Rich People Problems-Kwan 2017 (WWT)

“It sounds Indian,” Mabel said, scrunching up her nose at her granddaughter.
“It’s about the Buddha.”
“Aiyah, Lucia, what are you doing reading about Buddha? You’re a Christian, and don’t
forget that we come from a very distinguished long line of Methodists.”
“Yes, Lucia, on your great-grandmother Rosemary’s side—the Youngs—your ancestors
were actually the first Christians in southern China,” Jacqueline agreed.
Lucia rolled her eyes. “Actually, if it wasn’t for missionaries running amok in China
after England won the Opium Wars, we’d all be Buddhists.”
“Shut up, lah! Don’t talk back to Auntie Jacqueline!” Mabel admonished.
“It’s fine, Mabel. Lucia’s just speaking her mind.”
Mabel wouldn’t let it go, muttering to Jacqueline, “Neh gor zhap zhong syun neui;
zhan hai suey toh say!” *3
“Ah Ma, I understand every word you’re saying!” Lucia said indignantly.
“No you don’t. Shut up and read your book!”
Cassandra Shang, Mabel’s daughter (and better known by those in her circle as “Radio
One Asia”), entered the room, cheeks still flush from her morning ride. Jacqueline did a
double take. Cassandra’s hair, normally parted down the middle and pulled into a tight
coil at the nape of her neck Frida Kahlo–style, was rather uncharacteristically braided
intricately along the sides but flowing free down her back. “Cass, I haven’t seen your hair
down like this in ages! This is a throwback to your Slade days. Looks marvelous!”
Mabel peered at her daughter through her bifocals. “Chyee seen, ah! *4 You’re not a
young girl anymore—it looks ridiculous.”
Cassandra felt tempted to tell her mother that you could begin to see the face-lift scars
through the thinning hair in her scalp, but she resisted. Instead, she chose to
acknowledge Jacqueline’s compliment. “Thanks, Jac. And you look ridiculously perfect as
always. New dress?”
“No, lah! I’ve had this old rag for ages,” Jacqueline said deprecatingly.
Cassandra smiled, knowing full well Jacqueline was wearing a one-of-a-kind Azzedine
Alaïa. Not that it even mattered what she wore—Jacqueline had the sort of beauty that
made anything she put on look drop-dead chic. Cassandra headed to the sideboard, where
she helped herself to a single toast point, a dollop of Marmite, and some fresh prunes. As
she took her seat opposite Jacqueline, a footman approached, deftly placing her morning
cappuccino (made with small-batch, single-origin beans) and iPad next to her.
“Thank you, Paul,” Cassandra said, switching on the device and noticing that her e-mail
in-box was unusually full for this early in the morning. The first message came from her
cousin Oliver in London:
OTSIEN@CHRISTIES.COM: Have you seen the photos yet? Oy vey! I can already imagine what your mother must be
saying…
CASSERASERA@GMAIL.COM: Which photos?