Sarong Party Girls (30 page)

At this moment though, we noticed Louis breaking away from the Japanese guniang. Imo quickly turned her face away and very fasterly wiped her eyes, then turned back to look straight ahead, as if nothing happened.

“Imo,” Louis said, smiling and pinching her cheeks when he came over. “You ready to leave or want to stay some more? I send you home?”

I tell you—­Imo's face transformed! One minute she was trying to purposely put on a stone face, the next minute she was practically jumping up into Louis's arms.

“Great,” Louis said, pointing at her to grab her handbag. “Come—­I'm sending Akiko home also. We'll all go together.”

Aiyoh. Aiyoh-­yoh. I looked at Imo, whose face was a bit less smiley now. But she just nodded and followed. Before she left, I grabbed her hand and squeezed it, feeling her squeeze it back. I was about to suggest that she and I leave together instead, and maybe grab supper on the way home. But before I could, Imo used her hand to make the telephone sign near her ear and mouthed, “I'll call you.”

Fann had gone to the loo again, I guess. (And I guess it was another productive round because she came back looking less mabuk and much more energy than before.)

“Eh,” she said. “Where did Imo go?”

“Louis,” I said.

Fann smiled and gave me two thumbs up but I just shook my head.

“See how lah,” I said. “Louis is sending her and that Japanese girl back also. Aiyoh.”

Fann rolled her eyes and pointed her third finger toward the club exit.

“Um, Jazzy,” she said. “I make a move first . . . OK with you?”

I looked at my phone. Aiyoh, it was almost 5
A.M.
already.

“Of course, of course,” I said, waving her to hurry off.

“Thank you,” she said. “You're going to be OK right? If I wasn't meeting Melvin . . .”

“Aiyoh, please!” I told her, whacking her arm one time. “Guniang here is how old already? You go and get laid lah—­do it for the two of us!”

Fann stuck her third finger at me then grabbed her purse and hugged me goodbye.

I was thinking that maybe I would share a taxi with Kin Meng—­he's usually quite good about making sure I get home OK. But tonight, I forgot—­with Japanese girls around, confirm is a different case. Just when I was going to ask him about sharing taxi I saw him put his arm around one of the girls and wave goodbye to me and Kelvin. Andrew also did the same with the other girl.

Kelvin and I looked at each other. Kani nah. This wasn't happening.

Now, how?

I had never spent any time alone with Kelvin before and now he was kind of in the position to at least be a gentleman and send me back—­unless I opened my mouth to say I was going to leave first. But guniang didn't feel like going home yet. The thought of it, being alone in that room, that bed, tonight, was too sobering.

Luckily, Kelvin spoke first.

“Jazzy—­boring now, right?” he said. Which was very true. Barracuda is one of those gigantic clubs where it's only fun if you go with a big group. Plus, since it was almost five, the club was starting to wind down a bit, so you could see big empty spots here and there on the damn bloody huge dance floor—­something like the dance floors in those loser nightclubs where everyone's too shy to dance so they just hang around and be wallflowers.

“You ready to go home now or not?” he asked.

When I shook my head, he continued. “Good—­me too,” he said. “Come, I'll bring you somewhere.”

I guess I must have looked nauseous or something, because he quickly added, “Aiyoh, please—­don't think that your backside is so great. ­People here are not trying to make a move on you—­I just want to bring you somewhere more fun.”

Set! I just laughed, gave him the thumbs-­up sign and grabbed my handbag.

The club Kelvin had in mind was actually not far—­good lah, no need to queue up for taxi. When he saw me hobbling a bit because my feet were hurting he was actually nice enough to offer me his arm to help me steady steady all. I have to admit that I was a little shocked—­I whole life long had never seen this side of Kelvin before. It actually made me feel a bit bad about being so mean about talking about his socks crotch over the years. (But just for a moment.) Then I realized—­hallo, if he weren't so toot as to stuff his crotch with socks then we wouldn't have anything to make fun of him about. It's his own bloody fault.

