Isabel was reduced to a puddle of tears.
Rachel couldn’t believe what she had just heard — this crowd made Upper East Side girls look like Mennonites. She tried to shift her attention back to the food. The second course had just been served — a surprisingly tasty langoustine and calamansi lime geleé terrine. Unfortunately, the girls on her right seemed to be loudly fixating on some couple named Alistair and Kitty.
“Aiyah, I don’t understand what he sees in her,” Chloé Ho lamented. “With the fake accent and fake breasts and fake everything.”
“I know exactly what he sees in her. He sees those fake breasts, and that’s all he needs to see!” Parker cackled.
“Serena Oh told me that she ran into them at Lung King Heen last week, and Kitty was in Gucci, head to toe. Gucci purse, Gucci halter top, Gucci satin mini-shorts, and Gucci python boots,” Chloé said. “She kept her Gucci sunglasses on all through dinner, and apparently even made out with him at the table with her sunglasses on.”
“Alamaaaaak, how tacky can you get!” Wandi hissed, patting her diamond-and-aquamarine tiara.
Parker suddenly addressed Rachel from across the table. “Wait a minute, have you met them yet?”
“Who?” Rachel asked, since she was trying to tune the girls out rather than listen in on their salacious gossip.
“Alistair and Kitty!”
“Sorry, I wasn’t really following … who are they?”
Francesca glanced at Rachel and said, “Parker, don’t waste your time — it’s obvious Rachel doesn’t know anybody.”
Rachel didn’t understand why Francesca was being so icy toward her. She decided to ignore the comment and took a sip of her Pinot Gris.
“So Rachel, tell us how you met Nicholas Young,” Lauren asked loudly.
“Well, it’s not a very exciting story. We both teach at NYU, and we were set up by a colleague of mine,” Rachel answered, noticing that all eyes at the table were fixed on her.
“Oh, who is the colleague? A Singaporean?” Lauren asked.
“No, she’s Chinese American, Sylvia Wong-Swartz.”
“How did she know Nicholas?” Parker asked.
“Um, they met on some committee.”
“So she didn’t know him very well?” Parker continued.
“No, I don’t think so,” Rachel replied, wondering what these girls were getting at. “Why the interest in Sylvia?”
“Oh, I love setting up my friends too, so I was just curious to know what motivated your friend to set the two of you up, that’s all.” Parker smiled.
“Well, Sylvia’s a good friend, and she was always trying to set me up. She just thought Nick was cute and a total catch …” Rachel began, instantly regretting her choice of words.
“It sure sounds like she did her homework on that, didn’t she?” Francesca said with a sharp laugh.
After dinner, while the girls took off for the disco marquee precariously erected on a jetty, Rachel headed alone to the beach bar, a picturesque gazebo overlooking a secluded cove. It was empty except for the tall, strapping bartender who grinned broadly when she entered. “Signorina, can I make you something special?” he asked in an almost comically seductive accent. Hell, did Araminta’s mother only hire dashing Italians?
“I’ve actually been craving a beer. Do you have any beer?”
“Of course. Let’s see, we have Corona, Duvel, Moretti, Red Stripe, and my personal favorite, Lion Stout.”
“That’s one I’ve never heard of.”
“It’s from Sri Lanka. It’s creamy and bittersweet, with a rich tan head.”
Rachel couldn’t help giggling. It sounded like he was describing himself. “Well if it’s your favorite, then I have to try it.”
As he poured the beer into a tall frosted glass, a girl whom Rachel hadn’t previously noticed strolled into the bar and slipped onto the stool next to her.
“Thank God there’s someone else here who drinks beer! I am so sick of all those pissy low-cal cocktails,” the girl said. She was Chinese, but spoke with an Australian accent.
“Cheers to that,” Rachel replied, tipping her glass at the girl. The girl ordered a Corona, and grabbed the bottle from the bartender before he could pour it into a glass. He looked personally wounded as she tilted her head back and downed her beer in full-bodied gulps. “Rachel, isn’t it?”
“That’s right. But if you’re looking for the Taiwanese Rachel Chu, you’ve got the wrong girl,” Rachel shot back preemptively.
The girl smiled quizzically, a little baffled by Rachel’s response. “I’m Astrid’s cousin Sophie. She told me to look out for you.”
“Oh, hi,” Rachel said, disarmed by Sophie’s friendly smile and deep dimples. Unlike the other girls sporting the latest resort fashions, she was dressed plainly in a sleeveless cotton shirt and a pair of khaki shorts. She had a no-nonsense pageboy haircut, and wore no makeup or jewelry except for a plastic Swatch on her wrist.
“Were you on the plane with us?” Rachel asked, trying to remember her.
“No, no, I flew in on my own and just arrived a little while ago,”
“You have your own plane too?”
“No, I’m afraid not.” Sophie laughed. “I’m the lucky one who flew Garuda Airlines, economy class. I had some hospital rounds to do, so I couldn’t get away until later this afternoon.”
“You’re a nurse?”
“Pediatric surgeon.”
Once again, Rachel was reminded that one could never judge a book by its cover, especially in Asia. “So you’re Astrid and Nick’s cousin?”
“No, just Astrid’s, on the Leong side. Her father is my mum’s brother. But of course I know Nick — we all grew up together. And you grew up in the States, right? Where did you live?”
“I spent my teenage years in California, but I’ve lived in twelve different states. We moved around quite a bit when I was younger.”
“Why did you move around so much?”
“My mom worked in Chinese restaurants.”
“What did she do?”
“She usually started out as a hostess or a waitress, but she always managed to get promoted quickly.”
“So she took you everywhere with her?” Sophie asked, genuinely fascinated.
“Yes — we lived the Gypsy life until my teenage years, when we settled down in California.”
“Was it lonely for you?”
“Well, it was all I knew, so it seemed normal to me. I got to know the back rooms of suburban strip-mall restaurants very well, and I was pretty much a bookworm.”
“And what about your father?”
“He died soon after I was born.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sophie said quickly, regretting that she had asked.
“That’s fine — I never knew him.” Rachel smiled, trying to put her at ease. “And anyway, it wasn’t all bad. My mom put herself through night school, got a college degree, and has been a successful real estate agent for many years now.”
“That’s amazing,” Sophie said.
“Not really. We’re actually one of the many clichéd ‘Asian immigrant success stories’ that politicians love to trot out every four years during their conventions.”