Crazy Rich Asians (28 page)

“They look so real because they practically
are
real, Lorena,” Carol explained. “These are what they call ‘real fakes.’ The factories
in China are commissioned by all the luxury brands to manufacture the leather. Say
the company places an order for ten thousand units, but they actually make twelve
thousand units. Then they can sell the remaining two thousand off the books on the
black market as ‘fakes,’ even though they are made with the exact same material as
the real ones.”

“Hey ladies,
guei doh say
, ah!
^‡
These aren’t bargains at all,” Daisy warned, scrutinizing one of the price tags.

“It’s still a bargain. This bag is forty-five hundred in Singapore. Here it’s six
hundred, and it looks exactly the same,” Lorena said, feeling the distinctive texture
of the bag.

“My God, I want one in every color!” Nadine squealed. “I saw this handbag on
British Tatler
’s ‘It List’ last month!”

“I’m sure Francesca would want a few of these bags too,” Lorena said.

“No, no, I dare not buy anything for that fussy daughter of mine—Francesca will only
carry originals, and they have to be from
next
season,” Nadine replied.

Eleanor wandered into the next room, which was filled with racks and racks of clothing.
She scrutinized a fake Chanel suit, shaking her head in disapproval at the gold buttons
with interlocking
Cs
running up the sleeves of the jacket. She had always felt that wearing a stiffly
tailored designer dress of this sort, as women of her age and social milieu might
be inclined to do, only served to reinforce one’s age. Eleanor’s style was a deliberate
one—she preferred the more youthful, trendy clothes that she found in the boutiques
of Hong Kong, Paris, or wherever she happened to be traveling, as this achieved three
goals: she always wore something distinctive that no one else in Singapore had, she
spent far less money on clothes than the rest of her friends, and she looked at least
a decade younger than her real age. She tucked the sleeve of the Chanel suit back
into its rack properly and walked into what appeared to be a room devoted to Hermès,
finding herself face-to-face with none other than Jacqueline Ling.
Speak of age-defying, this one had made some pact with the devil
.

“What are you doing here?” Eleanor asked in surprise. Jacqueline was one of her least
favorite people, but even she would never have imagined that Jacqueline might carry
a designer fake.

“I just flew in this morning and a friend insisted that I come here and pick up one
of these ostrich-leather purses for her,” Jacqueline said, a little flustered to be
seen by Eleanor at a place like this. “How long have you been here? No wonder I didn’t
see you at Tyersall Park last night.”

“I’m here for a spa weekend with some girlfriends. So, you were
at my mother-in-law’s for Friday-night dinner?” Eleanor asked, not entirely surprised.
Jacqueline was always sucking up to Nicky’s grandmother whenever she visited Singapore.

“Yes, Su Yi decided to have a little party at the last minute because her
tan huas
were in bloom. She had quite a few people over. I saw your Nicky … and I met
the girl
.”

“Well, what was she like?” Eleanor asked impatiently.

“Oh, you haven’t met her yet?” Jacqueline thought that Eleanor would surely want to
assess the interloper as early as possible. “You know, she’s typical ABC. Overconfident
and overfamiliar. I would never have thought that Nicky would go for someone like
that.”

“They are just dating,
lah
,” Eleanor said a little defensively.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you. This girl is already best friends with
Astrid and Oliver, and you should have seen the way she was staring openmouthed at
everything around the house,” Jacqueline said, even though she had witnessed nothing
of the sort.

Eleanor was taken aback by Jacqueline’s comment, but it soon dawned on her that on
this score at least, their interests were uniquely aligned. “How is your Mandy doing
these days? I hear she’s dating some Jewish banker twice her age.”

“Oh, you know that’s
really
just idle gossip,” Jacqueline replied quickly. “The press over there is so fascinated
by her, and they try to link her with all the eligible men in New York. Anyway, you
can ask Amanda yourself—she’ll be back for the Khoo wedding.”

Eleanor looked surprised. Araminta Lee and Amanda Ling were archrivals, and two months
ago, Amanda had caused something of a mini-scandal when she told the
Straits Times
that “she didn’t understand what all the fuss was over the Khoo wedding—she was far
too busy to come rushing back to Singapore for every social climber’s wedding.”
^§

At that moment, Carol and Nadine entered the Hermès room. Nadine recognized Jacqueline
immediately, having seen her from afar many years ago at a gala movie premiere. Here
was her chance to get an introduction. “Look at you, Elle, always running into people
you know everywhere you go,” she said cheerily.

Carol, who was much more interested in the fake Hermès Kelly bags, smiled at them
from across the room but carried on shopping,
while Nadine made a beeline for the ladies. Jacqueline glanced at the woman coming
toward her, taken aback by the sheer volume of makeup she was wearing. Oh my God,
this was that awful Shaw woman whose pictures were always in the society pages, preening
away with her equally vulgar daughter. And Carol Tai was the wife of that scoundrel
billionaire. Of course Eleanor would be hanging around with
this
crowd.

“Jacqueline, so nice to meet you,” Nadine said effusively, extending her hand.

“Well, I must be off,” Jacqueline said to Eleanor, not making eye contact with Nadine
and stepping toward the exit nimbly before the woman could claim a proper introduction.

When Jacqueline had left the room, Nadine began to gush. “You never told me you knew
Jacqueline Ling! Wow, she still looks stunning! How old must she be by now? Do you
think she had a face-lift?”

