into account your membership dues at Churchill Club and Pulau Club! Don’t you see? It’s impossible for you to marry Simon. We wouldn’t worry if you had your own money, but you know your situation. The clock is ticking on your pretty face. It’s time to cut your losses and let Lauren introduce you to one of those eligible Beijing billionaires before it’s too late.”
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