Last Tang Standing

by Ho, Lauren

  Opened it to find Linda, who had, it turns out, accidentally left her key at my place yesterday. She was wearing a white strapless sundress, a straw fedora, and slip-on Avarcas, an ensemble that only looked good on girls or women built like her. It is very annoying. Especially when she was up so early on a weekend and forcing me to join her on the bright side.

  “Guess what?” she sang, dancing past me into my apartment.

  “What?” I muttered, slamming the door and plodding in after her.

  “Jason agreed to move in with me!” she chirped.

  “What?” I said again, flabbergasted. Didn’t he just agree to move in—with me? Or had I just dreamed that it happened? “Why?”

  “Why not?” she asked. “We already spend all our waking hours together at mine or at yours anyway.”

  “Right. For all of one week since you started shagging. Solid decision to move in together immediately, of course, but who cares what I think. So when is he moving out, if he hasn’t already?”

  “In three days’ time.”

  Efficiency, thy name is Linda’s Vagina.

  “And this way, I cancel the security subscription that I signed up for, and Daddy can restore my Centurion card.”

  Ah, two birds with one stone: money-saving Chinese-lady logic. I couldn’t argue with that. “Congratulations,” I said in reference to the restoration of her good fortune, giving her a hug.

  “Thanks,” she said, grinning. Then her face grew serious. “I mean it. For everything. For Jason, especially.”

  “I didn’t do anything in that respect,” I said, with false modesty. I totally made them happen.

  “You totally made it happen,” she said, because she was perceptive and we’d been friends for a long time. “Jason is a sweetheart. Before Jason, I was a mess when it came to dating—I couldn’t see it, I know, but I was.”

  “I could see it,” I quipped. “You were the biggest self-sabotager I’d ever met. You had the worst taste in men. The worst.”

  “Shut up. Fine, I’ll admit that I have a slight predilection of dating men who just didn’t want me enough, men who weren’t available, in some toxic way mirroring my own daddy issues, maybe.”

  “You said it, not me.”

  She made a face. “God, I hate being a cliché, but then there must be some truth in how these clichés come into existence. Anyway, that phase of my life is over. I’m so glad to be done with toxic men.”

  I thought about Eric Deng. “You know what? It pains me to say this, Linda, but you’ve inspired me to do the same.”

  “Eric Deng?” she said, eyebrow raised. “Well, it’s official now, ain’t it?”

  “Yes,” I said, blushing.

  “Great. Then it’s time he met the Don.”

  In case you didn’t catch that reference, dear Diary, she means herself.

  35

  Monday 4 July

  11:25 p.m. Celebrated Fourth of July ironically with the usual suspects (avec Eric!) at my place, in honor of Linda’s unofficial moving out.

  Since it was American Independence Day, Ben, who had dual US-British citizenship, and Linda, who I doubt has actual work and had my house key, had decided to take charge of the decorations. The house was decorated with blue, white, and red pom pom balls and crepe streamers, with a carpet of irregular-size silver balloons. My bar table was covered with bottles of bourbon, rum, whiskey, and vodka, and there were Ikea glass tumblers and an ice bucket with ugly mass-produced ice cubes. Very “Ice Bucket Challenge,” not Eric Deng at all.

  I was very nervous, not just because I’d been inhaling helium and still sounded like Alvin the Chipmunk. Eric was different from the people I hung out with. Eric was, how can I put it politely, well—he was much more well-adjusted than most of the so-called adults I knew. Also he was older. I was mostly worried that Linda would rip him to shreds. Linda … oh, Linda was a bloodhound, and she’d been fed very few scraps in terms of my love life over the past nine years or so since I’d been in Singapore. She’d never approved of Ivan, and I wasn’t expecting her to like Eric either. She had such high standards for people dating everyone else but herself. I warned her to be nice, and she replied something like, “The Don will apportion grace and magnanimity as befits the supplicant.”

  Honestly, I really don’t know how we became friends.

