Sarong Party Girls (26 page)

“Are you OK?” Sher asked, looking worried. “Do you like this guy?”

“No! I mean, it's not that I don't like him . . . I just don't, I mean . . .” Aiyoh, this one I really didn't know how to explain. If I say too much, Sher knows me and the group so well, she confirm will guess it's Louis. And if I know Sher, she will insist on me doing the right thing and telling Imo about it. And if Imo knows then Louis will know. And the whole world will just go to shit. No more clubbing in atas clubs, no more VIP lounges and free drinks.

“I mean,” I said, “it's just awkward and weird and nothing can happen between us but I keep thinking about it and . . .” I realized I was probably explaining it terribly. The way I was talking about it, I could see Sher possibly guessing that I'm a bit embarrassed and maybe lovesick. My god, that confirm is not the case!

Sher smiled. “Jazzy, don't tell me you don't remember the last-­penis theory!” she said.

Wah, this one is confirm misunderstanding. Last-­penis theory is for when you really like the guy and you cannot forget him, pining pining for him, that kind of thing. We had read it in some ang moh magazine years ago lah and at first we laughed like crazy over it but then, it turned out, there's probably some truth to it. The theory is that the one thing that can help you forget the guy is if you pok someone else—­the new penis in your life, even if you're not a serious relationship, as long as it's a fun fun one, confirm can help push the last penis you had out of your mind.

I started to say something to correct Sher like, no, really, I'm not in love or anything. But then I thought—­actually, maybe she has a point. It doesn't matter how I feel about Louis. If I can't stop imagining him in my bed, then maybe . . .

“True, true,” I said, winking at Sher. Come, I said, looking at my phone to see what time it was. “Bottoms up!”

Sher didn't walk all the way out with me because she was going to rejoin Keira and the girls. Before she left though, she gave me a hug—­one I didn't want at first but feeling her arms fiercely wrapped around me, my chest started to hurt. I hugged her back.

When Sher started to let go, she asked, “Are you still happy at work?”

I paused, wondering what to say. That flicker of silence was enough for Sher to understand.

“Ah,” she said. “Listen—­Ah Huat really could use a business manager at his place, someone to help him keep things running so he can focus on the classes.”

I pulled away from Sher, trying to stop myself from making a face. It had been such a nice moment—­why did she have to spoil it with such nonsense? Yes, I was coming around to accepting that maybe it wasn't complete craziness that she had married this Ah Beng—­but I sure as hell was never going to lower myself to work for him even so. Jazzy here has a good job with an atas boss! To leave that and work for an Ah Beng? Her husband can go and dream!

“OK, OK,” Sher quickly said. “Forget I mentioned it, OK? But, if you ever . . .”

“I'm fine—­don't worry,” I said, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “Now go—­the girls will be waiting for you.”

As I watched her walk back to the restaurant, away from me, I thought about our chat; the feeling of Sher sitting next to me again, two girls laughing.

 

chapter 18

Something very strange happened on Thursday.

The week had passed by quite peacefully at work—­nothing more mentioned about circulation from Albert, who seemed to be in a good mood overall. On Thursday morning though, Sean, the foreign editor, came by to tell me he was having a drinks party at his house. Don't know what cock reason he had for throwing the party lah but he'd never invited me before. So even though I don't like him, I felt I had to go.

At first, I thought Albert my boss was going to this party—­which is mostly the reason I thought I should go. If the boss is going, then I should be there. But when I asked Albert in the afternoon, “Eh, boss—­what time are you going to Sean's party tonight?” he just looked at me blur.

“Sean invited you to his party?” he said, frowning.

Aiyoh—­am I not supposed to go? Is this one of those atas parties that only editors attend?

“Boss, if you think I shouldn't go, then of course I won't go,” I quickly said. That weird conversation with Albert had only happened last week, after all. Guniang here was still trying to stay on Albert's good side and keep him in happy mood. I confirm don't want him to think I'm starting to think too highly of myself or anything.

“No, no, no,” he said—­not frowning anymore but still not smiling. He looked like he was thinking hard. “I'm not going. But if he invited you, of course you should go ahead. Only if you want to, of course.” And then he didn't say anything more about it for the rest of the day.

Sean's party only started at nine so guniang had time to go home, eat dinner with my mum, bathe and all. He said the party was not formal so I just picked one of my sleeveless casual black dresses—­not so short that it will zaogeng and let everyone see my panties, but something above the knee—­and nice heels. On the way there, I even had time to stop by a Wine Exchange to buy a nice bottle of red—­French, of course. First time at the foreign editor's party—­better have manners a bit.

Guniang was feeling good that evening. Alistair was texting less, perhaps starting to get the hint that hallo, he was probably never going to see me again. But the main thing was—­Roy finally texted! I hadn't heard from him since our garden walk, which was making me start to wonder.

When I saw his name pop up on my phone after dinner, I at first want to press
DELETE
without even reading. But OK lah, guniang at least wanted to see what his cock explanation was. It turns out that right after our date he had a big team of clients from the States fly in for a week, and he's been so busy working and entertaining them that he'd had no time for fun. I knew it had to be something serious keeping him from contacting me!

