Sarong Party Girls

by Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan

  “Oi—­Jazzy! Don’t walk so fast lah!” I heard Fann shouting behind me. ­“People’s feet pain, you know. Where you going?”

  I actually didn’t know. It was only 1 A.M.—­too early for supper and definitely too soon to go home. I was feeling quite sad and had no mood for partying anymore. But then Imo pointed at the queue in front of us. “Eh,” she said, “the bouncer at Attica tonight is Louis’s old friend.” Win Toto lah! This means we wouldn’t need to pay the thirty-­dollar cover charge.

  “OK,” I said. “Let’s go in and see how.”

  The music was damn loud the moment we walked in. At that time in the morning, Attica was just starting to get happening—­they have a license to close at six, after all. So 1 A.M. is when ­people really start showing up. The front part of the club is nice—­newer-­looking, less grungy, got nice shiny podiums for ­people to dance and all. But this part is where they play hip-­hop lah—­so unless you want to meet black guys or those wannabe black guys, you’d better fasterly walk through and go to the second building in the back. I tell you, Singaporean guys who want to act black are the worst—­all attitude and they think they’re so cool, but when you get to know them better you find out that they are just as no-­balls as all the other Singaporean guys. Some more the ones who are really into trying to be black are usually short short small small one. You just need to see them one time and you know—­if you go home with them, their cocks confirm will also be short short small small. Waste time only.

  So Fann, Imo and I quickly walked through to the building in the back, where a different crowd hangs. This second building—­my god, the first time I went there, I remember I was quite scared. Sher practically had to hold my hand the whole time and push my backside up the carpeted stairs—­the stairwell was so dark I couldn’t see where I was going and it was so narrow that there were ­people pushing and shoving, trying to come down right when we were walking up. Kani nah—­fucking annoying! The whole thing was so small, tight and scary I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I almost wanted to go home, but Sher said she had heard the place was very worth it. So, even if I was scared also better keep walking. In the end, once we got to the second floor and got used to the super loud Euro techno music, it was quite a good evening lah. Those really white really skinny ang moh guys always seem to like Euro techno the best. So this club was quite the primo place to hook them. We were with Louis at that time so we had a VIP table and of course, Chivas bottles. We met some cute Scottish guys and Fann ended up going on a few dates with one of them. So overall, it was worth it—­even if Fann had absolutely no idea what cock her guy was saying every time he opened his mouth.

  Tonight was different though—­we didn’t have Sher. And usually she’s the one who starts conversations with guys. Or rather, guys try to start talking to her first. Also, we didn’t have Louis there, so we didn’t have any bottles. So we all knew what had to be done: fasterly find some guys to buy drinks for us. Fortunately, Imo’s dress was looking exactly the kind of chio that these Euro Euro guys like—­small black dress, a little bit more sophisticated-­looking, sexy sexy one. So the moment we got there, some ang moh guy from the VIP area came down to the bar to ask if we wanted to join his friends.

  The rest of the night, I was quite blur. I remember doing tequila shots. Then drinking beer from a jug. Then someone ordered champagne. Then I remember Fann getting quite sick. By that time I was already a bit gone. And I was dancing with this guy whose face I couldn’t really see—­it was so dark! But he was tall, no glasses, quite skinny and his accent ah—­super British, man. Like those old butlers in those British movies—­sexy!—­but as far as I could tell, he wasn’t that old.

  At that time, Imo started ignoring everyone because she started texting like crazy. Ah, must be 4 A.M. already—­Louis was probably looking to leave Lunar. I guess he didn’t find any Chinese backside that he liked.

  “Jazzy, ah,” Imo said, tapping me on the shoulder. “I think I’d better make a move first.” I was so high by that point that I just nodded and kept dancing.

  “Eh, Jazzy—­I’m going to send Fann home with Louis. You leave also lah—­we can send you home too.” I could tell she was a bit worried about leaving me alone there. Usually we have Louis or one of his friends around to make sure we’re OK—­to either send us to a taxi stand or make sure that if we’re going home with a guy, that the guy is decent. But these ­people, we’d only just met them a few hours ago. We didn’t know anything about them beyond the fact that they were British and they all worked in Jurong on one of those oil refineries. (Which means they confirm are not rich.)

