Crazy Rich Asians (16 page)

Not to disregard his studied eye for spectacular gemstones, but what Stephen truly
offered was absolute discretion. His was the sort of niche operation where, for instance,
a society matron in need of a quick cash infusion to pay off her idiot son’s bad margin
calls might go to dispose of an heirloom bauble without anyone finding out, or where
a “very important piece” about to go on the block in Geneva or New York might be flown
in for private inspection by a VIP client, away from the eyes of gossipy auction-house
staffers. Stephen’s shop was said to be a particular favorite of the wives of Persian
Gulf sheikhs, Malay sultans, and the Indonesian Chinese oligarchs, who had no need
to be seen buying up millions of dollars’s worth of jewelry at the tony Orchard Road
boutiques.

The shop consisted of a very small, rather stark front room where three French Empire
vitrines displayed a small collection of moderately priced pieces, mainly by emerging
artists from Europe.
The mirrored door behind the Boulle desk, however, hid a vestibule where another security
door opened to reveal a narrow corridor of individual chambers. It was here that Astrid
liked to hide out, in the tuberose-scented private salon lined from floor to ceiling
in pale blue velvet, with its plush velvet Récamier settee where she could curl up
her feet, sip a soda with lemon, and gossip with Stephen as he came in and out of
the room bearing trays and trays of glorious gems.

Stephen and Astrid had met years ago in Paris, when she wandered into the jewelry
shop on rue de la Paix where he was doing his apprenticeship. Back then it was as
rare to meet a teenage Singapore girl interested in eighteenth-century cameos as it
was to see a young Chinese man behind the counter at a
joaillier
as distinguished as Mellerio dits Meller, so an immediate bond was struck. Astrid
was grateful to find someone in Paris who understood her exacting tastes and was willing
to indulge her capricious hunt for rare pieces that might have once belonged to the
Princesse de Lamballe. Stephen, however, knew immediately that this girl had to be
the daughter of
some big shot
, though it took him another three years of careful cultivating to figure out exactly
who she was.

Like many of the world’s greatest jewelry dealers, from Gianni Bulgari to Laurence
Graff, Stephen had over the years honed his skills in being perfectly attuned to the
whims of the very rich. He had become a consummate soothsayer to the Asian billionaire
set, and he had become an expert in recognizing Astrid’s many-faceted moods. He could
tell, simply by observing her reactions to the types of pieces he would present to
her, what sort of day she was having. Today he was seeing a side to Astrid he had
never witnessed in fifteen years of knowing her. Something was clearly wrong, and
her mood had worsened dramatically while he was showing her a new series of bracelets
by Carnet.

“Aren’t these the most intricately detailed bracelets you’ve ever seen? They look
like they could have been inspired by the botanical drawings of Alexander von Humboldt.
Speaking of bracelets, did you like the charm bracelet your husband bought you?”

Astrid looked up at Stephen, confused by his question. “The charm bracelet?”

“Yes, the one Michael got you for your birthday last month. Wait a minute, didn’t
you know he got it from me?”

Astrid averted her gaze, not wanting to look surprised. She had
not received any sort of gift from her husband. Her birthday wasn’t until August,
and Michael knew better than to ever buy her jewelry. She could feel all the blood
rush to her face. “Oh yes, I forgot—it’s
adorable
,” she said lightly. “Did you help him pick it out?”

“Yes. He came in one night, all in a hurry. He had such a hard time making up his
mind—I think he was afraid you wouldn’t like it.”

“Well, of course I do. Thanks so much for helping him out,” Astrid said, keeping her
face completely calm.
Oh God oh God oh God. Was Michael actually stupid enough to buy jewelry for someone
else from her close friend Stephen Chia?

