by A. H. Wang
She remembers dragging him to a nightclub, going straight onto the dance floor after a few more shots of vodka. Georgia moved to the loud, all-encompassing music like a possessed woman. It had been aeons since she last danced, since she let go of herself like that. Bathed in the flashing lights of the dance floor, amidst the mass of bodies writhing and twisting to the beats, she felt like she could forget everything, abandon who she was and pretend to be somebody else.
She’s not entirely sure who started the kiss—maybe it was him, or maybe it was both of them—but when it happened it felt like the most natural thing to do in the world. She looped her arms around Ethan’s neck, their bodies pressed together and swaying in sync to the music. Her body was on fire as his hand travelled down from her waist to the swell of her arse, and she felt the evidence of his arousal as she moved against him.
Georgia doesn’t recall how they ended up back at Ethan’s hotel room, but she remembers enough. She remembers the way they crashed onto the bed, ravenous for each other as they undressed with haste. She remembers the heat of his lips as he trailed kisses down her body, his hands touching her as if he was trying to memorise every inch of her skin. She remembers begging him to end the torment, and his soft chuckle as he shifted to look at her, his eyes ablaze with lust. She remembers the weight of him above her, and how they moaned in unison as he sank slowly into her heat.
The strain and flex of Ethan’s arms as he rocked against her is forever etched into her mind, as is the look of unbridled, joyful ecstasy on his face as they both found their release. At the last moment he cried out her name, his voice hoarse: not George, not G, just a simple Georgia.
A shiver travels up her spine.
“G?” Ethan says now, his voice laced with concern. With some difficulty, Georgia’s eyes refocus back on his face. Strain is etched in his face as he studies her. “You okay? You’re not saying anything.”
Georgia blinks, feeling a rush of panic. She closes her still gaping mouth. Then she opens it again. “I’m sorry, I—” she stammers unsuccessfully. “Last night—last night was—”
“Last night was amazing.” Ethan says firmly, finishing her sentence for her. His hand reaches over to cradle her face, his eyes soft and almost imploring. “You’re amazing, Georgia.”
For a moment she closes her eyes to his soft caress, her mind searching for words to say. When she comes up with nothing, she hears Ethan sigh.
“You know,” he says, “for someone so smart, you seem to have totally missed the fact that I’ve been in love with you for pretty much all of my life.”
Her eyes flutter open and she stares into his eyes. In this light, they are a deep blue that makes her think of sailing on the open ocean. She feels her chest swell with a multitude of emotions she cannot define or name at that moment. This is a side of Ethan she has only seen a handful of times over the years: the vulnerable, sensitive, squishy-on-the-inside Ethan beneath all of his jokes and easy charm.
Hot tears—unexplained, unexpected, and unwelcome—sting her eyes. She smiles, nodding, unable to speak.
Seeing her eyes well up, he reaches for her, pulling her into an embrace. She hears him exhale heavily as he buries his face in her neck, setting off a slow burn of heated desire through her.
“God. You smell unbelievable, you know that? The things you have done to me over the years… Just being near you like this, just catching your scent… it drives me insane,” Ethan says, the sound of his voice a rumble of vibration through his chest.
He shakes his head, his jaws clenched with effort as he pulls away. “I know it’s awful timing, G—with your divorce, Jacqui, and everything with work. I know it’s probably all a bit confusing right now. I can understand if you need to take some time to think things through.”
She nods again, giving him an appreciative smile.
A long moment of silence passes as Ethan waits for her to say something, and yet as always she finds herself ill-equipped to deal with these emotionally charged occasions. Her mind blanks, and she feels something within her begin to fidget with discomfort.
Ethan cocks his head to the side, a look of understanding on his face. Then, something flickers across his azure eyes—and Georgia instantly knows that the rascal version of him is back.
He grins.
“Jesus, George. I’ve never known you to be so quiet. You really should try to get laid more often. It’ll help to ease the shock over time.”