  But aiyoh, guniang over here was finally having good time tonight—­why must Imo be so naggy? I just waved and said, “Aiyah, no need lah. I how old already—­I don’t need another mum, thank you very much. I’ll be OK.” She still looked a bit worried. So I pointed at the guy behind me rubba-­ing his crotch into my backside and touching my stomach with his hands as he danced.

  “Please,” I said, giving her two thumbs up in case she couldn’t hear me since the music was so loud. “He’ll take care of me—­don’t worry!” So she just said “OK” and started helping Fann off the couch and toward the door.

  After they left, I started to panic. The music was so loud my feet were hurting from the “boom boom boom” I could feel from the floor. Each time there was a “boom” the guy behind me was rubba-­ing into my backside even more, pushing me forward, until I felt like I was almost going to fall over the railing in front of me. Walao! I wanted to say something to him but then I remembered that I actually don’t remember his name.

  Some more I couldn’t even hear what song was playing because all techno songs sound the same. And the laser lights shooting all over the room were starting to make my eyes a bit pain. I looked at the dance floor in front of us and it was jammed with all these ang moh guys and Singaporean girls, all of them rubba-­ing and hugging and pushing and touching. Long black hair was flying around; white hairy arms were holding on to backsides and waists all over the floor. Maybe Imo was right. I should have left with them.

  “Hey, sweetie,” my ang moh suddenly said in my ear. So I turned around. And the moment I did that he just started kissing me—­big, wet slobbery ones. His chubby lips were like suction cups, man. And he kissed me for so long that one of his friends started pointing and cheering, actually spilling beer all over himself because he was jumping up and down. Kani nah—­never see ­people hook up before is it?

  The kissing actually wasn’t that shiok. His tongue and my tongue were not quite in sync and some more he was quite the aggressive type—­move head, move hands, everything also rubba. I started thinking, now it’s maybe four something? If I leave now, the cab queue is probably still quite short—­no need to wait for so long. Maybe can even buy supper on the way home.

  But then I thought about how chio I looked tonight. In my Seven jeans, my backside was super power! And my small black tank top was damn sexy. Even so, all those guys at Lunar didn’t even look at me one time once those China girls came out. How can like that? I know Louis had warned me about the situation. But that was total defeat. And Jazzy cannot lose!

  No. Even if this guy is a lousy fuck, I must have something to show for tonight.

  So I stopped kissing him for a moment. He looked a bit confused, but then I smiled sweetly at him, then looked a bit demure and all, even fluttering my eyelids a little bit. (I tell you, ang mohs—­especially drunk ang mohs—­really love that geisha shit.)

  Then I slowly slowly moved my right hand to the correct position—­and squeezed his cock.

  chapter 5

  “Aiyoh, what is wrong with you?”

  Kani nah, ­people here are just trying to quietly sit and drink kopi on a Saturday morning also cannot. Why does Seng bloody hell have to come and bother me? I even went to the kopitiam quite early that day. Early for me, that is. After all, I came home at 10 A.M.�
��­after showering, I didn’t want to listen to my mum complain about me coming home so late (especially after her lecture at the wet market yesterday). And the thought of having my dad join her in hantaming me—­my god, I knew I’d better fasterly get out of the house. And on a Saturday morning, the kopitiam is the best place to go and stone for a bit lah. If you go to one of those atas western cafes with the croissants and shit, these smiley waitresses with the high-­pitched singsong voices won’t leave you alone! “Miss, do you want more of this or that crap?” and all that bullshit. But in a kopitiam, the uncles there will usually leave you alone to sit and stare into your kopi for as long as you want. The only drawback—­for me, anyway—­was the bang balls possibility of bumping into Seng.

