“Carol Tai, the widow of Dato’ Tai Toh Lui, that tycoon who died last year?”
“No, no, she’s the wife of Bernard, the dato’s son who inherited all of his father’s billions. That lady in black is the soap-opera star formerly known as Kitty Pong.”
WAN CHAI, HONG KONG, 8:25 P.M.
This is special correspondent Sunny Choy reporting for CNN International. I’m live at the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre, where the world’s top collectors are in a frenzied state of bidding for The Palace of Eighteen Perfections. The price has just hit $90 million. To put this into perspective, a Qianlong vase sold in London for a record-breaking US$85.9 million in 2010. But that’s London. In Asia, the highest price ever achieved was US$65.4 million for an ink painting by Qi Baishi in 2011.*3 So this painting has already broken TWO world records. Now, about ten minutes ago, the former actress Kitty Pong—who is married to billionaire Bernard Tai—brought the auction to a standstill when she made an entrance with two gigantic dogs on diamond leashes and began bidding. Right now, there are four others bidding against her. We’re told that one is a representative for the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, another suspected bidder is the heiress Araminta Lee Khoo, and there are unconfirmed reports that the third bidder is a representative for the Liu insurance family. We don’t know who the fourth mystery bidder is yet. Back to you, Christiane.
UPPER GUDAURI, REPUBLIC OF GEORGIA, 12:30 A.M.
“There’s some ridiculous woman in black with two friggin’ dogs who will not stop bidding!” Araminta cursed into her laptop, not recognizing Kitty Pong in the live video feed of the auction. After a long day of heli-skiing in the Caucasus Mountains, her muscles ached and this auction was delaying her much-needed soak in the gigantic sunken tub of their winter chalet.
“What’s the price up to now?” Colin asked drowsily as he lay stretched out on the black-and-white yak-skin rug by the fireplace.
“I’m not telling—I know you’re not going to approve.”
“No, really, Minty, how much is it?”
“Shhh! I’m bidding!” Araminta admonished her husband, resuming her dialogue with the Christie’s associate on the line.
Colin pulled himself up from the cozy rug and padded over to the desk where his wife was set up with her computer and satellite phone. He blinked twice at the video feed, not sure if he believed what he was seeing. “Lugh siow, ah?*4 You’re really going to pay ninety million for a bunch of old scrolls?”
Araminta gave him a look. “I don’t say anything when you buy huge ugly canvases with elephant dung on them, so don’t you start on me now.”
“Wait a minute, my Chris Ofilis only cost about two, three million each. Think about how many elephant-dung paintings we could buy—”
Araminta cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “Make yourself useful and get me another hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows, please. This auction isn’t over until I say it’s over!”
“Where are you even going to hang them? We have no more wall space left in the house,” Colin continued.
“You know, I think they would go splendidly in the lobby of the new hotel my mother’s building in Bhutan. BLOODY HELL! The bitch in black isn’t giving up! Who the hell is she? She looks like a Chinese Dita Von Teese!”
Colin shook his head. “Minty, you’re getting too emotional. Hand me the phone—I’ll do the bidding if you really want it that bad. I have much more experience with this than you do. The most important thing is to set your limit. What’s your top limit?”
COLD STORAGE JELITA, SINGAPORE, 8:35 P.M.
Astrid Leong was at the supermarket when her phone rang. She was trying to cobble together a meal for the cook’s night off tomorrow, and her five-year-old son, Cassian, was standing in the front section of the cart, doing his best impression of Leonardo DiCaprio on the prow of the Titanic. As always, Astrid was a little mortified to use her phone in a public place, but seeing that it was her cousin Oliver T’sien calling from Hong Kong, it couldn’t be helped. She steered the cart toward the frozen vegetables section and took the call.
“What’s up?”
“You’re missing all the fun at the auction of the year,” Oliver reported gleefully.
“Oh, was that today? So tell me, what’s the damage?”
“It’s still going! You’re not going to believe this, but Kitty Pong made quite the entrance and has been bidding up the painting like there’s no tomorrow.”
“Kitty Pong?”
“Yes, in a Madame X cocktail dress with two borzois on diamond leashes. It’s quite the spectacle.”
“When did she become an art collector? Is Bernard there? I didn’t think he spent his money on anything but drugs and boats.”
“Bernard is nowhere to be seen. But if Kitty succeeds in acquiring this painting, they will immediately be considered the top collectors of Asian art in the world.”
“Hmm—I am missing out on all the fun.”
“So it’s down to Kitty, Araminta Lee, some Mainland couple that Corinna Ko-Tung is bidding for, and the Getty Museum. We’re up to ninety-four million on the painting. I know you didn’t set a limit, but I just want to be sure you want to keep going.”
“Ninety-four? Keep going. Cassian, stop playing with those frozen peas!”
“It’s ninety-six now. Oops. Holymarymotherofgod—we’ve just broken a hundred million! Bid?”
“Sure.”
“The Mainlanders have finally dropped out—poor things, they look like they’ve just lost their firstborn child. We’re at one hundred and five.”
“Cassian, I don’t care how much you beg, I’m not letting you eat microwavable mini sliders. Think of all the preservatives in that beef—put them back!”
“This is Guinness book territory here, Astrid. No one has ever paid this much for a Chinese painting. One ten. One fifteen. It’s Araminta against Kitty. Keep going?”
Cassian was trapped inside the ice-cream freezer. Astrid stared at her child in exasperation. “I have to go. Just get it. As you said, this is something the museum ought to have, so I don’t really care what I have to pay.”
Ten minutes later, as Astrid stood in line at the checkout counter, her phone rang again. She smiled apologetically at the cashier as she took the call.
“Sorry to bother you again, but we’re at a hundred and ninety-five million now—your bid,” Oliver said, sounding a bit frazzled.
“Really?” Astrid said, as she snatched away the Mars bar that Cassian was trying to hand to the cashier.
“Yes, the Getty dropped out at one fifty, and Araminta at one eighty. It’s just you against Kitty, and it looks like she’s hell-bent on having it. At this point, I can’t in good conscience recommend it. I know Chor Ling at the museum would be horrified to find out you paid this much.”
“She’ll never know—I’m giving it anonymously.”
“Even so. Astrid, I know it’s not about the money, but at this price, we’re in idiot territory.”
“How annoying. You’re right—one hundred and ninety-five million is just silly. Let Kitty Pong have it if she wants it that badly,” Astrid said. She fished a stack of super-saver coupons out of her purse and presented them to the cashier.
Thirty seconds later, the gavel went down on The Palace of Eighteen Perfections. At one hundred and ninety-five million, it was the most expensive Chinese work of art ever sold at auction. The glittering crowd burst into deafening applause as Kitty Pong preened for the cameras, the flashes going off like IEDs in downtown Kabul. One of the Russian wolfhounds started to bark. Now the whole world would know that Kitty Pong—or Mrs. Bernard Tai, as she now insisted on being called—had indeed arrived.
* * *
*1 Oliver T’sien—one of Christie’s most highly valued deputy chairmen—has long-standing relationships with many of the world’s top collectors. (Being related to practically every important family in Asia didn’t hurt.)
*2 Cantonese for “So rotten I could die!”