Chapter 15

15

It feels like I’m staring into the face of my doom. And that face looks like Tony Leung’s. Which is to say, handsome and well-groomed, with a clear undercurrent of potential deadliness. Have I ever been so terrified in my life? Well, okay, probably yes, like for example when I was stuck in the car with Ah Guan. And then later when I thought I’d killed him. And there was that time with Staphanie—

Okay, so I have been terrified a lot of times in my life. A lot more than normal, that’s for sure. But it doesn’t get any better. It’s not like riding a bicycle, where you learn a skill and that skill stays with you for life. It’s more like riding a unicycle, except the unicycle is made of broken glass and razor blades. Okay, so maybe that made no sense and maybe my brain is just babbling on and on to distract from the fact that Fourth Aunt and I are probably about to die horrific deaths. How do the mafia kill people here? Guns? Machete?

“Please—” The word chokes out of my throat, wobbly with unshed tears.

“I can’t believe this!” Kristofer roars, his whole face turning red.

I squeeze my eyes shut. This is it.

“Mimi Chan. It’s you. I would recognize you anywhere. Waduh!”

Okay, there was a lot more joy in that statement than what I was expecting. Unless the thought of torturing and killing two people sparks joy in Kristofer, which is entirely possible. Still, curiosity overcomes my terror and I crack open one eye. Kristofer is beaming, his eyes alight with sheer joy, his grin so wide that it covers half his face.

“Who invited you here? Ah, it must be Robert. That sneaky, wonderful bastard. I can’t believe he even had you dressed up as one of the help,” Kristofer laughs. I swear he’s this close to clapping and skipping around like a little kid. He holds out his hands to Fourth Aunt. “Mimi Chan in the flesh. Wow.”

Fourth Aunt hesitates for just a split second, her gaze darting to me. Like me, she’s probably suffering from whiplash—thinking we’re about to get killed one second, realizing she’s run into a fan the next. But she recovers far better than I do. In the next moment, the unsure expression on her face is quickly replaced by her usual feline confidence. She raises her chin ever so slightly, and the corners of her pursed, plump lips quiver into the hint of a smile. Coolly, she places one hand on Kristofer’s outreached ones as though she were offering him a priceless jewel.

Kristofer Kolumbes laps it all up, his eyes never leaving Fourth Aunt’s face as he eagerly jerks her hand up and down in an enthusiastic handshake. “I can’t believe it. I still can’t. What are you doing here? I thought you’d moved away from Jakarta.”

“Oh, I came back for Chinese New Year,” Fourth Aunt says airily, pulling her hand back and sparing him another cool smile.

Kristofer gasps. “Oh my goodness, are you—” He lowers his voice and steps closer to Fourth Aunt. “Are you here to give a private performance? That Robert, he is truly the best friend I could ever ask for. I can’t believe he invited you here to perform for me.”

“Yes, he’s a good friend indeed,” Fourth Aunt agrees. “But listen, I’m not actually here to—”

“You know, this is perfect timing because I’ve just had a whole new Bang & Olufsen sound system installed in my house, including . . .” He pauses for effect. “A vintage Neumann microphone.”

You could practically see the sun rising behind Fourth Aunt’s eyes. In one moment, her face goes from mild disinterest to delighted shock. It’s as though there are tiny, invisible hands pulling up her face. Her eyebrows go up, her eyes open wide, her cheeks defy gravity. “Bang & Olufsen? Vintage Neumann microphone?”

“Yep. My family’s very into karaoke. I even had an electric stage built into the center of the living room. It’s hidden in the floor, all I have to do is hit a button, and it’ll rise slowly and majestically up.” He raises his palms to illustrate, and Fourth Aunt’s expression turns from bright to blinding. She’s probably already seeing herself on this stage, grabbing the vintage Neumann microphone and belting into it.

“That’s really nice,” I pipe up, “but we kind of have other engagements?” I grin at Fourth Aunt and try to signal to her with my eyes that we really should get going. Who knows how long our luck is going to last?

But I’m too late. Fourth Aunt is already caught in the promise of the kind of performance she’s dreamed about forever. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s complained about the lack of a budget for proper equipment. Even after the family wedding business picked up, Fourth Aunt is still unable to fit the costs of the high-end equipment she wants into the budget that she’s given. To be fair, if Fourth Aunt had her way, she would blow everything on ridiculously expensive equipment, and as Ma pointed out, “She sing at wedding, not at rock concert. No need the best equipment.” And now, here it is, finally. Her chance to sing and hear her voice being amplified into the most exquisite sound.

“Excuse me, Kris,” Fourth Aunt says, “I need a word with my assistant.” With a small nod at Kristofer, she links her arm through mine and pulls me to one side. “I’m doing it.”

I sigh. I knew it. “I don’t know . . .”

“It’ll be a great distraction. You need to use that time wisely.” She speaks louder. “You need to make sure my social media is kept up to date, okay?”