  Linda and Ben were at my place by seven to help decorate the living room (the door to my bedroom had been safely locked up—I couldn’t risk Eric wandering in and seeing the amount of stuff I had). Everyone else started arriving around eight. The alcohol, it must be said, was flowing very freely. By the time Eric was due to arrive, everyone was cheerfully wasted, except for me. I had the performance sweats: I needed my friends to like, to approve of, Eric. I don’t know where this group approval system comes from—it must be some kind of evolutionary hangover from back in the day when everyone had that one cave to hide out in from mammoths or icy vortexes, and you didn’t want to be the person bringing back a mate who smelled like warm fungal soup or who went around dry-humping the wood pile, so you got a few of your more discreet buddies to check them out, and if the potential mate didn’t pass the test, all the buddies basically clubbed the mate to death to protect the species. Same thing.

  In my mind’s eye, I pictured Eric saying something about how he didn’t believe in miscegenation and all of my mates jumping on him in a whirl of Looney Tunes limbs. These were the kinds of deep dark things that you unearth sometimes months, years into a relationship. Plus he didn’t have a digital trail, like Ratfink Orson. Urgh. Naturally I was a mess by the time he rang the doorbell. I had to steel myself with a fortifying shot of bourbon.

  “Hi, everyone, this is Eric!” I chirped, barely stopping myself from shouting “Deng!” as I led him in. Thankfully I was back to normal. Voice-wise.

  He was wearing a deep blue and teal batik long-sleeved top and beige chinos. And—I did a double take—white Adidas Stan Smith trainers, with green trim. Why was he wearing Stan Smiths? He never wore anything other than suede loafers or dress shoes. It looked super incongruous.

  And … and … were his chinos … slim cut?

  “You like?” he stage-whispered.

  “Hmm-mmm,” I replied. Best to say nothing if you were still digesting the visual stimuli.

  Linda breezed up to him and shook his hand. “I’m Linda,” she said, before I could introduce her.

  Eric smiled and shook her hand. “And I’m Eric.”

  “So I’ve been told,” Linda replied breezily. “Now, I’ve made my famous truth serum, and you and I are going to go to a corner and you’re going to divulge your deepest darkest secrets.” She handed him a mug of her proprietary blend of twenty-one-year-old Yamazaki whiskey, neat, her preferred drink.

  “Do I have a choice?” Eric joked, smiling as he accepted the mug, not at all freaked out when he really should have been. She had been known to bite. Literally.

  “Be nice,” I called anxiously to their backs as Linda hustled him away to the balcony.

  “I won’t,” Linda shouted back. Then she slid the sliding doors closed and I saw two cigars being lit.

  They came back almost an hour later while we were streaming the live coverage of the Fourth of July celebrations and drinking. I watched Eric closely for signs of trauma, but he looked fine. Linda was now in her friendly networker mode, smiling and touching his arm now and then as she chatted with him. She threw me a wink and mouthed, “He’s legit.” I wondered what they had discussed, and more specifically, what she had gotten Eric to disclose about me.

  I was glad to see everyone, especially Linda, getting along with Eric, and vice versa, despite the difference in age (and maturity). Linda was particularly joyous, twinkling under Jason’s warm attention and Ben’s undeniable jealousy. Ben and Valerie left around midnight. Linda and I hung back to talk in my room while Jason and Eric chatted on the balcony and smoked more cigars. Apparently things were going well with her and Jason, and they were making plans to spend
Christmas in the Philippines. (How many days of leave does this woman have??)

  “Oh, and I think Eric’s a solid guy. I made him run the gauntlet of questions and he didn’t even flinch. He’s an honest bloke and he’s terribly into you.” She patted my back. “I didn’t get it before, but now I do. He’s the unconventionally sexy kind, in a deviated septum, dad-ish way.”

  “Stay away from him,” I said immediately, alarmed by the dad reference.

  Linda chortled. “It’s OK, I’m good with who I have.” She said this with a soft smile on her face. “But as your oldest friend, Andrea, I’m a little surprised. I feel like you’re taking the easy route.”

