Five Star Billionaire: A Novel (41 page)

They pause in front of the shopwindow, looking at the women’s bags on display—a patchwork of colorful leather. He does not know what to do with his hands; at one point it seems as though he is about to reach out to her, but he does not. Instead, he clasps his hands behind his back; then he puts them in his pockets. He is a touch nervous, it would seem. Maybe they are not yet actually a couple. There is something not quite right about this pair of supposed friends. What exactly is the nature of their human transaction?

The air-conditioning is very strong; it feels cool against the skin and gives her goose pimples on her bare arms. She draws a fine shawl around her shoulders. It is a deep red color that matches her shoes and goes well with her complexion. She makes a joke and laughs coquettishly, looking at him and touching him lightly on the shoulder. Is this an invitation for more intimate contact? Still, his hands remain tucked in his pockets. She laughs once more; it is a sweet, earthy laugh, richer than her delicate looks suggest, even a touch coarse. He nods and now, at last, he puts his hand lightly on her back, resting it on the shawl. She holds the shawl tight, protectively, as if it is very cold. From a distance it might even look as if she were afraid of something. The shawl she is wearing—look carefully. It glistens in the harsh lighting; it is artificially shiny. Perhaps she is afraid that he will guess it is made not from pure pashmina but from a synthetic mixture of nylon and other flammable textiles—the kind of fashion you can buy for 20
kuai
on the steps leading down to most subway stations.

She points at a handbag in the window. It is scarlet in color and sits next to other accessories of a similar hue and design. Red is obviously her favorite color. She looks at her companion; he smiles and shakes his head, as if she has just told him something amusing.

Should she:

Should he:

“
W
OOOHOOOO!” GARY SHOUTS INTO THE MICROPHONE. “YOU
are so great today; thank you for comiiiing!” This kind of high-voltage showmanship comes so easily to him, he can turn it on whenever he wishes; it is almost as it was in the old days.

The old days. He talks about a period of his life just seven months ago as “the old days,” as if it were such a long time ago; but in a life such as his, time passes quickly, and China has a way of accelerating time for him, speeding up the aging process. Whenever he looks at himself in the mirror these days, he notices how much he has aged in the last few months. It is not simply the harsh Shanghai pollution or the late-night chats on the Internet or the diet of instant noodles that make him look haggard; it is that he is actually growing old very quickly. After years of being indifferent to the passage of time, he now finds he has so much to do in life and so little time to accomplish it. Every second he spends onstage is wasted time, he thinks.

A new week, a new shopping mall: The stages on which he performs nowadays are all tiny, always to mark the opening of the shopping precincts that spring up everywhere in the outskirts of Shanghai. When he grumbled about this to his agent recently, she pointed out, rightly, that at least he had work these days and that slowly his career might be rebuilt. All
he had to do was carry on singing as before, do what he was good at, and things would fall back into place.

The problem is, he knows that this will not happen—his career will never again be as it was in the old days. He senses that his time is over. When he says, “Come on, sing along with me; I know you know the words!” no one joins in. In olden times, all he had to do was hold the microphone out, pointing it at the audience, and they would break into song. Whenever he said, “Raise your hands and clap,” thirty thousand hands would move in unison; it was as if he were a puppetmaster, capable of doing anything he wished. Now no one is interested, not even the tabloid newspapers, which can’t muster the energy to gloat over his performing in shopping malls. The tabloids were interested only in his fall, not his mediocrity. Only that which is sensational has a right to exist in the pages of modern life; there is no space for the ordinary.

But it doesn’t matter. He has decided that this life of his is over; he has to leave everything behind. He will continue doing these humiliating gigs in order to earn some money, but, with the encouragement of his Internet friend Phoebe, he has been writing his own songs with a view to recording an album. He does not know who will publish his music or distribute the CD—in the past, he never had to think about any of these tedious details; everything was done for him. But all this seems immaterial now, for as Phoebe keeps telling him, even if they have to sell self-made CDs off a pushcart on the corner of Nanjing Lu and Jiangning Lu or in a stall in Qipu Lu, they will do so. She will personally see to it that his music is a success!

This is the kind of moral support that Phoebe gives Gary every time he is feeling down. She makes him realize that, even without the fancy musicians and studio mixing equipment, he is still capable of creating beautiful music. She believes in him even though she has never heard any of his songs; her optimism is unshakable, and this, in turn, makes Gary feel invincible. He does not need all the backup singers and musicians he enjoyed before; the songs on his new album will consist of his voice over his own simple piano or guitar arrangements.

