Sarong Party Girls (24 page)

I tried to reason with myself. Well . . . I had always liked Louis a lot as a friend. And I guess I did think he was cute, even if I never found him attractive in that way, because of Imo. And, after all our years of partying together and all those free drinks, I guess I owed him as much as Imo ever did. What did I think—­that this was all free?

I had no valid reason to say no.

My first reaction was to sigh but I stopped myself. I felt a little nauseous and took a deep breath and swallowed hard. OK, Jazzy, I thought, let's just get this over and done with.

I put my finger to my lips to remind Louis to be quiet, then very very slowly opened the door so the creaking could barely be heard and then very very slowly closed it after we were inside. Then I took his hand and brought him to my bedroom.

Once we were inside and the door was shuffled shut, Louis quickly took off his shoes so I also took mine off. It was damn dark but the room was so small, if he even moved a bit, he would feel the bed bumping his knee. I sat on the bed and he sat very close to me—­we had no choice. The bed was so narrow, after all.

Louis gently pushed me back on the bed so I was lying down, looking up at him. Then he got up, removed his Rolex Oyster and put it in his pants pocket, took something plasticky out of his wallet, then took off his pants and briefs, carefully setting them on the floor, right by the foot of the bed. Then he climbed on top of me and started kissing.

At the time, I was just kind of analyzing everything as it was happening—­his kisses, quite interesting, actually. Considering how much money he has, I always thought that his kisses would surely be quite forceful. But in real life, it was actually soft and bloody wet. I wondered if that was what kissing a girl's chee bye was like. Nice and warm and wet, but at the end of the day, the chee bye doesn't give you much energy—­doesn't kiss you back.

I also suddenly realized how not mabuk he was. Even in the dark, he seemed to know where everything was. While he was kissing me, his left hand could still fasterly find the buttons of my tight shirt and undo them, then unhook my front-­hook bra and rub my tetek. After a few seconds of this, he sat back up and fiddled with the plastic thing in his right hand. Ah—­rubber.

I heard him slip it on, felt him roll my panties off me, then quickly slip inside. I was a bit wet, but actually even if I wasn't that wet, it would also have been OK. Louis was damn small! He lay down on top of me again and started pumping away, fast and stabbing. I thought of the sleek Inferno waitresses breaking up ice in our bucket with their long silver picks.

Louis kept his promise—­he was very quiet. So quiet that after less than a minute of this, he came without me even noticing. Guniang at first thought he was only taking a break—­but when he pulled out and rolled over to lie by my side, I realized he had finished.

We lay side by side, squeezed together like sardines on my bed. I could hear him breathing damn heavily. I guess he had a good time?

“Sorry,” he finally whispered. “It's been a long time. You know lah—­Imo was avoiding me and then she was too sick to come out tonight.”

Imo! My god, thinking about her again, lying in bed with my bra open, my panties gone, the guy she loves lying next to me, panting and now, rolling off a soggy condom—­this, this really killed me. Die lah. This one is really really die.

“No worries,” Louis whispered again. “I brought two rubbers. Rest a bit, then we can go again.”

What? One more time? Kani nah!

I could feel his head moving around a bit, like he was looking around the room or something. I guess maybe his eyes were now adjusted to the dark; he could see a bit more. I wondered if he could see my lousy desk and all my secondary school crap, how small the room was and how the paint around the window was peeling.

“What time is it?” he whispered.

I started to move so I could try and find my phone.

“No, no, don't worry,” he said. “I know it must be late.”

His head was still moving around a bit—­I guess he could probably see some things in the darkness. He was silent for a moment.

“Maybe,” he whispered, “maybe I'd better make a move first.”

“OK,” I whispered back. Before I could sit up he was already standing. I quickly buttoned half my blouse and slipped on a pair of shorts so I could walk him to the door.

Ten minutes later, after closing the gate and going to the toilet for a very long time to rinse everything off down there, I lay flat on my bed, still wearing my unhooked bra under my half-­buttoned shirt, staring at the ceiling, looking around the room, trying to figure out how much of this room someone could actually see in the dark, but also wondering how on earth I could possibly explain any of this to Imo and Fann. My phone suddenly buzzed.

“Wow,” Louis's text said. “I always wondered what it would be like to try you. Thank you.”