  I was scornful. “Choosing Eric is choosing the hard route. The man’s got a young daughter and he’s from another generation. But I think he’s worth it.”

  “Yes, I understand that he is a good catch, Andrea, but let me try and put it in a way you’ll understand. It’s like aiming for second-class upper when you should be getting a first-class degree.”

  Now I was annoyed. “Eric is first class, Linda.”

  “OK, fine, let me use another obtuse analogy: it’s like getting first class in medicine when all you wanted to be is a pharmacist.”

  “How dare you?” I said in richly shocked tones.

  Linda shrugged. “Look, you know me. I’d rather get a third in pharmacy than medicine, so long as it’s pharmacy I’d rather be doing.” She gestured at Jason who was standing by the window in a sleeveless top, looking conventionally sexy and perfect. Honestly, if that was third class, something had to be majorly deviated under his shorts.

  When it was time for Jason and Linda to leave, all of us helped to move her remaining stuff from the living room and the spare room into a rental lorry. I know this sounds strange, dear Diary, but when the last box was loaded and the lorry drove away, I felt a twinge of regret, mostly because I could no longer borrow the sweet bags that Linda had left at my apartment. But then Eric gave me what started as a shoulder massage and—yum.

  36

  Saturday 9 July

  Suresh just dropped a new TLTS strip.

  The situation is getting even darker. Whole montage of new murders, more inventive, darker, and more daring than ever, when suddenly Water and Rhean discover that, for a short window after they’ve killed and when they have taken the form of the people they’ve ended, they can physically touch each other, strangers in flesh but familiar in every other way.

  At long last, standing on top of a gristly mess, Water and Rhean embrace in a super hot scene of unfamiliar limbs.

  Also he is at 312K followers. Not that I checked.

  Sunday 10 July

  11:20 a.m. Brunch in bed that Eric made for me (toast with butter and jam, kale and banana smoothies—Eric gives his staff Sundays off). Had sex in his room and the bowling alley. The acoustics in the bowling alley are amazing.

  2:15 p.m. Had sex in the home theater. The acoustics in the home theater room are amazing.

  DeeDee’s in Paris and staying for the Fashion Week shows. She won’t be back till October.

  Eric says we can do it in her room if we want to. I demurred. We’ve all got to draw the line somewhere.

  4:20 p.m. Did it in DeeDee’s bedroom (in the walk-in closet and the bed). Her room has mirrors everywhere and mood lighting. The acoustics are amazing.

  Hey, she doesn’t pay rent.

  Wednesday 20 July

  7:30 p.m. Eric left for Rome today. Worked listlessly via remote connection on some files, but there was nothing urgent, for once. Summer holidays and most of my clients being European meant, for the first time in a long time, I had some free time on my hands to relax, to pursue my creative impulses.

  So I launched Candy Crush.

  10:20 p.m. Out of boredom decided to read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. When I finished I went into my closet and realized that even though my worldly possessions, most bought with year-end bonuses, did not necessarily “spark joy” in the normal, Kondo sense, they certainly sparked an almost perverse pleasure as I sniffed them while reminiscing about the clients I had helped dominate their respective fields.

  Thursday 21 July

  10:15 a.m. Urgh. Work. Is. So. Boring. Why do humans have to work? Work is so stupid. The best things in life, like sex, are free after all. Well, mostly. But must continue billing. The qualifying round of interviews start in August, and I’m so close I can almost see the engraved name plate:

  ANDREA TANG, PARTNER

  Chills, I tell ya, chills, especially in the sweet font I’d chosen for this purpose.

  It feels a little weird to be all alone in the office, which suddenly seems unnaturally quiet without Suresh’s extravagant muscles to absorb all that noisy typing, what with him still away on secondment in Jakarta working for a major client of his. I don’t know how Anousha is taking it. Why is he accepting to go away on such long secondments when his long-awaited fiancée is finally in Singapore? Makes no sense. Speaking of Anousha, Kai told me that she’s working in one of the leading private hospitals in Novena as a senior consultant, which is like the equivalent of my rank, I think. Good for her. I don’t care.

