Tash Aw - Five Star Billionaire

From the moment the new message came through, however, she sensed that there was something interesting about this man. He did not make comments about her physical beauty but said simply that she struck him as someone who could make him laugh, with whom he could share long conversations on many subjects. The photo of her that he liked the most was the one she had forgotten to delete, taken in the park in Guangzhou. He made no mention of the sophisticated fashion-style images shot by a professional photographer in the spa. As usual, she suggested chatting on QQ or MSN, but he declined, saying that he preferred meeting in real life. He also refused to send a photo, saying he did not want her to judge him by how he looked but that she would have every right to leave the moment she saw him if she really didn’t like him. He gave her a phone number and a list of dates on which to meet, all in the following week. I am just looking for a companion who can understand me, someone I can have sweet, peaceful times with . At first, the serious tone of his message made Phoebe doubtful of his sincerity. No man had been so earnest and straightforward with her since she came to China. He must surely be a sexual pervert, she thought. But each time she reread the message, her fears subsided. She checked the piece of paper on which the astrologer had written the details of Phoebe’s romantic prospects: The dates the man had suggested coincided perfectly with those in the window marked Time of Perfect Meeting with Lifelong Soul Mate .

She emailed back, accepting a date for the following Sunday evening.

Yanyan helped her choose her outfit. Together, they laid out the various combinations of clothing on the bed and contemplated them while sipping tea. It was just like looking at the sea, Yanyan said.

“The sea?” Phoebe asked.

“Yes. When I was small, my parents took me to the coast on holiday. I thought we were going to play and have fun, but all we did was look at the sea. It was so boring at first, but then I found it very beautiful. Nothing ever changed with the sea. There were waves, it moved, but it didn’t change. I liked it.”

Phoebe looked at Yanyan. They had been sharing a tiny room for so many months now, but still Yanyan would sometimes say things that Phoebe could not understand, things that made her think that she would never be able to understand the life that Yanyan had lived before they met. She simply smiled and nodded.

They consulted several of Phoebe’s books for advice on how to approach such a date, paying special attention to a chapter called “Dress for Sex-cess,” which recommended showing off as much of her feminine attributes as possible. Men care about only one thing, and we all know what that is .… In the end, they decided that Phoebe should wear a long-sleeved shirt buttoned close to her neck for a demure look, balanced by a short skirt to suggest sexual availability. “Anyway,” said Yanyan, reading from another book, “your beauty comes from your inner confidence; it does not matter what you wear.”

As the first warm winds of spring began to sweep through Shanghai and the light shone brighter, chasing away the gray of winter, the memory of snow began to melt away. People hurried through the streets, busy but calm, the excitement of Spring Festival now forgotten. The red lanterns that hung in the trees had finally been removed, replaced by colorful globes of blue and green and white, and now the branches were full of buds too, green flecks already bursting into leaf here and there. Phoebe got off the subway one stop early. She liked this part of town, the wide clean streets lined with modern buildings and expensive shops whose windows glowed jewellike even at night. Outside a parade of luxury stores, on a street corner where the pavement was smooth and broad and flat, there was a man with a cart selling homemade CDs of romantic songs. He played Spanish-sounding music through the single loudspeaker mounted on the back of his motorbike, the singer’s voice filling the air with a sound that was soft and melancholic and sensual. The rhythms of the song were delicious, Phoebe thought; they made her feel so beautiful and elegant, even though she could tell it was a sad song. She felt strong; she enjoyed being able to recognize sadness without being crushed by it.

As she entered the sudden darkness of Jing’an Park, excitement began to creep into her heart. Her neck felt warm, her hands were cool. She allowed herself a moment of doubt, a few seconds to wonder whether she was making a big mistake. Maybe the man would be so ugly that she would not even be able to look at him; maybe he had physical deformities, and that’s why he did not want to send a photo of himself. But then she thought: She had wasted so much time with men in Shanghai already, one more meeting would not matter. She had to press on until she could find someone who would make her life easier. It had long ago ceased to be about love; it was about usefulness.

Trapped between a stretch of elevated highway and the shiny high-rise buildings, the park offered a respite from the light and noise. It was small but shadowy, and Phoebe could not see the faces of the couples walking arm in arm until they were close to her. She followed the snaking paths that led her to a pond fringed by tall reeds. The surface of the water was still and black and flat, glinting here and there with the reflection of oil lamps that lit a large wooden deck on the far side of the pond. A small bridge led from the deck to a timber house that rose to two levels, the eaves of its roof decorated with wooden carvings. Phoebe could feel her breath quicken. She blinked, smiling. She could hardly believe she was in Shanghai. It was a scene so familiar to her, from so long ago. As she made her way to the house, she could see waitresses dressed in sarongs made from batik and tunics of dark-colored lace. A woman wearing a frangipani flower behind her ear greeted Phoebe at the door, then led her out to the wooden deck, where, at the farthest table, a man was sitting. His head was turned away from the entrance, toward the pond. He did not look happy to be waiting for a beautiful date — to tell the truth, he looked as if he was thinking about something else altogether. Phoebe thought that this man had more important things to do in his life than spend an evening with her. The fortune-teller must have been wrong. This guy did not look like a soul mate.

“Hi,” said Phoebe as she settled into her chair.

“Oh, hi, sorry,” said the man. “I was just daydreaming.”

“But it’s nighttime,” Phoebe said. By habit and training, she placed her handbag on the table, before realizing that she no longer had her super-A-grade fake bag, just a cheap one that she’d had for a long time. She didn’t dare carry an expensive-looking bag now, after what had happened to her.

The man laughed. “True. In that case I was night-dreaming, with my eyes open.”

He was not young but not yet an old man. Phoebe guessed that he was about twenty years older than she was. His face was not easy to read — his features were boyish, almost babyish, with ears that stuck out like bat wings, but his skin was tanned and leathery, with lines around his eyes and mouth and a deep groove forming between his eyes. Sometimes he appeared young, sometimes ancient. She studied him carefully without letting him know that she was doing so; she was very skilled at doing this — no one could get the better of her. His clothes were expensive and quite stylish, even though they were a little plain: blue shirt, light-gray jacket, nothing too flashy. His mobile phone lay on the table; it was an expensive model with a slide-out keyboard and other functions frequently used by businessmen. There were car keys too, but Phoebe did not recognize the make of car — it wasn’t BMW or Mercedes; she had seen those before.