Rich People Problems (29 page)

Standing at a distance, Alistair whispered to Peik Lin, “I guess we didn't need to hire any professional mourners.”
^*2

“Well, your brother can certainly do this professionally! The kids are doing a great job too.”

“I'm sure they were forced to rehearse a million times,” Alistair said.

Eddie suddenly turned around and glared at his other son. “Constantine, my firstborn! Come! Give your great-grandma a kiss!”

“No fucking way, Dad! I don't care how much you say you'll pay me, I'm not going to kiss a dead body!”

Eddie's nostrils flared in rage, but since everyone was staring at them he simply gave his son a big you're-gonna-get-your-ass-wupped-later smile and sprang up from the ground. He smoothed out his Mandarin-collared linen suit and announced, “Everyone, I have a surprise in honor of Ah Ma. Please follow me.”

He led the group of relatives out to the walled rose garden that bordered the east wing of the house. “Kaspar, we're ready!” he shouted. Suddenly, a bank of floodlights illuminated the darkened garden, and everyone gasped. In front of them was a three-story structure made out of wood and paper. It was an intricately constructed scale model of Tyersall Park, with every pillar, eave, and awning painstakingly replicated down to the last detail.

“Kaspar von Morgenlatte, my personal decorator, had a whole team of artisans working on this for weeks,” Eddie proudly announced, bowing to the crowd that had by now gathered in front of the house replica.

“I am not a decoratur! I am an interieur arkitect und art konsultant!” declared a tall, exceedingly thin man with slicked-back white-blond hair, dressed in a white turtleneck sweater and high-waisted white linen trousers. “Ladies und gentlemen, pleazzze pay attention! The interieur of this maknificent schloss opens up…”

Four equally blond assistants scurried out from the shadows. They unfastened a few hinges along the side columns, allowing the entire front façade of the house to open and reveal interior rooms that had been decorated to excruciating detail, but unfortunately
did not
replicate the real interiors of Tyersall Park.

“The walls are twenty-four-carat gold leaf, the fabrics are all Pierre Frey, the crystal chandeliers are Swarovski, und the furnishings are hand-krafted by the same people that did the set designs for Wes Anderson's
Graaand Hotel Budapeshhhhhhhht
,” Kaspar continued.

“Good God, what an insult to Wes. This looks more like a Ukrainian bordello,” Oliver whispered to Rachel. “Thank God it's about to be set on fire.”

Rachel laughed. “I know you don't care for it, but don't you think that's a bit extreme?”

“Rachel—Oliver's not joking,” Nick cut in. “This is a paper tomb offering. People burn these at funerals as gifts for the deceased to ‘enjoy' in the afterlife. It's an ancient ritual.”

“It's more of a…
working
-class custom,” Oliver continued. “The families buy paper objects and accessories that represent aspirational things the deceased couldn't afford in this life. Paper mansions, Ferraris, iPads, Gucci bags.
^*3
But the paper mansions are usually quite small—like dollhouses. Eddie, of course, has to do everything to the extreme,” Oliver noted as Eddie walked around the three-story house excitedly showing off all the objects he had commissioned.

“Check out her closet—I had some little dresses made in her favorite lotus silk. And I even had them make exact replicas of Hermès Birkin bags, so Ah Ma will have a good selection of handbags to use in heaven!”

The family members stared at the structure in stunned silence. Finally, Eddie's mother said, “Mummy would never use an Hermès handbag. She never carried a handbag—her lady's maids held everything for her.”

Eddie glared at his mother angrily. “Ugh! You just don't get it, do you? I know she wouldn't normally carry an Hermès. I'm trying to give Ah Ma the best of everything, that's all.”

“It's very impressive, Eddie. Mummy would have been touched,” Catherine said, trying to be diplomatic.

Victoria suddenly piped up. “No, no, this is all wrong. It's incredibly tasteless, and what's more, it's extremely un-Christian.”

“Auntie Victoria, this is a Chinese tradition—it has nothing to do with religion,” Eddie argued.

Victoria shook her head in fury. “I don't want to hear any more of this nonsense! We Christians do not require worldly things in the kingdom of heaven! Remove this monstrosity at once!”

“Do you know how much I spent on this mansion? This cost me over a quarter of a million dollars! We are burning it, and we are burning it now!” Eddie shouted back as he gave Kaspar the signal.

“Wolfgang! Juergen! Helmut! Schatzi!
Entzündet das Feuer!
” Kaspar commanded.