  37

  Saturday 23 July

  Went out clubbing with Ben, who has been in mourning ever since Linda got together with Jason. I guess he was hoping that he would have been the one that would one day wear her down.

  Ben wanted to go clubbing because he believed, falsely, that he could “pick a girl up,” which is a pretty misogynistic thing to say. Also does anyone actually hook up in clubs anymore? This is the second time I’ve been out with Ben, and it’s not looking good.

  In the end we left at 1:30 a.m., each citing work commitments the next day, but dear Diary, I caught Ben yawning many times on the dance floor, especially when they played dubstep, which as we all know was invented by a cunning demon, someone who was definitely an up-and-comer (if not management itself).

  Felt very old. But in a happy, triumphant way—I was beyond the singles club scene. I was loved.

  Sunday 31 July

  Opened the door to find a huge bouquet of blush pink peonies (my favorite)—carried by Eric.

  “Surprise,” he said, softly. He enveloped me in a lovely hug.

  He’d completed a deal early and had come back from Europe to hang with me until he had to fly to Brazil on Tuesday with Diana, his daughter, for summer holidays.

  “The elusive Diana, I’m almost jealous of her,” I teased. “When will I get to meet her?”

  “Soon,” he promised, but his offhand manner suggested that I had to pass other hurdles before he would introduce me to his beloved. He was very, very protective of her.

  “Anyway, with the time difference and work and family, it might be difficult to chat as often as I’d like, so I thought I’d make up for it.”

  “Oh really?” I said, nuzzling his neck. “How are you planning to make up for it?”

  He showed me.

  Tuesday 2 August

  Miss him already.

  Friday 5 August

  Had an intimate (ahem) video chat with Eric. It was his first time, supposedly. He’s very good with, erm, filters, and demonstrates an uncanny ability to choose the right words and, uh, sounds. I can’t wait for him to be back.

  Monday 15 August

  I opened the door to the office this morning and jumped when I saw Suresh. In the excitement of my new relationship with Eric, I had somehow repressed the fact that he was due back in August, after having completed his three-month secondment to Jakarta. The first round of selection interviews for partnership would be held this Friday, so that explained why he was back.

  “Hello,” he said guardedly.

  For a moment, we stared at each other, embarrassed, and then he stood and engulfed me in a tight, lingering bear hug that left me breathless.

  “Missed my ugly mug?” he said, after I’d gingerly let go.

  “Not too much,” I said with a wry smile. “I’ve been billing tons of
hours. You’ll never be partner now.”

  “Oh yeah? I slept with Mong. Top that.”

  I giggled and somehow things were almost normal with us, for a few seconds at least.

  “I’m not kidding. I’m gunning for partnership. You better watch your back,” he said with a grin. Then he made a face. “Actually, come to think of it, that’s the only way I’ll be able to afford the wedding Anousha wants. She wants to hold it at Fullerton Bay Hotel, with clouds of white roses, a string quartet, a live band, and an open bar no less.”

  “That’s going to hurt.” I had almost forgotten they were supposed to get married next year.

  “Yup. Apparently after I told her about Genevieve’s ang pao matrix, she thinks that she can make money off our guests. Trouble is, Anousha’s a coconut. She’s forgotten that we Indians are skint, and half of our guests are coming from India. We’re gonna end up in debt now that her parents are totally not chipping in for the wedding nor giving us any dowry since she’s moved to Singapore. And my parents are not rich. Even with our combined salaries, this wedding is still going to set us back significantly.”

  “Then don’t hold it in Fullerton. Have it somewhere less fancy.”

  “Noushie would never—I mean, it’s been decided.”

  “It’s your wedding, too, and you don’t want to get in debt.”

  Suresh sighed. “You know it’s not that simple. Noushie has … certain standards. She’s connected. The wedding has to look good. If it were me, I’d just elope, but both sets of parents would kill me.”

  “I’d elope, too, if I had to pay for a huge wedding,” I said. “Although my ideal wedding, if I didn’t have to meet the expectations of my mother, would be small and intimate, on a beach.”