  “What’s wrong?” Seng asked again, pulling out a plastic stool from under my table and sitting down. “I whole life never see you so quiet before.”

  I couldn’t even really move my head that much. I just lifted my sunglasses and stared at him. “I got ask you to sit down with me, is it?”

  “Eh, this one is free country, you know. You don’t own all the seats at the table. If got free seat—­then anyone can sit lah! Now—­what the hell is wrong with you today?”

  Of course, Seng was the last guy I could tell. Even though the fucker was getting so comfortable at the table he took out his Marlboro Menthol Lights and nodded at the kopi uncle, giving him the “one” sign. Before uncle—­in his long pajama pants and singlet that was so thin you can practically count all the hairs around his nipples—­brought his kopi over, Seng had already moved the rusted empty lychee can near his elbow and lit his ciggie. I tried not to watch him slowly scratching his chin with his one long fingernail. I don’t understand when Seng suddenly became such an Ah Beng, growing a sharp fingernail on his little finger for digging his ears and nose and all. And why was I so unlucky to be sitting at a smoking table? Never think properly lah. I had wanted to avoid all those Saturday mothers with their noisy fat kids but now here I was, ending up talking to Seng. Really bang balls, man.

  “You don’t want to tell me I also know lah,” Seng said, flicking his ciggie into the lychee can and exhaling through his nostrils. Actually I don’t usually mind Seng so much. Last time when we were young, before he became an Ah Beng, we actually hung out at the kopitiam together a fair bit. At that time, we were just ­seventeen—­we still had no money to go clubbing so much, so might as well just sit in the kopitiam and drink Anchor beer. It was quite fun lah—­on Saturday nights, you would see all the old neighborhood Ah Cheks and then the two of us sitting there, drinking beer, talking cock. Uncles would try to share their sad life stories, wanting to tell us young ­people all the mistakes in life to avoid. Crazy! As if we can’t see with our own eyes what their pathetic lives are like. Seng and I would always just laugh. Of course we’re smart enough not to end up drinking in a kopitiam with these old Ah Cheks when we are forty years old. Seng is not say very good-­looking but he knows how to dress up nicely, saving up to buy Prada sneakers sometimes, carrying a Dunhill wallet and all. And he’s not big and buff like those ang moh guys we all like but his body is not terrible. (At least he’s not fat like some of his chubby friends. One good thing about his smoking, I guess.) And we all know how chio I am lah. So all those Ah Cheks should know better. Unlike them, ­people like us actually have dreams. As if we need their advice!

  At that time I was not yet happening like I am now, where I have these guys at clubs buying me drinks and all. Back then—­we were all damn poor, man. Must save up for a week so we can afford even one pitcher of Long Island Iced Tea at a club. To make the most of it, we knew we had to drink the pitcher fasterly so we could get a quick high. If your head immediately feels pain a bit then confirm is success. But if you drink so fast it’s not always shiok. Such highs always only last so long. But the good part is, if you are high and act happy a bit, sometimes guys will notice you more and come over to offer to buy you drinks. So in the end the strategy might have some payoff, after all. As tough as those days were, you know what those aunties always say—­better to know hardships early in life, otherwise later when you have a good life, you won’t appreciate it.

  Later on, once Seng finished army, we all had a bit more money, but he and I would still go to the kopitiam sometimes. Drinks at clubs were expensive after all—­so if you sit in a kopitiam first, drink four or five Anchors, get mabuk already then that’s the time to go clubbing. When you get to the club already high, you don’t need to spend so much on drinks there. Seng even hung out with us girls sometimes back then, but we hadn’t invited him in a long time. If you want to meet ang moh guys, if you bring a Singaporean guy along—­aiyoh—­you might as well just give up before going out. (Louis is different. A rich guy buying bottles for everyone—­who doesn’t want to hang out with him? Even ang moh guys also like him.)

