An Indecent Proposal

The plan was to rent a penthouse in a posh neighborhood, but when the landlady walked out on me during a double date, I asked my Chinese agent to find me another one. We saw a few, but they were too expensive, even though my company raised my housing allowance, these penthouses were way over my budget. “Why don’t you pay the difference and then you can get the one you want,” my agent said. “No way. I moved to China to be financially free, not to spend lavishly,” I said. “How can I get you what you want when you don’t wanna pay extra,” he raised his hands in the air. “Because I know you can,” I laughed. He lifted his arm to hail a cab, but the driver didn’t stop, “shǎ bī” (stupid c*nt,) he cursed, stepped off the curb, and waved his hand. A taxi pulled up, we got in, and his phone rang. He spoke to the person on the other end for a few minutes, hung up, told the driver something in Chinese, and then scrolled on his phone. “Anything good?” I snuck a peek. “Yes, we go there now,” he showed me a few photos of a brand new apartment.

It wasn’t a penthouse, but it checked all the boxes: it was on the 46th floor, had floor-to-ceiling windows, and a huge balcony that oversaw blue ocean with a backdrop of majestic mountains. “They also have an outdoor pool, a luxurious spa, and maid service,” my agent said, “and it’s all inclusive.” The cab stopped in front of a grandiose building, my agent paid the cab driver, and we made our way to the entrance. The security guard checked our 14-day travel history code, the 24-hour negative COVID-19 test results, and scanned our bags. What is this? The Forbidden City? I thought.

When we stepped into the lobby, the sight brought back memories from my trip to Western Europe, the inside of the building was a total opposite to the modern exterior. There were round arches, curved ceilings, thick walls, and large pillars. “It’s very Romanesque,” I said. “You speak Italian?” my agent said.

We took the elevator to the 46th floor, my agent pulled up a message on his phone, and entered the code on the door panel. As soon as we stepped into the apartment, I knew it was the right one. It was love at first sight. After I inspected everything thoroughly, my agent called the owner to negotiate the price. “They will be here soon,” he said, “let’s go check out the outdoor pool and the spa.”

When we returned to the apartment, there were two people inside, sorting contracts on the dining table. “Wǒ ài nǐ de gōngyù” (I love your apartment,) I said in my broken Chinese. “It’s not their property,” my agent said, “they only do the paperwork.” After my agent finished reviewing the contract, they entered my personal information on it, and asked me to sign. “The landlord will be here soon, to sign and execute the contract,” my agent asked me to wait while the three of them went downstairs to get me my key card and to bring the technician upstairs to activate my fingerprints on the door panel.

While they were gone, I walked around to see if I needed to buy anything, even though the apartment was fully furnished. I took photos of the layout, then went to the balcony to check which direction the apartment was facing, the compass app pointed South, which was great, not because it was considered auspicious in the ancient Chinese tradition, but because it guaranteed abundance of sunlight and the lack of dust coming from the North. This is perfect, I thought. I wanted to show the view to my family back in the States, so I took a video of the beautiful landscape, did a 360° view of the balcony, and turned around to include the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room.

At that moment, the door opened, and three people walked in - there was an old couple and a woman who looked like she was in her early 30s. Must be the owners, I thought. I stopped recording the video, and stepped inside the apartment. They waved at me, and smiled. “Nǐ hǎo” (Hello,) I said. They spoke to each other in Chinese, and then dispersed around, everyone except the old lady, who sat down on the dining table and examined the contract. I walked up to her, and pointed on the document where she needed to sign. She took a photo of the contract, and called out her husband and her daughter, who emerged from the kitchen and joined us. They spoke to each other in Chinese, while the dad stared at the chandeliers, the mom smiled at me, and the daughter titled her head slightly on one side.

“Are you single?” the daughter asked.

“Yes,” I smiled, “does that affect the rental agreement?”

“Oh no,” she giggled, “I’m their agent, the lady thinks you’ll be perfect for their daughter.”

“So the apartment comes with their daughter?” I laughed.

Before she could translate, we heard someone enter the code on the door panel, and my agent returned with a bunch of people. “The owners are so funny,” I told my agent. He raised his eyebrows, and looked at the man behind him. I turned my gaze towards the woman in her 30s.

“Oh, they are not the owners,” she said, “they came to see the apartment.”

“But…” I looked at my agent, “she took photos of the contract.”

The woman in her 30s translated for the old couple, my agent did the same for the people he came with, and then they all started shouting at each other in Chinese. After a few minutes of name-calling, finger-pointing, and screaming, my agent walked up to the dining table, picked up the contract and tore it apart. “The deal is off,” he shook his head.

“What do you mean the deal is off?” I looked at the landlord, “I already signed the contract.”

“They raised the bid,” my agent pointed at the old couple.

“This is fucked up.”

“I know,” the woman in her 30s shrugged her shoulders, “crazy rich Asians, I guess,” she said, and winked at me.