At first I thought I should be polite and text back but then I thought, no, it's so late in the night, I have the right to not respond. I have a good excuse. I hoped he didn't think I was rude though. I hoped that he thought I was so tired from his fantastic sex that I fell asleep.

A few minutes later, my phone buzzed again.

“I know you're a smart girl and I don't need to tell you,” the text said. “But this is our little secret.”

 

chapter 17

Sometimes, when I feel like everything is going to shit, I like to watch the old uncles play Ping-­Pong.

From young, I was always like that. If I had exam stress or I thought my boyfriend was losing interest, I would go and buy a plastic bag of ice kopi, slowly walk to Tiong Bahru community center, sit on one of those old stone benches, shake leg a bit and watch the gray-­haired uncles in their baggy white shorts and T-­shirts running around the Ping-­Pong table, whacking balls.

These uncles, no matter how old they are they also try damn hard. Win or lose, they also happy. Happy just to be alive, I guess. Happy they still have energy to run around killing each other at some cock pointless game.

Even if these uncles are all damn bloody toot—­I still find them to be very inspiration.

I hadn't been to see the Ping-­Pong uncles in a long time—­I guess that's a good sign. That means life recently hadn't been too stressful. But on Sunday in the early afternoon, the moment my mum started up with her nagging, I quickly left the house—­too early to meet the girls for high tea, so I went to community center to shake leg for a bit.

When I got there, the Ping-­Pong uncles at first stared at me a bit. Usually I show up in shorts and T-­shirt, but today because I was going to the Shang for tea I was dressed up. Not like sexy nice, but heels and knee-­length skirt, carry fake branded handbag type of nice. Walao, one uncle stared at me until a Ping-­Pong ball almost whacked his face, man. But I just glared at him one time and uncle fasterly looked away. Pathetic.

Since I was wearing a skirt today, I couldn't fully prop my leg up and think, but just sitting there made me feel quite shiok. The whole morning had felt damn weird at home. At first, I wondered if my mum or pa heard anything last night, so maybe they were acting funny around me. So I purposely spent time with my mum this morning, helping her cook porridge for my dad and all. Usually these are her primo lecture times lah—­when she can corner me anywhere for more than ten minutes she confirm will start trying to tell me either some life story or her life lessons. (Either way, I also lose. Even when I've listened until my ears damn pain the woman will still keep talking.) But when my mum didn't mention anything at all and even seemed a bit cheerful (perhaps thinking I'm turning over a new leaf after my obedient bean-­sprout-­peeling session in the kitchen with her yesterday), then I know she confirm didn't hear Louis in my room last night.

When I thought about it more, I realized why I was feeling so strange. Every time I was in my room, sitting on my bed or even just looking at my bed, all I could think about is Louis there, Louis on top, Louis . . . aiyoh, I didn't even want to think about that. But how not to think? I wanted to change sheets but also cannot—­my mum confirm would scold me for making her wash the sheets when she just changed them a few days ago. (Plus, I figured it was better not to do anything to make her suspicious. Guniang here never paid any attention to housework, much less when my sheets are changed. If I suddenly asked her to change them out of schedule, she confirm would think that something had happened.)

It's not that I don't like Louis—­of course I like him a lot. But he's been my good friend for how long? And now he wants to try this kind of thing with me? Obviously I shouldn't mind—­he's not bad-­looking for a Singaporean guy, after all. And obviously he's fucking loaded. But something is just not quite right with what happened last night.

Normally, when this kind of thing happens, the first thing to do is call a meeting with the girls and discuss discuss, see how to solve problem. But I can't even do that! Imo confirm will don't friend me anymore—­and Fann will probably copy her. (Even though she was the first one to be two-­faced one, snogging Louis and all. Kani nah.) And Sher, well, she's out of the picture. But of the three of them, she would probably be the only one to understand what happened to me, who might even be able to convince the other girls to forgive me. But no point thinking about her—­she made the decision to fuck off out of our lives with her Ah Beng husband and leave us behind.

