White Monkeys

I woke up to the sound of glass shattering. My first thought was that I was dreaming, but then I realized I was in my hotel room, and it was Saturday night. I picked up the telephone receiver, and pressed the button for the reception desk, the pulse dialing sound came on, but no one answered. I looked at the alarm clock on the night stand, it was 2:27 AM. I tapped the hook switch, and then pressed the button again for the reception desk, someone finally answered, but my complaint got lost in translation. I really need to learn Chinese, I thought.

My apartment lease was going to expire at the end of June, so I found a new place I wanted to rent from July 1st, but when the landlady of the penthouse walked out on me during a double date, and later when I got outbid by crazy rich Asians on another place I liked, my agent found me a temporary hotel, close to my work. The first night I didn’t sleep well because I was getting accustomed to the new environment, and the second night I woke up to the sound of glass shattering.

I put on the hotel robe, came out of my room, and banged on my neighbor’s door. They were playing hip hop, it sounded like Megan Thee Stallion rapping on a concert subwoofer. I thumped on the door three times, the music stopped, and the door opened. “Hi,” the girl said. She wore a long mint green nightshirt that featured a small moose with gigantic antlers that covered her breasts, the color complemented her blonde hair and blue eyes. Under the moose it read: TROPHY WIFE. “Are we too loud?” she pulled her nightshirt down, and propped up on her toes. I nodded with a smile. A man from inside the room said something in Russian. “Shhhh,” she whispered, turned around and said something back in Russian. She pulled the hair tie from her wrist, and put her hair in a messy bun, “I’m so sorry, we’ll keep it low,” she said. For some reason she reminded me of a Russian Barbie doll. She has to be at least 5’11, I thought. Wanna come to my room? I wanted to say, but instead I said, “thanks,” and went back to my room.

I woke up at around 10:00 AM, showered, and got ready to go out for brunch with my creative team to plan our upcoming trip to Dali, but then I heard a familiar voice outside in the corridor. I looked through the peephole, and couldn’t believe my eyes, I opened the door, “what are you doing here?” I said.

“Helping these guys find a new place,” my agent pointed at my noisy neighbors. Shouldn’t you be helping ME find a place first? I wanted to tell him, but instead I admired my neighbors. How can they all be so good looking? I wondered.

Turned out I wasn’t the only person who complained about the noise, when the security went to check, they found six Russians living in a room that was rented to one person. On our way out of the hotel, the Russian Barbie doll I met the night before told me that they were in between jobs, previously they worked as English teachers at a training center. Even though their English speaking ability was horrendous, they managed to pretend to be Americans, because of their skin color. But recently when the Chinese government shut down all the after-school centers, they lost their jobs. “So what are you going to do now?” I asked. “Be white monkeys,” she laughed, “something we do best,” one of them said.

White monkey is a term used to refer to the phenomenon of white foreigners in China being hired for modeling, advertising, or promotional jobs on the basis of their skin color. It’s based on the perception that association with foreigners, specifically white foreigners, can signify prestige, legitimacy, and international status.

“Good luck,” I said.

“Where are you going?” the Russian Barbie doll stepped out, and shut the hotel room door behind. “Brunch with my team,” I said, “we’re planning a summer field trip, and we need to hire a few people.”

They all looked at each other and started speaking Russian, then the Russian Barbie doll turned towards me, extended her hand in the direction of her friends, and did a curtsey, “hire us,” she smiled. “We already have enough foreigners,” I said. “They also speak Chinese,” my agent said. Not a bad idea, I thought, and pictured myself exploring Dali hand in hand with the Russian Barbie doll, “let me talk to my team,” I added all of them on my WeChat, hailed a cab, and went for brunch.

When I presented the idea to my team, the decision was unanimous, it was a bad idea. “We need licensed educators, not white monkeys,” our curriculum designer said. “What if we hire only one?” I said. “Stop thinking with your penis,” our logistics coordinator shoved me. “Okay fine,” I said, “I’ll tell them it’s a no go.”

