Crazy Rich Asians (32 page)

“Which ones?” Augustine asked, his little voice almost a whisper.

“What? Speak up!” Eddie said.

“Which ones do I wear?” Augustine said again, not much louder.

“Sir, which pair of Gucci loafers? He has two,” Laarni, the Filipino nanny interjected.

“The burgundy ones with the red-and-green band, of course,” Eddie said, giving his
six-year-old son a withering look. “
Nay chee seen, ah?
You can’t seriously think you can wear
black
shoes with khaki trousers, can you?” Eddie scolded. Augustine’s face reddened, close
to tears. “Okay, that covers the tea ceremony. Now, go and change into your wedding
outfits. Hurry up, I’m going to give you five minutes.” Fiona, the nanny, and the
maid quickly ushered the children back to their bedrooms.

Ten minutes later, when Fiona came down the spiral stairs in a minimalist gray off-the-shoulder
gown with one asymmetrical sleeve, Eddie could hardly believe his eyes. “
Yau moh gau chor?
^*
What on earth is
that
?”

“What do you mean?” Fiona asked.

“That dress! You look like you’re in mourning!”

“It’s Jil Sander. I love it. I showed you a picture and you approved.”

“I don’t remember seeing a picture of this dress. I never would have approved it.
You look like some spinster widow.”

“There’s no such thing as a spinster widow, Eddie. Spinsters are unmarried,” Fiona
said drily.

“I don’t care. How can you look like death warmed over when the rest of us look so
good? See how nice and colorful your children look,” he said, gesturing to the kids,
who cowered in embarrassment.

“I will be wearing my diamond-and-jade necklace with it, and the jade art deco earrings.”

“It will still look like you are going to a funeral. We’re going to the wedding of
the year, with kings and queens and some of the richest people in the world and all
my relatives. I don’t want people thinking that I can’t afford to buy my wife a proper
dress.”

“In the first place, Eddie, I bought it with my own money, since
you never pay for my clothes. And this is one of the most expensive dresses I’ve ever
bought.”

“Well, it doesn’t look expensive enough.”

“Eddie, you are always contradicting yourself,” Fiona said. “First you tell me you
want me to dress more expensively like your cousin Astrid, but then you criticize
everything I buy.”

“Well, I criticize you when you’re wearing something that looks so cheap. It’s a disgrace
to me. It’s a disgrace to your children.”

Fiona shook her head in exasperation. “You don’t have any idea what looks cheap, Eddie.
Like that shiny tux you’re wearing.
That
looks cheap. Especially when I can see the safety pins holding your pants on.”

“Nonsense. This tux was six thousand euros. Everyone can see how expensive the fabric
is and how well tailored it is, especially when they fix it properly. The pins are
temporary. I’m going to button the jacket for the pictures and no one will see them.”

The doorbell made an elaborate, symphonically excessive chime.

“That must be Russell Wing. Kalliste, take off your glasses. Fi, go and change your
dress—now.”

“Why don’t you just go to my closet and pick out whatever you want me to wear?” Fiona
said, not wanting to argue with him anymore.

At that moment, the celebrity photographer Russell Wing entered the living room.

“Look at you Chengs! Wah,
gum laeng, ah
!”
^†
he said.

“Hello Russell,” Eddie said, smiling broadly. “Thank you, thank you, we only look
stylish for you!”

“Fiona, you look stunning in that dress! Isn’t it Raf Simons for Jil Sander, from
next season? How in the world did you get your hands on it? I just photographed Maggie
Cheung in this dress last week for
Vogue China
.”

Fiona said nothing.

“Oh, I always make sure my wife has the very best, Russell. Come, come, have some
of your favorite cognac before we begin.
Um sai hak hei
,”
^‡
Eddie said cheerily. He turned to Fiona and said, “Darling, where are your diamonds?
Go and put on your beautiful
art deco diamond-and-jade necklace and then Russell can start his photo shoot. We
don’t want to take up too much of his time, do we?”

As Russell was taking some of the final shots of the Cheng family posed in front of
the huge bronze sculpture of a Lipizzan stallion in the front foyer, another worrying
thought entered Eddie’s head. As soon as Russell was out the door with his camera
equipment and a gift bottle of Camus Cognac, Eddie called his sister Cecilia.

“Cecilia, what colors will you and Tony be wearing at Colin’s wedding ball?”

“
Nay gong mut yeah?
”
^§

“The color of your dress, Cecilia. The one you’re wearing to the ball.”

“The color of my dress? How should I know? The wedding is a week away—I haven’t begun
to think about what I’m going to wear, Eddie.”

“You didn’t buy a new dress for the wedding?” Eddie was incredulous.

“No, why should I?”

“I can’t believe it! What is Tony going to wear?”

“He will probably wear his dark blue suit. The one he always wears.”

“He’s not wearing a tux?”

“No. It’s not like it’s
his
wedding, Eddie.”

“The invitation says
white tie
, Cecilia.”

“It’s
Singapore
, Eddie, and no one there takes those things seriously. Singaporean men have no style,
and I guarantee you half the men won’t even be in suits—they’ll all be wearing those
ghastly untucked batik shirts.”

“I think you’re mistaken, Cecilia. It’s Colin Khoo and Araminta Lee’s wedding—all
of high society will be there and everyone will be dressed to impress.”

“Well, you go right ahead, Eddie.”

Fucky fuck
, Eddie thought. His whole family was going to show up looking like peasants. So bloody
typical. He wondered if he could convince Colin to change his seating so that he didn’t
have to be anywhere near his parents and siblings.

“Do you know what Mummy and Daddy are wearing?”

“Believe it or not, Eddie, I don’t.”

