* * *

*1 And if you happen to get invited, just know you’re still obliged to pay the $20,000 attendance fee unless you are one of the people listed in the next footnote. (Beautiful people never have to pay for anything.)

*2 Leo, Brad, Angelina, and Bono have all attended.

*3 The acronym for Informal Gathering of World Economic Leaders, the most exclusive inner sanctum of the conference, so secretive that their meetings take place at an undisclosed location deep within the Congress Centre.

*4 Cantonese for “Thank you, thank you.”

CHAPTER TWO

FULLERTON HOTEL, SINGAPORE

Every month, Rosalind Fung, the property heiress, hosted a Christian Fellowship Banquet for three hundred of her closest girlfriends in the opulent ballroom of the Fullerton Hotel. An invitation to this occasion was highly coveted by a certain segment of Singapore society regardless of their religious affiliation as it was a seal of approval from the old guard (there wasn’t a single Chindo or Mainlander in sight), and also because the food was heavenly—Rosalind brought in her personal chefs, who took over the hotel’s kitchens for one day and prepared an enormous buffet feast consisting of the most mouthwatering Singaporean dishes. Most important—this biblical bacchanal was completely free of charge thanks to Rosalind’s generosity, although guests were asked to contribute something to the offering basket immediately following the closing prayer.*1

Having strategically chosen a table closest to the buffet area, Daisy Foo sighed as she watched Araminta Lee standing in line at the noodle station dishing out some mee siam. “Aiyah—that Araminta! Bein kar ani laau!”*2

“She doesn’t look old. She just doesn’t have any makeup on, that’s all. Those supermodel types look like nothing on earth without makeup,” Nadine Shaw said as she tucked into her steaming bowl of mee rebus noodles.

Dousing her mee goreng with more chili oil, Eleanor Young commented, “It has nothing to do with that. I used to see her swim at the Churchill Club, and even when she was coming out of the pool dripping wet, she looked beautiful without a stitch of makeup on. Her face has just taken a turn, that’s all. She has one of those faces that I always knew would age badly. What is she…twenty-seven, twenty-eight now? It’s all over for her, lah.”

At that moment, Lorena Lim and Carol Tai arrived at the table with plates piled dangerously high with food. “Wait, wait…who’s aging badly?” Lorena inquired eagerly.

“Araminta Lee. Over at that table with all the Khoo women. Doesn’t she look haggard?” Nadine said.

“Alamak, bite your tongue, Nadine! Didn’t you know she just had a miscarriage?” Carol whispered.

The ladies all stared at Carol, mouths agape. “Again? Are you joking? Who told you, lah?” Daisy demanded, still chewing on her mee pok.

“Who else? Kitty, lor. Kitty and Araminta are the best of friends now, and ever since this latest miscarriage, she’s been spending a lot of time at Kitty’s house playing with Gisele. She’s completely heartbroken.”

“How often do you see Kitty and Gisele?” Lorena asked, marveling that Carol could be so forgiving of her ex-daughter-in-law—the same woman who had cheated on her son, Bernard, with a man Kitty met at the funeral of Carol’s late husband and who subsequently dragged Bernard through a particularly acrimonious divorce and custody battle. (Of course, it didn’t hurt that Carol abhorred her son’s new lifestyle of yoga and “that ridiculous Jurassic diet,” both of which she considered to be satanic.)

“I go over to Kitty’s at least once a week, and Gisele comes to church with me every Sunday,” Carol proudly reported.

“Is it healthy for Araminta to be playing with your granddaughter when she just lost her own baby?” Nadine wondered out loud.

“Aiyah, I’m sure old Mrs. Khoo must be giving Araminta soooo much pressure to produce a grandson! It’s been five years since she married Colin! My Nicky and Rachel have been married for two years now, and they still won’t give me a grandchild!” Eleanor complained.

“But Araminta is still young. She has plenty of time, lah,” Nadine argued.

“With all of Dorothy Khoo’s side disinherited, Puan’s side good-for-nothings, and Nigel Khoo running off and marrying that Russian cabaret singer, who is obviously too old to seh kiah,*3 Colin and Araminta are the last hope to carry on the Khoo name,” Daisy commented. Having been born a Wong, of the tin-mining Wongs, Daisy had an encyclopedic knowledge of Singapore’s social history.

The ladies all shook their heads, casting pitiful glances at Araminta, who to anyone else but these women’s hypercritical eyes looked perfectly gorgeous and lovely in her yellow striped minidress from Jacquemus.

“Well, Eleanor, your niece Astrid just arrived. There’s one girl who never seems to age,” Carol observed.

All the women turned to look as Astrid descended the sweeping curved staircase with her mother, Felicity Leong; the society queen Mrs. Lee Yong Chien; and another elderly lady decked out in a cobalt blue sequined hijab.

“Who is that Malay woman wearing that ginormous ruby choker? If that center stone looks as big as it does from here, it must be the size of a lychee up close!” Lorena exclaimed. Having been married into the L’Orient Jewelry family for more than three decades, she definitely knew her rocks.

“Oh that’s the Dowager Sultana of Perawak. She’s staying with the Leongs, of course,” Eleanor reported.

“Alamak, having royalty as houseguests is such a nuisance!” Daisy complained.

Lorena, like most of the other women in the ballroom, scrutinized Astrid from head to toe as she walked to her table wearing what appeared to be a crisp men’s button-down shirt tucked into exquisitely cut navy-and-white gingham cigarette trousers. “It’s true, Astrid actually looks younger and younger every time I see her. Isn’t she in her late thirties by now? She looks like an MGS*4 girl coming off the school bus! I bet you she must be sneaking off somewhere and getting things done.”

“I can tell you she hasn’t had a thing done. She’s not the type,” Eleanor said.

“It’s how she puts it all together. The other girls her age are dressed up like Christmas trees but just look at Astrid…hair in a sleek ponytail, ballet flats, not a drop of jewelry except that cross…is it turquoise? And that outfit! She looks like Audrey Hepburn on the way to a screen test,” Daisy said approvingly as she fished around in her new Céline handbag for a toothpick. “Blah-dee-hell! See what my snobby daughter-in-law forces me to carry? She gave me this fancy handbag for my birthday because she’s embarrassed of being seen next to me when I’m carrying my no-name purse, but I can’t ever find anything in here! It’s so damn deep, and there are so many damn pockets!”

“Daisy, will you please stop swearing? We are in the Lord’s presence tonight, you know,” Carol admonished.

As if on cue, the Christian Fellowship Banquet’s hostess, Rosalind Fung, got up from her table and walked onto the stage. A short, plumpish woman in her mid-sixties with a frizzy spiral perm, Rosalind was dressed in what seemed to be the regulation uniform of every middle-aged old-money Singaporean heiress—a sleeveless floral blouse, probably purchased from the clearance rack at John Little, taupe elastic-waist pants, and orthopedic open-toe sandals. She smiled happily from the podium at her gathered friends.