“In fact,” he texted, “are you free for dinner tomorrow? There's a goodbye dinner and we're allowed to bring a date if we want.”

Wah—­dinner to meet not just his friends, but his colleagues? Set lah! This one—­confirm is very promising! I wondered what Fann would say. Dinner is better than brunch!

Guniang acted tough a bit, waiting one hour before texting back: “OK.”

So, by the time my taxi reached Sean's house—­a really nice one near Bukit Timah Hill and all—­guniang was in a bloody good mood.

“Jazeline—­ah, you're here!” Sean said when he came out to open the tall iron gate. Things felt a little funny right away—­Sean was wearing shorts! Nice shorts lah—­one of those knee-­length tailored berms, maybe even a branded pair, and his button-­down work shirt was still on, though it was untucked and his sleeves were rolled up. I guess when he said the party was not formal, he really meant it. I suddenly felt quite shy.

“I suppose I'm overdressed!” I said, laughing a bit. My god—­my laugh was so high, surely Sean could hear that I was nervous.

“No, not at all,” he said, leaning down to give me an air kiss. “You look just perfect.”

After thanking me for the wine, he said, “Well come in, come in—­everyone's inside already.” So I followed him down the short driveway, squeezing a bit past the big silver Lexus parked right in the middle, kicked off my heels and stepped into his house. It was quite an atas place—­a very big corner townhouse surrounded by a large bushy garden on all three sides. Damn quiet, since it's so near Bukit Timah Hill and all those parks that old ­people like to do qigong in. I guess some ­people like that kind of thing—­for me, once I get married, I'll prefer to live in a house in Holland Village. You still get the good schools there and some parks and playgrounds lah—­but at least nearby you have all those ang moh restaurants, bars and shops so even though you're married, you at least still can be happening. Not dead yet.

“Jazeline, I think you probably know everyone—­Serene, Su Fen and Vidya are all on the news desk, Shamini's over in sports and that's Lydia, my wife,” Sean said, pointing at the women one by one around the room. The news desk girls were squeezed together on one sofa; the other two were half-­lounging on fat glossy beanbags on the floor, loudly cracking peanuts and melon seeds open and throwing the shells into a bowl on the glass coffee table. At least they were getting most of them in. Only one or two women bothered to wave “Hallo” at me.

I knew who they were—­everyone except Lydia, that is. I had seen them all in the newsroom before—­not Shamini so much because sports is on a different floor. But the other girls, I often see them purposely waving their backsides all over the newsroom when they walk so everyone can steam over them. Yah lah—­that's the kind of girls they were. Their work is so-­so—­from what I hear; guniang here doesn't read the newspaper, so how am I supposed to know?—­but even so, somehow they always get assigned to cover the front-­page stories.

I was quite surprised to see what Sean's wife looked like though. He never brings her to office functions and his desk at work is very empty and clean, so I'd never seen her or her photo before. Because he was Eurasian I always thought his wife confirm was Eurasian—­that's how they are. The Eurasian boys will sometimes date Chinese or Indian girls for fun, maybe even keep them as “serious” girlfriends for a few years. But when it comes to marrying, they confirm will prefer to marry other Eurasians one.

“We are such a small, unique race,” one of them explained to me a long time ago. This was after we hooked up, when he was explaining why we can be fuck buddies but he can never bring me home. “We really owe it to our ancestors, to Singapore history and identity, to try and preserve the purity of it. Otherwise the Eurasians will just gradually disappear!”

When he explained it like that, I guess I had to understand. Tradition, of course, is very important. So we were quite happy fuck buddies for four and a half months until he started getting serious with a Eurasian girl from church that he ended up marrying.

Lydia, though, was not Eurasian. Not only was she Chinese-­Singaporean, but she was not a good-­looking Chinese! Aiyoh. I really hope they don't have kids, man—­otherwise not only is Sean going to have non-­pure Eurasian kids, but he's also going to have backside-­face kids. Lydia was one of those slightly chubby face, wear glasses, small flat nose Chinese ladies. No matter how good her personality was, it confirm must not be enough for someone like Sean to marry a face like that. I guessed that she must be very clever, have a lot of money, or come from name-­brand family.

“What would you like to drink?” Sean asked. “I've sent the maid off to sleep so I'm afraid I'll have to be the one making your drink.”

“Well,” I said, quickly looking at what was on the coffee table. I couldn't quite see what they had been drinking but it was obvious that they had been doing it for a while—­not only were there peanut shells and half-­cracked melon seeds all over the table but there were also a dozen shot glasses and a few larger ones filled with clear drinks. “I guess I'll just have what everyone's drinking?”

“Good!” he said. “Another gin and tonic, then.”