I don’t feel great about this, but to be fair, it’s not the worst idea. Fourth Aunt is right that it would be a fantastic distraction. And she’ll sing enough songs to give me time to get Second Aunt, reconvene with Nathan and Ma, and get the heck out of here. It just might work. So against all my better judgment, I nod. Fourth Aunt closes her eyes and takes a deep, gratified breath. It’s as though the lines on her face melt away and I’m seeing Fourth Aunt at her peak, as a young woman with a world of promise. Then she opens her eyes and turns back to Kristofer.

“Come! I am ready to sing.”

“Wonderful!” Kristofer holds out his arm, which Fourth Aunt takes with confidence, and the two of them stride down the hallway.

I’m about to slip away, but just then, Kristofer glances back at me and frowns. “Come, you must record the famous Mimi Chan performing at my house. I have many friends who are fans of Mimi, and I won’t pass on this chance to really rub it in!” He throws his head back and laughs, and Fourth Aunt does this fake Hohoho laugh.

“I’m sure your guests will record it,” Fourth Aunt says when they’re done laughing.

“Pfft!” Kristofer snorts. “My guests? Trust me, they’ll be too busy gawking at you to record you. No, I don’t want to leave it to them.” He snaps his fingers at me without even bothering to look at me. “Follow us, and keep your camera trained on her.”

I shoot Fourth Aunt a panicked look, and she shrugs. This is fine. Things are still very much under control. I can wait until everyone is entranced by Fourth Aunt’s singing before sneaking out of there and finding Second Aunt. Yep, this is totally okay.

It feels as though half of Jakarta’s population arrived while Fourth Aunt and I were down in the basement. Even before we reach the living room, the noise spills out, and it’s overwhelming. Laughter and shouts of “Gong xi fa cai!” fill the air. Names being boomed out with overly joyous proclamations.

“Harun! Wah, it’s been so long. How are you?”

“Waduh, Herman, you look so healthy. How have you been?”

And so on and so forth. My mouth cracks open when we get to the living room. The party is in full swing, with throngs of people milling about and greeting one another and drinking champagne. The decor team has done an amazing job; the cherry blossom trees and the red lanterns transform the living room into something completely magical. Big Aunt has evidently been hard at work, because on one side is a long table filled with platters of delicious-looking dishes. There are plates of golden-fried seafood noodles that signify longevity, braised abalones swimming in rich sauce, black pepper beef in lettuce cups, and a dozen other dishes that I can’t believe Big Aunt has whipped up in such a short time. She’s even prepared eight huge plates of nian nian you yu—Chinese salad that everyone will mix together using their chopsticks as they chant a rhyme for a good year ahead. Big Aunt is clearly in her element. That makes one of us, at least.

In one corner of the room, a live band is playing a contemporary version of traditional Chinese New Year songs, the beat fast and catchy and nearly impossible not to dance to. Kristofer leads Fourth Aunt through the crowd, pausing now and again to greet his guests. When they get to the center of the room, he says something to Fourth Aunt, who nods. Then Kristofer leaves her and approaches the live band. He gets to them, climbs up onto the stage, and pats one of the musicians on the shoulder. The man, who was playing a violin, starts and, recognizing Kristofer, quickly stops playing. The music comes to a standstill, and Kristofer smiles and nods at the band as he takes their mic. The chatter in the room disappears, leaving an expectant hush.

“Hello, everyone!” He’s so comfortable on stage. Even from my vantage point deep in the crowd, I can see the lively gleam in his eyes. He’s a natural; he adores the limelight. And everybody is reacting to his energy, smiling up at him. “I’m so honored to have all of you here, my closest friends. Every year, I throw this party to honor our friendship, and to let all of you know that you are practically my family.”

A murmur of agreement goes through the crowd, and a few people cheer and call out, “Love you, Dage!”

Laughing, Kristofer raises his hands and nods. “Love all of you too. We’ve all had a great year, haven’t we?”

They all cheer and whoop.

“And we’re about to have an even better year ahead. Xin nian kuai le!”

Everyone applauds with enthusiasm.

“And now, I have a surprise for all of you. We have among us a national treasure. Remember when we were ambitious, hot-headed twenty-, thirty-year-olds—you old farts remember those days, eh?”

A ripple of laughter and nodding heads goes through the room.

“Ah, those were the days. I remember, when I was in my thirties, I heard this song on the radio. What were the lyrics?” He closes his eyes and hums a tune for a second. “Ah yes, ‘Let the wind tell our story, it’s fleeting as the days I spent with you.’ ”

His audience is nodding along appreciatively with nostalgic smiles.

“Sang by a rising young star, Mimi Chan. I used to listen to her songs and think of my teen years.” Kristofer’s eyes grow wistful. “Of the love I left behind.”

Someone in the crowd whistles, and Kristofer laughs. “Well, enough of that. Are you ready for my surprise?”

Everyone cheers.

“Presenting the voice of my—of our youth. Mimiiii Chaaan!” He points a hand to the center of the room, where Fourth Aunt stands, and all of a sudden, Fourth Aunt starts ascending.

For a second, I wonder if Fourth Aunt is having a Rapture-esque moment and is being called to the heavens by the angels, but then common sense kicks in and I realize, of course, that it’s just the electric stage slowly rising from the floor. Fourth Aunt looks a bit taken aback at first, her eyes widening, but then she looks around at the room, the sea of eyes all trained on her, and it’s as though she feeds off their attention. Her back straightens, her chin lifts, and she unfurls like a blooming flower. Along with the stage, a standing microphone rises from the floor, and Fourth Aunt grabs hold of it like it’s a long lost lover.

