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.
"It took me an hour to clean the room. I left the house around one in the morning, before she came back home with her guest. I stayed in this teahouse and waited for her to call me. A little after two o'clock, she called and commanded me not to go home until noon. I begged her, but she said I made her lose face so I had to be punished."
"How did you make her lose face?" I ask. "You weren't even there!"
"I forgot to hide my underwear hanging outside on the balcony."
"Uh…" CC and I manage not to laugh out loud.
The man continues. "Yesterday before going to work, I had washed some underwear and left it hanging on the balcony. I didn't think it was a big deal, but she said it made her look very bad. The Englishman went to the balcony straightaway after he came in. He never lived as high as the twenty-fourth floor. He loved the view. Then he saw a string of underwear. My wife said that foreigners don't hang their underwear outside as if it was an art exhibition. So she felt quite awkward. Then, the man spotted the man's briefs on the line. He asked my wife whose underwear it was. She told him the truth. The man laughed. He pointed at the hole in the underwear and told my wife that she had better buy me a few new pairs of undershorts. After saying that, he left, shaking his head while muttering something in English that my wife didn't understand. My wife felt humiliated. She said that it was my fault, so I had to be punished. The door would remain locked. Sleep somewhere else, she said."
"Does your wife work for the Portman?" CC asks.
"Yes, how did you know?" The man is shocked.
"If I'm not wrong, her name is Nancy," CC says.
"Yes. But who are you?" The Shanghai man looks at CC nervously.
"If you are a wronged man, then I'm the wronged woman."
JIACHOU BUKE WAIYANG: Ugly or embarrassing domestic issues shouldn't be told to outsiders. Although most personal issues such as income are open topics for discussion, this one usually is not.