She gapes at him, choking out an exasperated huff as she punches him hard on the arm. “Shut up!”
Ethan jumps out of the bed to dodge more of Georgia’s punches, grinning from ear to ear, completely careless to the fact that he is now standing stark naked before her. She glows red in the face and tries—without success—to stop staring at his glorious body.
“Ow.” He rubs where she punched him, a mock expression of hurt on his face. “Looks like we’re gonna need a bit of a chat about post-coital manners, too.”
“Oh my god! You are such a little—” She starts after him, only to realise that she is also naked when the sheets fall away.
She pulls the covers up quickly, shooting venomous darts at him with her eyes. Triumphant, Ethan lets out a loud cackle and strides cockily into the bathroom.
Georgia hears the shower start in the adjacent room and settles back in the bed. In spite of herself, a little smile creeps across her face. She shakes her head and lets out a happy sigh. He is still the same Ethan she has always known.
In the recent turmoil of her own life, this is somehow reassuring. From the first of their sandpit days when they were toddlers, she was always the quiet, contemplative kid happy to play on her own. And Ethan was always the boy who’d constantly hovered around her, ruffling up her hair, teasing and prodding her until he received some kind of animated response. Then, satisfied, he’d laugh and walk away, only to return not too long after to repeat the same annoying process all over again.
It was not until after they were living in different cities and she missed their constant contact, that she realised this dear childhood friend was the one who had always kept her from taking life too seriously. Whenever she found herself focusing on a problem and thinking herself into a rut, Ethan would always be there, prompting a laugh or an exasperated growl from her: anything to shake her free into a different mode of being.
Georgia hugs her pillow. She has really missed her friend.
“Are you gonna get out of bed sometime today, or am I gonna have to tickle you out of there?”
She turns to see him walk out of the bathroom with a towel hanging low around his waist. God, he is something to look at. Her eyes linger a few seconds too long, and Ethan raises an eyebrow, the corners of his lips hitching up into an irritatingly sexy smirk.
“Not expecting another round, are ya?”
She hurls her pillow at him, satisfaction surging through her when it lands squarely on his face. Suppressing her laughter, she asks, “What time is this lunch of yours?”
“Twelve-thirty.” He glances at his watch. “Shit. I better hurry or I’ll be late.”
She watches as he moves about the room, hastily getting dressed and throwing some paperwork into his laptop bag. She notes the tangled mess of their discarded clothes and shoes, the extra cushions and pillows scattered around the room. There is a bedside lamp toppled over, and bits and pieces of Ethan’s belongings strewn all over the floor, obviously pushed from the bedside tables.
She bites her lower lip. They really went at it last night.
Within minutes, Ethan is ready. He crosses the room to sit beside her on the bed, looking very torn about leaving. “Sorry G—but I really gotta dash. You’ll be okay here? Hang for as long as you want. I’ll give you a call when I’m done.”
She nods, suddenly feeling awkward. “I’ll let myself out.”
Before she can react, he reaches for her and gives her a tender, lingering kiss. She melts into him, savouring the freshness of the minty toothpaste on his breath. When Et
han finally pulls away, he smiles, and for the first time she cannot decipher the expression on his face.
“See you after?” he whispers.
“Yeah,” she says with a smile.
Georgia stares at the hotel room door, long after Ethan has gone. The warmth of his presence has dissipated, and she suddenly feels cold. Shivering, she pulls on one of his T-shirts lying on the chair—pausing to breathe in the familiar Ethan scent—and half contemplates going back to bed to sleep off her pounding head.
Her phone vibrates somewhere in the room, and after some searching she finds it buried under her pile of clothes on the floor. She smiles when she sees the caller ID.
“Miss me already?” she teases.
“Yes,” Ethan says with all seriousness, and her throat goes dry. “But that’s not why I’m calling.”
“Why are you calling then?”
“Can you check if I forgot my organiser? I might have left it on the desk.”
