The People’s Republic of Desire

29 Three Types of Men

On Saturday afternoon, Beibei, Lulu, and I go to play tennis at the Twenty-first Century Hotel. We are missing a fourth player, but it so happens that Beibei has a sore foot, so Lulu and I play singles.

I have been worried about Lulu's mood since she broke up with Ximu, but in the end Lulu acts like there was nothing wrong. In fact, her conscience is so clear that she is beating me easily, two to nothing.

It is Beibei who speaks less than usual, as if there was something weighing on her mind. After tennis, the three of us go to Half-Acre Garden on the East Third Ring Road and have a simple meal of Taiwanese snacks. After dinner, we go to T.G.I. Friday's to have a drink. Very few places in China offer free refills of Coke and iced tea. T.G.I. Friday's does.

With Sade's song "Lover's Rock" in the background, I ask Beibei, "What's up?"

Beibei rolls her eyes, "Don't get me started. It's been a big mess."

Lulu quickly fills me in: "One of Beibei's hottest male singers, Little Bench, got himself into trouble. Ten days ago, he had a concert at Beijing Workers' Stadium the first show of his national tour. While his limo was driving along Workers Stadium Road North, many fans were chasing him, so the driver was driving slowly, and Little Bench opened the window to wave at his fans. Just then, a man suddenly threw himself in front of the limo and stopped it. Then he poured petrol on himself and shouted to everyone: 'I've loved Little Bench for ten years. Now he's famous, he's a big star, he loves someone else, and doesn't want me anymore. My life doesn't have any meaning. I want to die for him.' No one knew what was going on – then this guy lit a match and set himself on fire. The people around tried to save him and put out the flames. He was badly injured, but luckily he didn't die."

Beibei sighs again. "As soon as this happened, everybody knew that Little Bench was gay. China is not like England, where they can easily accept openly gay pop stars like George Michael and Elton John. After this happened, our office exploded. The phone didn't stop ringing, journalists were following Little Bench every day. He was in hiding, like a criminal. The most infuriating thing is that my little lover Iron Egg, he's so underhanded. To make some money, he went to the newspapers with some inside information he learned from me. He was ruthless. After this rotten business got out, the other cities all canceled Little Bench's concerts. His CD sales have plummeted. I tried calling Iron Egg, but he's switched off the mobile phone I gave him. That traitor! He betrayed me, then he abandoned me!"

Lulu joins in, cursing. "In the past, even punks had a little loyalty. Now loyalty is something that belongs in a museum. Modern kids like Iron Egg are too shrewd. They submit to whatever hand feeds them. No sense of Confucian-style loyalty and filial piety whatsoever!"

"Still, it was my own stupidity." Beibei begins to make a self-criticism. "Actually, I knew exactly what kind of a guy Iron Egg was. But I always thought, we've been to bed together so many times, there must be at least a little emotion. I never thought he would stab me in the back. But that's exactly what he did to me. He's so cruel. Really, to be betrayed by the person who makes love to you, by someone so close to you, is the cruelest thing. And this sort of cruelty falls upon me repeatedly. Why do I have such lousy luck in love?"

In fact, Beibei knows that her young lovers just love her money, but she can't go on living without lovers after her husband cheated on her. She needs to feel loved even though that love is only temporary and bought with her money. Beibei is in her midthirties, but she feels like an old woman, full of insecurity, needing the company of young men to gain confidence. "Is this the fate of women who stop believing in love?" she asks Lulu and me.

I say, "Perhaps Chairman Hua destroyed your faith in love. You lost your faith and your judgment. You searched for love from the wrong people, like Iron Egg."

"Generally, there are only three types of men we can sleep with," says Lulu. After her experience with Ximu, Lulu seems to have become an expert. "First is the husband type, like Tom Hanks. This type loves you more than you love him. He's responsible, loyal, you can trust him, and you are willing to grow old with him. He will still love you when you become a grandma."

This sounds so much like my father, I think. I don't plan to marry a father figure.

"The second is the lover type, like Hugh Grant. This is the type of person you love to appreciate. He is charming and educated. There can be love, passion, and romance between you, but no trust, not suitable for spending a lot of time together. You can talk about literature and art with them, but don't go hoping for marriage or kids with them."

Len definitely falls into this category, I think. Before my eyes appears the scene when Len and I went to Montmarte in Paris to see the Dali sculptures of melting clocks. Len said, "Dali works are all related to the subconscious. The subconscious is liquid. Our emotions, our instincts, our desires, are all liquid, just like time, melting here before our eyes. Do you feel how time is molten, liquid and flowing?" Len silently gazed at me and didn't speak again. I held my breath and looked at Len. I had never dared to look at Len so directly, because his gaze was so sharp, it could be almost painful. But in the silence of the Dali Museum, we stared at each other, and my heart kept repeating, "Make time solidify. Make it stop right here."' At the time I had left my boyfriend and deferred my studies just to follow Len. Before long, my world had only one thing in it: Len.

"And the last type?" I ask.

"The kind of playmate you don't have to talk to or communicate with at all. He is athletic and sexy," says Lulu.

"Like the exercise trainer in our health club?" Beibei chimes in with a smile.

"Like the dark-skinned hairdresser at the RichWife?" I follow.

"Yes. In any case, he doesn't need to have the brains of Woody Allen. As soon as you see each other, you want to tear your clothes off. Everything is for sex! With this type of man, you can be kinky and wild and totally uninhibited in bed," Lulu says.

"Where did you learn this stupid theory?" asks Beibei.

"From my Internet dates," says Lulu, winking and tapping her foot to Björk's "Big Time Sensuality" in the background.