Stephen wished he hadn’t brought up the bracelet. He suspected that Astrid had not
been impressed with the gift from her husband. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure Astrid
would ever wear something as quotidian as a bracelet with multicolored pavé diamond
teddy bear charms, but it was one of the least expensive things he had in the shop,
and he knew that Michael, a typically clueless husband, was making a great effort
to find something within his budget. It was quite a sweet gesture really. But now,
within twenty minutes of being at his shop, Astrid had already bought an extremely
rare three-carat blue diamond set on a diamond eternity band that had just arrived
from Antwerp, art deco cuff links that had once belonged to Clark Gable, a signed
vintage Cartier platinum-and-diamond link bracelet, and she was seriously considering
a fantastical pair of VBH earrings. It was a piece he had brought in to show her for
the sheer folly of it, and he would never have imagined her to be interested.

“The pear-shaped stones are kunzites weighing forty-nine carats, and these remarkable
sparkling disks are twenty-three-carat ice diamonds. A highly original treatment.
Are you thinking of wearing something new to the Khoo wedding next weekend?” he asked,
trying to make conversation with his unusually focused shopper.

“Um … maybe,” Astrid replied, staring into the mirror and scrutinizing the multicolored
gemstones dangling off the enormous earrings, the bottoms of which were brushing against
her shoulders. The piece reminded her of a Native American dream catcher.

“It’s such a dramatic look, isn’t it? Very Millicent Rogers, I think. What kind of
dress are you planning to wear?”

“I haven’t really decided yet,” she said, almost mumbling to herself. She wasn’t really
looking at the earrings. In her mind, all she
could picture was a piece of jewelry from her husband hanging off some other woman’s
wrist.
First came the text message. Then the receipt from Petrus. Now there was an expensive
charm bracelet. Three’s a charm
.

“Well, I think you’d want to go with something dead simple if you wear these earrings,”
Stephen added. He was getting a bit concerned. The girl was not being herself today.
Usually she would breeze in and they would spend the first hour chatting and munching
on the delicious homemade pineapple tarts she always brought before he took out anything
to show her. After another hour or so of looking at pieces, she might hand one thing
over to him and say, “Okay, I’m going to think about this one,” before blowing a kiss
goodbye. She was not the sort of client who spent a million dollars in ten minutes.

And yet Stephen always cherished her visits. He loved her sweet nature, her impeccable
manners, and her complete lack of pretension. It was so refreshing, not like the sort
of ladies he usually had to deal with, the egos that required constant stroking. He
enjoyed reminiscing with Astrid about their crazy younger days in Paris, and he admired
the originality of her taste. She cared about the quality of the stones, of course,
but she couldn’t have cared less about the size and was never interested in the ostentatious
pieces. Why would she need to be, when her mother already had one of the grandest
jewelry collections in Singapore, while her grandmother Shang Su Yi possessed a trove
of jewels so legendary he had only ever heard them mentioned in hushed whispers. “
Ming dynasty jade like you’ve never seen before, jewels from the czars that Shang
Loong Ma cunningly bought from the grand duchesses fleeing into Shanghai during the
Bolshevik Revolution. Wait till the old lady dies—your friend Astrid is the favorite
granddaughter, and she’s going to inherit some of the most unparalleled pieces in
the world
,” Stephen had been told by the acclaimed art historian Huang Peng Fan, one of the
few people who had ever witnessed the splendor of the Shang collection.

“You know what? I must have these earrings too,” Astrid declared, standing up and
smoothing out her short pleated skirt.

“Are you leaving already? Don’t you want a Diet Coke?” Stephen asked in surprise.

“No, thank you, not today. I think I need to hurry off. So many errands. Do you mind
if I take the cuff links now? Promise I’ll have the funds transferred to your account
by the end of day.”

“My dear, don’t be silly, you can have everything now. Let me just
get you some nice boxes.” Stephen left the room, thinking that the last time Astrid
had been impulsive like this was after her breakup with Charlie Wu.
Hmm … was there trouble in paradise?