“Helloooo, Jakarta!” she croons into it, and I finally understand why she was so keen to get to sing into this particular microphone. Kristofer hadn’t been exaggerating about his sound system. Fourth Aunt’s voice, already pretty nice on its own, is amplified in a powerful and yet silky way through the microphone.

Everyone claps. Whistles tear through the applause, and I can’t help but smile. Fourth Aunt has told me, time and again, what a big deal she’d been in Indonesia, but when it comes to Ma and the aunties, I can never tell what’s real and what’s been stretched for maximum drama. But now I see that she wasn’t stretching the truth at all. She really was somebody back here.

The music starts, and Fourth Aunt closes her eyes and begins to sing. Everyone, me included, is entranced. She sounds as smooth as oil, as rich as chocolate. It’s nearly impossible to tear my eyes away, but somehow, I do. And of course, as soon as I look away from Fourth Aunt, Kristofer catches my eye. I guess he’s been glaring at me this whole time, because when we make eye contact, he gestures for me to start filming Fourth Aunt. Right. I sheepishly take out my phone and aim it at Fourth Aunt. Kristofer nods gruffly and goes back to enjoying the song, his gaze growing soft and faraway as he’s no doubt transported to the days of yore. I can’t tell from this distance, but it looks almost as though he’s getting teary-eyed. Yep, I’m right. He really is getting a bit teary-eyed. Who would’ve thought that such a scary dude could be so sentimental? But then again, who can blame him? Fourth Aunt’s song is at once hopeful and sorrowful, and even though I don’t quite understand all of the Mandarin words, I catch enough to know that she’s singing about a lost love, and deep inside me, I feel my heart clench at the sadness in the song.

I wait for a minute longer for Kristofer to really get immersed in Fourth Aunt’s performance. By then, more than a handful of people are wiping away a tear. This is it. This is my chance to slip away. I keep my phone aimed at Fourth Aunt as I begin to inch away, just to give the impression that I’m still shooting in case Kristofer checks on me. Summoning all of the subtlety I’ve learned from years of experience as a wedding photographer, I melt into the crowd, keeping my eyes trained on my phone to avoid eye contact with anyone else, while using my peripheral vision to guide me. I’m about halfway to the door when a scream slices through Fourth Aunt’s golden voice.

“That’s her!” someone shouts.

Fourth Aunt opens her eyes, looking dazed, as though she’s just been shaken away from a heavy dream. The music falters and stops.

A ripple goes through the crowd as someone scythes through them with ruthless efficiency, elbowing and shoving people out of their way. When I finally catch sight of the person, every muscle in my body freezes. Because it’s Rochelle. The girl my mom and aunts accosted.

Rochelle points an accusatory finger up at Fourth Aunt. “You,” she yells. “You attacked me. You stole my title deed!”

“What’s going on?” Kristofer calls out, hurrying over to Rochelle.

“Ah Gong,” Rochelle calls him. Grandfather. Oh god. In the hectic confusion of yesterday, I’d somehow failed to remember Rochelle is Kristofer’s granddaughter. “This woman and her crazy family—they attacked me.”

A gasp shudders through the crowd.

“What?” Kristofer says. He glances up at Fourth Aunt and hesitates. “But why would Mimi Chan do that?”

“Okay, first of all, don’t say ‘Mimi Chan’ like she’s someone famous, Ahgong.” Rochelle rolls her eyes. “And second of all, they attacked me because they wanted to steal the title deed from me. You know, that title deed I was telling you about? The whole reason you—you know, did the thing?” Rochelle raises her eyebrows meaningfully.

“What?” Kristofer says again, obviously mystified. He frowns and shakes his head. “No, that was—that whole mess has to do with Abi, not Mimi Chan. I don’t understand—”

The dread in my stomach has been building up this whole time, as Kristofer inches his way to the truth. Any moment now, he’s going to put the pieces together and realize that his beloved Mimi Chan is none other than Second Aunt’s sister, and then what’s going to happen to us? Fourth Aunt catches my eye, and I know then that she’s thinking the exact same thing I am. She gives me the slightest nod. Go, Meddy.

I nod back at her, a lump knotting in my throat. I’m going to go. I have to get to Second Aunt, even if it means leaving Fourth Aunt here, in the middle of this mess. I have to trust that she’ll be able to get out of this somehow. As I turn to leave, I hear Fourth Aunt’s voice, once more amplified by the microphone.

“Someone’s been indulging in too much champagne, eh?” she calls out. “Hit it, band!”

A lively, jaunty tune starts up, and Fourth Aunt starts singing in this frantic, powerful voice, trying her best to drown out Rochelle’s shouts of, “It was her. I’m telling you!”

I chance a glance back. Kristofer has taken out his phone and is talking into it. I don’t know what he’s saying, but his face is deathly serious. His gaze shifts and locks on mine. He stops talking. My blood freezes. He knows.

I turn from him and run.