The Aryan minions dashed around the structure, dousing it with kerosene, and Eddie theatrically flicked a long matchstick and held it high for all to see.

“Don't you dare! Don't you dare burn it on this property! It's satanic, I tell you!” Victoria screamed, as she ran up to Eddie and began trying to wrestle the burning matchstick out of his hand. Eddie lobbed the match onto the structure and it ignited instantly, the force of the flames billowing outward suddenly and almost singeing both their heads.

As the enormous replica of Tyersall Park began to be consumed by the fire, all the guests streamed out of the house and surrounded it like a bonfire, taking out their phones and snapping photos. Eddie stared in triumphant silence at the burning house, while Victoria sobbed on the shoulder of the president of China. Cassian, Jake, Augustine, and Kalliste ran around the structure gleefully.

“It's actually rather beautiful, isn't it?” Rachel said as Nick came up behind her, wrapping her in his arms as they stared at the fire together.

“It is. I have to agree with Eddie this time—I think Ah Ma would have enjoyed this. And why shouldn't she have a Birkin bag in heaven?”

Carlton glanced at Scheherazade, marveling at how her hair seemed to glow the most spectacular shades of gold against the rising flames. He took a deep breath, straightened his jacket, and strolled over to where she was standing. “
Je m'appelle Carlton. Je suis le frère de Rachel. Ça va?
”

“
Ça va bien
,” Scheherazade replied, impressed by his perfect French accent.

Breaking into English, Carlton said, “They don't have anything quite like this in Paris, do they?”

“No, they sure don't,” she answered with a smile.

As the paper house and all the paper luxury accoutrements smoldered into black ashes, the crowd began to make their way back into the house. Walking through the rose garden, Mrs. Lee Yong Chien shook her head and leaned over to Lillian May Tan's ear. “What did I tell you? Su Yi's body isn't even cold yet, and the family is already up in smoke!”

“This is nothing. Things are going to get far worse when they find out who will get the house,” Lillian May said, her eyes flashing in anticipation.

“I think they are in for the shock of their lives,” Mrs. Lee whispered back.

A humongous, full-page color notice appeared in the obituary section of
The Straits Times
for five consecutive days:

*1
Hokkien slang for “busybody.”

*2
If you're looking to make some extra cash, many families in Singapore will hire you to cry at the funerals of their loved ones. Because the more mourners there are at a funeral, the more impressive it looks. Professional mourners usually come in groups, and they offer a variety of packages (i.e., normal crying, moaning hysterically, foaming at the mouth, and collapsing in front of the coffin).

*3
In 2016, Gucci sent out warning letters about trademark infringement to several mom-and-pop shops in Hong Kong that were selling paper Gucci tomb offerings. After a backlash from Chinese shoppers and an avalanche of bad publicity, Gucci issued an apology.

THE CLAYMORE, SINGAPORE

Oliver T'sien was in the middle of his morning shave in his condo when Kitty rang, so he put her on speaker.

“I'm going to see you today! I'm going to Alistair Cheng's grandmother's funeral this afternoon,” Kitty chirped.

“You received an invitation?” Oliver tried to mask the astonishment in his voice.

“I thought since Alistair is my ex-boyfriend, and I
did
meet his grandmother once, it would only be appropriate to convey my condolences in person. It will be so nice to see his family again.”

“Where did you even hear about the funeral?” Oliver asked, as he arched his neck toward the mirror and focused his razor on the stray hairs under his chin.

“Everyone was talking about it at Wandi Meggaharto Widjawa's party last night. Apparently, Wandi knows a few of the people from Jakarta flying in for the funeral. She said it was going to be the society funeral of the century.”

“I bet she did. But I'm afraid the funeral is really by invitation only.”

“Well, you'll be able to get me an invitation, won't you?” Implicit in Kitty's coquettish tone was,
since you're on my payroll
.

Oliver rinsed off his shaving cream. “Kitty, I'm afraid that this is one time where I really don't have the power to help you.”

“What if I get dressed up in a very conservative black Roland Mouret dress and wear a nice hat? I'll even use the Bentley instead of the Rolls and bring a few bodyguards along. Surely they won't turn me away?”

“Kitty, you need to trust me on this. This is one funeral you
don't
want to crash. It would be a faux pas of epic proportions. This is a funeral for family and very close friends only. I assure you there will be no one you know, and it really won't matter if you're not there.”

