Kevin Kwan - Crazy Rich Asians

Kevin Kwan - Crazy Rich Asians

Nicholas Young slumped into the nearest seat in the hotel lobby, drained

from the sixteen-hour flight from Singapore, the train ride from

Heathrow Airport, and trudging through the rain-soaked streets.

His cousin Astrid Leong shivered stoically next to him, all because her

mother, Felicity, his dai gu cheh or “big aunt” in Cantonese said it was

a sin to take a taxi nine blocks and forced everyone to walk all the way

from Piccadilly Tube Station.

Anyone else happening upon the scene might have noticed an

unusually composed eight-year-old boy and an ethereal wisp of a girl

sitting quietly in a corner, but all Reginald Ormsby saw from his desk

overlooking the lobby were two little Chinese children staining the

damask settee with their sodden coats. And it only got worse from there.

Three Chinese women stood nearby, frantically blotting themselves dry

with tissues, while a teenager slid wildly across the lobby, his sneakers

leaving muddy tracks on the black-and-white checker board marble.

Ormsby rushed downstairs from the mezzanine, knowing he could

more efficiently dispatch these foreigners than his front-desk clerks.

“Good evening, I am the general manager. Can I help you?” he said

slowly, over-enunciating every word.

“Yes, good evening, we have a reservation,” the woman replied in

perfect English.

Ormsby peered at her in surprise. “What name is it under?”

“Eleanor Young and family.”