CW: Isabel at a client dinner? Ha! Hell would freeze over. Client entertaining rarely involves spouses.

ALT: Even for international clients who are visiting Asia?

CW: When international clients come to Asia, they generally don’t bring their wives. Back in my dad’s time in the 1980s and ’90s, yes, maybe some wives wanted to come to Hong Kong or Singapore to shop. But not so much anymore. On the rare occasions that they do, we really try to roll out the red carpet, so that clients can concentrate on work and not worry that their wives are getting ripped off at Stanley Market.

ALT: So you don’t feel that a crucial component of deal-making involves a “dinner with the wives.”

CW: Not at all! These days, most of my clients are single twenty-two-year-old monosyllabic Zuckerbergs. And many of them are women! What’s up? I’m assuming Michael is trying to enlist your help with some clients?

ALT: It already happened.

CW: So why are you asking?

ALT: Well, it was a total disaster, the deal fell through, and guess who got the blame?

CW: Huh? Why would you get the blame for a botched deal? Last time I checked, you weren’t his employee. Did you spill scalding hot bak kut teh*1 onto the client’s lap or something?

ALT: It’s a long story. Pretty funny, actually. I’ll tell you about it when I see you in Hong Kong next month.

CW: C’mon, you can’t leave me hanging like this!

Astrid took her hands off the keyboard. For a moment, she debated whether to make some excuse and beg off or to continue with her story. She didn’t want to trash her husband to Charlie, knowing he already had a colored impression of Michael, but her need to vent got the better of her.

ALT: Michael has apparently been cultivating these clients for a while, and the bigwig and his whole team flew in to finalize the deal. He brought his wife, so Michael asked me to organize a nice dinner someplace that would impress all of them. The couple are really into food, so I chose André.

CW: Not bad. For out-of-towners I also like Waku Ghin.

ALT: I love Tetsuya’s cooking, but I felt it wouldn’t be right for this crowd. Anyway, for the first time ever, Michael was obsessing over what I wore to dinner. I had on what I felt to be the perfect outfit, but he wanted me to change into something more ostentatious.

CW: But that’s not your style!

ALT: I wanted to be a team player. So I wore this irresponsibly large pair of earrings—emeralds and diamonds that really should not be seen in public unless you’re going to a state dinner at Windsor Castle or a wedding in Jakarta.

CW: Sounds amazing.

ALT: Well, it ended up being the wrong choice. We get to the restaurant late, and Michael insisted on driving his new vintage Ferrari and parking it right outside. So everyone is already staring at us as we walked in. Then it turns out the bigwig is from Northern California. Lovely, low-key couple—the wife was chic but in an understated way. She was wearing a beautiful tunic dress, strappy sandals, and these artsy earrings that some kid had made for her. I looked outrageously overdressed by comparison and it made everyone uncomfortable. Everything went south from there, and today Michael came home pretty upset. They nixed the whole deal.

CW: And Michael blames YOU?

ALT: He blames himself more, but I do see it was partly my fault. I should have followed my gut and stuck to the first outfit. Truth be told, I was a little cheesed off that Michael was second-guessing my choice, so I really put my foot on the accelerator to up the bling quotient with the second outfit. But it was way too much, and it put off the client.

Astrid’s phone started to ring, and she picked it up when she saw it was Charlie on the line.

“Astrid Leong, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard! Clients don’t give a shit how the wives of their business partners are dressed, especially in the tech world. I’m sure there are many reasons why this deal did not work out, but trust me, your accessories had nothing to do with it. You see that, don’t you?”

“I get what you’re saying, and I agree…partly. But it was an unusual night, and a strange confluence of events. You just had to be there.”

“Astrid, that’s total BS. I’m mad at Michael that he would try to make you feel like you were in any way responsible!”

Astrid sighed. “I know I am not ultimately responsible, but I do see that if I had done things a little differently, the outcome might have been more positive. I’m sorry it’s upset you. I didn’t mean to do that—I guess I was just selfishly venting after Michael and I got into a fight. I feel bad for him, I really do. I know he worked so hard to try to get this deal off the ground.”

“Cry me a river! Michael’s company is still doing fantastic—his stock hasn’t lost a single point over this. But he’s somehow managed to make you feel bad about it, and that’s what worries me. You just don’t see how preposterous this whole line of reasoning is. You did nothing wrong, Astrid. NOTHING.”

“Thank you for saying that. Hey, I gotta run. Cassian is screaming about something.” Hanging up the phone, Astrid closed her eyes and let the tears seep out. She didn’t dare tell Charlie what Michael had really said when he came home that afternoon. He had come into Cassian’s bedroom, where Astrid was crouched under the desk with three chairs barricading her in, and she was wearing the emerald earrings, pretending to be a captured Guinevere to Cassian’s King Arthur.

“Those goddamn earrings again! You lost me the biggest deal because of those earrings!” Michael scoffed.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Astrid asked, peering out from her hiding place.

“The deal fell through today. They weren’t anywhere near my asking price.”

“I’m so sorry, hon.” Astrid emerged from underneath the desk and tried to give him a hug, but he pulled away after a second. She followed him down the hallway to their bedroom.

As Michael began changing out of his work clothes, he continued: “We really screwed up that client dinner. I don’t blame you, I blame me. I was the fool who asked you to change. Apparently, your look didn’t go over so well with everyone.”

Astrid couldn’t believe her ears. “I don’t understand why any of that would matter anyway. Who really cares what I was wearing?”

“In this business, perception is everything. And a crucial component of deal-making is the all-important client dinner with the wives.”

“I thought we had a lovely time. Wendy was raving about every dish, and we even swapped numbers.”

Michael sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands for a moment. “Don’t you see? It doesn’t really matter what the wife thinks. I was trying to show the guys that I run the leading tech company in Singapore. That we are the blue-chip choice, and we have the blue-chip lifestyle to match it. And they needed to pay us what we’re worth. But it all backfired.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have driven the Ferrari. Maybe that was too obvious,” Astrid said.

“No, that’s not it. Everyone loved the Ferrari. What they didn’t get was your style.”

“My style?” Astrid said incredulously.

“All this strange vintage stuff, no one gets it. Why can’t you just wear Chanel once in a while like everyone else? I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think we need to make some big changes. I really need to revamp my image completely. People don’t take me seriously because of how we live. They think, ‘If he has one the most successful tech companies in Asia, why doesn’t he live in a bigger house? Why isn’t he in the press more? Why does his wife still drive an Acura, and why doesn’t she have better jewels?’?”

Astrid shook her head in disbelief. “Every serious jewelry collector knows about my family’s collection.”

“That’s part of the problem, hon—no one outside of a tiny inbred circle has even heard of your family because they are so goddamn private! At dinner my client couldn’t imagine that those rambutan-size rocks you had on were real. So instead of making you look more expensive, it looked like you were wearing cheap costume jewelry. Do you know what their general counsel told Silas Teoh over drinks last night? He said that when we first walked into dinner, all the guys thought my date was some girl from Orchard Towers.”

“Orchard Towers?” Astrid was confused.

“That’s where all the escorts work. With those boots and earrings you were wearing the other night—the guys thought you were a high-class whore!”

Astrid stared at her husband, too stung to speak.

“We need to go big or go home. I need to hire a new PR consultant, and you need a new look. And I think tomorrow you should call that MGS friend of yours who is a realtor, what’s her name again? Miranda?”

“You mean Carmen?”

“Yes, Carmen. Tell her we need to start looking at new houses. I want a place that will make everyone who comes over lao nua*2 the moment they drive up.”

* * *