Later that day, when I met my agent to look at a few more apartments, we came across a brand new building near the port. My agent searched the property online to see who owned it, but it was not listed anywhere. There were no security guards at the entrance. “Let’s go check it out,” my agent said. “But you don’t even know who owns it,” I said, and followed him. The elevators were off, so we took the stairs to the second floor, which opened into a Zen garden. My agent said it looked like one of those classical gardens they have in Suzhou, and then his phone rang. I wonder what the penthouse would look like, I thought, but I didn’t want to take the stairs, so I sat down on the wooden bench, and enjoyed the sea view.

My agent was still on the phone when he walked towards me, “are you hungry?” he asked. I nodded. He said something in Chinese to the person on the other end of the phone, then looked at me, “Beijing duck okay?” I gave him a thumps up. “Red or white wine?” he asked. “Red,” I said. “Hǎo de” (Okay,) he said, went back to his phone call, confirmed the order, and hung up. He told me that the building would officially open in August, though most of the apartments were sold out, there were still a few available for rent, including the penthouse on the 48th floor. “Let’s go check it out,” he said. I raised my eyebrows. “Don’t be a wuss,” he walked towards the stairs, “we still have an hour before the food arrives. “Let’s go, let’s go,” he waved at me. I dragged behind him.

When we reached the top, it was breathtaking (pun intended,) and I could see myself living there, especially when I walked into the master bedroom and imagined the Russian Barbie doll on my bed, in her mint green nightshirt and then without it. This it is, I made up my mind right there and then. “Make the offer,” I told my agent, and then we went down the stairs.

When we arrived in the Zen garden on the 2nd floor, I couldn’t believe my eyes, hip hop music was playing on a Bluetooth speaker, the smell of Beijing duck was in the air, and six Russians were sitting on top of their luggage, drinking wine in paper cups (no, not all Russians drink vodka.)

“What are they doing here?” I looked at my agent.

“They don’t have a place to stay,” he said, “so I asked them to crash here for a few nights.”

WTF! I scanned the area, and my eyes went to the security camera. “We deactivated it,” one of the them said. “But what about other stuff?” I said, “like shower and shit.” They shrugged their shoulders. “I guess we can shower at our gym,” the Russian Barbie doll poured wine in a paper cup, and passed it to me. “Anyways,” my agent said, “let’s enjoy the food.”

At first, I couldn’t fathom how and why they agreed to this, but the more we drank, the more plausible the idea appeared. “Maybe you should spend a night with us,” the Russian Barbie doll said. Does she like me? I thought, “but where will I sleep?” I said. They all looked at each other, and burst out laughing, including my agent.

The Russian Barbie doll got up with a bottle of wine in her hand, looked at me, and walked around the small pond. I followed her. She sat down, tapped her hand on the grass patch, and looked up at the twilight sky, “soon the stars will shine,” she passed me her hand, I grabbed it, and joined her on the grass. “We forgot to bring paper cups,” I said. She looked into my eyes, brought the ring of the wine bottle to her mouth, and took a gulp. “How does it taste?” I smiled. “Find it out for yourself,” she passed me the bottle. The more we drank, the closer we got to each other. The lines and the vision got blurrier and blurrier, and then she laid down, and so did I. We didn’t talk, but our hands touched, I turned to look at her, and she kissed me.

“Let’s go to my hotel,” I said, “we’ll be more comfortable there.” She put her hand on my forehead, and gently caressed my eyes closed, “first, let’s take a short nap,” she whispered.

I’m not someone who naps on demand, but I kept my eyes closed, soon we’ll be on my bed, I thought. Not sure what happened after that, but I woke up to raindrops on my face. I jumped up, “we gotta move,” I shook the Russian Barbie doll up, and we ran inside.

“Are we going to your hotel?” she grabbed my hand.

I pulled out my phone to check the time. “Fuck me,” I let go of her hand.

“What’s the matter?” she touched her temple.

“I have to go to work.”

“But it’s Sunday.”

“You wish,” I opened my Didi app, and called a cab, “it’s five fuckin fifteen AM,” I said, and walked out of the building.