  Seng also taught me to smoke back then—­he said it would make me look sexy. The last time I smoked with him, he was trying to teach me how to do this stylo move, pushing smoke out through his nostrils like a dragon. But no matter how many times I tried, until my nose was fucking pain, almost want to nosebleed, I also couldn’t do it. This skill—­Seng knows he is champion, and he was doing it now. My head that morning was so painful, however, I just sat there and watched him make those long dragon smoke puffs. Everything was quiet. I had nothing to say.

  Earlier this morning—­my god. I was still trying to not think about it.

  “You hungover lah,” Seng said, taking one sip of his kopi that was so big that almost half the cup disappeared. I never understood how that guy can drink so fast. Kopi, whiskey, all the same. One sip, two sips—­time for a refill already.

  I didn’t want to respond to his cock comment. Usually better not to encourage him. If I answer one question, I will have to answer ten more. “This kind of obvious thing,” I just said, “no need to say lah. Waste saliva only.” Seng just put out his ciggie and pointed one more time at the kopi uncle, who immediately stood up, pulled up his pajama pants and shuffled over to make more kopi.

  “Guniang, you last night didn’t vomit is it?” he said, shaking his head. I didn’t move, hoping that if I didn’t say anything he would just shut up. “You ownself ask for it,” he said, lighting another ciggie. I could see him looking at me—­at first I thought maybe he’s pitying me or some shit but actually, it was quite funny. The fucker looked like he was concerned. Must be my lucky day.

  “You should know this what,” he continued, “if you are going to get that mabuk, then must make yourself throw up before sleeping. Otherwise, if you get hungover until like this, what’s the point of drinking?”

  It’s true lah. Right then, I was thinking, what is the point? That morning—­aiyoh. That morning. At first, when we left Attica, I planned to just go that guy’s place, finish already then make some quick excuse and go home. But then, my god, guniang here was so tired and mabuk I just fell asleep! Not to say that the guy was that good—­but luckily he was quick. So even though he was also quite mabuk it was almost literally like, garabing garabung then everything over already. If he didn’t shout one time when he came, I probably wouldn’t even know that anything happened. When he suddenly said “GOD!” guniang was actually lying there, still slowly adjusting my hair on the pillow and all, wondering whether I should try and turn over so I wouldn’t have to see his nose, which, once we got outside of Attica and I could actually see his face, I realized was not only big but also hairy as fuck. Kani nah, next time I go to Strip I’d better ask them whether they wax noses or not. If they don’t, next time I’m not even going to consider guys like this. I would have turned over from the start so I didn’t have to see that shit lah, but the first time with a guy, sometimes if you turn over they get the wrong idea. Hallo—­guniang here don’t do backside.

  Once the guy was done he went and got us some water—­sweet of him lah. That move, I appreciated. But by the time he came back I was already aslee
p. Then this morning, aiyoh. When I woke up at around nine, I could actually see that his apartment was not very nice. It’s not small—­one of those older condos, so it was quite spacious because when government first started granting land for building them, they parceled out bigger lots, so all of them were big big one. But even though it was not bad, it was totally empty! There was nothing on the walls—­just white and more white. In the living room, there was just one sofa, one coffee table and one giant flat-­screen TV and PlayStation. The fridge was empty. And walao eh, clothes were all over the place—­half-­rolled-­up socks, dirty T-­shirts, all thrown all over the living room floor. The bedroom (I guess maybe he doesn’t spend so much time there) was at least a bit neater.

  I was still walking around the living room, thinking of what else I could look at, when he came out of the bedroom and said, “Hey babes. Hungry?” In the daylight he wasn’t, say, terrible-­looking. The nose, it’s true, looked quite bad. (In the morning light I could see even more clearly just how much hair there was.) But his body—­which I could see even more now since he was still naked (and also since I wasn’t mabuk and feeling a bit cross-­eyed anymore by this point)—­was quite thin and nice; his smile, quite cute. If I didn’t know by now that I’d probably have to end up picking up his rotting underwear from the floor my whole life, then I actually might consider. Also, I couldn’t remember his name. Babi, why didn’t I think of going into his wallet and find out while he was still sleeping? Now, what should I call him?