Annie Wang - The People’s Republic of Desire

WAIQI: Foreign enterprise. With the market economy, those Chinese who are able to land a job with a foreign enterprise make several times more than their domestically employed countrymen. These people are both admired and resented by other Chinese.

Lulu, CC, and I have just finished drinks on the roof terrace of the Beijing Grand Hotel. As we come out of the elevator, we notice a forty-something American staring at us. His eyes almost pop out behind his thick glasses.

He clears his throat, as he walks toward us to make conversation, "Excuse me, ladies. I'm James, a banker from the States and new in Beijing. I haven't talked to any young Chinese people before. May I talk to you for a few minutes?" We think this curly-haired pointy-nosed guy is a geek, but nobody shows it.

Lulu speaks for the three of us, "Yes, sure. What can we do for you?"

"Where did you go to school?" James asks. None of us expects such a question.

"Are you looking for alumni?" CC asks.

James decides to introduce himself, "I went to school at Yale. Have you heard of Yale? It's a very old school, on the East Coast. I guess it's somewhat prestigious. Rupert Murdoch's wife graduated from there. She's Chinese, like you." James pathetically attempts to be subtle.

"Who is Rupert Murdoch?" We play dumb.

James has to switch the topic. "What do you like to do in your spare time?"

"Cooking!"

"Cleaning!"

"Sewing!"

We joke around.

"I guessed as much! Being a Chinese woman is difficult, isn't it? Because the society has many expectations of you! Do you want to know what I like to do in my spare time?"

James can't wait for us to say yes and starts to volunteer his long-prepared story.

"I love cars. I have a Mercedes E-class 420, a BMW 740, a Honda CRV, and an RV, but my favorite is my red Porsche convertible."

Look at him, trying to impress us with his Yale and his cars. I wonder if he thinks that we're local bar girls who have never seen foreigners before. I do a quick study of the hotel lobby. Most of the women are accompanied by men who look much older than they. Perhaps James has been standing in the lobby, eyeing the girls that pass by and awaiting his chance. He may think we're easy targets, but his pickup lines are lousy.

CC, Lulu, and I plan to go to The Den. James offers to hail a cab for us. After we get into the Volkswagen taxi, James squeezes in before we can say no.

He stares at us with shining eyes and says, "You are all very beautiful. It's a cultured kind of beauty, different from so many of the other Chinese girls I've seen in Beijing. You," he points to me. "You have that kind of innocent beauty, with a touch of punk, an extremely mysterious combination." He points to Lulu. "You are gentle, but your eyes have fire in them." He points to CC. "You look like Gong Li."

We look at one another, giving a what-a-nerd facial expression to each other. Nobody says a word.

The Den is located in Sanlitun, Beijing 's bar district. It's known as the Meat Market. Every night trendy Chinese girls with long hair and plucked eyebrows haunt The Den. They are willing to try anything, without any limits. They dance dirty and wantonly cast their eyes left and right, looking for an opportunity, looking for romance, the corners of their mouths twisted with desire and boredom. Nevertheless, we love to go to The Den once in a while because of the DJ who plays 1970s and 1980s retro Euro house music.

The decor is trendy and funky. The whole bar is decked out in red, reminiscent of the madness of the Cultural Revolution. Antique carved mahogany doors, copper door fittings, wrought-iron tables and chairs, carved lanterns, flickering candlelight, Cultural Revolution posters, Chairman Mao badges, HBO, EPSN, and MTV, Africans with braids, Japanese with small black-rimmed glasses and dyed-blond hair, Michael Jackson's androgynous wail, Ricky Martin's hot writhing Latin hips. This combination of cynicism and hysteria suits everybody's night mood perfectly.

Another reason my friends and I like The Den is because it isn't like other disco clubs, which are full of "head shakers" – teenagers who have taken too many yao tou wan pills, more commonly known as ecstasy.

As soon as we walk in, James realizes he is the only person in the place wearing a suit. Looking at the young Chinese girls in miniskirts posing flirtatiously in the lights, he is pleasantly shocked. "Am I mistaken? Isn't this a paternalistic society based on Confucianism? Not long ago, women still had bound feet, but look at this! Girls are wearing colorful sandals, with toenails painted a rainbow of colors, sexy, liberal, and seductive."

It goes without saying that James sticks out like a sore thumb, and the reaction from the club-goers is not one of acceptance. He is completely oblivious to the funny looks that are being sent his way by everyone that sees him. I hear all the kids joking about him in Chinese as he walks around completely clueless. "I didn't realize it was senior's night tonight." "Looks like someone's father came to pick them up." "Is that guy lost?" It was embarrassing just being around him.

Tonight it's a typical Friday night. It's twelve o'clock. People are still streaming in, like the day is just beginning.

James keeps babbling, "Look at these guys, Nike baseball caps on their heads, wearing Ralph Lauren cotton shirts and Calvin Klein watches. Where does their money come from? Or are all these things counterfeit? What kind of work do they do, to be able to come to a place like this? This is truly an unbelievable, illogical country."

Neither CC nor Lulu bother to talk to James. They sing along with the music and start to dance. I have played the role of a listener and decide to escape. I say to James, "Enjoy yourself," then join my friends.

Half an hour later, James pushes through the crowd and comes back to us. "You girls are hyperactive. You simply don't stop. I'm an old man. I'm exhausted and have to go back to my hotel and lie down. Before I leave, I wonder if you can give me your phone numbers. Your English is good. I might need some help from you."

"Gee, he's audacious!" CC whispers to me.

I thought James might have felt like a kid in a candy store. With so many inviting, sexy girls, we thought he'd soon forget about us since we weren't impressed by his Yalie background. But to our surprise he comes back to us. Before I can say anything, Lulu has already given him our phone numbers.

"Why?" After James leaves with his sleek smile, I ask Lulu.

"If he can't get any girls here, there's no threat in him having our numbers," Lulu says. "The only reason that I gave him our numbers was I wanted him to disappear."

After The Den, Lulu, CC, and I go to a twenty-four-hour noodle shop. It's already two in the morning.

Just then Lulu's Nokia rings. "Damn, who's calling me so late! Lucky I'm not asleep!" she curses as she looks at the strange number on her mobile.

"Who is it?"

"Darling, it's me, James. Do you want to come around here for a drink? I've got red wine, white wine, whiskey, Jim Beam. I'd really like to see you."

"I'm going to sleep."

"Really, Lulu, please come! I like you. Do you know you're very beautiful? We'll have something to drink, put on some relaxing music, turn the lights down low, dance slowly, you'll find it very relaxing, and very romantic. Then we'll have a bubble bath. I'm good at massage, too. I can give you a full body massage. Then, I'll gently, patiently kiss you on the lips; kiss you all over your body…"

"Get out of here, you freak!" Lulu hangs up.

"Who does this guy think he is? Richard Gere or Pierce Brosnan or something? And with those fucking thick little glasses!" Lulu starts to swear again.