Georgia shakes her head. Ethan has always been forgetful like that. When they were kids, his mother was always making multiple trips to the school because he’d forgotten to bring his lunch, or his sports gear, or an assignment that was due.
She hops out of the bed and walks over to the desk. Removing a cushion that must have been thrown across the room last night, she discovers his black organiser underneath.
“Yes you did, doofus. Do you want me to meet you somewhere with it?”
“Shit.” He huffs a sigh. “Nah, it’s fine. I’ll live without it today.”
“Okay.”
“Miss me,” he suggests.
She laughs. “Sure.”
Hanging up the phone, she starts to rummage through her handbag for some painkillers. Her phone vibrates again—a message this time. She frowns when she sees the sender: Hank.
— How is everything going?
Georgia realises that she has not updated him since her discovery at the Taiwan National Library. She didn’t want to let him know she was going to Melbourne, not with Ethan involved. Sitting down on the chair, she types a quick reply.
— Okay. May have a lead. Let me call you in a few days when I have something more concrete.
Hank responds with an image of Muffin, his Rottweiler grinning happily at the camera, slobber swinging in white strings from her jaw. Under the picture the caption reads:
— Sure. Muffin says hi. We are off to the beach today.
Georgia smiles at the photo, remembering now that it’s Sunday. It appears Hank never stops working even on his days off. But that is not exactly a surprise considering who he works for.
She places her phone on the desk, strumming her fingers on the polished wood surface as her mind is brought back to her search for the mysterious green-eyed man. It seems she is now so close to getting all of her questions answered—and yet, she still has no way of contacting Ethan’s anonymous donor unless the man agrees to meet with her.
Somehow, she’s not too sure he’ll be inclined to.
If he doesn’t, then she'll lose her one chance at meeting him. Who knows which country or city he will be in tomorrow, or if she’ll be able to track him down again. Hell, it may be another fifty years before he reappears.
She eyes Ethan’s black organiser on the desk.
Ethan told her his lunch is at twelve-thirty, but he never mentioned where it was, and she had the good sense not to ask. But if she could just find out where Ethan is meeting this man, and wait outside the restaurant for a peek at the guy, then she could at least make sure it’s not the same person she saw in the photographs. She can then tell Lambert she has tried her best, that she had uncovered some coincidental clues but ultimately ended up with nothing.
Because it really can’t be the same guy.
Can it?
Suddenly Georgia feels she has to know, that she can’t possibly walk away without finding out.
She looks over at the organiser again, feeling guilty for what she’s about to do.
“Ethan won’t know,” she tells herself, reaching for the black volume to search for today’s entry. “I’ll just get a good look at the guy and be on my way. He’ll never even know I was there.”
27
As Ethan steps out of the taxi, he gazes up at the Taipei Grand Hotel and lets out a soft whistle. A notable landmark in Taiwan, both for its architectural style and its historical significance, it appears frequently on postcards of the city. It is one of the world’s tallest Chinese classical buildings, its striking exterior adorned with scarlet pillars, sweeping roofs and glazed golden tiles. To passers-by, the establishment looks more like a majestic fourteen-storey Chinese palace. Indeed, in its 1960s heyday, it was hailed as one of the top ten hotels in the world.
Established in 1952 by Chiang Kai-Shek, the Grand Hotel was originally constructed for the purpose of accommodating foreign dignitaries. Back in the days when the generalissimo was still rallying foreign support for his fight against the Chinese communists, promoting foreign relations and diplomatic goodwill was a matter of priority, and state-level guests would be housed in the finest rooms at the hotel. Up until recently, any visitors wishing to book the presidential suite still had to get approval from the Taiwanese government. In its glory days, the establishment hosted many notable guests, including heads of states and celebrities such as Elizabeth Taylor, Margaret Thatcher, and even Nelson Mandela.
