Tash Aw - Five Star Billionaire

In her “Journal of My Secret Self,” Phoebe wrote down the following rules:

I must improve my appearance; I must dare to dress like a slut .

I must exercise my body; to be fat is not acceptable .

Sleep — five hours a day is enough .

I must improve myself always; I must practice my English .

She bought a few self-help books, cheap counterfeit copies being sold on the pavement near the subway station in Tiantong Lu, such as Sophistify Yourself . The most valuable one was called Why Men Love Bitches . When she read it, she scribbled down more notes:

Use men just as they would use you .

Lying to a man is okay, as long as you get what you want .

Do not stick to only one man .

Being nice is your mom’s job — and look where it got her .

Do not grow old waiting .

She started to spend more time on the Internet again, but this time she was more careful. It was her best bet, since there were so many men out there she could ensnare. She put new photos on her profile page, images that showed her in outfits carefully selected in the cramped market in Qipu Lu, not far from where she lived. She didn’t really like going there, because it was full of poor people who reminded her of her desperate situation, but she told herself that it would not be like this for long. In many of these new photos, she adopted the poses that she had learned from other girls’ profiles: side on, lifting her shoulder to her chin, or pursing her lipsticked mouth at the camera with her eyes lifted teasingly. They looked so much more tantalizing than her old photo, taken in the park in Guangzhou. If she were a man, she would surely want to go out with such a sexy girl. She was about to remove the old photo from her profile, but then, for a reason she could not understand, she let it remain, the last of the many photos, where it would not be noticed.

In keeping with her new rules, she was very discerning. She chatted only with men who met her criteria. She mastered the art of chatting with three, four, five people at once, learning to type short sentences or just single words here and there to disguise the fact that she could not type as fast as the educated men she was pursuing. Really? Amazing. Cool! Ha-ha. Aiiii. En. En. En . One word was all it took to sustain a long conversation. Men do not really want to listen; they much prefer to talk . It made her job easier.

Every time she chatted with a man, she imagined herself doing all the things that she had decided she would do. Doing things to him. With him. The more she imagined these things, the less bad they seemed. Her fear began to subside. She could do it. She had to.

THE MOMENT SHE WALKED in to the Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf café on Wujiang Lu, she sensed that her impressive personal styling was drawing attention. The teenage boys and young men looked up from their laptop computers and followed her with their lustful gazes, while the women gazed at her with envy. The full-length red coat with fake-fur lapels she had chosen was certainly making an impression. Her date stood up at the far side of the room — he’d already found a secluded table in the corner where they would be able to talk quietly. He was better looking than she had imagined, and younger too. She had selected her target well.

This was the third date she had arranged with a man she’d met on the Internet. The first turned out to be twenty years older than his Internet image, while the second one walked with a bad limp, which was the result of a recent accident and for which he had been having expensive medical treatment, leaving him in financial difficulties. On both occasions, Phoebe just made an excuse and left — said she had stomach problems. It doesn’t matter if men think you are a bitch . So, before suggesting a meeting with her third target, Phoebe asked him many probing questions and requested numerous photos in order to gather clues about his life. He’d sent her a photo taken from far away, which made it difficult to tell what he looked like or how tall he was; moreover, he was wearing big black sunglasses. But what was important was that she could see a nice car in the photo, and also quality leather shoes in the English style, plus an iPhone. Nonetheless, she had to admit that it was a bonus that he’d turned out to be better looking than his photo suggested.

“Hi, nice to meet you,” the man said, introducing himself with a name that sounded fake. His voice hesitated a little as he said it, as if he had been practicing saying it but was still a little unsure. Phoebe was alert to such things now; no one could cheat her.

“Nice to meet you — what’s your name again? I didn’t quite catch it. Sorry, the music …”

“Sun Xiang,” he repeated. It sounded more convincing this time, and when he smiled he seemed very charming, with nice straight teeth that showed good calcium intake at an early age. His bone structure was good, too, not just in his face but in his height, for he must have stood at least five feet ten.

Phoebe sat down but did not take off her sunglasses. She had practiced this before on previous dates — it added an air of mystique. She placed her handbag on the table between them — not on the floor or tucked in beside her on the comfortable low armchair, but right in the middle of the small round table so that he could see it. Sure, the handbag was a fake, but it was a very high-quality copy, which had cost her a lot of money— chao -A counterfeit goods were expensive and difficult to obtain these days, what with the Europeans putting pressure on the Chinese government to ban such items. This was what the shopkeeper had explained to her in order to justify the cost of more than 1,000 kuai . She remembered being astonished at the time by the price, nearly five times what she had paid for her existing bag, which she had purchased in a market in Guangzhou and was exactly the same brand. But she was in Shanghai now, and everything was more luxurious and more expensive.

“Sun Xiang,” Phoebe said, “are you local?” She’d detected a Shanghai accent in his voice — she could pick up little signs, which made it difficult for people to lie to her.

“Yes,” he replied, “I was born and grew up here. You?”

She took off her sunglasses. She noticed that people in the café were still looking at her. “It’s complicated. I moved around a lot — abroad, mostly. My parents are from Guangdong province, though.”

“Abroad? That sounds interesting.” He kept staring at her, his eyes settling on her bare knees. “I’m sorry, I’m just … so nervous,” he said.

“Why nervous?” she said, reaching forward to shift her handbag for no reason whatsoever. His gaze followed her hand and remained on the bag even when she had relinquished her grip. Surely he was admiring the remarkable quality of the leather handle.

“I’m nervous because I don’t do this dating thing often. In fact, this is my first time. I chatted with a lot of girls on the Internet but was always too afraid to meet anyone. But you seemed so … interesting.”

“Really?”

“Yes. And … and, also, you are so beautiful. I guess this is why I’m nervous. You are even better looking in real life than in your photos.”

When she laughed, she was aware of a tinkling quality to her voice, like the happy notes of a piano in the lobby of an expensive hotel.

“And your fashion sense is really excellent,” he continued. He glanced around briefly before looking down at his hands and adding in a quieter voice, “Your skirt is very short.”

Phoebe tugged weakly at the hem of her skirt, a false attempt at modesty. She didn’t care at all that her skirt was short; she had planned it deliberately. “Are you going to get me a coffee or are you just going to say flattering lies to me all day?”