Even if I wanted to tell them, obviously I couldn't because I can't betray Louis. So in the end, I'm just left like this. Can only suffer alone. And Alistair—­aiyoh, Alistair. I don't even know what to do about that one. He really couldn't take a hint—­after my nonresponse, he was texting me a bit less now, so I guess he wasn't really a stalker. But he was still texting, asking when I'm free, when he can buy me coffee. As if all he wants is to do is watch me drink coffee. What does he think I am—­born yesterday, is it?

Roy—­got potential. Of all the guys I've met recently, he is really the only decent one. Yes, we started out by hooking up. But meeting ­people is sometimes like that—­you cannot judge everything on how you first meet. Since then though, he has seemed nothing but nice, quite genuine, not lecherous, never pressurizing me to go home with him. Good guy lah, even if he hadn't texted me since our date at the botanical gardens. I wondered what he did last night.

Sometimes I just really don't understand. Why do I have such bad luck? Look at Fann—­so fast can find ang moh boyfriend already, and one who treats her really nicely, inviting her to brunch to meet his friends and all. And Imo, even though Louis has his flaws, at least he is faithful to her—­at least emotionally. Even though he's quite the
flower prince,
obviously he really cares about Imo and genuinely wants her to be happy—­otherwise why would he insist that I keep last night a secret from her?

But me? What do I have?

Watching the uncles made me feel a bit more calm at least. Today they were damn happening, with four games going at once—­one table even had four uncles playing doubles, fierce fierce type, pushing each other aside to hit the ball and all. I watched the balls go back and forth, back and forth, sometimes one side wins, sometimes the other side wins. In the end, who cares? If only life were really that simple.

What was I going to do?

Aiyoh, Jazzy. Better stop moping here otherwise confirm will start crying. Crying will only spoil my eye makeup and make my cheeks puffy—­what's the point? Hallo, guniang, time to buck up! Well, time to meet the girls anyway. And who knows? Maybe today I will meet my Prince Charming at the Shang!

When Jazzy gets married, it's going to happen at the Shang.

This one, I long time ago decided already. There are many atas hotels in Singapore of course—­first, there's the Raffles. And now here, we had even gotten those American-­branded hotels like Four Seasons and Saint Something or Other—­don't play play! But the Shangri-­La was the first really atas modern hotel in Singapore. Classy classy, with a big white lobby, high ceilings, gigantic crystal chandeliers; plus, the gardens all around it were just like the botanical gardens, all lush and green. Bloody relaxing.

The first time I saw the Shang was when I was in primary school—­at that time my mum's brother was driving a taxi for a while so sometimes on Sunday he would come and bring us out for a joyride. We never went far—­hallo, do you know how expensive petrol is?—­but he always tried to bring us to places that we didn't normally see. So one Sunday we were driving along Nassim Hill, looking at all the bloody three-­story, four-­story mansions when we passed by the Shang.

“Kuku,” I said, tapping on my uncle's wooden-­bead seat cushion. “What's that?”

“Oh—­that one is high-­class hotel, one of the most high-­class! Ah Huay ah—­when you grow up ah, if you ever can go and eat inside the Shangri-­La Hotel ah—­you confirm succeed already.”

“Aiyoh—­please don't go and put these kinds of funny ideas in her head, make her think too big!” my mum said, turning around to look at me. “These kinds of places, Ah Huay—­they are not meant for everybody, you know.”

I remember fasterly kneeling on the seat, at first staring staring out the side window, then as my uncle passed the hotel, desperately trying to look out the back of the taxi window to get another look at the Shang, but by that time we were too far away already. But my kuku saw me looking disappointed, I guess, because he made a ­U-­turn so he could take us back.

As we got closer to the gate, kuku slowed down a bit—­then he turned into the Shang!

“Aiyoh,” my mum said, sighing. Guniang over here was so happy I wanted to roll down the window so I could poke my head out! (But then I decided I'd better not—­see, even when I was eight, guniang here already knew how to act a bit cool.)

The driveway, I remember, was very wide—­like those big roads leading to old English castles I'd seen on the TV. And since kuku was driving slowly, as we approached the big white hotel, the building very very slowly got grander and grander each second. Through the large glass walls in front, I could see the sparkling white lobby inside with its bright chandeliers. A tall Indian man wearing black pants, a red Indian-­style long tunic and a black and gold hat with a tall black feather sprouting out of it started waving at my kuku as we got closer to the entrance. So my kuku slowed down. I guess the guy wanted us to stop.