After a few minutes, Kelvin turned into the Dynasty Hotel lobby, which was a bit quiet—­of course, it was five-­something in the morning after all! I was about to ask him whether there was really a bar or not—­the lobby was so deserted. But as we walked through the lobby all the way to the back, I could hear ­people chitchatting and some muffled clubby music. When we got to the far end of the lobby, there was a small partition and behind that, big double glass doors under the sign
SOS.
Walao—­what kind of toot bar is this?

The moment Kelvin opened the heavy glass door—­voom! The music suddenly got damn bloody loud, filling the lobby momentarily. And inside, I could see a big crowd jammed around a bar, and an even bigger crowd cramming a small parquet dance floor. There were a few dark banquettes scattered around—­I couldn't really see much but I could see moving shapes in all of them.

I wasn't sure whether I wanted to enter or not but Kelvin had already started walking in, so I fasterly followed. He squeezed his way through to the bar and cleared enough room so I could stand next to him.

“What do you want?” he said, quickly tilting his head up slightly in that attitude Ah Beng way.

I was so confused by the surroundings I didn't know what to say. “Whatever you're having,” I said.

“Two Jamesons on the rocks,” Kelvin said to the bartender, holding up two fingers and watching him closely as he poured, I guess to make sure that he was getting his money's worth. Since Louis wasn't here, Kelvin was paying for our drinks after all.

“Come—­cheers,” he said, when the drinks arrived. “Just cheers—­no bottoms up. If you want to bottoms-­up, you can take out your wallet and buy the next round.”

Bloody hell. But, I have to say, fair is fair. I clinked his glass and took a sip.

Kelvin turned around and stood on the raised step underneath the bar so he could get a better look at the dance floor, so I did the same.

“What the hell is this place?” I asked.

“My god, why are you so kampong—­you've really never been here before?”

When I nodded, Kelvin shook his head.

“SOS—­or, as we call it, ‘SBS.' For
si beh sian
—­super boring! This is where ­people come to find the last-­chance hookup for the night,” he said.

“Now is the damn happening time here lah,” he added. “At this time the atas clubs are all doing last call, so if you still haven't found someone to pok yet, then go to SOS. This bar only closes at seven 
A.M.
! If by seven 
A.M.
you still haven't found a hookup yet, then even you yourself have no choice but to admit you are a loser. Just fuck off and eat breakfast then go home. But most ­people confirm can find someone here. It's just a matter of adjusting expectations.”

Even though Kelvin was talking to me, he wasn't looking at me—­he was very carefully staring at each corner of the room, squinting. I could see him making mental calculations in his head—­does that girl look chio enough to lose his spot at the bar near the bartender? Or maybe there's someone with more potential who just hasn't shown up yet?

“Eh, Kelvin,” I said. “Now what time already—­you don't want to go home? Worst-­case scenario you can always go home and pok your wife, no? Come here for what?”

“Talk cock lah,” he said, laughing a little even though his face didn't look like he was laughing at all. “The bitch is moving out next week. She's been having a bloody affair with her meditation therapist! Fucking lanjiao fucker. She's moving in with that fucking California-­educated hippie and all, while trying to take all my money.”

I didn't know what to say. So I just joined Kelvin in scanning the room. Together, we leaned back against the bar, quietly, side by side, and just did a look see.

If you just walked in and didn't know anything, you would think that SOS was damn happening. Everywhere ­people were cheering, bottoms-­upping, dancing like crazy, hugging, air-­kissing, real kissing, rubba-­ing. Every single person was being damn action, as if they were having a number one time. But if you looked closely, you could see that actually, this one is all for show. Even though the mouth is smiling, the eyes are quite sad. The ones who were hooking up didn't look tender or passionate. It was a manic desperation; the fear of being alone, of going home alone. And the only ones who didn't have this kind of look on their faces were the small young Thai girls who, even though it was five-­something in the morning, still had perfect hair and makeup and they certainly didn't look mabuk. Calmly, they perched on bar stools or banquets, preening and scanning the crowd, occasionally getting up to circle the dance floor.

“Kelvin,” I said, “I think I'd better make a move first.”

He didn't look at me—­just nodded and kept slowly sipping his Jameson, still scanning the room.

Now I really didn't know what else to say. So I just bottoms-­up my drink and fasterly left.

