Even in a room packed with celebrities dressed to the nines, a hush came over the space as a strikingly attractive Chinese woman with jet-black hair, powdered white skin, and crimson lips, dramatically dressed in a black velvet off-the-shoulder gown, emerged from the crowd. Flanked by two snow-white Russian wolfhounds on long diamond leashes, the lady began to walk slowly up the central aisle as every head swiveled toward the sensational sight.
Clearing his throat discreetly into the mic, the auctioneer tried to regain the attention of the room. “I have eighty-five point five million, who will say eighty-six?”
One of the associates manning a telephone nodded. Corinna immediately raised her paddle to challenge that bid. And then the lady in black velvet raised her paddle. Looking down from the skybox, the director of Christie’s Asia turned to his associates in astonishment and said, “I thought she was just some publicity seeker.” Straining to take a better look, the director observed, “Her paddle number is 269. Someone find out who she is. Is she even prequalified to bid?”
Oliver T’sien, who was in the lounge bidding on behalf of a private client, had been staring intently with his opera glasses at the lady with the silken-haired dogs ever since she entered. He let out a chuckle. “Don’t worry, she’s prequalified.”
“Who is she?” the director demanded.
“Well, her nose and chin have been refined and it looks like she’s also gotten cheek implants, but I’m quite certain bidder number 269 is none other than Mrs. Tai.”
“Carol Tai, the widow of Dato’ Tai Toh Lui, that tycoon who died last year?”
“No, no, she’s the wife of Bernard, the dato’s son who inherited all of his father’s billions. That lady in black is the soap-opera star formerly known as Kitty Pong.”
WAN CHAI, HONG KONG, 8:25 P.M.
This is special correspondent Sunny Choy reporting for CNN International. I’m live at the Hong Kong Convention and Exhibition Centre, where the world’s top collectors are in a frenzied state of bidding for The Palace of Eighteen Perfections. The price has just hit $90 million. To put this into perspective, a Qianlong vase sold in London for a record-breaking US$85.9 million in 2010. But that’s London. In Asia, the highest price ever achieved was US$65.4 million for an ink painting by Qi Baishi in 2011.*3 So this painting has already broken TWO world records. Now, about ten minutes ago, the former actress Kitty Pong—who is married to billionaire Bernard Tai—brought the auction to a standstill when she made an entrance with two gigantic dogs on diamond leashes and began bidding. Right now, there are four others bidding against her. We’re told that one is a representative for the Getty Museum in Los Angeles, another suspected bidder is the heiress Araminta Lee Khoo, and there are unconfirmed reports that the third bidder is a representative for the Liu insurance family. We don’t know who the fourth mystery bidder is yet. Back to you, Christiane.
UPPER GUDAURI, REPUBLIC OF GEORGIA, 12:30 A.M.
“There’s some ridiculous woman in black with two friggin’ dogs who will not stop bidding!” Araminta cursed into her laptop, not recognizing Kitty Pong in the live video feed of the auction. After a long day of heli-skiing in the Caucasus Mountains, her muscles ached and this auction was delaying her much-needed soak in the gigantic sunken tub of their winter chalet.
“What’s the price up to now?” Colin asked drowsily as he lay stretched out on the black-and-white yak-skin rug by the fireplace.
“I’m not telling—I know you’re not going to approve.”
“No, really, Minty, how much is it?”
“Shhh! I’m bidding!” Araminta admonished her husband, resuming her dialogue with the Christie’s associate on the line.
Colin pulled himself up from the cozy rug and padded over to the desk where his wife was set up with her computer and satellite phone. He blinked twice at the video feed, not sure if he believed what he was seeing. “Lugh siow, ah?*4 You’re really going to pay ninety million for a bunch of old scrolls?”
Araminta gave him a look. “I don’t say anything when you buy huge ugly canvases with elephant dung on them, so don’t you start on me now.”
“Wait a minute, my Chris Ofilis only cost about two, three million each. Think about how many elephant-dung paintings we could buy—”
Araminta cupped her hand over the mouthpiece. “Make yourself useful and get me another hot chocolate. With extra marshmallows, please. This auction isn’t over until I say it’s over!”