Of course, Phoebe is unaware of the change in his fortunes. She simply believes that he is a young musician who has no resources and is just starting out with his first-ever album. The other day, in a moment of fatigue, he said:

It’s never going to succeed. I can’t do this on my own—other people have drummers, bassists, keyboardists, co-writers, great producers. I’m all on my own
.

But, little brother, one day you will have all that!

No, I will never have that
.

Well, is that what you want, anyway? To become like all those idiot pop stars who make fools of themselves?

No, I guess I don’t
.

Their careers just crash and disappear without a trace; no one really cares about them
.

I know
.

But you … when you are an old man, you will still be writing and singing great songs … and I will still be listening to them, ha-ha!

Ha-ha
.

She really cheers him up when he is feeling depressed—which, these days, is far less often than before. She shares so much with him, gives so much of herself, that often he feels bad that he continues to hold back so much information. The other day, they were talking about the kinds of music they liked, the singers who had inspired them during bad times. They discovered a mutual affection for old Chinese love songs, which reminded them of the tunes their mothers used to sing to them and comforted them during periods of nostalgia and homesickness. Gary said he was fascinated by jazz, but Phoebe said she didn’t understand it. Later, she confessed that she liked pop music, even though she knew that a lot of the singers were not very nice people in private. But it didn’t matter, because some of their songs were uplifting and pleasant to listen to in the office at work when things were not going smoothly. She listed the people she liked: A-Mei, Chang Chen-Yue, Jolin Tsai, not Jay Chou, because he was too coarse; she preferred Wang Leehom, because he was a Quality Idol. And, okay, even though they were just pretty boys, some of the songs of Fahrenheit were not bad; the same went for Top Combine, and, actually, the last winner of the Super Voice Girl contest was not bad either. Finally, after a pause, Phoebe typed:

I know it’s not cool to say this but … I have to confess …

What?

I used to loooove Gary
.

A quick shooting sensation—of excitement, pain, danger, joy—ran through his temples.

Phoebe continued,
Yes, when I was working in Guangzhou, I used to have a picture of him stuck up next to my bed—you remember his powdered-milk ad? I tore it out of a magazine so I could look at him every evening. People say he is a pervert, but I think he is a good person. You could say he kept me company all night, ha-ha!

Ha-ha
.

Ever since that exchange, Gary has realized that he will soon have to tell her who he really is. And that is one of the reasons he is so excited and optimistic about the future—he is looking forward not just to his new musical life but also to revealing himself to Phoebe, to sharing everything with her. The idea of opening himself up to someone else is thrilling. Already, he has begun to plan how and when he will do this—soon, he thinks. He will send her a photo of himself, an image that will prove to her that he is who he says—not some easy-to-get photo from a milk ad, but something deeply personal.

Imagining this delicious moment of revelation and intimacy makes him so excited that sometimes he can’t sleep. He anticipates how she will react—almost certainly she will be her customary effusive self (she always shows her emotions easily) and be overcome with happiness that he has chosen to share such intimacy with her. But then she will be practical and sensible as always. She will remind him that, even though he has had an extraordinary life, he must concentrate on his new work, the songs he is writing. And his newly revealed identity will change nothing between them. It is he, not she, who will suggest a meeting in real life. She will resist, not because she is coy or intimidated but because she does not want to appear too eager or interested in what little celebrity he has. She will not judge him, but she will not rush to meet him either. She is a person of great integrity. Finally, when they do meet up, it will be as if they have known each other forever. They will end up selling his homemade CDs at a stand on a street corner somewhere. They will be happy.

Today’s performance is at the Max Mall in Meilong Town, just outside Amanda KTV, which offers karaoke services to women. Gary’s agent thought it would be a good idea to connect with his core fan base, as it has always been adolescent girls and young women who have supported his
career. But Gary can sense their boredom, and maybe if he looked at them closely he would see the pity they feel for him. Not so long ago—in the old days—it was he who pitied and despised them, but now it is the other way around. There are so many younger, cuter boys flooding the music scene, like all those insect-thin kids with crazy hairstyles on the talent shows. Young women are no longer interested in Gary; they have swiftly moved on. This is the way things work in China, he knows this now: If you stop for one moment, you fall, you disappear. No one remembers you.

He sings the same tunes he always sings at shopping-mall gigs—the catchy, sun-filled melodies he sang when he was first starting out. Last night he told Phoebe that he hated his present job, that it made him feel dirty and old. She said,
We all have to do things that sully us while we wait for our real lives to happen
.