Once kuku pulled on his handbrake, the doorman opened my door, smiled at me and bowed. Wah! Guniang had never felt so special before.

That lasted all of one second—­that's when I heard my kuku frantically rolling down his squeaky window. “Oh, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry!” he said to the doorman, bowing his head a few times as he talked. I remember thinking, What the hell is he doing? It's not like we are those Japanese tourists or sumo wrestlers who spend half their lives bowing to shit.

“We are at the wrong place; not dropping here,” my uncle said. “Sorry, sorry. Very sorry to waste your time.”

I could see the guard's face suddenly change for a second, especially as his eyes quickly moved down and he noticed what we were wearing. I don't remember exactly what I had on but it was probably just shorts, T-­shirt and flip-­flops. (Later on when I got older, I understood the guard's look—­it pretty much said, “Bloody hell.”) But it was just for a bit, then he went back to smiling.

“Of course,” he said in a British accent, softly closing the taxi door.

Nobody said anything as kuku quickly drove away from the Shang, but I could see my mum in the front seat crouching down, not looking out the window, just looking down.

To this day my mum has never set foot at the Shang. But I—­I of course am a different story. It's not like I come here very often but sometimes I do have to follow Albert when he comes here for business lunches. And there was that one time that Gavin took me here for dinner—­of course, it was the dinner where he broke up with me lah. But still, I'd once had a boyfriend who was atas enough to take me to dinner at the Shang! Now, once in a long while, if there's a special occasion, the girls will book table for drinks or high tea.

And today, one of our secondary school friends Keira had just come back from England with a new baby, so she called us all to come out and see her at the Shang for tea.

I don't really know Keira that well—­last time she was a lot closer to Sher and Imo, not me and Fann. (I always had the feeling that it's because she thinks Sher and Imo are more chio, so she prefers to associate with them more. This one is not confirmed lah—­just my dirty feeling.) But old friends are old friends—­since she hadn't been home in a long time, we were all happy to come out and see her. Must remember to call her Keira though. Our whole life we knew her as Xiu Ying—­or Ah Ying usually. But when she met her boyfriend—­now husband—­at some SPG bar and started hanging with his friends from London then suddenly her name became Keira. “Keira Knightley is so happening what,” she explained.

I remember telling her, “If you're going to pick a celebrity's name, why choose the one with flat-­flat tetek? Why not choose some big-­boobs actress so the name at least has some good karma?” My god, this comment made her angry. But it's true! If you want to give yourself some new ang moh name, must at least be a bit smart lah. Keira? It's just a damn cock name.

Anyway, now we're all good friends—­especially since Keira had successfully married an ang moh and moved to the UK. So who knows? Maybe she has some kind of on-­the-­ground connections to help us find boyfriends.

Fann, Imo and Keira were all there already by the time I got to the Shang. Three of them were sitting close together, bending their necks, oohing and aahing. Ah—­baby.

“Hi hi!” I said, remembering to smile and then waving at all of them.

“Jazzy! Thanks for coming!” Keira said, waving back at me. The other two didn't even look up; they were both just in a daze, staring at the fat whitish baby in Keira's lap, pinching its legs.

“Jazz, say hi to Charles,” Keira said, propping the baby up on her lap and holding his chubby hand up to wave at me.

“Hi!” I said, waving back. I tell you—­I know the goal is to have a Chanel baby. But babies are actually damn fucking boring. What to do or say to them? I also never know. But still, I felt I had to find something to say.

“Eh, Keira, your boy has so much black hair!” I said, saying the first thing that came to my mind. “Very Asian, no?”

Silence. Keira stopped smiling.

“Choi!” Imo quickly said, violently flapping her hands as if to wave away the bad luck I'd just introduced with that notion. “Don't listen to her, Keira. If you ask anybody, confirm they will tell you they can't even tell he's half Singaporean.”

Imo. Aiyoh—­seeing made thoughts of Louis in my bedroom last night pop right back into my head. I felt like I couldn't look her in the face. But bloody hell, if I act weird, she might suspect something. Die die must act normal.

So I just giggled. “Yes, yes, Keira,” I said. “Just joking!”

The girls had ordered the all-­you-­can-­drink champagne high tea so we already had glasses sitting on the table.