Tash Aw - Five Star Billionaire

The owner of the café is thrilled that his hunch paid off. He knew, as soon as he heard Gary singing at the opening of Red Rooster Hot Pot restaurant in that shopping mall in Jiangsu province, that he was a singer of genuine talent, and that all he had to do was to return to what he did best: singing. Forget all the glamour and showbiz, just sing!

This is what he is explaining over drinks once the café has closed and they are sitting down to a glass of brandy. There is a small group of people at the table — Gary, the café owner, and a few of the owner’s friends, including a Taiwanese filmmaker whose work has been banned in China and a rich couple who are planning a charity concert in aid of the Sichuan earthquake victims. Everyone is amazed by Gary’s talent and impressed by the café owner’s foresight. They begin to talk excitedly of new projects — the filmmaker wants to shoot a film in Gary’s native Malaysia, in which he would cast Gary in the role of an illegal immigrant who has an accident and cannot remember where he is from. It is a daring, somewhat risky venture that will require Gary to appear fully nude and perhaps simulate full sex, which will almost certainly ensure that this film, too, will be banned or at least heavily censored in most Asian countries, but artistically it will be groundbreaking and powerful. The filmmaker is impressed by what he calls Gary’s inherent transformative qualities — the ability to inspire optimism even while depicting tragedy.

The rich couple has just invited Gary to perform at the charity concert they are organizing, which will be a showcase of the biggest singing stars, both young and old. It will be a chance for Gary to relaunch his career and reintroduce himself to the public, though this time with a different image and a new range of songs. Once again, he will be able to perform in front of thirty thousand people.

Although Gary smiles and makes affirming, polite noises, he feels panicked by this sudden rush of enthusiasm. The thought of performing in front of a vast, clamoring audience makes him feel anxious — already he can feel the mounting weight of expectation and the attendant flash of nausea that he thought he would never experience again. This evening, his brief performance of ten quiet songs had left him feeling mildly energized, as if he had gone for a long, gentle run along the riverbank in the dark. He had, at one point, even thought that he would be happy performing like this every week for the rest of his life, but now all that calm energy seems about to dissipate.

“No pressure,” the man says. “Just think about it.”

His companion nods in agreement. But she seems less convinced, more restrained in her encouragement. She senses a fragility in Gary; she can tell that he is uncertain and stressed by the situation. When Gary looks at her, he knows that she feels his confusion; he recognizes a wariness in her eyes, just as she does in his. For although she is smiling and gently adding to the chorus of approval, she does not actively urge him on to greater, more-complex projects, as the others do. She appears to be lost herself, uncomfortable in her skin, distant in her thoughts.

“It’s a chance to rebrand yourself,” her partner continues. He has no doubts as to who he is — clearly he is a man of action, certain of his ways, someone who is used to winning. “You saw how much the people here loved you tonight. Your low-key approach is genius — the complete opposite of what you were before. Now people can appreciate your talent for what it is — and you can concentrate on what you want, which is to write songs and sing.”

“Absolutely,” the café owner adds. “Don’t you agree, Yinghui?”

“You guys mustn’t push the poor boy,” the woman says. She turns to Gary and speaks to him in a soft, even voice. “Just take your time and think about it. If you don’t do this now, you can still do something else in the future. You’re so young.”

That night, after a long shower, Gary gets into bed. For the first time in weeks, he feels ready for sleep. He is not fidgety or anxious as he usually is. He has sung ten good songs to a small, appreciative audience and had a proper dinner for the first time in months. Just out of habit, he takes a quick look at his computer screen before turning out the light. In the MSN chat box, he sees Phoebe’s name and photo. It is nearly two o’clock in the morning. He hesitates for a moment before typing:

hi

Hi

Are you okay?

Yes, you?

Gary stops. There is something strange about her responses — they are delayed, much slower than they usually are. He realizes that she must be chatting to someone else at the same time, for she seems preoccupied.

Where have you been? I was … worried

Work is very busy

But you surely don’t work until after midnight? Why didn’t you log on at all?

I went out

Every night?

En.

Whom with?

Friends

Which friends?

People you don’t know. Why all these strange questions?

They’re not strange. I was just worried because I stayed up every night looking for you and you did not come online

Don’t u have a life? Why do u stay up all night waiting for me? This is not a good situation

So you have a boyfriend now?

None of your business. Anyway, can we change the subject? You are really giving me a bad mood

Okay .

She tells him about work, the same stories about the same girls with the same problems. But he is not in the right mood to listen to these stories. After two weeks’ absence, she should not be recounting boring stories about her colleagues. They should be talking about serious, life-changing aspects of their days. He should be telling her about the gig he just did. Maybe it is because he has waited so long to tell her such important things about himself that he now feels frustrated — he is not sure why, but something does not feel right in his head tonight; he has never felt like this with Phoebe before. He thinks about all the pieces of his life that he has assembled, ready to show her, but now they seem superfluous, for she is not interested in him. She talks and talks, and his only response is the occasional En , but still she does not sense that he is distracted and that maybe he doesn’t want to hear about these banal details. Usually she is quick to pick up on his moods, sensing when he is depressed or anxious or joyful, but tonight she does not seem to care. All that matters to her are these boring tales about her workplace, which he has heard many times before.

Sorry , he says suddenly, interrupting her. I have something to tell you .

There is a slight hesitation before she replies:

What is it? It sounds like bad news .

No, it’s a good thing. Happy news .

But all at once he does not feel happy. All the optimism and excitement he previously felt is gone. Bottling up the news that he was so eager to release has enervated him, and now he is feeling deflated.

So … tell me, what is it?

It is as if she, too, is not very interested in what he has to tell her. But he knows that if he does not go ahead and reveal himself to her, his life will remain the same forever, unchanging in its loneliness. The timing does not feel right now, but perhaps it never will. He says:

I want to send you a photo of myself .

Ha-ha-ha . Ei, you scared me for a moment. I thought you were going to say you had a life-threatening disease like pancreatic cancer or AIDS .

No, I just want to send you some photos of myself, so that you know who I am.