Rich People Problems-Kwan 2017 (WWT)

“Get off me! This is my house!” Charlie grunted as one of the guards held him in a
knee-lock.
“Yeah right,” the guards laughed mockingly.
“Get Mr. Fung out here now! I’m Charlie Wu and this is my house! I sign all your
paychecks!”
At the mention of their boss’s name, one of the guards started talking urgently into his
earpiece. Moments later, the head of security came out of the house and began shouting,
“That’s Mr. Wu! Get off him, you fucking morons!”
Charlie got up from the ground and brushed the dirt off his face. “Jonny, what the fuck
is going on here? Why aren’t you picking up your phone?”
“Sorry, I was inside, and it’s very loud in there,” Jonny apologized. “Mrs. Wu decided to
have the party just this afternoon. It’s a benefit for the earthquake victims in Yunnan
Province.”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Charlie muttered as he entered the house. There
were at least fifty people crowded in the foyer, and a man suddenly grabbed him from
behind and gave him a full-on bear hug. “Charlie! You’re here!” It was Pascal Pang, his
face inexplicably powdered white, with rouge on his cheeks. “I was just telling Tilda that
I’ve never seen such a pleasant divorce as you and Isabel had. Look, he even comes to her
parties! My ex-wives won’t even take my calls, hahaha.”
Charlie was bewildered as a pale, thin woman with uniquely androgynous features
dressed in a silver jumpsuit smiled at him sweetly. “So you’re Charlie! Astrid’s told me so
much about you,” she said in a lilting British accent.
“Has she? Excuse me, I just need to find someone.” Charlie squeezed through the
crowded foyer and into the sprawling formal room, which had been utterly transformed
into a dark, funereal space. All of Isabel’s pretty French furniture had been covered in
black fabric, and even the walls were draped in black. Guests sat at little black bistro
tables lit with red votive candles, and a woman dressed in a long deep red velvet dress lay
on top of the grand piano with a microphone in her hand. As the pianist tickled the keys,
she sang in a deep, throaty voice,
“Fawwwwwwl-ling in love again, never wanted to,
what am I to do, I can’t help it…”
Charlie spotted Isabel at one of the front tables, dressed in a man’s tuxedo with her hair
slicked back, sitting on the lap of a male model who looked to be no older than twentyfive.
Chloe and Delphine stood behind her, dressed in matching outfits of black vests,
black shorts with garter belts, and black bowler hats, looking extremely uncomfortable.
Chloe’s face lit up in relief the moment she saw her father.
Charlie marched up to Isabel’s table and demanded, “Can we talk?”
“Shh! Ute Lemper’s singing!” Isabel said, waving him off.
“We really need to talk now,” Charlie said as calmly as possible, grabbing her arm and
leading her to the back of the room.
“What is your problem? We have one of the greatest chanteuses in the world right here,