Crazy Rich Asians

“I’m enjoying this, actually. It’s the first real conversation I’ve had all day.”

Sophie glanced at the girls—most of whom were now writhing wildly with several of the Italian waiters to the pounding eurotrance-disco music—and shrugged. “Well, with this crowd, I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Aren’t these your friends?”

“A few, but most of these girls I don’t know. I recognize them, of course.”

“Who are they? Are some of them famous?”

“In their own minds, perhaps. These are the more social girls, the type that are always appearing in the magazines, attending all the charity galas. Far too glamorous a crowd for me. I’m sorry, but I work twelve-hour shifts and don’t have the time to go to benefit parties in hotels. I have to benefit my patients first.”

Rachel laughed.

“Speaking of which,” Sophie added, “I’ve been up since five, so I’m going to turn in now.”

“I think I will too,” Rachel said.

They walked down the jetty toward their bungalows.

“I’m in the villa at the end of this walkway if you need anything,” Sophie said.

“Good night,” Rachel said. “It’s been lovely talking with you.”

“Likewise,” Sophie said, flashing that deep-dimpled smile again.

Rachel entered her villa, gladly returning to some peace and quiet after a draining day. None of the lights were on in the suite, but the bright silvery moonlight glimmered through the open screen doors, casting serpentine ripples along the walls. The sea was so still that the sound of the water lapping slowly against the wood stilts had a hypnotic effect. It was the perfect setting for a night swim in the ocean, something she’d never done. Rachel padded toward the bedroom for her bikini. As she passed the vanity table, she noticed that the leather satchel she’d left hanging on the chair seemed to be leaking some sort of liquid. She walked toward the bag and saw that it was completely drenched, with brownish water dripping out of the corner into a large puddle on the bedroom floor. What the hell happened? She turned on the lamp by the table and opened the front flap of her bag. She screamed, jerking backward in horror and knocking over the table lamp.

Her bag was filled with a large fish that had been badly mutilated, blood seeping out from its gills. Violently scrawled on the vanity mirror above the chair in fish blood were the words “CATCH THIS, YOU GOLD-DIGGING CUNT!”

* Central Provident Fund, a mandatory savings scheme that Singaporeans contribute to each month to fund their retirement, health care, and housing. It’s a bit like the U.S. Social Security program, except that the CPF won’t be going broke anytime soon. CPF account holders earn an average of five percent interest per year, and the government also periodically gifts its citizens with bonuses and special shares, making Singapore the only country in the world that gives dividends to all its citizens when the economy does well. (Now you know why that Facebook fellow became a Singaporean.)

12

Eleanor

SHENZHEN

“Thirty thousand yuan? That’s ridiculous!” Eleanor seethed at the man in the poly-blend gray jacket seated across from her in the lounge off the lobby of the Ritz-Carlton. The man looked around to make sure that Eleanor’s outburst wasn’t attracting too much attention.

“Trust me, it will be worth your money,” the man said quietly in Mandarin.

“Mr. Wong, how can we be sure your information has any value when we don’t even know what it is exactly?” Lorena asked.

“Listen, your brother explained to Mr. Tin what the situation was, and Mr. Tin and I go way back—I have worked for him for more than twenty years. We are the best at this sort of thing. Now, I’m not sure what exactly you’re planning, and I don’t want to know, but I can assure you that this information will be extremely beneficial to whoever possesses it,” Mr. Wong said confidently. Lorena translated his response for Eleanor.

“Who does he think we are? There isn’t any sort of information that’s worth thirty thousand yuan to me. Does he think I’m made of money?” Eleanor was indignant.

“How about fifteen thousand?” Lorena asked.

“Okay, for you, twenty thousand,” Mr. Wong countered.

“Fifteen thousand, and that’s our last offer,” Lorena insisted again.

“Okay, seventeen thousand five hundred, but that’s my last offer,” the man said, getting frustrated by all the bargaining. Mr. Tin had told him that these ladies were millionaires.

“No—ten thousand, or I leave,” Eleanor suddenly declared in Mandarin. The man glared at her as if she had insulted all of his ancestors. He shook his head in dismay.