I say, "Perhaps Chairman Hua destroyed your faith in love. You lost your faith and your judgment. You searched for love from the wrong people, like Iron Egg."
"Generally, there are only three types of men we can sleep with," says Lulu. After her experience with Ximu, Lulu seems to have become an expert. "First is the husband type, like Tom Hanks. This type loves you more than you love him. He's responsible, loyal, you can trust him, and you are willing to grow old with him. He will still love you when you become a grandma."
This sounds so much like my father, I think. I don't plan to marry a father figure.
"The second is the lover type, like Hugh Grant. This is the type of person you love to appreciate. He is charming and educated. There can be love, passion, and romance between you, but no trust, not suitable for spending a lot of time together. You can talk about literature and art with them, but don't go hoping for marriage or kids with them."
Len definitely falls into this category, I think. Before my eyes appears the scene when Len and I went to Montmarte in Paris to see the Dali sculptures of melting clocks. Len said, "Dali works are all related to the subconscious. The subconscious is liquid. Our emotions, our instincts, our desires, are all liquid, just like time, melting here before our eyes. Do you feel how time is molten, liquid and flowing?" Len silently gazed at me and didn't speak again. I held my breath and looked at Len. I had never dared to look at Len so directly, because his gaze was so sharp, it could be almost painful. But in the silence of the Dali Museum, we stared at each other, and my heart kept repeating, "Make time solidify. Make it stop right here."' At the time I had left my boyfriend and deferred my studies just to follow Len. Before long, my world had only one thing in it: Len.
"And the last type?" I ask.
"The kind of playmate you don't have to talk to or communicate with at all. He is athletic and sexy," says Lulu.
"Like the exercise trainer in our health club?" Beibei chimes in with a smile.
"Like the dark-skinned hairdresser at the RichWife?" I follow.
"Yes. In any case, he doesn't need to have the brains of Woody Allen. As soon as you see each other, you want to tear your clothes off. Everything is for sex! With this type of man, you can be kinky and wild and totally uninhibited in bed," Lulu says.
"Where did you learn this stupid theory?" asks Beibei.
"From my Internet dates," says Lulu, winking and tapping her foot to Björk's "Big Time Sensuality" in the background.
30 The Brief Moment
CC and Nick have made plans for a long weekend in Shanghai. I agree to come along at CC's request since Hugh has assigned me to write a piece about the clubs and hotels in Shanghai.
CC, Nick, and I have got a great package at the swank Port-man Ritz-Carlton. On the first day, we play a round of golf, which is usually reserved for the ultrarich in a crowded city like Shanghai; have dinner at a loft-like place called The Door, known for its fusion deco: and cap the day by listening to jazz at the Cotton Club. The next day, we brunch at the lobby of the new Westin Hotel, which offers unlimited drinks of champagne and cocktails. Then we go swimming, have a massage, eat dinner at the M on the Bund, and have drinks at Face, a Southeast Asian bar owned by a Westerner.
Nick thoroughly enjoys it. Shanghai is the perfect post-colonial playground for him, but not for CC. She especially dislikes the waitress in the Portman's Tea Garden Cafe, Nancy Lu, who shows a much friendlier attitude toward Nick than to her and me. Nancy laughs coquettishly, even flirts with Nick right in front of CC. On the second night, CC overhears Nick calling Nancy, telling her that she's cute and he'd like to meet up with her. CC confronts Nick and they get into an argument. I am in their room as they argue. I can't stop them. Nick finally walks out, saying to CC as he goes, "I didn't come to Asia to find a stuck-up Oxford ice queen. There are plenty of them back home in the UK."
"I can't believe it!" she cries, "Nick just dumped me."
"If he's smart, he'll come back and say he's sorry," I say.
CC mutters sulkily, "I came back to China to find my roots. But everywhere we go, the place is full of local women who want to marry Westerners. It really pisses me off. And it pisses me off even more that Nick seems to love it so much!"
Another thing that pisses CC off is that she is not considered beautiful in China. Back in Oxford, her delicate bones, petite features, and almond eyes were exotic and won her the nickname Beauty Queen, but in China, people worship European-looking women. She isn't tall enough, her eyes aren't big enough, her skin isn't light enough. She's considered common and unfashionable. But wherever we go, Chinese people will praise Nick for his handsome looks. "Wow, you've got a good-looking boyfriend," they say to her, which annoys her.
"Tomorrow, let's go somewhere more Chinese. Perhaps we can talk to a Shanghai man! I've heard that Shanghai men really know how to look after women," I say to comfort CC.
After a late-morning workout at the hotel's spa, we go out for brunch at a teahouse that sells milk tea with tapioca It lacks colonial style, perfect for CC's mood. Sticking to the plan of no martinis or goose liver pate, we order fried dumplings and bubble green tea. Although the teahouse looks traditional, we can't seem to escape the Western influence. Four teenagers sit playing poker at their table, making noises and cracking sunflower seeds. Two girls are eating ice cream while reading the latest Chinese edition of Elle. Two boys are playing video games at the table right next to us.
A baby-faced Chinese man who sits alone gets my attention. It looks like he is reading the Shanghai Star, but the paper is turned upside-down. Behind the newspaper, the man is dozing off. Even in his sleep, he looks melancholy. I nudge CC. "The re's probably a good story behind this. Otherwise, why would he doze off here in the morning?"
CC decides to strike up a conversation with the man. She walks over and wakes him up. "Hey, are you okay? Do you need help?"
The man rubs his eyes and looks at his watch. "Oh, almost noon. I can go home now!"
"It looks like you've been in this teahouse for a long time now." I join them.
"I have stayed at this twenty-four-hour teahouse for the entire night. Can you believe it?!" The man sounds frustrated.
"What happened?" CC asks.
"You know how it is, jiachou buke waiyang. Domestic scandals shouldn't be told to outsiders. I have to go." The man makes an attempt to get up and leave.
"We heard that Shanghai men are gentlemen. Are you a native?" I keep the conversation going.
"Yes," the man nods, "Where are you from?"
"I'm a Beijinger," I say.
"I'm a Hong Konger," says CC.
"You don't look like the type to spend all night in a teahouse. Why are you here?" I probe.
"To be honest, my wife locked me out last night!" The man almost bursts into tears.
"So it's true that Shanghai husbands are henpecked by their Shanghai wives!" CC murmurs to me.
"So tell us your story. Perhaps we can help you," CC says to the man.
"She works in a nice hotel nearby," the man continues. "It's not that she likes being a waitress. But she hopes to meet some rich guests there who will be willing to sponsor us to go abroad. Last night, she was on a night shift. Around midnight, she called and told me that there was an English man who had his eye on her. The Englishman had asked to visit her place because he was interested in seeing how ordinary Chinese lived. She told me to clean our house. She especially asked me to hide my belongings because she said that the man might not be willing to sponsor her abroad if he knew that she was married.