Crazy Rich Asians

“I’ve been married to a Young for too many years,” Eleanor said simply.

Lorena shook her head. “I just spoke to my lobang.^† We are going to meet him in the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton tonight at eight, and he is going to escort us to the person with the inside information about Rachel Chu.”

Carol Tai swept into the breakfast room in a luxuriant lilac peignoir. “Who are these people you are taking Eleanor to meet? Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Aiyah, don’t worry. It will be just fine.”

“So what should we do until then? I think Daisy and Nadine want to go to that enormous mall by the train station,” Eleanor said.

“You’re talking about Luohu. I have an even better place to take all of you first. But it must remain top secret, okay?” Carol whispered conspiratorially.

After the ladies had breakfasted and beautified themselves for the day, Carol took the group to one of the many anonymous office buildings in downtown Shenzhen. A lanky youth standing at the curb of the building, who seemed to be texting away furiously on his cell phone, looked up when he saw the two late-model Mercedes sedans pull up and a bevy of women emerge.

“Are you Jerry?” Carol asked in Mandarin. She squinted at the boy in the scorching noonday sun, noticing that he was playing a computer game on his cell phone.

The young man scrutinized the group of ladies for a minute, making sure they weren’t undercover police. Yes, these were obviously a bunch of rich wives and, judging from the way they looked, they were from Singapore. These Singaporeans dressed in their own distinct hodgepodge of styles and wore less jewelry since they were always so scared of being robbed. Hong Kong women tended to dress alike and sport huge rocks, while the Japanese ladies with their sun visors and fanny packs looked like they were on the way to the golf course. He gave them a big toothy grin and said, “Yes, I’m Jerry! Welcome, ladies, welcome. Follow me, please.”

He led them through the smoked-glass doors of the building, down a long corridor, and through a back door. They were suddenly outdoors again on a side street, across from which stood a smaller office tower that looked like it was either still under construction or about to be condemned. The lobby inside was pitch-black, its only source of light coming from the door that Jerry had just propped open. “Be careful, please,” he warned, as he led them through the dark space littered with boxes of granite tiles, plywood, and construction equipment.

“Are you sure this is safe, Carol? I wouldn’t have worn my new Roger Vivier heels if I knew we were coming to a place like this,” Nadine complained nervously. At any moment she felt like she was going to trip over something.

“Trust me, Nadine, nothing is going to happen. You will be thanking me in a minute,” Carol replied calmly.

A doorway finally led to a dimly lit elevator vestibule, and Jerry jabbed repeatedly at the decayed elevator call button. Finally the service elevator arrived. The ladies all crammed in, cowering together to avoid accidentally brushing against the dusty walls. On the seventeenth floor, the elevator opened to reveal a bright, fluorescent-lit vestibule. There were two steel double doors on either end of the space, and Eleanor couldn’t help but notice two sets of closed-circuit cameras installed on the ceiling. A very skinny girl in her early twenties emerged from one of the doors. “Hello, hello,” she said in English, nodding at the ladies. She inspected them briefly, and then said in a surprisingly stern, staccato tone, “Please turn off phone, no camera allowed.” She moved toward an intercom, which she spoke into in a rapid-fire dialect that none of them could discern, and a set of secure locks clicked open loudly.

The ladies walked through the door and abruptly found themselves in a sumptuously designed boutique. The floor was polished pink marble, the walls upholstered in pale pink moiré fabric, and from where they stood, they could peer down the corridor into some of the adjacent showrooms. Each room was devoted to a different luxury brand, with floor-to-ceiling display cabinets crammed full of the most current handbags and accessories. The designer treasures seemed to glow under the carefully positioned halogen spotlights, and well-attired shoppers filled each showroom, eagerly perusing the merchandise.

“This place is known for the very best fakes,” Carol declared.

“Holy Jesus!” Nadine shrieked excitedly, while Carol glared at her for using the Lord’s name in vain.

“Italy this side, French the other side. What you want?” the skinny girl asked.

“Do you have any handbags by Goyard?” Lorena asked.