“Alamak, having royalty as houseguests is such a nuisance!” Daisy complained.
Lorena, like most of the other women in the ballroom, scrutinized Astrid from head to toe as she walked to her table wearing what appeared to be a crisp men’s button-down shirt tucked into exquisitely cut navy-and-white gingham cigarette trousers. “It’s true, Astrid actually looks younger and younger every time I see her. Isn’t she in her late thirties by now? She looks like an MGS*4 girl coming off the school bus! I bet you she must be sneaking off somewhere and getting things done.”
“I can tell you she hasn’t had a thing done. She’s not the type,” Eleanor said.
“It’s how she puts it all together. The other girls her age are dressed up like Christmas trees but just look at Astrid…hair in a sleek ponytail, ballet flats, not a drop of jewelry except that cross…is it turquoise? And that outfit! She looks like Audrey Hepburn on the way to a screen test,” Daisy said approvingly as she fished around in her new Céline handbag for a toothpick. “Blah-dee-hell! See what my snobby daughter-in-law forces me to carry? She gave me this fancy handbag for my birthday because she’s embarrassed of being seen next to me when I’m carrying my no-name purse, but I can’t ever find anything in here! It’s so damn deep, and there are so many damn pockets!”
“Daisy, will you please stop swearing? We are in the Lord’s presence tonight, you know,” Carol admonished.
As if on cue, the Christian Fellowship Banquet’s hostess, Rosalind Fung, got up from her table and walked onto the stage. A short, plumpish woman in her mid-sixties with a frizzy spiral perm, Rosalind was dressed in what seemed to be the regulation uniform of every middle-aged old-money Singaporean heiress—a sleeveless floral blouse, probably purchased from the clearance rack at John Little, taupe elastic-waist pants, and orthopedic open-toe sandals. She smiled happily from the podium at her gathered friends.
“Ladies, thank you all for coming tonight to join in fellowship with Christ. A quick warning to everyone before we start: I’m told that the laksa*5 is dangerously spicy tonight. I don’t know what happened, but even Mary Lau, who everyone knows has to have extra chili with everything, told me that she buey tahan*6 the laksa. Now, before we continue to nourish our stomachs and our souls, Bishop See Bei Sien will begin our program with a blessing.”
As the bishop started one of his notoriously tedious prayers, bizarre noises could be heard coming from behind one of the ballroom’s side doors. It sounded as if there was a heated argument going on outside, followed by a series of muffled bangs and scrapes. Suddenly the door burst open. “NO, I SAID YOU CANNOT GO IN!” a female attendant shouted forcefully, breaking the silence.
Something could be heard running along the side of the ballroom, wailing intermittently like an animal. Daisy prodded the woman at the next table who had stood up to get a better view. “What can you see?” she asked anxiously.
“Dunno, lah—it looks like…like some crazy homeless person,” came the reply.
“What do you mean ‘homeless’? There is no such thing as a homeless person in Singapore!” Eleanor exclaimed.
Astrid, who was seated at the far end beside the stage, wasn’t fully aware of what was happening until a woman with extremely disheveled hair wearing stained yoga sweats suddenly appeared at her table, dragging two young girls in school uniforms behind her. Mrs. Lee Yong Chien let out a gasp and clutched her purse tightly to her chest, as Astrid realized in astonishment that the two girls were Chloe and Delphine, Charlie Wu’s daughters. And the deranged-looking woman was none other than Charlie’s estranged wife, Isabel! The last time Astrid had seen Isabel, she had been exquisitely attired in Dior couture at the Venice Biennale. Now she was completely unrecognizable. What were they doing here in Singapore?
Before Astrid could properly react, Isabel Wu took her eldest daughter by the shoulders and turned her toward Astrid. “Here she is!” she screamed, spit forming at the corners of her mouth. “I want you to see her with your own eyes! I want you to see the whore that spreads her legs for your daddy!”
Everyone at the table gasped, and Rosalind Fung immediately made the sign of the cross, as if it would somehow protect her ears from absorbing the obscenity. The hotel’s security guards came rushing up, but before Isabel could be properly restrained, she grabbed the nearest bowl of laksa and hurled it at Astrid. Astrid backed away reflexively, and the bowl ricocheted off the edge of the table, splashing scalding extra-spicy soup all over Felicity Leong, Mrs. Lee Yong Chien, and the Dowager Sultana of Perawak.
* * *
*1 Most of the guests left five or ten dollars each, except Mrs. Lee Yong Chien, who never left anything. “I do all my giving through the Lee Family Foundation” was what she always said.
*2 Hokkien for “Gotten so old!”
*3 Hokkien for “bear a child.”
*4 Methodist Girls’ School, which we Anglo-Chinese School (ACS) boys used to call Monkey Girls’ School.
*5 A spicy noodle soup dish served with cockles, fish cake, and thick rice noodles.
*6 Singlish for “cannot endure it.”
CHAPTER THREE
RADIO CITY MUSIC HALL, NEW YORK
Patti Smith was in the middle of belting out “Because the Night” when Nicholas Young’s cell phone began lighting up like a firecracker in his jeans pocket. Nick ignored the call, but when the lights came up after the concert’s final encore, he glanced at the screen and was surprised to find one voice mail from his cousin Astrid, another from his best friend Colin Khoo, and five text messages from his mother. His mother never texted. He didn’t think she even knew how to text. The messages read:
ELEANOR YOUNG: 4?Z Nicky#
ELEANOR YOUNG: p lease cakk me at once! Where are y
ELEANOR YOUNG: oy? Why don’t you answered any of your phines?
ELEANOR YOUNG: Ah Ma had a massive heat attack!
ELEANOR YOUNG: C allhome now!
Nick handed the phone to his wife, Rachel, and sank into his seat. After the euphoric high of the concert, he felt like someone had suddenly knocked all the wind out of him.
Rachel read the text messages quickly and looked up at Nick in alarm. “Don’t you think you’d better call?”
“Yeah, I guess I should,” Nick replied. “Let’s get out of here first, though. I need some air.”
—
As the two of them exited Radio City Music Hall, they hurried across Sixth Avenue to avoid the crowds still milling under the famous marquee. Nick paced around the plaza outside the Time & Life Building to make his call. There was that familiar dead pause for a few seconds, usually followed by the distinctive Singapore ringtone, but today, his mother’s voice abruptly came onto the line before he was ready for it.
“NICKY? Nicky, ah? Is that you?”
“Yes, Mum, it’s me. Can you hear me?”