Tash Aw - Five Star Billionaire

This is what happens in Shanghai. People say it is the size of a small country, but it is not: It is bigger, like a whole continent, with a heart as deep and unknown as the forests of the Amazon and as vast and wild as the deserts of Africa. People come here like explorers, but soon they disappear and no one remembers them; no one even hears them as they fade away.

She looked at the clock — just a few minutes before the first of the girls arrived. On her mobile she began to dial Walter’s number. It rang and rang until his voice mail kicked in.

THEY MET TWO DAYS later underneath the intersection of a giant overpass on the edge of Xizang Lu. He arrived on time, emerging suddenly through the early-evening crowd on the pavement in a brisk walk, his head held high, looking out for her. His face was troubled by a frown — he had come directly from the airport, as he’d spent the weekend in Beijing — but as soon as he saw her his expression relaxed, leaving only the deep lines by his eyes that would never go away. She was already waiting — she had been there for some time.

“Are you sure that’s safe?” he said, looking at the electric scooter she had with her. “I didn’t even know you had one.”

“It’s Yanyan’s,” she replied, starting to wheel it along the road. “I’ve just borrowed it for this evening.”

“You’re taking me for a ride?”

“Actually, I haven’t decided what we’re going to do. As I said on the phone, the only rule this evening is that everything is my treat. You have invited me to so many places; now it’s my turn. Problem is, you have to come to my favorite hangouts.”

“Sounds good.”

“You haven’t seen them yet.” She looked at his blue shirt and smart trousers made of a shiny gray material; he was dressed as if he had only just finished a business meeting and had left his jacket on the back of his chair. Small patches of sweat were darkening his shirt around his armpits. Summer in Shanghai was really airless. It was as if everyone was competing for oxygen and there was not enough to go around. Phoebe felt the sweat collect around the back of her neck, but she didn’t care. She hadn’t even worn any makeup.

They crossed the road to a small alley lined with food stalls, the shop fronts lit by bright colorful yellow signs. Kitchen hands were hauling large plastic basins full of dirty dishes into the street to be washed; the teenage boys and girls who squatted on the uneven tarmac soaping and rinsing the dishes went about their tasks wordlessly. The sound of the plastic dishes being flung against one another filled the night with a rhythmic clacking noise. Outside every shop there were young couples queuing up for tables, sitting on flimsy stools holding hands, or playing games on their mobile phones. The girls were glossy-haired and dressed in airy sleeveless blouses; the boys were slim-jawed and serious. The white light from the neon signs leached their skins of color and made them look pale and delicate. They waited patiently, unaware of the evening slipping past. They did not worry; they had the whole night ahead of them, warm and dark and unending.

Walter said, “These are what Westerners call ‘hole in the wall’ restaurants.”

“Where I grew up,” Phoebe said, “every restaurant was like this. I’m used to eating in such places. I thought, for a change, maybe you would find it interesting to see this kind of small restaurant. You can’t always dine in expensive restaurants.”

Phoebe and Walter stopped at one stall, Changsha Noodle Stall, and joined the queue. There was a huge cauldron full of boiling red-tinged oil at the front of the stall, into which the cook threw basketfuls of crayfish. They waited for half an hour, standing silently. Phoebe knew that he was looking at her, but she averted her gaze to watch the stallholders prepare their dishes.

“The stinky tofu looks delicious,” she said.

She had prepared a speech, a full explanation of why she had not returned his calls, why she had disappeared for two weeks, why she was going to disappear forever, but she wanted to wait until they were seated, when they had something to distract them from the conversation. She could pretend to be concentrating on her food — that way she would not have to look him in the eye. It was always easier to tell untruths when the other person was struggling with a task — she was not sure if this was something she had once read in a book or if it was something she had invented. It didn’t matter now. It was the last time she would ever lie, she thought. After this evening, she would never lie to anyone about herself again.

They ordered two big baskets of crayfish with exploding-spicy flavor. Within minutes, Walter’s eyes were watering. He bit through the hard shells impatiently, discarding half of each crayfish uneaten. His nose began to drip and beads of sweat collected on his forehead. His fine shirt was flecked with amber-colored oil spots, but he did not complain, he just sat with his head bowed in concentration.

“I’m really sorry about my silence these last weeks,” Phoebe said. “But I think I mentioned I had an urgent work development. A really big, exciting project. A billionaire investor wants to help me expand my spa business, set up branches all over Southeast Asia. Aiya , he’s so demanding — I’ve been working all hours of the day and through the night. I’m so exhausted.”

“That sounds promising. Would you like me to help you with anything? Look over the business plan or financial proposals?”

“Oh, no, ha-ha, thanks — it’s all under control. The thing is,” Phoebe paused and placed two more crayfish on Walter’s plate, “I am going to have to go abroad a lot. It’s a wonderful opportunity for me.”

“Who is this investor? You need to be careful. There are lots of unscrupulous crooks around these days.”

“ Ei , don’t be so negative. It’s a great chance for me to do a lot of traveling. I have to go to Hong Kong, Japan, Korea …”

“Yes.” Walter nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist and sniffing loudly. “Sounds excellent. When do you have to leave?”

“Not sure, but probably in the next week or so. I’ll be back and forth a lot, but my life will no longer be the same — I won’t be around much.”

With his index finger, Walter pushed the sole crayfish that remained on his plate. It was bright red, a color that seemed electric, artificial, just like a little plastic toy that lay at the bottom of a packet of noodles or taped to a box of cookies. He picked it up and held it close to Phoebe’s face, its belly facing her. He wiggled it around and said, “ Bon voyage , Phoebe. Hope you are successful. May the wind carry you safely and smoothly.” He looked at the crayfish for a moment before snapping off its head and claws. “Maybe we can meet sometime on your travels? I am on the road a lot too, as you know — surely our paths will cross.”

Phoebe reached for the toothpicks. “I think that might be difficult. I just don’t know what my schedule is going to be.”

Walter gulped his drink in one go. His face was red and sweaty.

Phoebe said, “You can’t take spicy.”

“My stomach is burning.”

They went to a Taiwanese ice-sand restaurant for dessert. “Some mango ice will put out the fire in your stomach,” she said. The floors were of a shiny black terrazzo inlaid with fine gold and silver glitter, and there were mirrors on the walls and arrangements of flowers that overflowed from huge vases on the reception desks. When she was a child in small-town Malaysia, this was the kind of restaurant Phoebe dreamed of eating in — how sophisticated, how lucky the people were who had the chance to do so. In those days, when she closed her eyes she imagined walking in to somewhere like this as if it were no big deal, as if she did it all the time. It was not luxury alone that excited her; it was the habit of luxury, a life in which even the finest things became ordinary. In those childhood images she would be there with a man — a rich man, of course — who drove a nice car and had a fantastic job she didn’t really understand, would never understand, would be happy not to understand.