I realize the most embarrassing moment for a woman is to meet a vengeful man whom she has rejected – even if she was the only one who had not teased him at school for his family background. But now I smile at President Gao. "It's not that bad, actually. Being yellow in America is at least better off than being a son of a low-ranking civil servant in Jingshan School."
GONGKUAN: Public money, often refers to things that can be reimbursed or paid for by the government or work units. The Chinese are true artists when it comes to writing off expenses to the government or their companies.
41 Nick's Choice
After five years of courtship in England and two years of living together in China, Nick and CC broke up: Nick dumped her after their trip to Shanghai. Everybody in his circle of friends thought that Nick would stay in Shanghai and continue to pursue the Portman Hotel waitress with whom he was infatuated.
Instead, he is back in Beijing and has begun seeing Little Fang. CC is very upset after hearing this – especially since we have all been friends with Little Fang. CC comes to complain.
"But doesn't Xiao Fang already have someone?" I ask her as I remember Little Fang's boyfriend, an earnest young man who always seemed to have a GRE English vocabulary book in his hand.
"She's always had the hots for Nick, I guess. Otherwise, why would she have offered him free Chinese lessons?" CC says.
"I suppose you're right," I say, "But Little Fang seemed so nice. I'm sure she didn't initiate this relationship. Perhaps it was Nick."
"Whatever. If the bitch was really my friend, she wouldn't have agreed to go out with him," cries CC.
"Did Nick tell you why he wanted to break up with you?" I ask.
"He said he had decided that he liked local girls better than girls like me who grew up overseas. He said local girls aren't so snooty and stuck-up. Niuniu, do you think I'm a stuck-up, snooty princess?"
"No, CC, of course not!"
"But why did Nick dump me for Xiao Fang? Niuniu, tell me, is it because I'm not as pretty or as sexy as the local girls?" CC asks.
"You're beautiful."
"Then, I guess I'm not Chinese enough. He said I don't have the elegance of a real Chinese woman." CC sighs.
"Sounds like he has yellow fever," I say. "He really does have an Asian fetish. Time to move on, dear. Nick is just a single blade of grass on the lawn, and even as we speak, there are new seedlings blowing in the wind. And in Beijing, the grass grows quickly!"
CC looks pensive and sad, saying, "But maybe he's right, maybe I'm not Chinese enough. Whenever Westerners see me, they all think I'm Chinese, and expect me to speak perfect Chinese, to be a submissive Asian woman and drool over them just because they're foreigners. But I'm not Chinese – I'm a Westerner. I grew up in England; English is my native language. I only speak Chinese when I'm with my parents. I know far more about European culture than I do about Chinese culture. And I'm not about to throw myself at some Western guy just because he has blue eyes and blond hair.
"When I came to China, I thought, if I study Mandarin and learn a bit about kung fu and feng shui, then I'll be Chinese. But when Westerners ask me questions about Chinese culture, I've got no idea. I've worked hard for so many years, but I'm a failure. I don't belong anywhere. Doesn't matter whether it's Nick or those men I met in Asia, so many of them want someone exotic. If they go out with a local girl, it gives them a colonial sense of victory, of conquering and taming the mysterious Orient. But me, I'm too Western, too similar to them – I see myself as one of them, as their equal. I'm not exotic enough, so these Western men don't think being with someone like me is sufficiently romantic. Am I right?"
"Why are you so worried about what Western guys think of you anyway? If they don't understand you, if they don't appreciate you, then why don't you go out with a Chinese guy instead?" I suggest. "You're pretty, smart, funny, there must be loads of Chinese guys who want to go out with you."
"I don't know – I've never been out with Chinese men before."
"Why not?" I demand.
"Somehow we just don't click. It'd be like dating one of my brothers or something. And Western guys are always so much funnier, laid-back, not so stressed about pleasing their parents. And Western guys have got much better bodies!"
"Hmph, you can blame Nick for having yell ow fever, but it seems to me you're just as fixated on Western men," I say to CC.
42 The Gossip Party
My boss Sean and I are on assignment in Hong Kong to write about Hong Kong 's crisis of confidence. On Friday evening, we receive invitations to Club Ing in Wan Chai, a farewell party for an English banker who is returning home.
Attendees include bankers, consultants, lawyers, foreign journalists, advertising agents, Chinese celebrities, and people of uncertain background who call themselves free agents or writers. Most people don't know the English banker, but it doesn't matter. Just like in the West, connections have always been important in Chinese culture, especially in Hong Kong. That's why parties are not to be missed.
White gloves, martinis, cries in English of "Hi" and "Oh yeah," hugging and kissing greetings, politely revealing teeth in a small smile, conversing in a mixture of Chinese and English. Neither Chinese nor Western – it is very Hong Kong.
I soon discover that no one actually knows anyone very well, but the warm way in which people greet one another makes it seem as if they've known each other a long time. In conversation, people constantly drop names. "Do you know So-and-So?" is a mantra. It helps people find connections but it can also rescue you when you don't know what else to say. Moreover, the more people you know, the more social you are, and the more people want to get to know you.
Among the Chinese, the names people love to drop the most are names of high-ranking officials in China, or the cousins of high-ranking officials, or the wives of the nephews of high-ranking officials, any of which automatically raises their status. Knowing even the driver of a high-ranking official can make the speaker proud and the listener stand in awe. As soon as I admit that I went to high school with the son of China 's president, many show interest and come to talk to me.
Among the expats, the names dropped are often old classmates or coworkers. People who say, "So-and-So was my classmate in Boston " are Harvard or MIT people, as always. No one will say the name of the school he went to. The unspoken rule for everybody at this sort of gathering is that name-dropping is fine, but school-name-dropping is considered outre.
A woman walks past facing me. She looks me up and down and then greets me warmly. "Isn't that Niuniu? Do you still remember me – Auntie Man? I'm your old neighbor! I never would have imagined you're so grown-up. We mustn't have seen each other for many years! I never would have thought I'd bump into you at a place like this!"
I remember. This Auntie Man was my old Beijing neighbor. Auntie Man struck up a conversation with a Hong Kong businessman one day when she was walking along the street. Later, she married him and moved to Hong Kong to be a mainland wife.
"Auntie Man, how's your life in Hong Kong?" I ask.
" Hong Kong is so expensive! An apartment is several million Hong Kong dollars; a car parking space is a couple of thousand per month. Now my husband's company has set up a branch in Shanghai, and we're going to move there. Everyone's going to Shanghai, you know! Who made Shanghai so cheap? But I'll have to keep an eye on my husband. Shanghai girls are all after men!"
I introduce Auntie Man to Sean. Just as they are shaking hands, a Chinese couple walks over to Sean.
The husband has a broad face. He is wearing a polo shirt, pants with suspenders, and black-rimmed glasses, and his hair is slicked back and shining. He looks part cartoon, part tycoon.