China Rich Girlfriend (19 page)

Charlie sat in front of his computer, reading over his e-mail again and again. It was almost 7:00 p.m. in Hong Kong. It would be high noon in Venice. Astrid would probably be having lunch poolside at the Cipriani. He took a deep breath, and then he hit the delete button.

SHANGHAI, CHINA

“You have broken my heart. And I don't know how it will ever heal,” she said in a pained voice.

“I don't understand why you are being like this,” Carlton groaned in Mandarin.

“You don't understand? You don't realize how much you have hurt me? How can you be so cruel?”

“Explain exactly how I am being cruel. Because I really don't get it. I'm just trying to do the right thing.”

“You have betrayed me. You have taken his side. And by doing this you have destroyed me.”

“Oh Mother, don't be so dramatic!” Carlton huffed into his phone.

“I took you to Hong Kong to protect you. Don't you see that? And you did the worst thing ever—you defied me and went back to Shanghai to meet that girl! That bastard girl!”

Lying on his king-size bed in Shanghai, Carlton could practically feel the volcanic seething of his mother at the other end of the line in Hong Kong. He tried shifting to a calmer tone. “Her name is Rachel, and you are really overreacting. I actually think you'd like her a lot. And I'm not just saying that. She's intelligent—far more intelligent than me—but she doesn't put on any airs. She's one hundred percent authentic.”

Shaoyen snorted in derision. “You stupid, stupid boy. How did I ever
raise a son who is that stupid? Don't you see that the more you accept her, the more you stand to lose?”

“Just what am I losing, Mother?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? The very existence of this girl brings shame to our family. It tarnishes our name.
Your name
. Don't you realize how people will see us when they discover that your father had an illegitimate daughter with some country girl who kidnapped her own baby and took it to America? Bao Gaoliang, the new hope of the party? All his enemies are just waiting to tear him down. Don't you know how hard I have worked all my life to get our family to this position?
Aiyah
, God must be punishing me. I should never have sent you to England, where you got into so much trouble. That car accident knocked out every bit of sense from your brain!”

Colette, who until this moment had been lying quietly beside Carlton, started giggling when she saw his look of exasperation. Carlton quickly put a pillow over her face.

“I promise you, Mother, Rachel is not going to bring any shame to our…ouch…family.” He coughed, as Colette began jabbing him playfully in the ribs.

“She already is! You are destroying your reputation by parading around Shanghai with that girl!”

“I assure you, Mother, I haven't done any parading,” Carlton said as he tickled Colette.

“Fang Ai Lan's son saw you at the Kee Club last night. How foolish of you to be seen with her at such a visible place!”

“All types of people go to the Kee Club! That's why we went there—she could be anyone there. Don't worry, I'm telling everyone she's the wife of my friend Nick. Nick went to Stowe too, so it's a very convenient story.”

Shaoyen wouldn't let it go. “Fang Ai Lan told me she heard from her son that you were making a fool of yourself with a woman on each arm—Colette Bing and some girl he didn't recognize. I didn't dare say a thing!”

“Ryan Fang is jealous because I was in the company of two beautiful women. He's just bitter because his parents forced him to marry Bonnie Hui, who on a good day resembles a naked mole rat.”

“Ryan Fang is a good son. He listened to his parents and did what was best for his family. And now he's going to become the youngest party secretary in—”

“I don't really care if he's the youngest man to rule Westeros and sit on the Iron Throne,”
^*1
Carlton said, cutting her off.

“That Colette put you up to this, didn't she? She's the instigator! Colette knew I didn't want you anywhere near Shanghai this week.”

“Please leave Colette out of this. This has nothing to do with her.”

Hearing her name, Colette climbed onto Carlton, straddled him, and peeled her top off. Carlton eyed her hungrily. God, he never tired of her miraculously sculpted breasts.

“Ride 'em, cowboy!” she whispered. Carlton put his hand over her mouth, and she began biting into the flesh of his palm.

“I know Colette has been influencing you. Ever since she became your girlfriend, you've been nothing but heartache to me.”

“How many times do I have to tell you: She's not my girlfriend. We're just friends,” Carlton droned as Colette began grinding herself slowly against him.

“That's what you say. So where did you spend the night last night? Ai-Mei told me you haven't been home in days.”

“I have been spending time with my sister, and since you will not allow her to set foot in your house, I've had no choice but to stay with them at their hotel.” Carlton was actually holed up in the enormous Presidential suite at the Portman Ritz-Carlton, where he knew his mother's spies would never look for him.

“Oh my God, you are calling her your
sister
now!”

