10
Eddie, Fiona, and the Children
HONG KONG
Eddie sat on the fleur-de-lis-patterned carpet of his dressing room, carefully unwrapping the tuxedo that had just arrived from Italy, which he had ordered especially for Colin’s wedding. He took extra care to peel off the embossed sticker from the tissue-like wrapping paper that covered the large garment box, as he liked to save all the stickers and labels from his designer clothes in his Smythson leather scrapbook, and slowly eased the garment bag out of its box.
The first thing he did was try on the midnight-blue trousers. Fucky fuck, they were too tight! He tried fastening the button at the waist, but no matter how much he sucked his gut in, the damn thing wouldn’t button. He took the trousers off in a huff and scrutinized the size label sewn into the lining. It read “90,” which seemed correct, since his waistline was thirty-six inches. Could he have put on so much weight in just three months? No way. Those fucking Italians must have screwed up the measurements. So bloody typical. They made beautiful things, but there was always some problem or other, like the Lamborghini he once had. Thank God he got rid of that pile of cow dung and bought the Aston Martin. He would call Felix at Caraceni first thing tomorrow and tear him a new asshole. They needed to fix this before he left for Singapore next week.
He stood by the mirrored wall in nothing but his white dress shirt, black socks, and white briefs, and gingerly put on the double-breasted tuxedo jacket. Thank God, at least the jacket fit nicely. He buttoned the top button of the jacket and found to his dismay that the fabric pulled a little against his belly.
He walked over to the intercom system, pushed a button, and bellowed, “Fi! Fi! Come to my dressing room now!” A few moments later, Fiona entered the room, wearing just a black slip and her padded bedroom slippers. “Fi, is this jacket too tight?” he asked, buttoning the jacket again and moving his elbows around like a goose flapping its wings to test the sleeves.
“Stop moving your arms and I’ll tell you,” she said.
He put his arms down but kept shifting his weight from one foot to the other, impatiently awaiting her verdict.
“It’s definitely too tight,” she said. “Just look at the back. It’s pulling at the center seam. You’ve put on weight, Eddie.”
“Rubbish! I’ve hardly gained a pound in the last few months, and definitely not since they took my measurements for this suit back in March.”
Fiona just stood there, not wanting to argue with him over the obvious.
“Are the children ready for inspection?” Eddie asked.
“I’m trying to get them dressed right now.”
“Tell them they have five more minutes. Russell Wing is coming over at three to take some family pictures of us in the wedding clothes. Orange Daily might do a feature on our family attending the wedding.”
“You didn’t tell me Russell is coming over today!”
“I just remembered. I called him only yesterday. You can’t expect me to remember everything when I have much more important matters on my mind, can you?”
“But you need to give me more time to prepare for a photo shoot. Don’t you remember what happened the last time when they shot us for Hong Kong Tattle?”
“Well, I’m telling you now. So stop wasting time and go get ready.”
Constantine, Augustine, and Kalliste stood obediently in a straight line in the middle of the sunken formal living room, all dressed up in their new outfits from Ralph Lauren Kids. Eddie sprawled on the plush velvet brocade sofa, inspecting each of his children, while Fiona, the Chinese maid, and one of the Filipino nannies hovered close by. “Augustine, I think you should wear your Gucci loafers with that outfit and not those Bally moccasins.”
“Which ones?” Augustine asked, his little voice almost a whisper.
“What? Speak up!” Eddie said.
“Which ones do I wear?” Augustine said again, not much louder.
“Sir, which pair of Gucci loafers? He has two,” Laarni, the Filipino nanny interjected.
“The burgundy ones with the red-and-green band, of course,” Eddie said, giving his six-year-old son a withering look. “Nay chee seen, ah? You can’t seriously think you can wear black shoes with khaki trousers, can you?” Eddie scolded. Augustine’s face reddened, close to tears. “Okay, that covers the tea ceremony. Now, go and change into your wedding outfits. Hurry up, I’m going to give you five minutes.” Fiona, the nanny, and the maid quickly ushered the children back to their bedrooms.
Ten minutes later, when Fiona came down the spiral stairs in a minimalist gray off-the-shoulder gown with one asymmetrical sleeve, Eddie could hardly believe his eyes. “Yau moh gau chor?[65] What on earth is that?”
“What do you mean?” Fiona asked.
“That dress! You look like you’re in mourning!”
“It’s Jil Sander. I love it. I showed you a picture and you approved.”
“I don’t remember seeing a picture of this dress. I never would have approved it. You look like some spinster widow.”
“There’s no such thing as a spinster widow, Eddie. Spinsters are unmarried,” Fiona said drily.
“I don’t care. How can you look like death warmed over when the rest of us look so good? See how nice and colorful your children look,” he said, gesturing to the kids, who cowered in embarrassment.
“I will be wearing my diamond-and-jade necklace with it, and the jade art deco earrings.”
“It will still look like you are going to a funeral. We’re going to the wedding of the year, with kings and queens and some of the richest people in the world and all my relatives. I don’t want people thinking that I can’t afford to buy my wife a proper dress.”
“In the first place, Eddie, I bought it with my own money, since you never pay for my clothes. And this is one of the most expensive dresses I’ve ever bought.”
“Well, it doesn’t look expensive enough.”
“Eddie, you are always contradicting yourself,” Fiona said. “First you tell me you want me to dress more expensively like your cousin Astrid, but then you criticize everything I buy.”
“Well, I criticize you when you’re wearing something that looks so cheap. It’s a disgrace to me. It’s a disgrace to your children.”
Fiona shook her head in exasperation. “You don’t have any idea what looks cheap, Eddie. Like that shiny tux you’re wearing. That looks cheap. Especially when I can see the safety pins holding your pants on.”
“Nonsense. This tux was six thousand euros. Everyone can see how expensive the fabric is and how well tailored it is, especially when they fix it properly. The pins are temporary. I’m going to button the jacket for the pictures and no one will see them.”
The doorbell made an elaborate, symphonically excessive chime.
“That must be Russell Wing. Kalliste, take off your glasses. Fi, go and change your dress — now.”
“Why don’t you just go to my closet and pick out whatever you want me to wear?” Fiona said, not wanting to argue with him anymore.
At that moment, the celebrity photographer Russell Wing entered the living room.
“Look at you Chengs! Wah, gum laeng, ah!”[66] he said.
“Hello Russell,” Eddie said, smiling broadly. “Thank you, thank you, we only look stylish for you!”
“Fiona, you look stunning in that dress! Isn’t it Raf Simons for Jil Sander, from next season? How in the world did you get your hands on it? I just photographed Maggie Cheung in this dress last week for Vogue China.”