“Well—we still need to color coordinate as a family, Cecilia. There’s going to be
a lot of press there, and I want to make sure we don’t clash. Just be sure you don’t
wear anything gray to the main event. Fiona is wearing a gray Jil Sander ball gown.
And she’s wearing a deep lavender Lanvin dress to the rehearsal dinner, and a champagne-colored
Carolina Herrera to the church ceremony. Can you call Mummy and tell her?”

“Sure, Eddie.”

“Do you need me to SMS you the color scheme again?”

“Sure. Whatever. I have to go now, Eddie. Jake is having another nosebleed.”

“Oh, I almost forgot. What is Jake going to wear? My boys will all be wearing Ralph
Lauren tuxedos with dark purple cummerbunds—”

“Eddie, I really have to go. Don’t worry, Jake is not going to wear a tuxedo. I’ll
be lucky if I can get him to tuck in his shirt.”

“Wait, wait, before you go, have you talked to Alistair yet? He’s not still thinking
of bringing that Kitty Pong, is he?”

“Too late. Alistair left yesterday.”

“What? No one told me he was planning to go early.”

“He was always planning to leave on Friday, Eddie. If you kept up with us more, you’d
know that.”

“But why did he go to Singapore so soon?”

“He didn’t go to Singapore. He went to Macau for Colin’s bachelor party.”

“WHAAAT? Colin’s bachelor party is this weekend? Who the hell invited Alistair to
his bachelor party?”

“Do you really need me to answer that?”

“But Colin is better friends with ME!” Eddie screamed, the pressure building in his
head. And then he felt a strange draft from behind. His pants had split open at the
ass.

Rachel

The bachelorettes were enjoying a sunset dinner at a long table set under a pavilion
of billowing orange silk on the pristine white sand, surrounded by glowing silver
lanterns. With dusk transforming the gentle waves into an emerald froth, it could
have been a photo shoot straight out of
Condé Nast Traveler
, except that the dinner conversation put a damper on that illusion. As the first
course of baby Bibb lettuce with hearts of palm in a coconut-milk dressing was served,
the cluster of girls to Rachel’s left were busy skewering into the heart of another
girl’s boyfriend.

“So you say he just made senior vice president? But he’s on the retail side, not the
investment banking side, right? I spoke to my boyfriend Roderick, and he thinks that
Simon probably makes between six to eight hundred thou base salary, if he’s lucky.
And he doesn’t get millions in bonuses like the I-bankers,” sniffed Lauren Lee.

“The other problem is his family. Simon’s not even the eldest brother. He’s the second
youngest of five,” Parker Yeo pontificated. “My parents know the Tings very well,
and let me tell you, as respected as they are, they are not what you or I would consider
rich—my mum says they have maybe two hundred million, max. You split that five ways
and you’ll be lucky if Simon gets forty mil at the end of the day. And that won’t
be for a loooong time—his parents
are still quite young. Isn’t his father going to run for parliament again?”

“We just want what’s best for you, Isabel,” Lauren said, patting her hand sympathetically.

“But … but I really think I love him—” Isabel stammered.

Francesca Shaw cut in. “Isabel, I’m going to tell it to you like it is, because everyone
here is wasting your time being polite. You can’t
afford
to fall in love with Simon. Let me break it down for you. Let’s be generous and assume
that Simon is making a measly eight hundred thousand a year. After taxes and CPF,
^*
his take-home is only about half a million. Where are you going to live on
that
kind of money? Think about it—you have to factor a million dollars per bedroom, and
you need at least three bedrooms, so you are talking three mil for an apartment in
Bukit Timah. That’s a hundred and fifty thousand a year in mortgage and property taxes.
Then say you have two kids, and you want to send them to proper schools. At thirty
thousand a year each for school fees that’s sixty thousand, plus twenty thousand a
year each on tutors. That’s one hundred thousand a year on schooling alone. Servants
and nannies—two Indonesian or Sri Lankan maids will cost you another thirty thousand,
unless you want one of them to be a Swedish or French au pair, then you’re talking
eighty thousand a year spent on the help. Now, what are we going to do about your
own upkeep? At the very least, you’ll need ten new outfits per season, so you won’t
be ashamed to be seen in public. Thank God Singapore only has two seasons—hot and
hotter—so let’s just say, to be practical, you’ll only spend four thousand per look.
That’s eighty thousand a year for wardrobe. I’ll throw in another twenty thousand
for one good handbag and a few pairs of new shoes every season. And then there is
your basic maintenance—hair, facials, mani, pedi, brazilian wax, eyebrow wax, massage,
chiro, acupuncture, Pilates,
yoga, core fusion, personal trainer. That’s another forty thousand a year. We’ve already
spent four hundred and seventy thousand of Simon’s salary, which leaves just thirty
thousand for everything else. How are you going to put food on the table and clothe
your babies with that? How will you ever get away to an Aman resort twice a year?
And we haven’t even taken into account your membership dues at Churchill Club and
Pulau Club! Don’t you see? It’s
impossible
for you to marry Simon. We wouldn’t worry if you had your own money, but you know
your situation. The clock is ticking on your pretty face. It’s time to cut your losses
and let Lauren introduce you to one of those eligible Beijing billionaires before
it’s too late.”

Isabel was reduced to a puddle of tears.

Rachel couldn’t believe what she had just heard—this crowd made Upper East Side girls
look like Mennonites. She tried to shift her attention back to the food. The second
course had just been served—a surprisingly tasty langoustine and calamansi lime geleé
terrine. Unfortunately, the girls on her right seemed to be loudly fixating on some
couple named Alistair and Kitty.

“Aiyah, I don’t understand what he sees in her,” Chloé Ho lamented. “With the fake
accent and fake breasts and fake everything.”

“I know
exactly
what he sees in her. He sees those fake breasts, and that’s all he needs to see!”
Parker cackled.