Ethan walks into the main building, marvelling at the bright red interior. Chinese lanterns hang from the elaborately decorated ceiling, which is supported by rows of red cylindrical pillars similar to those on the outside. An expanse of scarlet plush carpet leads up the wide grand staircase to the second floor. The hotel is busy with groups of tourists checking into the hotel, wandering around with their selfie sticks as they capture photographs of the foyer. These days, the most dominant patrons are Chinese tourists—most of them, again, satisfying their curiosities towards the infamous Chiang Kai-Shek.
Ethan briefly read up on the history of this iconic building before his visit, discovering that Madam Chiang Kai-Shek, who believed deeply in the art of Feng Shui, chose its specific location because it is especially auspicious. Towering high on Jiantan Mountain, with Keelung River before it and the mountainous national park to its rear, its position is considered to be ‘the entrance to the lair of the dragon.’ Henceforth, the hotel has been dubbed as ‘The Dragon Palace’ for this reason, with twenty thousand dragon motifs intertwining throughout the various structures, decorations, paintings, and carvings in the building.
He climbs up the wide grand staircase, making his way towards the Golden Dragon Restaurant at the back of the main building, noting the many dragon designs in the ceiling and on the walls. Glancing at his watch, he realises he is actually fifteen minutes early for his appointment. He slows his pace, exhaling a sigh of relief. It appears there was not really a need to race out of the hotel after all, leaving Georgia still naked in bed.
At the image, he swallows thickly, and a sense of warmth floods his chest, moving lower towards his groin as his thoughts trail to last night. The scent of her skin fresh in his mind, he wonders whether she is still in his bed, wrapped in the tangled sheets in which they made love. Georgia has never been a morning person, and with the amount of drinks they put away last night, he is surprised she woke before noon.
This morning in his bed, Ethan saw with clarity the panic flicker in her eyes. And when he poured his heart out to her, she was so damn quiet the entire time. The only thing he can seek comfort in is the knowledge that she has never been very good with feelings or words. But really, did he have to launch into some dumb joke again, even to save himself from embarrassment or possible rejection?
Way to go, jackass.
He’s already missed his chance of being with her once before: all those years ago when he was still in art school. He’d been home in Sydney for the summer break and decided to spend the entire holidays hanging out at Georgia’s office doing an informal internship with her. Georgia was alrea
dy a PhD graduate by then and was doing some pretty impressive work at her university, paving her path towards professorship. He loved all the ancient ceramics she was working on at the time and the project later informed his graduating art piece. One night, after a campus party with too many drinks, they stumbled back to his student accommodation and he finally mustered up the courage to kiss her. In his wildest dreams he’d never have known what a passionate person Georgia can be in bed. When she is sober and dressed, she is always such a solemn person—she has always been so since they were kids. But the side of her she revealed to him that night all those years ago made him fall in love with her even more.
It made him crave for more.
When he woke up the next morning, however, she was already gone. Georgia went out of her way to avoid him for days after, and when they finally did see each other, she pretended that nothing had happened, as if she did not remember a thing from that drunken night. He was confused and shattered, but to save himself from further embarrassment and the fear of losing her friendship, he went along with it.
After that summer, he went back to his studies in Melbourne. Not long after, Georgia met Lucas.
Ethan scrubs his face, exhaling a huff of air, almost desperate to go back and see her now. He doesn’t want to push her, but they need to talk. He needs to reassure her he is willing to wait for her, that she doesn’t need to get all weird again because of what happened between them last night. God knows he’s waited all his life. But the one thing he can’t do is not see her again for another six years.
He has missed her. More than he would care to admit.
He finally locates the restaurant after some wandering in the corridors, and climbs the five flights of short steps to its entrance. The maître d’ smiles at him as he tells her the name of the reservation, leading him promptly to a table in a secluded corner. Golden chandeliers wind across the ceiling in the shape of a dragon, and the restaurant is lined with a wall of windows that overlooks Keelung River.
