.”

Kitty and Alistair were grinding against each other feverishly when Oliver and Cecilia cut in, Alistair giving up Kitty reluctantly. How was he supposed to dirty dance with his own sister? “You’ve got the best moves on the dance floor!” Oliver yelled into Kitty’s ear, as Cecilia steered Alistair closer to the stage.

“I danced backup for Aaron Kwok. That’s how I got my start in the industry,” Kitty yelled back to Oliver as she continued to shimmy wildly.

“I know! I recognized you the minute I saw you the other day. You were wearing a short platinum blond wig in Aaron Kwok’s music video,” Oliver replied, expertly herding her toward a strategic point on the dance floor without her realizing it.

“Wow! You have a good memory,” Kitty said, feeling flattered.

“I also remember you from your other video.”

“Oh, which one?”

“The all-girl back-door-action one,” Oliver said with a little wink.

Kitty didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, I’ve heard about that video. That girl supposedly looks a lot like me,” she shouted back at Oliver with a smirk.

“Yes, yes, she’s your identical twin. Don’t worry, Kitty, your secret is safe with me. I’m a survivor, just like you. And I know you didn’t work your pretty ass off, quite literally I might add, to end up married to an upper-middle-class boy like my cousin.”

“You’re wrong about me. I love Alistair!” Kitty protested.

“Of course you do. I never said you didn’t,” Oliver replied, spinning her right next to Bernard Tai, who was dancing with Lauren Lee.

“Lauren Lee! My goodness, I haven’t seen you since last year’s Hong Kong art fair. Where have you been hiding yourself?” Oliver exclaimed as he switched partners with Bernard.

As Bernard began to ogle Kitty’s skimpily swathed décolletage, Oliver whispered into Kitty’s ear, “Bernard’s father, Dato’ Tai Toh Lui, has about four billion dollars. And he’s the only son.”

Kitty continued to dance as if she hadn’t heard a single word.

Seeking respite from the ear-splitting music, Astrid headed outdoors and climbed onto one of the terraces overlooking a canopy of treetops. Charlie noticed her leaving the banquet hall, and it took every ounce of determination for him not to follow her. He was better off admiring her from afar, in the way that he always had. Even when they were living together in London, he loved nothing more than to watch her quietly as she drifted through a room in her inimitable way. Astrid had always stood apart from any woman he had ever known. Especially tonight, when the most stylish women in all of Asia were dressed to impress and drowning in diamonds, Astrid outdid all of them by appearing in a flawlessly elegant cheongsam and an exquisitely simple pair of chalcedony drop earrings. He knew from the tailoring and intricately embroidered peacock feathers that the cheongsam had to be vintage, likely one of her grandmother’s. What the hell, he didn’t care how she might feel—he needed to see her again up close.

“Let me guess . . . not a fan of Tracy Kuan?” Astrid asked when she saw Charlie walking up the steps onto the terrace.

“Not when I have no one to dance with.”

Astrid smiled. “I’d happily dance with you, but you know the press would have a field day with that one.”

“Heh, heh—we’d wipe this wedding off the front pages tomorrow, wouldn’t we?” Charlie laughed.

“Tell me, Charlie, back in our day, were we anything like Colin and Araminta?” Astrid sighed, peering down at the fantastical harbor, its row of Grecian columns like leftover props from the set of Cleopatra.

“I’d like to think we weren’t. I mean, kids these days . . . the spending is on a whole other level.”

“ ‘Spending Ah Gong’s money,’ as they say,” Astrid quipped.

“Yes. But at least we had the sense to feel naughty doing it. And I think that back in those days when we lived in London, we were buying things we actually loved, not things to show off,” Charlie mused.

“No one in Singapore gave a damn about Martin Margiela back then.” Astrid laughed.

“It’s a whole new world, Astrid.” Charlie sighed.

“Well, I hope Colin and Araminta live happily ever after,” Astrid said wistfully.

They were silent for a minute, taking in the calm of the rustling trees mingling with the low bass thump coming from the great hall. Suddenly the relative quiet was broken, as Asia’s bright young things flooded out onto the plaza in a raucous conga line led by the indefatigable Tracy Kuan doing her best rendition of the B-52s’ “Love Shack.”

“I can’t lie to you, Astrid. My wife was invited tonight, but she’s not here because we lead separate lives. We haven’t lived together in more than two years,” Charlie said over the din, slumping onto one of the Lucite benches.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Astrid said, jarred by his candor. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, my husband isn’t really away on business. He’s in Hong Kong with his mistress,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Charlie stared at her, incredulous. “Mistress? How could anyone in his right mind be cheating on you?”

“That’s what I’ve been asking myself all night. All week actually. I had been suspecting it for the past few months, but he finally came clean a week ago, before abruptly moving out.”

“He moved to Hong Kong?”

“No, I don’t think so. Actually, what am I talking about—I have no idea. I think his mistress lives there, and I think he went specifically this weekend just to spite me. It was the one weekend where his absence would surely be noticed.”

“Fucker!”

“That’s not all. I think he fathered a child with this woman,” Astrid said sadly.

Charlie looked at her in horror. “You think? Or you know?”

“I don’t really know, Charlie. There are so many things about this whole affair that don’t make sense to me at all.”

“Then why don’t you go to Hong Kong yourself and find out?”

“How can I? There’s no way I can run off to Hong Kong on my own to check up on him. You know how it is—no matter where I stay, someone is bound to recognize me, and there will be talk,” Astrid said, rather resigned to her fate.

“Well, why don’t we find out?”

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

“I mean, I’m going to call my pilot right now to get the plane fueled up, and we can be in Hong Kong in three hours. Let me help you. You can stay with me, and no one will know you’re in Hong Kong. It’s unfortunate, but after my brother’s kidnapping eight years ago, I have access to the best private investigators in the city. Let’s get to the bottom of this,” Charlie said eagerly.

