The Crazy Rich Asians Trilogy

“It happened so quickly, but it happened. I also spoke to Karl and—fingers crossed—I think you’re getting front row at next season’s show in Paris.”

“Oliver, you’re a miracle worker! You’d think spending nine milli

on dollars a year at Chanel would be enough to get you a front-row seat at the damn fashion show.”

“You’ll be front row dead center next season! See? You have nothing to worry about. We should head back to the party before anyone suspects anything. We’ve been gone too long to look at one Tang horse. Which, by the way, is not fake but is frightfully common. Every drawing room on Park Avenue has at least one collecting dust on top of a stack of coffee-table books. Just throw it away, or give it to Sotheby’s to auction off—some philistine will buy it.”

As Oliver and Kitty were about to emerge from the hidden cigar lounge, a trio of ladies entered the library. Oliver peeked through the crack in the armoire door and whispered to Kitty, “It’s Adele Deng, Stephanie Shi, and Perrineum Wang!”

Stephanie could be heard saying, “Well, Kitty has certainly succeeded in removing every trace of Colette from the house. What do you think of this Picasso over the desk?”

“I’m so sick of seeing Picassos—every starter billionaire in Beijing has one. You know that in the last two decades of his life, the man was doing four paintings a day like some desperate whore? The market is flooded with mediocre Picassos. Give me a good Gauguin any day—like the one in my father’s museum,” Adele Deng said with a sniff.

“Colette’s vision for this house was utter perfection, and now it’s been ruined,” Stephanie lamented.

“I don’t care what anyone says—to me this will always be Colette’s house,” Perrineum chimed in.

Adele walked up to the Boulle armoire, tracing over the marquetry with her fingers. “This is actually a nice piece, but what the hell is it doing here in the corner? If you ask me, Kitty’s trying so desperately to impress. Every single object in this house is a museum showpiece. Everything is screaming, ‘Look at me! Look at me!’ Kitty wouldn’t understand the meaning of subtlety if it hit her on those fake breasts. As Marella Agnelli might say, ‘It will take her another lifetime to understand wicker.’?”

“Hiyah, what do you expect from a porn star? She will never have Colette’s taste—you have to be born with it,” Perrineum decreed, readjusting her gigantic hat for the millionth time.

“I wonder if we can sneak over to her bedroom wing. I want to see what she did with the space,” Stephanie suggested.

“She probably put mirrors on the ceiling,” Perrineum cracked.

“Louis XIV mirrors. Stolen from Versailles!” Adele cackled, as she followed the ladies out the door.

Perched in the corner of the cigar lounge, Kitty couldn’t hide her look of devastation. “My breasts are not fake!” she cried.

“Don’t listen to them, Kitty.”

“Adele Deng told me the house was ‘so original.’ Why would she lie to my face like that?”

Oliver paused for a moment, thinking that Adele was right on one score—Kitty certainly didn’t pick up on the subtler cues. “They’re just jealous of all the attention you’re getting. Ignore them.”

“You know, it’s not so easy to ignore those ladies. Adele Deng and Stephanie Shi—they rule the scene here. If this is what they’re really thinking, I’ll never be able to compete.”

“Kitty, look—you’ve already conquered the world stage. These women aren’t your competition anymore, don’t you see?”

“I realize that, but I also realize something else. No matter what I do, this will always be known as Colette’s house. And this will always be Colette’s town, even though she’s gone. She was born here—these are her people. I will always be an outsider in Shanghai, no matter what I do. Why did I even bother spending two years redecorating this house? I should be where people appreciate me.”

“I couldn’t agree more. You have houses all over the world, you can be anywhere you want to be, creating your own social universe. Honestly, I don’t know why you don’t live in Hong Kong full-time. It’s my favorite city in Asia.”

“Corinna Ko-Tung tells me it will take at least one generation for me to break into Hong Kong society—Harvard might have a chance if I enroll him in the right kindergarten, but it’s already too late for Gisele. You know, the only place where Chinese people have ever treated me well is Singapore. Look how nice Araminta Lee has been. And my friends Wandi, Tatiana, and Georgina live there part-time too.”

Oliver didn’t want to remind Kitty that Araminta was actually born in Mainland China, and that neither Wandi, Tatiana, nor Georgina were native Singaporeans, but he began to see a new opportunity arise. “You know, you already own one of the most historic houses on one of the best streets in Singapore. I had assumed you’d spend more time there after you acquired it.”

“I thought I would. But then I got pregnant with Harvard and Jack insisted that I give birth in the United States. And after that we just somehow spent more time in Shanghai because I needed to redo this house.”

“But your poor Frank Brewer estate in Singapore is completely neglected. It’s only half decorated. Think of what you could accomplish there if you focused your attention on it. Think of all the accolades you would receive from architectural preservationists if you truly restored it to its former glory. My God, I’m sure my friend Rupert would insist on doing a feature story for The World of Interiors.”

The wheels in Kitty’s head began turning. “Yes, yes. I could transform that little house. Make it even more spectacular than this cursed place! And it will be one hundred percent mine! Will you help me?”

“Of course. But you know, aside from the house, I do think it’s time for you to undergo another radical transformation as well. You need a new look that will launch you into Singapore society properly. My God, the Tattle crowd will love you. Let’s get you a photo shoot and feature story. Hell, I’m sure I can wrangle you the cover.”

“You really think so?”

“Absolutely. I can see it already…we’ll get Bruce Weber to shoot it. You, Gisele, and Harvard, romping through your historic heritage property in Singapore surrounded by a dozen golden retrievers. All wearing Chanel! Even the dogs!”