“Mother, whether you like it or not, she
is
my sister.”

“You are killing me slowly, son. You are killing me from the inside out.”

“Yes, Mother, I know. I've heard it many times before: I'm such a disappointment, I have betrayed all my ancestors, you don't know why you ever bore the pain of giving birth to me,” Carlton said, hanging up the phone.

“My God, your mother really laid it on thick this time, didn't she?” Colette said in English. (Of all her boyfriends, Carlton was the only one with a perfect posh British accent, and she found it so alluring to hear him use it.)

Carlton groaned. “She had a huge row with my father last night
and kicked him out of the flat—he ended up checking in to the Upper House at two in the morning. I guess she wanted to make me feel just as bad.”

“Why should you feel bad? It's not like you're responsible for any of this.”

“Precisely—my mother's completely lost the plot! She's so worried that Rachel is somehow going to ruin our family's reputation, but her strange behavior is ruining her own reputation.”

“She
has
been acting rather strange lately, hasn't she? She used to like me.”

“She still likes you,” Carlton said rather unconvincingly.

“Uh-huh. I'm really buying that.”

“Trust me, the only person she's mad at right now is my father. She refused to leave Hong Kong, so when he said he was going back to Shanghai on his own, she told him that she would divorce him if he tried to see Rachel. She's afraid they'll be seen together in public and some scandal will erupt.”

“Wow. It's gotten that bad?”

“It's an empty threat. She's just caught up in her anger.”

“Why don't I arrange a dinner for Rachel to secretly meet your father at my house? That's not a public place.”

“You just like causing trouble, don't you?”

“Am I the one causing trouble? I'm just being hospitable to your sister. It's rather ridiculous that she's been in Shanghai for over a week now and your father still hasn't seen her. He was the one who invited her in the first place!”

Carlton considered it for a moment. “We could try to arrange something. I'm not sure my father will come, though. He kicks and screams but he always ends up obeying every command of my mother's.”

“Leave it to me. I'll call your father and tell him it's an invitation from
my
dad. That way he won't refuse, and he won't be expecting Rachel to be there.”

“You're being awfully nice to Rachel and Nick.”

“Why wouldn't I be? She's your sister, and I'm enjoying them very much. They are such a different species. Rachel is cool, there's no bullshit with her. And she's a total banana,
^*2
isn't she? Just look at how she dresses
in those no-name brands, her painful lack of jewelry—she's not like any Chinese girl I've ever met. Nick I'm still trying to figure out. Didn't you say his parents were rich?”

“I think they do okay, but I don't get the impression they are
that
rich. The father used to be an engineer, and now he's a sports fisherman. And Mrs. Young does day-trading, I think.”

“Well, he's been very well brought up. He has this very particular sort of relaxed charisma, and his manners are impeccable. Have you noticed that whenever we've been in an elevator, he always lets all the women exit first?”

“So?”

“That's the mark of a true gentleman. And I know he didn't get that from Stowe, since your manners are barbaric!”

“Fuck you! You just like him because you think he looks like that Korean heartthrob you like.”

“How cute—are you jealous? Don't worry, I have no interest in stealing Nick from your sister. What is he, a university professor?”

“He teaches history.”

Colette giggled. “A history professor and an economics professor. Can you imagine what their children will be like? I don't know why your mother would
ever
feel threatened by these people.”

Carlton sighed. Deep down, he knew exactly why his mother was behaving the way she was. It really had nothing to do with Rachel and everything to do with his accident. She had never spoken to him about what he had done, but he knew that the stress of that tragedy had changed his mother irretrievably. She had always been short-tempered, but ever since London, she had become more irrational than he had ever known her to be. If he could just turn back the clock on that night. That fucking night that had ruined his life. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Colette.

Colette could see that the black cloud had descended over Carlton again. It was happening so quickly these days. One minute they would be having the most brilliant time, and then suddenly he would just disappear into a pit of despair. Trying to snap him out of his funk, she unbuttoned the last few buttons of his shirt and began to trace circles around his navel. “I love it when you get all pouty and smoldering on me,” she whispered in his ear.

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes you do.” Colette positioned her feet on both sides of Carlton's
torso and stood up over him. “Now, do you really think it's true that President Obama was the last person to sleep in this bed?”

“This place is built like a fortress—all the presidents stay here,” Carlton said flatly.

“I bet Mr. Obama never had
this
view,” Colette said, sliding off her Kiki de Montparnasse panties in one slow, seductive motion.

Carlton stared up at her. “No, I don't believe so.”

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.”
^*1

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
,”
^*2
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.”