“Oh Charlie, I can’t just leave in the middle of all this.”

“Why the hell not? I don’t see you out there shaking your ass in that conga line.”

Colin and Nick were standing by one of the alcoves, watching Peter Lee spin his daughter around the dance floor. “I can’t quite believe I got married to that girl today, Nicky. This whole day has been a complete fucking blur.” Colin sighed wearily.

“Yeah, it’s been quite surreal,” Nick admitted.

“Well, I’m glad you’ve been with me on this ride,” Colin said. “I know I haven’t been easy on you the last few days.”

“Hey, what are friends for?” Nick said cheerily, putting his arm around Colin. He was not about to let Colin get maudlin on his wedding night.

“I’m going to do you the favor of not asking you when your turn’s going to be, although I must say Rachel looks smashing tonight,” Colin said, staring at her being whirled around by Mehmet.

“Doesn’t she?” Nick grinned.

“I’d cut in on them if I were you. You know how lethal our Turkish friend can be, especially since he knows how to tango better than an Argentinean polo player,” Colin warned.

“Oh, Mehmet already confessed to me that he thinks Rachel has the sexiest legs on the planet.” Nick laughed. “You know how they say weddings are infectious. I think I really caught the bug today, watching you and Araminta during the ceremony.”

“Does this mean what I think it does?” Colin asked, perking up.

“I think so, Colin. I think I’m finally ready to ask Rachel to marry me.”

“Well hurry up, lah!” Colin exclaimed, clapping Nick on the back. “Araminta already told me she intends to get pregnant on our honeymoon, so you need to catch up. I’m counting on your kid to check my kid into rehab!”

It was almost midnight, and while the older guests were perched comfortably on terraces overlooking the promenade, sipping their Rémy Martins or lapsang souchongs, Rachel was sitting with the few remaining girls in the banquet hall, catching up with Sophie Khoo. Lauren Lee and Mandy Ling were chatting several chairs away when Francesca sauntered up to the table.

“Wasn’t that dinner a disappointment? That Edible Bird’s Nest Semifreddo at the end—why would you ever puree bird’s nest? Bird’s nest is all about the texture, and that idiot chef transforms it into a half-frozen muck,” Francesca complained. “We should all go for supper after the fireworks.”

“Why don’t we just go now?” Lauren suggested.

“No, we have to stay for the fireworks! Araminta told me in secret that Cai Guo-Qiang designed a pyrotechnics show even more spectacular than the one he did for the Beijing Olympics. But we’ll take the first ferry the minute the show is over. Now, where should we go?”

“I don’t know Singapore well at all anymore. If I was in Sydney right now, I’d be heading to BBQ King for a late-night snack,” Sophie said.

“Oooh! BBQ King! I love that place! I think they have the best siew ngarp in the world!” Lauren declared.

“Aiyah, BBQ King is such a grease pit. Everyone knows that Four Seasons in London has the best roast duck in the world!” Mandy countered.

“I’m with Lauren, I think BBQ wins hands down,” Francesca said.

“No, I find their roast duck too fatty. The duck at Four Seasons is perfect, because they raise the ducks on their own special organic farm. Nico would agree with me—we used to go there all the time,” Mandy added with a flourish.

“Why do you call Nick ‘Nico’?” Rachel turned to Mandy, the curiosity finally getting the better of her.

“Oh, when we were just teenagers, we spent one summer together on Capri. His auntie Catherine, the Thai one, took a villa there. We would follow the sun all day—start out sunbathing at the beach club by the Faraglioni rocks in the mornings, go swimming in Grotta Verde after lunch, and end up at Il Faro beach for sunset. We got so brown, and Nicky’s hair got so long—he looked practically Italian! That’s when the Italian kids we made friends with started calling him Nico and I was his Mandi. Oooh, it was such a glorious time.”

“Sounds like it,” Rachel said lightly, ignoring Mandy’s blatant attempt to make her jealous by resuming her conversation with Sophie.

Francesca leaned into Mandy’s ear. “Really, Mandy, I could have milked that story way better. Your mother is right—you have lost your edge living in New York.”

“Go to hell, Francesca. I don’t see you doing any better,” Mandy said through gritted teeth as she got up from the table. She was fed up with the pressure coming at her from all sides, and wished she’d never agreed to come back. The girls looked up as Mandy stormed off.

Francesca shook her head slowly and gave Rachel a look. “Poor Mandy is so conflicted. She doesn’t know what she wants anymore. I mean, that was such a pathetic attempt at inciting jealousy, wasn’t it?”

For once, Rachel had to agree with Francesca. “It didn’t work, and I don’t understand why she keeps trying to make me jealous. I mean, why would I care about what Nick and her did when they were teenagers?”

Francesca burst out laughing. “Wait a minute, you thought she was trying to make you jealous?”

“Er . . . wasn’t that what she was doing?”

“No, honey, she’s not paying any attention to you. She was trying to make me jealous.”

“You?” Rachel asked, puzzled.

Francesca smirked. “Of course. That’s why she brought up the whole Capri story—I was there that summer too, you know. Mandy’s never gotten over how into me Nick was when we had our threesome.”

Rachel could feel her face get hot. Very hot. She wanted to bolt from the table but her legs seemed to have turned to glue.

Sophie and Lauren stared at Francesca, mouths agape.

Francesca looked straight into Rachel’s face and kept on chattering lightly. “Oh, does Nick still do that trick with the underside of his tongue? Mandy was far too prissy to let him go down on her, but my God, on me he would stay down there for hours.”

Right then, Nick entered the banquet hall. “There you are! Why are you all sitting in here like statues? The fireworks are about to start!”