Tash Aw - Five Star Billionaire

My father could not have been more delighted. Good idea, he said; those skills would be very useful, particularly since I would one day be the sole owner of the hotel, which I could take over as soon as I wanted. He spoke of a fully functioning hotel as if it already existed, as if it were not just a pile of damp rubble. I wondered whether he really believed what he told me or whether he was merely playing along, as I was, in the charade that had become his life.

AS SHE STOOD UP TO PUT HER COAT ON, PHOEBE TOOK ONE LAST look around the luxurious place she had wandered into. She had never been in an upmarket beauty spa like this, which looked like something out of a magazine, with low lighting and white orchids standing against dark stone. Even the air was perfumed; it smelled of lemongrass and spicy herbs that cleansed the smoky taste of the pollution that lingered in her nostrils every minute of her day. Sometimes at night when she woke up from a nightmare, she would taste this bitter ash in her mouth. She wished she could stay here longer, absorb the smells and the glorious atmosphere of peacefulness and wealth, but this was not her place, she knew that now. She should not pretend anymore; she should leave and go back to Yanyan.

She put her coat on and began to walk slowly to the door, but then she heard footsteps behind her, a hurried clack-clack of heels on the hard floor, and when she turned around there was a woman standing in front of her, wrapped up in a thick sand-colored coat and a soft blue scarf. Although Phoebe could see that the clothes were very expensive, she thought that the woman looked very unstylish, honestly, like a country farmworker who had been given a new outfit without thinking whether it suited her. Her short hair was dull and a bit greasy; she probably had not even washed it that morning. She was obviously someone who did not spend a lot of time taking care of her feminine appearance. She was holding a slim black briefcase and an umbrella, and her face was crumpled in a frown. She looked at Phoebe, her eyes falling to Phoebe’s shoes, before glancing at the clock on the wall.

“You’re very late,” she said to Phoebe. “I was just going out. Next time, if you want to reschedule a meeting you have to give my PA more than forty-eight hours’ notice.”

Phoebe tried to think if she knew this person, but she was sure she did not. She tried to think of a response, but all she could think of was “Sorry.”

“Sorry, sorry. That’s what everyone says these days as an excuse for their lack of professionalism. If you keep changing appointment times, if you are so unreliable, how are you going to make a good receptionist?”

Phoebe looked down at the floor. She repeated, “Sorry.” She didn’t even know why she was apologizing to someone she had never met before.

The woman looked at her watch. “I suppose you still want an interview now? It’ll have to be quick, because I have another appointment over in Pudong. And I’m never late for my appointments, unlike many people.”

“An interview,” Phoebe repeated blankly.

The woman sighed. “Yes, but I can give you fifteen minutes maximum. To be honest, for a receptionist’s job there’s not much I need to know from you. Besides, I already have an idea of your approach to punctuality.” She turned and walked behind the counter, opening a door that led into a series of small rooms lit by stark fluorescent lighting — a bare sitting room with cheap armchairs, a microwave oven and drinking water dispenser, a storeroom full of towels and plastic bottles full of liquid, and, finally, an office that smelled of fresh varnish and paint.

“The building work isn’t quite finished, but we need to start business later this week. Our first bookings are for this weekend, so I need someone who can begin work immediately,” the woman said, sitting down in a large black leather chair and gesturing to Phoebe to sit in the chair across the table. Phoebe took off her coat but noticed that the woman did not do so; she did not even take off her scarf.

“So frustrating when people cancel at the last minute. I had a receptionist lined up, contract signed, everything settled — then she rings up and says she’s found a job at a new hotel that opened opposite Jing’an Temple. Just like that. Now we need to find a replacement in only four days. People say that Shanghai is the place of limitless opportunity because you can find people willing to work at anything — what nonsense! People here are so picky. Pay’s not right, they’re off the next day. Work environment’s not comfortable, they’re off too. New boyfriend, they disappear. Ask them to work extra hours, they go to your competitor. Sometimes they don’t turn up for work because they’ve argued with their husbands the night before. I don’t know … I think people here are becoming like Westerners.”

“I agree,” Phoebe said. “Shanghai people are really quite arrogant. I don’t think they are unreliable, but maybe they are too proud of themselves. They are not lazy like Westerners; they are rich like Westerners. That’s why they can be picky — because they can afford to be. If they don’t work that well, it’s because they have options; they are always thinking of things outside work. People only work well when they are desperate, I think. When they have no other option for happiness. Well, I mean, that’s just my opinion.”

The woman looked at Phoebe for a moment before reaching for a ring-bound file on the desk. Phoebe noticed that the skin on her hands was dry and scaly, and her nails were cut short — she did not even have nail polish to disguise how cracked and unattractive they were. “That’s an interesting point of view,” the woman said. “You’re not a Shanghai local, obviously.”

“Of course not,” Phoebe said in the Shanghai dialect. She had learned a few phrases since arriving here, but it was such a harsh and difficult language that she could not master even its most basic sounds. “No, I’m from the far south. Guangdong province. But I’ve lived here for some time. That’s why my accent is strange.”

“I see. I don’t really care where people are from — what’s important is that they can do the job,” the woman said, flipping through her file. “Remind me what your name is, please? I can’t remember which candidate you are — we got so many, and I don’t think my PA printed off all the résumés for me.”

“Xu Chunyan,” Phoebe said. The name from the ID card she’d stolen two months previously came so easily to her. She had repeated it and repeated it, preparing for a time like this, when she would need to say it as if she had been born with it.

The woman traced her finger down a list. “Xu Chunyan, Xu Chunyan … no, I can’t find you. No matter — you seem quite bright, even if you are not very punctual. Why don’t you just tell me what experience you have. I can always find your résumé later.”

Phoebe found she could lie so easily — the list of imaginary jobs she had done came so naturally to her that she did not hesitate for a second. Even as she described one job function, a new one came into her head, and she found herself recounting skills she never knew she had. Bookkeeping, PowerPoint, Excel — things she had heard of but never experienced.

“It sounds as if you’ve had some quite important positions,” the woman said. “Are you sure you want to be a receptionist in a spa?”

“To be totally honest with you, I would like a change of direction; I would like to work somewhere more sophisticated than a big office. Besides, like you, I’m sort of, well, fed up with these arrogant Shanghai people!” She said that last bit in a hushed voice.