Looking at how mabuk some of the girls looked—­the two girls on the edges of the sofa were so tipsy they were leaning their heads on the shoulder of Su Fen in the middle—­I was starting to wonder when they actually started drinking. Also, I was wondering—­where is the rest of the party? I thought this was an official party, with different editors, their friends, maybe even some potential ang mohs to date, that kind of thing. Walao—­guniang here even wore nice nice clothes and all! But this just looked like one of those sit around with your old secondary school friends, drink until mabuk and tell cock stories and sex jokes kind of party. Bloody hell! Never mind lah—­maybe I could just have a quick drink and say I have to leave. Tomorrow we must work, after all.

“Here you go,” Sean said, handing me a big cold glass. “Come, Jazeline—­sit next to me.”

So I followed behind him as he walked to the other side of the sofa and sat on a wide armchair, patting his hand on the arm of his chair. Aiyoh—­there?

Sean must have seen me pause and think a bit because he said, “Well don't just stand there—­come on?” he said, patting the arm again. So, no choice.

Of course it was uncomfortable because it was quite high and I'm not that tall, so even though my backside was resting on the arm, it was almost as if I was half-­standing.

“Good girl,” Sean said, tapping my backside a bit. Walao! Guniang here was so shocked I almost spilled my drink! Some more, after Sean finished tapping my backside he kept his hand there. And his wife was just one meter away, sitting on the beanbag! At least she wasn't looking over at us, though. Thank god. But my goodness—­this one was really too much. I squirmed my backside to give Sean a hint but he didn't move his hand.

There was nothing more I could do so I just sipped my drink. But the first sip I took—­kani nah, I almost spat it out. So bloody strong! Su Fen must have noticed my face, because she started laughing.

“Sean dear, did you make a really strong G and T for—­what's your name again?” she said, nudging Mabuk One and Mabuk Two next to her and pointing at me. “Look at her face! Priceless.”

Sean also laughed. “Jazeline—­you have to catch up, my dear,” he said. “We've been drinking since after work. Now go on—­drink it all!”

Su Fen started clapping and the Mabuk Twins started staring so aiyah, OK lah—­bottoms up. Plus, if I finish my drink quickly, maybe that would give me an opening to make an excuse and leave faster.

The drink was so strong, this was not easy—­my throat was burning, my eyes were wet, so wet I had to close them for a bit. But I did it. When I opened my eyes, I could see Su Fen had gotten up and was making another drink.

“Um—­no more, no more! I can't stay long,” I said.

“Rubbish! You just got here,” Sean said. “Now settle in,” he added, tapping my backside again!

I made sure to slowly sip my second drink, which was as strong as the first and had no lime so—­babi, the alcohol tasted even stronger.

Sean was telling some story now—­something from his time as a hotshot foreign correspondent in Manila or some shit. Only Su Fen was asking him any questions—­the other girls were just half-­listening but mostly giggling here and there. I guess they were super high. His wife seemed a bit mabuk too—­judging from how rosy her fat cheeks were—­but she didn't say one word. She just sat there, only smiling a very tiny bit but still looking quite serious. If I had to guess, I would say that she's a lawyer or some banking exec. She just had that perfect “don't blow smoke up my arse” look.

At this point, all the girls started laughing, even the Mabuks. Sean's story probably reached the punch line or something. So I laughed along also. After we all finished, there was just silence. Maybe now was a good time. I bottoms-­up the last third of my glass and started to say I have to go but Sean—­my god, he really noticed everything—­said, “Lydia—­Jazeline's done. Make her another one, OK?” And before I could say anything, his wife just got up and did it.

“Well . . .” Su Fen said. “Is it time?”

Shamini and the Mabuks, who I guess had gotten their second wind after all that pretend laughing, said, “Ooh, yes!” So Su Fen got up again and disappeared into what's probably the dining room door, and came back with a big white cardboard box. The Mabuks quickly cleared the coffee table, brushing all the shells and seeds onto the floor so Su Fen could set the box down and take off the lid.

The girls all got off the sofa and the beanbags so they could crowd around the table and start pulling things out of the box. I couldn't see anything at first because they were all crowding around, but one by one they started holding things up, looking at them and then setting them aside on the coffee table. I wasn't quite sure what they were at first but the more I saw, I understood.

Sex toys!

Shamini pulled out a set of what looked like handcuffs ringed with small red feathers, Serene waved around a long black stick that suddenly started making a buzzing sound when she pressed a button, Vidya started opening small vials of lotions, dabbing some on her wrists and smelling them. There were several masks, some sort of board game and a set of large dice with words instead of numbers printed on each side.

I looked around the room to see where Sean's wife was in all this. What could she possibly be thinking?

Lydia was standing by the bottles of alcohol—­she had already finished making my drink but she wasn't bringing it over. Instead, she was just standing there, leaning against the table of alcohol, slowly sipping a shot of something, just casually staring at everything with a bored, patient face. Obviously, she'd seen this before.

But surely, she could stop it?

The girls were squealing louder now, taking more and more things out of the box.

“What shall we start with this time, Sean? The dice?” Vidya said, taking off her cardigan, pulling the rubber band out of her ponytail and shaking her head a few times so her long wavy hair fell to her shoulders.