“Can you assure me that
Colette
won't be there?”

“Kitty, I can assure you she has probably never even
heard
of my family.”

“But that doesn't necessarily mean she won't be there. I heard she got back to Singapore two days ago. It was mentioned in Honey Chai's gossip blog: ‘Countess of Palliser is staying at the Raffles Hotel.' Did she leave her orangutans to come to the funeral?”

Oliver rolled his eyes in exasperation. “There is no way Colette or Lady Mary or whatever she calls herself these days will be anywhere near that funeral. I promise.”

“I guess I'll go spend the day on Tatiana Saverin's new yacht then. She says it was designed by the same guy that did Giorgio Armani's boat.”

“Yes, it is a beautiful day for sailing. Why don't you slip on your sexiest Eres bikini, put on your sailing diamonds, and spend the day sipping Aperol spritzes on a yacht? Stop wasting your precious time thinking about this dreary funeral that I
wish
I didn't have to attend!” (Oliver lied. As much as he adored Su Yi, he had to admit that today was truly going to be the social event of the century.)

“Okay, okay.” Kitty laughed and hung up.

Oliver leaned against his bathroom sink, methodically patting some Floris aftershave on his cheeks and throat. The phone rang again.

“Hello, Kitty.”

“What are sailing diamonds? Do I need to get some?”

“It's just an expression, Kitty. I made it up.”

“But do you think I should wear a diamond necklace with my bikini? I could put on my Chanel Joaillier diamonds, the one in the sunburst floral pattern. Diamonds are waterproof, aren't they?”

“Of course. Go for it. I have to run now, Kitty, or I'm going to be late for the funeral.” Two seconds after hanging up, Oliver's mother, Bernadette, walked into the bathroom.

“Mother, I'm not dressed!” Oliver groaned, tightening the towel around his waist.

“Hiyah, what do you have that I haven't already seen? Tell me, is this okay?”

Oliver scrutinized his sixty-nine-year-old mother, slightly annoyed by the graying roots that were showing on the top of her head. Her Beijing hairdresser really wasn't doing a good job maintaining her color. Bernadette, who was born a Ling, came from a family where all the women were renowned for their beauty. Unlike her sisters or her cousins—Jacqueline Ling being the prime example, who appeared preternaturally preserved—Bernadette looked her age. Actually, in the tailored dark blue silk brocade suit with the ribbon tie at the collar, she looked older.
This is what happens when you spend twenty-five years toiling away in China
, Oliver thought to himself.

“Is this the only dark dress you brought with you?”

“No, I brought three dresses, but I already wore the other two during the night visits.”

“Then I suppose this one will have to do. Did your tailor in Beijing make this one for you?”

“
Aiyah
, this one was very pricey compared to my Beijing tailor! Mabel Shang's girl in Singapore made this for me more than thirty years ago. It's a copy of some famous Paris designer. Pierre Cardin, I think.”

Oliver exploded in laughter. “Mother, no one would copy a Pierre Cardin. It's probably one of those 1980s designers Mabel used to love. Scherrer, Féraud, or Lanvin back when Maryll was in charge. Well, at least you can say it still fits. You didn't bring one of your little cloche hats, did you?”

“No, I didn't. I packed for Singapore weather. But Oliver, what do you think of this?” Bernadette asked, fingering the impressive jade-and-ruby butterfly brooch pinned to her lapel.

“Oh, it's fabulous.”

“You sure no one will be able to tell? Heaven forbid I get seated next to your grandmother and she notices,” Bernadette fretted.

“With grandma's glaucoma, I don't think she can even see that you have the brooch on. Trust me, I had the best jeweler I know in London replicate it.”

“I should never have let the real thing go.” Bernadette sighed.

“We didn't really have a choice, did we? Just forget it ever happened. You still have the brooch, right here. The jade looks flawless, the rubies look real, the diamonds are sparkling like they came straight out of Laurence Graff's hands. If I can't tell, no one will be able to tell.”

“If you say so. Now, do you have a tie Dad can borrow? The only one he brought got all stained with chocolate cake last night. So sad, once Tyersall Park goes, I'm going to miss that chocolate cake.”

“Of course. Go to my closet and pick out anything you'd like for him. One of the Borrellis might be nice. Actually, give me a second and I'll do it.” As his mother left the bathroom, Oliver thought to himself,
I've learned my lesson. Next time I'm going to put them up at a hotel, even if they kick and scream.
^*
This flat is just too small for three people.