Astrid walked back to her car in the parking garage of the mall. She unlocked the
door, got in, and placed the black-and-cream-colored parchment shopping bag subtly
embossed with
STEPHEN CHIA JEWELS
on the passenger seat beside her. She sat in the airless vehicle, which was getting
more stifling by the second. She could feel her heart pounding so quickly. She had
just bought a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar diamond ring she didn’t much
care for, a twenty-eight thousand dollar bracelet she quite liked, and a seven hundred
and eighty-four thousand dollar pair of earrings that made her look like Pocahontas.
For the first time in weeks, she felt bloody fantastic.

Then she remembered the cuff links. She rummaged through the bag, searching for the
box that contained the art deco cuff links she had purchased for Michael. They were
in a blue velvet vintage box, and she stared at the pair of little silver-and-cobalt
cuff links fastened against a satin lining that had long since become mottled with
pale yellow spots.

These had once brushed against Clark Gable’s wrists, Astrid thought.
The gorgeous, romantic Clark Gable. Hadn’t he been married several times? Surely he
must have romanced many women in his time. Surely he must have cheated on his wives,
even Carole Lombard. How could anyone ever want to cheat on a woman as beautiful as
Carole Lombard? But sooner or later, it was bound to happen. Every man cheats. This
is Asia. Every guy has mistresses, girlfriends, flings on the side. It’s a normal
thing. A status thing. Get used to it. Great-grandpa had dozens of concubines. Uncle
Freddie had that whole other family in Taiwan. And how many mistresses has cousin
Eddie had by now? I’ve lost count. It was all meaningless. Guys just need a cheap
thrill, a quick shag. They need to go on the hunt. It’s a primal thing. They need
to spread their seed. They need to put their pricks inside things. MISS U NSIDE ME.
No no no. It was nothing serious. Probably some girl he met on his work trip. A fancy
dinner. A one-night stand. And he bought her off with a bracelet. A silly charm bracelet.
So cliché. At least he was discreet. At least he went and screwed the girl in Hong
Kong, not Singapore. Many wives have to put up with so much more. Think of some of
my friends. Think of what Fiona Tung has to go through with Eddie. The humiliation.
I am lucky. I am so lucky. Don’t be so bourgeois. It’s just a fling. Don’t make this
a big deal. Remember, grace under pressure. Grace under pressure.
Grace Kelly slept with Clark Gable while they were filming
Mogambo.
Michael is as handsome as Clark Gable. And now he will have Gable’s cuff links. And
he will love them. They weren’t too expensive. He won’t get mad. He will love me.
He still loves me. He hasn’t been that distant. He’s just stressed out. All that work
pressure. We’ll be married five years this October. Oh my God. Not even five years
and he is already cheating. He isn’t attracted to me anymore. I’m getting too old
for him. He’s tired of me. Poor Cassian. What’s going to happen to Cassian? My life
is over. It’s all over. This isn’t happening. I can’t believe this is happening
. To me.

The Gohs

Rachel peered at the clock and figured that she’d only slept about five hours, but
it was dawn and she was too excited to go back to sleep. Nick was snoring softly beside
her. She looked around at the room, wondering how much this hotel must be costing
Nick per night. It was an elegant suite decorated in understated pale wood, the only
burst of color coming from the fuchsia orchids on the console table against the mirrored
wall. Rachel got out of bed, put on a plush pair of terrycloth slippers, and padded
quietly into the bathroom to splash some water on her face. Then she walked over to
the window and peeked through the curtains.

Outside was a perfectly manicured garden with a large, inviting swimming pool lined
with deck chairs. A man in a white-and-teal uniform was walking around the pool with
a long pole and net, meditatively fishing out the stray leaves that had settled on
the surface of the water during the night. The garden was set within a quadrangle
of poolside rooms, and just beyond the serenity of the low-rise Victorian structure
rose a cluster of high-rise buildings, reminding her that they were in the heart of
Singapore’s fashionable Orchard Road district. Rachel could already feel the early-morning
heat permeating through the double-pane windows. She closed the curtains and went
into the sitting room to rummage for her laptop. After logging on,
she began to draft an e-mail to her friend Peik Lin. Seconds later, an instant message
popped up on her screen: