Sarong Party Girls (18 page)

Louis was laughing like mad now. “Serves you right!” he said, pointing both index fingers at Andrew, who just used his hands to make the “fuck you” sign.

I didn't find anything funny though. I couldn't even imagine how much money this China girl had spent in each shop, in each city, on the whole trip. Kani nah. Probably her shopping bill on their whole holiday was the equivalent of what I make in five years! I know Andrew is in a different world lah—­being so super rich and all. But Moony was nobody! Before she met him at some bar in Shanghai, she was just a receptionist at some kampong textile company! Who is she to come in and start blowing his inheritance like that the moment she becomes Mrs. Yap?

What is funny though is that when Andrew first started seeing Moony, we were quite surprised because he had never shown an interest in Mainland girls before. His girlfriends before were all Singaporean, all damn chio, all damn funny and fun to go chionging with. But when we met Moony and she was so (fake) demure and quiet, I actually asked him, “Um, this girl—­a bit different from your usual type, right?”

I still remember his answer. “Jazzy, when it comes to dating, yes, it's fun to date the happening, damn daring, outgoing girls,” Andrew said. “But when it comes to choosing a wife, I want someone who is quiet, who, when I have my friends come over for drinks or to watch a football match, she will just quietly let me be. She won't talk too much or challenge me—­she'll let me do the talking. My dad always said that's the recipe for a happy household!”

Now though, it looked as if Andrew was wondering whether he ended up marrying one of those daring girls anyway. I almost laughed.

“I had no choice but to let her shop lah,” Andrew said, shrugging. “Shopping was the only time Moony was happy on the honeymoon! She didn't even like all the restaurants our concierge arranged. In Italy, she insisted on eating only Chinese food after the first few days. She said the Italian food there was terrible. She actually called over the manager of this super atas restaurant in Milan and complained that their way of cooking pasta was not right—­too hard. He was very nice and tried to politely explain that the noodles are meant to be nicely al dente, but she kept telling him that if the restaurant charges so much for a plate of pasta they should at least know how to cook it properly. And that if he wants to really learn how it's done, he should check out these Italian restaurants in Shanghai—­she even listed some of them for him! I was damn embarrassed. But what to do? Married already!”

As cock as I think his situation is, I can't blame Andrew for being so blind. I knew the kind of girl Moony was from the first time I met her. When he first brought her back from China—­at that time on some temporary visa and he was just trying to see if she liked Singapore (not bad) and if his mum liked her (no). Andrew told everyone she was not like most China girls, that Moony, though very pretty and sophisticated-­looking, was actually very humble, came from a simple background and wasn't interested in any branded goods or going to nice restaurants. In fact, when he wanted to buy her a Marc Jacobs wallet because her old Flying Horse or some shit brand plastic wallet finally pecah she begged him not to, saying that all she needs is a cheap cheap one from the Chinese Friendship store.

“She even looked at it in the Marc Jacobs window longingly but refused to go in and touch it, you know!” he told us. I remember thinking at the time that this lumpar story makes me want to laugh and vomit at the same time. (Of course when Andrew secretly went and bought the wallet—­together with a nice new Marc Jacobs handbag—­Moony didn't say no.)

When Andrew finally brought Moony out to meet us, she was very shy and polite with everybody—­even covering her mouth and bending her head down when she laughed. But this was only when she was around the guys and atas girls. Around ­people like me, Sher, Fann and Imo, she confirm was very heck care about what we think—­she never talked to us, never smiled. This kind of attitude is very hard for us Singaporean girls to swallow, you know. Especially coming from a Chinese girl from China. Hallo, doesn't she remember that our ancestors thought China was such a longkang that they risked their lives to jump on boats and sail to Singapore?

“Louis,” I remember saying at the time after meeting Moony. “You better tell Andrew to watch out. This girl Moony—­I have a bad feeling about her.”

Louis just laughed and said. “Oi, don't be jealous, Jazzy—­not pretty lah. Andrew's not even your type anyway. Why you bother to care so much?”

Crazy! As if I ever would like Andrew. But see lah, now that Andrew finally married that girl and her true colors came out—­who was the one who was right from the beginning? (I thought about whispering something about it to Louis but Andrew looked so stressed I thought, maybe I'd better not.)

I guess the interesting thing to watch is how she plays her strategy from now. Now that she's married—­and probably will get her permanent resident card soon—­she has two options. If she wants an even bigger fish than Andrew after that (because let's face it, that's how these girls all think—­look at Wendi Deng and Rupert Murdoch! Ultimate success story, that one), that's also possible. But if Moony wants to seal her place with Andrew, then she'd better fasterly pop out a baby boy. I know that even though they're now married, Andrew's mum still probably hates her—­so this Moony had better have a boy soon. Until then, his mum still has the power.

“Aiyah,” Andrew said, gesturing to the waitress to bring another bottle of Veuve out. “Money is just money lah. Doesn't matter in the end.”

Louis held up his glass and said, “I'll cheers to that.” So we all clinked glasses.

“More importantly,” Andrew said, “who is that girl over there? Tight jeans, red blouse, long straight hair, fair skin. Louis, look!”

I wasn't sure where to look but tried to follow Louis's eyes. “Ah,” he finally said, after looking around at the banquettes around us and then at the bar. “At the corner of the bar, is it?”

Andrew nodded. “But I can't really tell,” he said, “got gap or not?”

That's right. Louis had told me once that Andrew only goes out with girls with a gap between their thighs when they stand up. If there's no gap and the tops of the thighs actually touch each other, the girl is too fat.

Louis had the best view of the girl so he squinted hard, looking looking.

“Got, got!” he said, winking at Andrew. “Go lah, brother—­what are you waiting for?”

Andrew waited for the waitress, who just came back, to pour him a full glass, then he smoothed down his hair with his right hand like those guys in Cantopop music videos, grabbed his glass and got up. Louis and I didn't say anything as we watched him casually walk over to the bar and start talking to the girl. I guess he said something funny because she laughed right away, then let him buy her a drink.

“Good for him lah,” Louis said, picking up the cigar menu again and flipping through. “After that nightmare honeymoon he deserves a bit of fun.”

 

chapter 12

How to control my friend?

I guess if I think about it, I know I should be angry with Louis. Kani nah—­I don't care how much money he has. How can he tell me I have to control one of my best friends? Treating me like one of his servants, is it? But on the other hand, Louis is so good to us, he never cares how much we drink, what we want to drink, always never thinks twice about ordering whatever we want to make us happy at clubs. This—­this is really true friendship lah. I should try to listen to him.

I remember one time when my mum saw Louis sending me home in one of his more expensive cars—­wah, the old lady got damn excited. Finally—­a Chinese boy sending her daughter home! In a nice car some more!

The next morning, before my eyes could even fully open, my mum was by my bed with a small bowl of bird's nest soup. “Ah Huay, come—­I got this from the market this morning,” she said, cho-­cho-­ing me to sit up so she could spoon some of it into my mouth. “It's still quite warm—­better eat it quickly.”

At that moment, I was still so blur that I had forgotten that Louis had sent me home. (It wasn't just me lah—­he sent Imo home too. Thank goodness, he's never tried anything funny with me. Awkward!) So I was quite suspicious of my mum and her morning bird's nest soup. (Bird's nest is fucking expensive, you know!) What did she want from me? But since she rarely starts my day without some lecture of some sort, I figured I'd better just enjoy this rare occasion. Long long time then come once—­better don't argue. Just sit up and savor!

The soup was actually quite good—­not too sweet, not too clumpy. After a few spoonfuls I began to look at my mum a little, wondering why she's just sitting by my bed staring at me eat. Hallo, guniang here how old already? As if my mum is not tired of seeing me stuff food in my mouth after twenty-­six years?

“Ma—­what?” I asked about halfway through.

“Who's that boy?” she immediately asked, even sitting up straighter. “He seemed nice.”

Nice? I don't know how she could tell. I know we don't live on a high floor but could she really have been looking out the window at the exact time in the early early morning when Louis popped out of the car to give me a double kiss and hug goodnight? From the looks of it—­and the big smile on her face—­I guess so.

“Aiyoh, please!” I said. “This one is married lah! You want me to go and steal other ­people's husbands, is it?”

My mother's smile vanished. I actually started to feel a bit bad. I know she and I don't wish the same things for my life—­but at the end of the day, I do love her.

“Then what are you doing going out with him until odd hours of the night, having him send you home and all?” she asked. “Ah Huay—­you are a nice girl, you know. You cannot forget that!”

“Ma—­please, don't try and lecture me on things you don't understand,” I said, putting the bowl aside now. Guniang here suddenly had no more appetite to eat. “Louis is just a friend—­a good friend who likes us girls to come out and hang out with him and his friends, drink drink, dance dance, talk talk, that's all. Good clean fun. And he always buys us drinks some more—­so, everyone wins lah!”

“You mean he buys you all drinks? All the time?” my mum said, shaking her head. I nodded.

“What does he do? His family printing money, is it?”

Actually, I wasn't quite sure what Louis or his family did. I just knew that they were massively rich. I think his family is one of the original banking families of Singapore—­or something like that. Anyway I just told my mum I had no idea.

“But why does he buy you all drinks? Doesn't he want to save money and bring his wife on a nice holiday?” my mum asked, shaking her head again. I could tell that she was not only confused but also getting quite disgusted with this Louis character.

“Aiyoh—­Ma, please don't try and understand all these modern, young ­people things that you cannot understand,” I said. “Louis works hard during the week—­on weekends, he just likes to go out to clubs and have a good time with his friends. And when he does, he wants everyone to have a good time and drink and have fun. If you want to have an entourage come out with you wherever you go, I guess that's the price you just pay. It's just like that one. And it's not like money matters that much to him or his family anyway. You compare the fortune god's bank account with Louis's—­I can't tell you whose is bigger!”

My mum was damn quiet now—­maybe she finally understood lah. Good—­the next time Louis is so generous to send me home again I don't want to get another lecture or interrogation.

I watched while my mum quickly got up to pick up the bowl of half-­eaten bird's nest off my nightstand. Just before she headed to the door, she paused, however. I saw her thinking for a minute before opening her mouth again.

“Ah Huay, I know you think your ma is old and useless,” she said softly. “But I do know some things—­and I also know that some things never change. Nothing is for free—­and if you think that it is, you're just looking for problems.”

She looked at me; I looked at her. Neither of us had anything to say so she just turned around and went back to the kitchen.

Aiyoh—­I tell you. Some ­people no matter how old already will still never learn, I guess. I couldn't think of any other way to explain this whole thing to her more clearly. Waste my saliva only. But who knows—­maybe one day she'll see that she really doesn't understand how the world works these days for us modern young women.

Just when I was thinking about all that (while sitting at my office desk, headset on, shuffling papers around, trying to look busy because there was still thirty minutes to kill before lunchtime), the phone rang. Sher's number popped up.

Back from her honeymoon so soon? Cannot be.

Should I answer? My first thought was, Of course not lah!

The last time I talked to Sher—­like, really talked to Sher—­it was about a week after the proposal. After that cock proposal, I ignored her for a few days, which to us is sort of the equivalent of many months. Since primary school, Sher and I talked at least a few times a day. If we don't talk for one day, it's because we're either on holiday with our parents or really sick, that kind of thing. But then, the more I thought about Ah Huat's proposal, I wondered if maybe I'm approaching this the wrong way—­instead of ignoring Sher because I'm so shocked (and feel like vomiting blood), I should be proactive! Maybe try and sit her down and explain why she's throwing her life away if she goes through with this. Sher and I have been so close for so long—­surely she will listen to me!

Things went well at first when we met for drinks that time. I'd asked her to meet me at this new tapas bar on Club Street. When we were growing up, Club Street was a bit shady lah—­not like Orchard Towers shady but even so, nice girls really didn't go there. Not even to eat. It's funny because it's so near Chinatown—­and that area actually does have some good hawker stalls—­but even so, we never dared to spend much time in that area at night because long long time ago it used to be a red-­light district filled with Chinese prostitutes. This was during the British times lah—­I guess Raffles or one of his coolies decided that all the Chinese guys coming over to work in Singapore need some entertainment so, like that lah. All of a sudden there was a little red-­light district around Club Street just for those Chinese guys.

These days though, that whole area is damn happening! Aiyah, Singapore is like that one. The country is so small, the government has to somehow keep coming up with new cool neighborhoods for ­people to hang out in. If you keep having new bars and restaurants and clubs open up in new little happening hubs then Singaporeans won't get so bored and start thinking maybe it's cooler to live in New York or London or some shit like that, after all. If we have all this here, no need to move anywhere! Singapore really is home sweet home in some ways.

I asked Sher to meet me on a Friday night. Saturday night is also very happening, of course. But Friday night has a different energy lah. No matter what you do in Singapore—­or anywhere, too, I guess—­let's face it. Most ­people hate their jobs. Who enjoys going to an office early in the morning and sitting in front of a computer for hours and hours, doing bullshit work for god knows who? But work is no choice lah. Must get paid, after all. So, just slog. That's why by the time Friday rolls around, ­people have usually been waiting for it for so long, they have so much pent-­up energy, you can sometimes see guys just looking like they're about to explode when they walk into a bar and see all the chio girls in front of them. Good formula for success lah, this one.

