Lies and Weddings(60)

“Sure. In my opinion, it’s an easy four X in six months, and twenty to thirty X if we IPO in the next year. Did I mention that Vinod Khosla is on our board?”

“Is Vinod the curator?” Rufus asked, noticing the Chinese man staring at him from across the table.

“Dude, you’re funny. Vinod’s more than the curator, he’s our GOD. Are you in?”

“Let me just clarify…you’re asking me to be in your group show?”

Now it was Ryan’s turn to be confused. “Group show? You wanna bring in your group of VCs?”

Just then, Rufus’s old schoolmate John Grey (Thomas’s Battersea/Radley/Brasenose/Sa?d) came from behind and clapped Rufus on the back. “Been ages, mate! You’re the last person I expected to see at this table!”

Rufus beamed at his friend. “Likewise. How’s life?”

“Can’t complain. Moved to London, work for the family bank, got married.”

“I heard you married Alice Vavasor!”

“She finally said yes, can you believe it?”

“So I take it you could finally forgive her?”

“I sure did. She’s eight months pregnant, which is why I’m flying solo. And you, still doing the art thing?”

“Still doing the art thing.”

“Art thing? You funding NFTs or something?” Ryan interrupted.

Rufus had had enough. “I’m sorry, Ryan, but I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re talking about. I create unique platinum prints using an archival nineteenth-century process that is the antithesis of NFTs.”

Ryan reached over and snatched up the gold engraved place card in front of Rufus’s plate. “Aren’t you Rufus St. Ives of the St. Ives Fund?”

“That place card’s wrong. My surname isn’t actually St. Ives. It’s Gresham,” Rufus replied.

“So you don’t run a venture capital firm with thirty-eight billion dollars under management?”

“Nope.”

“Ryan, I think you’re mistaking Rufus here for Russell St. Ives?” John interjected.

“Fuck, dude. Rufus, Russell, whatever. You still want to invest twenty-five million dollars in my start-up?”

Rufus chuckled. “Twenty-five million dollars? I thought you wanted twenty-five artworks from me.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, suddenly deflated.

“Hey, switch seats with me for a minute,” John offered.

Ryan’s face lit up like a kid’s. “And sit beside Feng? Duuuude, thank you!”

“Godspeed,” John said as Ryan bolted from his seat.

Rufus stared after him, somewhat mystified by the entire exchange. “I didn’t realize I was such an intolerable dinner partner until now.”

“Oh, don’t mind him,” John said, lowering his voice. “I don’t think he was too worried that you’re not investing in his start-up. He was just trying to get Phineas’s attention. Now he can really get his rocks off sitting next to him.” John gestured covertly toward the Chinese man in the dark glasses.

“Who is he?” Rufus asked quietly.

“You don’t know? Phineas Feng, the gatekeeper for MD Capital. Largest privately held venture capital fund in Asia.”

“I’m beginning to get the picture…”

“Yes. Everyone here is putting on a big show for Phineas. If he fancies their idea, they might make it to the next level.”

“The next level?”

“They get to pitch the big boss directly,” John said, tilting his head toward the table of honor by the pool. “Sitting next to the bride.”

Rufus turned to see a Chinese woman in a black caftan with coral-pink piping. “Really, that woman is the big boss?”

“Yes. The ‘MD’ in MD Capital herself, Martha Dung. What do you have to pitch today?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, you don’t have some buzzy new venture that needs seed money? Why were you seated here then?”

“I have no idea. Thought I was attending a wedding, not a taping of Shark Tank.”

“Pity, because Martha regularly drops millions on start-ups like she’s handing out lollipops,” John said.

“Good for her,” Rufus remarked right as the sound of a knife clinking against a wineglass could be heard coming from the table of honor.

Rufus saw a man around the same age as him get up from his chair and look expectantly at the gathered crowd. With his long hair pulled up into a man bun, scraggly stubble, and tattooed arms, he looked very much like one of the guys at the Saturday drum circle that Rufus would frequent at Kehena Beach. The man tapped a microphone to get the crowd’s attention before he began his speech:

“Hiya everyone! For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Christian”—(Queenwood/Geelong Grammar/University of Sydney/Stanford GSB)—“the lucky fella getting hitched. I just wanna say a few words before things get crazy tomorrow. First off, thank you for being here tonight. There’s a reason we’re all packed into this place like sardines: because this is where I proposed to Mandy a little over a year ago. Actually, I got down on my hands and knees in that alcove right over there”—he pointed straight at where Rufus was sitting—“and I’ve dreamed of sharing the magic of that night all over again with the people I love. I know so many of you have busy, important schedules, so I appreciate your taking the time to come to the ends of the earth with me. I wanna thank my parents, who have put up with all my shit over the years. Da, Mum, I know you never thought you’d see the day I’d finally bring home a woman that was worthy of you two, a woman who’s smarter than me, a better surfer than me, and much better looking than me, the one woman who can…who can…”