Tash Aw - Five Star Billionaire

He sings the same tunes he always sings at shopping-mall gigs — the catchy, sun-filled melodies he sang when he was first starting out. Last night he told Phoebe that he hated his present job, that it made him feel dirty and old. She said, We all have to do things that sully us while we wait for our real lives to happen .

This is what he keeps in mind as he goes through the dance routine that accompanies the chorus: two steps to the front, quick twirl, two steps back, forearms swiveling like a penguin’s. Every time he performed this move at his old concerts, the entire audience would burst into song and dance along. Now he is the only one dancing — a twenty-six-year-old man doing a child’s dance routine, singing, “I want to hold your ha-a-and.” It embarrasses him to think that he has spent nearly ten years of his life performing this kind of song in public; he is ashamed that he has not moved on.

At least he will be able to go home and tell Phoebe about this humiliating experience. She will laugh and make jokes about it, and he will feel better. He finds that he loves sharing experiences with her; she makes it easy for him to talk about things that have happened in his life. Recently they have been exchanging stories of places they’ve visited, drawing up lists of all the countries they would like to see in the future. He has told her the truth — that he’s been to many cities in China and Asia but that he never gets to see anything, because his work schedule is too heavy. Last night, just before signing off, she talked about going to Europe. I shall go to sleep dreaming of Paris , she said. And he felt like telling her about the only time he had ever traveled anywhere on his own and how exciting it had been. Yes, he will tell her later this evening about that experience, how he had been shooting a music video in London and polishing up some songs at a studio there. On the day he was due to fly back to Taipei he bought a cheap ticket to Ibiza instead, because he had read an article in the in-flight magazine on the way over. He was there for only two days and a night — one long night, during which he went to a vast open-air club by the beach and was surrounded by hundreds of beautiful young men and women from all over the world. The music was so loud that it erased everything inside him: The deep rhythmic pounding of the bass line filled his head and rib cage, and the tinny notes of the keyboard were like a pulse in his brain. The notes and melody repeated and repeated and repeated, mesmeric in their constancy, replacing his heartbeat, replacing every thought in his head; he did not have to think or feel anything. He danced without being aware of what his body was doing, without caring how he looked. He was just like everyone around him — he could feel the sticky warmth of their bodies, the brush of downy arms on his skin now and then. No one knew who he was, no one cared. At daybreak, when the shirtless boys and girls wearing sunglasses and cowboy hats had finally gone to bed, Gary sat on the rocks by the water’s edge, watching the waves wash delicately onto the pebbles. He wondered if he would ever experience such freedom again, but even as he asked himself this, he knew that as long as he continued with his career, he would never feel such liberation. He held his phone at arm’s length, slightly aloft, and took a picture of himself, the sky behind him stained with the deep amber of dawn.

This is the photo he will show Phoebe tonight, when he finally reveals his true identity to her.

AT HOME AFTER THE appearance at Amanda KTV, he takes a long shower to make himself clean again — yes, he really feels dirty even after a short performance of five songs — and prepares himself for the evening’s chat with Phoebe. He tidies up the empty instant-noodle and takeaway cartons that lie scattered across the living room and wipes down the slightly grimy surfaces of the tables. He has a quick glance at his laptop—10:00 P.M. She should be online sometime soon. He checks his appearance in the mirror, making sure his hair is combed neatly. And he thinks: This is crazy; she is not even going to see me. But somehow it matters that everything is perfect for tonight’s chat.

10:15: She is still not online. He begins to strum a tune on his guitar, something he has written recently. He hums the tune — his mind can’t settle; he is thinking too much about what he is going to tell Phoebe tonight, all the good news he has. He needs to work up to revealing his identity; he can’t do it straightaway. He has decided to start by telling her about a great new musical opportunity that has come his way, which might change his life entirely. Remember that concert at Red Rooster Hot Pot, when the speakers failed and he had to sing unaccompanied? There was a young man in the audience, a guy who owned an underground jazz and folk club who just happened to be passing by (he was taking his grandmother on an outing); he heard Gary’s voice and thought, There is a very moving quality to this voice, a certain sadness. So he spoke to Gary afterward and, after a few phone conversations, offered Gary a chance to perform at his club, a tiny place in Hongkou that seats only thirty people — a completely low-key, acoustic performance for an audience of students, artists, and writers. Nothing fancy at all. Gary is very excited, for it will be a perfect opportunity for him to try out these new folk songs he has been writing with Phoebe’s encouragement.

10:40: She is still not online. Work has been really busy for her recently; she must have been held up at the spa.

He puts down the guitar and looks at the lyrics he has written for the song. He deletes a word or two here and there and tries to think of something more suitable. It is a song based on a traditional Chinese melody that Phoebe said she liked; it is also a song that his mother used to sing to him, and, although he never particularly loved it, he was moved by this coincidental link with his past, which he took as a sign of something important — a good omen that signaled a happy future for him, which is why he wanted to reinterpret it. Soon, when they graduate to speaking on Skype or MSN video chat, he will strum her the tune without singing the words and see how long it takes her to recognize it. The opening of the song is really unexpected, slower and more modern than the traditional version, and he’s sure that it will be a while before she realizes what song he is playing, and then she will be amazed.

Now it’s 11:30 P.M. — she is still not online. She’s probably gone out with friends after work; she probably mentioned it but he just forgot.

He looks out the window. Most of the apartments are dark, but there are still a few rooms lit by stark overhead lights, and one or two are illuminated only by the ghostly glow of the TV screen. There is no movement; the children have long since gone to bed, and the adults have stopped their karaoke and magazine-reading and are dozing in front of the TV. Gary begins to feel very tired all of a sudden. He is not as he was before, when he would stay awake all night after a big concert, unable to sleep, still buzzing from the evening’s performance, constantly thinking of ways to amuse and distract himself in the early hours of the morning. Nowadays all he wants to do is come home and chat with Phoebe in the comfort of his home. Because she is not there, he suddenly feels deflated and empty. There is nothing to do but sleep.

When he wakes up on his faux-leather sofa, it is just before 6:00 A.M. The sky is lightening with the dusky dawn, and he can feel that the city is preparing to burst into life. He looks at his laptop and sees that Phoebe is still not online. He wonders if she has been online at all during the night.

It is the same story that night and the night after. He waits all night, but she does not come online.