The bar I picked was a new one so it was packed by the time we got there at 10
P.M.
—­so packed that it took us forever to reach the bar to order a drink. (On the way some guy even sloshed his beer all over the front of my dress. Ang moh guy—­normally I would be quite happy but when I saw his face and how toot it looked and how drunk he was already, I just blinked at him and carried on. Tonight—­I had a mission!)

Sher had somehow managed to score a small table by the time I got us vodka Ribenas from the bar. She always had a knack for stuff like that—­really pretty girls really do have a leg up in life sometimes. (Especially pretty girls who don't think or act like they're pretty.)

I set the glasses down on top of the already soggy napkins at their bases and slid into the narrow cushioned booth next to Sher. The bar was so loud we had to really huddle together so we could talk without shouting. I always liked feeling Sher so close—­somehow it always reminded me of when we were kids, how freely we would just put our arms around each other or fall asleep on each other's shoulders on the school bus. I mean, I know that we still care a lot about each other—­despite this toot Ah Huat business—­but somehow, it's sad, but when you get older you just automatically get less affectionate with your girlfriends. I remember one time I was hanging out with Sher after school watching the guys at rugby practice. It wasn't too hot a day so the scratchy concrete step wasn't burning my backside like it usually does. At the time Sher had a small crush on one of the ruggers so we used to just go and sit there, sometimes pretending to do homework or read—­ha! As if—­while watching them practice. It was such a comfortable day, everything was fairly quiet off the field, and I guess I was feeling a little happy, which made me feel sleepy. So I just put my head on Sher's shoulder; I felt her put her right arm around me and squeeze my shoulder as I started drifting off. I was just about to really fall asleep when I heard some Ah Bengs shuffling by—­you can usually hear them from a distance, all their lan jiao talk here and kani nah there.

As they got closer though, they started shouting at us! “Eh, eh, eh!” one of them said, pointing pointing and all. I could hear some of the others laughing. Then another said, “Wah—­lesbo is it?” And then more laughter! Kani nah. I mean, who cares what Ah Bengs think? But anyway, I sat up straight and Sher took her arm away. “Just heck care them lah,” Sher whispered. I nodded. (But still, I turned around and gave them my finger.)

“Come, come—­cheers,” I said, picking up my glass and clinking it with Sher's. She smiled at me, relieved, I think, that I seemed to be in a good mood and wasn't starting our evening by hantaming her for agreeing to marry Ah Huat. We sipped our drinks slowly, both not feeling eager to have to get up and get another round in that scrum again.

Side by side, we looked out at the crush of ­people for a few minutes, not saying a word. “So . . .” we both started to say at the same time, before laughing, also at the same time.

“You go first lah,” Sher said, turning to look at me.

I took a long look at her and wondered where I could possibly start. There was too much to say. “Why?” I simply asked.

Sher didn't look surprised. From the way she took a small breath and immediately started speaking, I could tell she had rehearsed what was coming out. “Jazz, I know you don't understand, but try to see things from my eyes—­”

I cut her off. “You're right—­I don't understand!” I said. I could see her slumping down a little and looking at me, a bit worried. I could tell this was what she'd been expecting since she walked into the bar. “Sher, all I've ever done is see things from your eyes. We have the same eyes! Don't you think I've always just wanted the best life ahead for the two of us? Have you thought—­really thought—­of what your life with Ah Huat is going to be like? What being an Ah Beng's wife is like? This kind of life—­where got future? You're going to find yourself living in some lousy government housing building in some dark flat where you're chained to the kitchen making soup for your Ah Beng babies and no one is going to care about you. What about all our plans and dreams of living overseas one day, having beautiful Chanel babies? We are so close! Why give up now?”

Sher sighed and looked away from me, staring at the guys hovering by the bar. I could feel Sher slipping away. And I felt a dull pain forming in my chest. The thought of not having her in my life, answering my texts, holding my hair back—­all of that, it was just too much. We had been through so, so much. Could she really be choosing Ah Huat over me? Over us? Over our future lives together?

“Sher,” I said, really looking at her now, trying to get her to stop staring at the fuckers in front of us and just look back at me. I was almost begging now, from the tone of my voice. “You are so pretty—­you still have so much potential! Please, tolong, don't throw it all away.”

Sher looked hard at me, sighed, then took a large sip before slowly setting the glass down and looking out again at the crowd. She was quiet for what seemed like a long time—­though it probably was only actually a minute or two. I looked out at the crowd, too, trying to figure out what she was seeing. I was so busy scanning her field of vision I almost didn't hear her voice.