When I got to the front of the hotel, I wondered what to do. Even though it was damn late, I still didn't feel like going home. (Plus, the Dynasty Hotel taxi queue was jammed with SOS ­people—­who looked even more desperate and drunk now that we were outside and the sky was very gradually lightening.)

So, I decided to walk along Orchard Road a little. At this time, the street was especially bright, with the streetlights still beaming down, and although it was almost six, it was actually a bit noisy since post-­clubbing ­people were stumbling about. Slowly, I walked, passing the Crabtree & Evelyn where Imo likes to buy her atas shower gels, past the Ferragamo shop where Imo, Sher and I went to buy Fann a wallet for her birthday last year after saving up money for a few weeks. I was about to head to the bus stop when I noticed a familiar face coming toward me. Kani nah!

I stood very still, hoping that if I didn't move, maybe I wouldn't be noticed.

“Oi, Jazzy—­following me around is it?” Seng said when he got closer. I could tell that the fucker had noticed me from far away but was trying to act cool, not even looking at me.

“You go and dream lah,” I said, blinking at him.

Seng looked at me up and down, pulled out his pack of menthols and lit one up.

“So late still haven't gone home?” he said, staring at me coolly.

I didn't say anything. I watched as he ran his fingers through his long fringe and swept it back. Fucker was still trying to act cool and all. He took a long drag of his ciggie, still looking at me as he slowly scratched his cheek with his long pinkie fingernail.

“How come one of your atas friends isn't driving you home in his Rolls-­Royce?” he said, blinking and looking away for a bit, then looking back. It didn't occur to me until now that I hadn't seen or heard from him since that night when I ditched him at Studemeyer's. I suddenly felt bad. No matter how annoying Seng had been to show up, his heart was always in a good place. Plus, we'd been friends for so long—­far longer than I've been with any of these fuckers I've been clubbing with every night.

Also, if I had been nice and stayed there instead of running off to meet Louis, maybe that evening would have turned out a lot different. Maybe a lot of things in my life would have been different if I had just seen things clearer.

I started to feel damn tired. And I guess the fucker probably thought I owed him an apology or some shit. But just when I was thinking of saying something—­not apologizing, mind you, but just acknowledging that maybe he expects me to apologize—­Seng said, “Aiyoh, aiyoh!” and ran over to the dustbin near the bus stop.

Next to the tall plastic dustbin there was a guy curled up on the floor.

“Oi,” Seng said, using the tip of his pointy leather shoe to poke the guy's stomach. “Oi!
Oi!
”

When the guy didn't wake up, I heard him softly say, “Kani nah.”

“Who's that?” I asked.

“My friend lah,” he said, taking a last long puff of his ciggie and throwing it on the floor near the guy's shoe. “We all thought the fucker went home already when he suddenly just got up and fucked off out of McDonald's thirty minutes ago.”

Seng shook his head and exhaled slowly. I could see the smoke coming out of his nostrils as he pursed his lips, thinking, thinking.

“This lanjiao always gets this drunk,” he said, shaking his head and looking a bit worried.

Then Seng sighed, bent down and went through the guy's pockets, taking out his iPhone and wallet. He stopped, opened the wallet and thought for a bit, then took out twenty dollars, folding the notes up nicely and carefully tucking them inside the front of his friend's pants.

When I looked confused, Seng winked. “Taxi money,” he said, carefully putting the phone and wallet in his pockets. “Robbers won't dare to put their hands into his underwear, even to try and steal money—­haha!”

Even I had to laugh at this. As toot as this whole scene was, this actually made sense. I watched Seng dust his hands on his jeans, sigh again and clear his throat, then slowly bend down and carefully pick his friend up. They were both about the same size so Seng was having a hard time of it.

“Eh, you need any help?” I said, stepping closer.

Seng looked at me sternly. “No need, no need,” he said. “He's really too heavy. I don't want you hurting yourself.”

Silently, I stood there and watched as, inch by inch, Seng staggered over to a long bench under the bus stop canopy and gently laid his friend down. Buses were few and far between at that time, so the place was empty, quiet. And, this being a bus stop in Orchard Road, the benches were fairly clean. From the guy's heaving chest, I could see he was all right. He even smacked his lips and turned on his side, his arms cradling his chest.