“
Alamak
, don’t ask me such things, Nadine! How would I know?” Eleanor said, feeling irritated.

“You seemed to know her quite well.”

“I’ve known Jacqueline for years. I even made a trip to Hong Kong with her a long
time ago, where she couldn’t stop making a spectacle of herself, and all these idiotic
men kept following us everywhere, proclaiming their love for her. It was a nightmare.”

Nadine wanted to keep talking about Jacqueline, but Eleanor’s mind was already elsewhere.
So Amanda had changed her mind and was coming home for Colin’s wedding after all.
How very interesting. As much as she detested Jacqueline, she had to admit that Amanda
would be a superb match for Nicky. The stars were beginning to align, and she could
hardly wait for whatever lay in store with Lorena’s secret informer tonight.

Rachel

The first hint that Araminta’s bachelorette party was going to be no ordinary affair
occurred when Rachel’s taxi dropped her off at the Jet Quay CIP Terminal, which served
the private-jet crowd. The second hint came when Rachel walked into the sleek lounge
and came face-to-face with twenty girls who looked as if they had spent the last four
hours in hair and makeup. Rachel thought that her outfit—a seafoam blue tunic top
paired with a white denim skirt—was rather cute, but now it seemed a little shabby
compared to the girls in their fresh-off-the-catwalk ensembles. Araminta was nowhere
to be seen, so Rachel just stood around smiling at everyone as snippets of conversation
drifted her way.

“I searched the world for that handbag, and even L’Eclaireur in Paris couldn’t get
it for me …”

“It’s a three-bedroom in that old complex on Thompson Road. I have a gut feeling it’s
going to go en bloc and I’ll triple my money …”

“OMG, I found the best new place for chili crab, you won’t believe where …”

“I like the Lanesborough’s suites more than Claridge’s, but really, the Calthorpe
is where you want to be …”

“Nonsense, lah! No Signboard Seafood still has the best chili crab …”

“This isn’t cashmere, you know. It’s baby vicuña …”

“Did you hear Swee Lin sold her Four Seasons flat for seven-point-five mil? A young
Mainland Chinese couple, paid in cash …”

Yep, this was definitely not her crowd. Suddenly an overly tan girl with fake blond
hair extensions came into the lounge, shouting, “Araminta just pulled up!” The room
got quiet as everyone craned their necks toward the sliding glass door. Rachel hardly
recognized the girl who entered. In place of the schoolgirl in pajama pants of a few
nights ago was a woman in a matte-gold jumpsuit with gold stiletto boots, her wavy
dark brown hair piled into a loose beehive. With a light dusting of expertly applied
makeup, her girlish features were transformed into that of a supermodel. “Rachel,
I’m so glad you made it!” Araminta said excitedly, giving her a big hug. “Come with
me,” she said, taking Rachel by the hand and leading her to the center of the room.

“Hello, everyone! First things first—I want to introduce all of you to my fabulous
new friend Rachel Chu. She’s visiting from New York, as the guest of Colin’s best
man, Nicholas Young. Please give her a very warm welcome.” All eyes were on Rachel,
who flushed a little and could do nothing but smile politely at the assembled crowd
that was now dissecting every inch of her. Araminta continued. “You are all my dearest
friends, so I wanted to give you a special treat.” She paused for effect. “Today we’re
heading to my mum’s private island resort in eastern Indonesia!” There were gasps
of astonishment from the crowd. “We’re going to dance on the beach tonight, feast
on delish low-calorie cuisine, and pamper ourselves silly with spa treatments all
weekend! Come on, girls, let’s get this party started!”

Before Rachel could fully process what Araminta had said, they were ushered on board
a customized Boeing 737-700, where she found herself in a dramatically chic space
with streamlined white saddle-stitched leather sofas and glistening shagreen console
tables.

“Araminta, this is just too much! Is this your dad’s new plane?” one of the girls
asked incredulously.

“Actually it’s my mum’s. Bought from some oligarch in Moscow who needed to lower his
profile and go into hiding, from what I hear.”

“Well, let’s hope no one blows this plane up by mistake, then,” the girl joked.

“No, no, we had it repainted. It used to be cobalt blue, and of course my mom had
to do her Zen makeover thing. She had it repainted three times before she was satisfied
with the right shade of glacier white.”

Rachel wandered into the next cabin and encountered two girls chattering animatedly.

“Told you it was her!”

“She’s not at all what I was expecting. I mean, her family is supposed to be one of
the richest in Taiwan, and she shows up looking like some—”

Upon noticing Rachel, the girls abruptly went silent and smiled sheepishly at her
before fleeing down the corridor. Rachel hadn’t paid any attention to their exchange—she
was far too distracted by the dove-gray leather banquettes and handsome polished-nickel
reading lamps extending down from the ceiling. One wall was lined with a bank of flat-screen
televisions, while the other consisted of silver ladder racks hung with the latest
fashion magazines.

Araminta entered the cabin, leading some girls on a tour. “Here is the library-slash-media
room. Don’t you love how cozy it is? Now let me show you my favorite space on the
plane, the yoga studio!” Rachel followed the group into the next room, in utter disbelief
that there were people rich enough to install a state-of-the-art Ayurvedic yoga studio
with inlaid pebble walls and heated pine floors in their private jet.

A group of girls came in squealing with laughter. “
Alamak
, Francesca has already cornered that hunky Italian steward and commandeered the master
bedroom!” the overly bronzed girl exclaimed in her singsongy accent.