Lies and Weddings(95)

A few moments later, her father responded:


Thomas Tong: Great shot. How’s the party?

ET: Wonderful. How’s the patient?

TT: In and out of consciousness.

ET: Dinner’s almost finished. Want me to head back?

TT: Really no need.

ET: Sure you’ll be okay?

TT: Don’t worry about me. Enjoy your party.

ET: Okay.

TT: Love you.

ET: Love you too.



* * *



?

Thomas kept vigil in Rene’s suite that evening. He texted Luis Felipe fourteen times, urging him to come home and see his father before it was too late, but Luis Felipe never responded. It was as if he could sense what was happening and wanted to stay as far away as he could. At midnight, Thomas finally crashed on the sofa in the suite. Around four in the morning, he was suddenly shaken awake by Bianca, the night nurse. “He’s asking for you, Dr. Tong.”

Thomas got up from the sofa and padded toward Rene, who suddenly looked more alert than he had in days. His eyes were wide open and he had a strange smile on his face.

“Mary was here,” Rene muttered.

“Mary?”

“My sister…did you see her?”

A chill went down Thomas’s spine. He knew that Mary had died many years ago and didn’t quite know what to say. “She was in…in the room?” Thomas whispered, his voice cracking.

“Right beside me. Singing that song. That scene where she’s dancing…Mary would watch it over and over.”

“Yes, she would,” Thomas chuckled, knowing instantly what Rene was referring to.

“Play it for me…”

Thomas got his phone out and quickly found a YouTube video of Faye Wong in the film Chungking Express, dancing with abandon around a little flat in Kowloon as the iconic tune from the Mamas and the Papas blasted on the soundtrack. He held the screen up to Rene’s eyes, and before the song had even ended, Rene was gone.

    California dreamin’

On such a winter’s day





Skip Notes

*1 “Mary, where have you been?” in Cantonese.



*2 “I hope you will forgive me” in Cantonese.



*3 Pasadena is barely forty minutes away from Luis Felipe in Bel Air, but most people on the Westside think of Pasadena as another country. Also, the Huntington is actually in San Marino.





VII





Greshamsbury Hall

GRESHAMSBURY, ENGLAND ? THAT SAME WEEK





ALEC FREUND ?? ?STRINGER FOR GETTY IMAGES


They call us “paps,” but I prefer “photojournalist.” I covered the Bosnian war, I was in Tunisia during the Arab Spring—not to brag but my work has won loads of awards. Sometimes you just need a break from the hard stuff, so when my agency emailed me to cover this assignment, I thought, why not? I know a great pub in Greshamsbury that serves a terrific chicken tikka masala, I’d stop in there after the job. By the time I get to the gates of Greshamsbury Hall, it’s already a zoo and there’s a dozen other paps staking out the best positions. Turns out this lady, Martha Dung, is more famous than I’d realized, and there’s a big bounty for a good shot of her with her new beau. Before I know what’s happening several Range Rovers come zooming past, and everyone runs, surrounding the lead car so it can’t bloody move. They’re thrusting their cameras against the tinted windows; some tosser jumps on the hood and screams, “Martha! Smile, Martha!” I go into a trance when I’m taking pics, it’s like I’m having an out-of-body experience. I remember I couldn’t get anywhere near the damn car, so I climbed up the front of the tall iron gate and pointed my lens right onto the sunroof of the car and fired away. And that’s how I got the money shot of the two of them, the viscount glaring up at me and Martha huddled beside him, grabbing his arm in terror. That’s the shot the Mirror used the next day, with the headline ‘It Must Be Love.’?”





CHARLIE HOUGHTON ?? ?FOOTMAN


Two days before the viscount returns from Morocco, this poncy fellow shows up. Baron Nicolai Cabernet Chode or whatshisname starts ordering us around like we’d never done our jobs before. He’s obsessed over the arrival of the new future countess and wants to make sure the moment of her arrival has more pageantry than the bloody changing of the guard at Buckingham Palace. Six footmen per car, and apparently every piece of luggage must be lifted precisely three feet off the ground, no higher, no lower, and all doors to the arriving car must be opened simultaneously and synchronized like it’s Swan fuckin’ Lake. And speaking of ballet, we got togged up in red, white, and gold livery straight out of some low-rent ITV production of Pride & Prejudice, with britches so tight I didn’t know where to shove my todger. The baron wanted us to wear powdered wigs too, but thank god Hemsworth drew the line at that. He clearly wasn’t happy to be dressed in anything but his usual designer denims, but he went along with the baron. So the big moment arrives and we’re all standing there in V-shaped formation as the cars approach up the long driveway. It’s a windy day, and out of nowhere this paper serviette from Nando’s lands on the gravel right by the front steps. Baron von Wanker, swanning around in a cape, is peeking from the window and starts shouting, “What’s that on the gravel? Someone pick that up now!” Hemsworth is stationed at the front door, so he quickly runs down the steps, bends over to grab the Nando’s paper serviette, and we all hear this bzzzzzt. His tights split apart, right up the crotch, and he’s wearing bright red Calvins underneath, so he looks like he’s bleeding out the arse. Hemsworth turns to me and says, “You’re me now,” and bolts out of sight. The first car pulls up and we rush to open the doors at the same time, it’s perfection. Since I’m Hemsworth now, I stand at the front door and bow ceremoniously as the lady comes up the stairs. She’s got tattoos up her arms and is dressed in white overalls and Birkenstocks and looks like she’s on her way to the Glastonbury Festival. This is the richest girl in the world? Much cooler than I expected, but of course Rufus only brings home cool ones. I liked the vegan girlfriend from three years ago, personally, she shared some of her hash with me and boy, was it premium stuff. As Rufus approaches I bow deeply but haven’t a clue what I’m supposed to say, so I blurt out, “Welcome home, Master Rufus.” And then I think, You twat, greeting him like he’s six years old! Rufus grins at me and says, “Charlie, you look like you’re about to sink the fleet at Waterloo.” And I respond, “Aye, aye, Cap’n!”