Кевин Кван - China Rich Girlfriend

An Englishman in a dapper black suit approached them. “Good afternoon, I’m Wolseley, the butler. May I offer you something to drink?”

Before anyone could respond, Colette made her entrance through another door in an oleander pink tea-length dress. “Rachel, Nick, so glad you could make it!” With her hair swept up into a high bun and her ruffled gazar skirt billowing about her as she walked into the room, Colette looked like she had just stepped off the cover of a 1960s issue of Vogue .

Rachel greeted her with a hug. “Colette, you look like you should be having breakfast at Tiffany’s or something! And my God, your house is just incredible!”

Colette gave a modest giggle. “Here, let me give you a proper tour. But first, drinks! What libation can we tempt you with? I’m sure Carlton will have his usual tumbler of vodka, and I think I’ll have a Campari and soda to match my dress. Rachel, do you feel like a Bellini?”

“Um, sure, only if it’s not too much trouble,” Rachel said.

“Not at all! We always have fresh white peaches for our Bellinis, don’t we, Wolseley? Nick, what will it be?”

“I’ll have a gin and tonic.”

“Ugh, the boys are so boring.” Colette rolled her eyes at Wolseley. “Come, follow me. Did Carlton explain to you my whole concept for this house?”

“We heard that you liked some hotel in Shanghai—” Rachel began.

“Yes, the Puli — but I’ve made this house even more luxurious. We used precious materials that you just wouldn’t want to use in a public space like a hotel. I know many people have this impression that everyone in China lives in tacky Louis XIV mansions where everything is dipped in gold and it looks like a tassel factory exploded, so I wanted this house to be a showplace for the best of contemporary China. Every piece of furniture you see in this grand salon was custom-designed and handcrafted here by our finest designers, in the rarest materials. And of course, all the antiques are museum quality. The scrolls on the walls are by Wu Boli, from the fourteenth century, and that Ming dynasty wine cup over there? I bought it from a dealer in Xi’an two years ago for six hundred thousand — the curator from the St. Louis Museum just offered me fifteen million for it. As if I would ever sell!” Rachel stared at the small porcelain bowl painted with chickens, trying to believe it was worth a hundred times her annual salary.

The group stepped out into the back courtyard, which was dominated by another vast reflecting pool. Colette led them along a covered walkway as a haunting New Agey song played softly on hidden outdoor speakers. “The pride of this estate is my greenhouse — the most important thing you should know is that this whole property is one hundred percent certified green — all the roofs have solar paneling, and all the reflecting pools actually flow into a state-of-the-art aquaponics system.”

The four of them entered a futuristic glass-roofed structure that was blindingly lit and lined with alternating rows of fish tanks and vegetable patches. “All the water gets channeled into the tanks, where we farm fish for eating, and then the nutrient-rich water fertilizes the organic vegetables grown here. See, I’m not just green — I’m emerald green!” Colette proudly informed them.

“Okay, I’m officially impressed!” Nick said.

Crossing the central courtyard again, Colette continued to explain. “Even though the buildings are modern in style, there are eight interconnected pavilions arranged in an Emperor’s Throne formation to ensure proper feng shui. Everybody STOP!”

They stopped dead in their tracks.

“Now breathe in the air. Can’t you just feel the good chi flowing everywhere?”

Nick could only detect a faint scent that reminded him of Febreze, but he nodded along with Rachel and Carlton.

Colette put her hands in the namaskara position and beamed. “Here we come to the entertainment pavilion. The wine cellar takes up the entire lower level — it was specially designed for us by the Taittinger people, and this is the screening room.” Rachel and Nick poked their heads into a cinema where there were fifty ergonomic Swedish recliners arranged in stadium-style seating.

“Do you see what’s hiding at the back?” Carlton asked.

Rachel and Nick stepped into the room and discovered that the entire back area of the screening room under the projector booth contained a slick sushi bar that looked like it had been transplanted straight from Tokyo’s Roppongi district. A sushi chef in a black kimono bowed at them while his young apprentice sat at the bar carving radishes into cute little kitten faces.

“Get. Out. Of. Town!” Rachel exclaimed.

“And we thought we were being extravagant ordering in from Blue Ribbon Sushi on Survivor Wednesdays,” Nick quipped.

“Did you see the documentary about the greatest sushi master in the world —Jiro Dreams of Sushi ?” Colette asked.

“Oh my God — don’t tell me that guy is one of his sons!” Rachel gaped in awe at the sushi chef as he stood behind the blond-wood counter massaging an octopus.

“No, that’s Jiro’s second cousin!” Colette said excitedly.

From there, the tour continued to the guest wing, where Colette showed off bedroom suites more sumptuous than any five-star hotel (“We only allow our guests to sleep on Hästens *2mattresses stuffed with the finest Swedish horsehair”), and then into her bedroom pavilion, which had wraparound glass walls and a sunken circular lotus pond at one end of the room. The only other objects in the lusciously minimalist space were a cloud-like king-size bed in the middle of the room and beeswax pillar candles flanking one wall (“I like my bedroom to be very Zen. When I sleep, I detach from all my worldly possessions”). Adjoining the bedroom pavilion was a structure four times its size — Colette’s bathroom and closet.

Rachel stepped into the bathroom, which was a sprawling daylight-flooded space entirely clad in glacier-white Calacatta marble. Indentations were carved into the giant slab of unpolished marble to create organic-shaped sinks that looked like watering holes for chic hobbits, and beyond was a private circular courtyard with a dark blue malachite reflecting pool. Growing out of the center of the pool was a perfectly manicured willow tree, and nestled under it was an egg-shaped bathtub that appeared to have been sculpted from a single piece of white onyx. Round stepping stones led across the water to the tub.

“Oh my God, Colette — I’m just going to come right out and say it: I am insanely jealous! This bathroom is just beyond —it’s straight out of my dreams!” Rachel exclaimed.

“Thank you for appreciating my vision,” Colette said, her eyes getting a little moist.

Nick looked at Carlton. “Why are women so obsessed with their bathrooms? Rachel was obsessed with the bathroom in our hotel, the bathroom at the Annabel Lee Boutique, and now it looks like she’s found bathroom nirvana.”

Colette stared at Nick with contempt. “Rachel, this man doesn’t understand women AT ALL. You should get rid of him!”

“Trust me, I’m beginning to think about it,” Rachel said, sticking her tongue out at Nick.

“All right, all right — when we get back to New York I’ll call the contractor and you can retile the bathroom like you wanted.” Nick sighed.

“I don’t want it retiled, Nick, I want this!” Rachel declared, stretching her arms out and caressing the lip of the onyx tub as if it was a baby’s bottom.

Colette grinned. “Okay, we better skip the tour of my closets — I don’t actually want to be blamed for your breakup. Why don’t I show you the spa?” The party walked through a deep crimson passageway and were shown dimly lit treatment rooms decorated with Balinese furniture, and then they came to a stunning underground space with pillars like a Turkish seraglio surrounding a massive indoor saltwater pool that glowed an arresting shade of cerulean blue. “The entire floor of the pool is inlaid with turquoise,” Colette announced.