Don’t ask me why this was fashion. Please—these are really old uncles we’re talking about. Who cares? But if I have to guess, I think it’s maybe something quite symbolic, that if their real birds cannot perform anymore then they might as well buy birds to rear and compete so they can at least feel better about one thing in their pathetic lives. You know how guys are lah—no more good bird to fight also still want to fight.
I guess that’s why when it was so quiet that I could hear birds in the air—immediately, I felt like something was wrong. After all, we definitely weren’t in a 1990s kopitiam!
“Shall we sit?” Roy suddenly said, bursting my kopitiam uncle-bird memories. We had come upon a bench in the shade. I looked around—Roy wasn’t bad. He had managed to pick the only bench all around us that was nicely painted and not speckled with birdshit. (Although if my mum was here, she would say, “Bird shit—very lucky!” Not that she would actually dare go near a bench that was filled with bird shit, of course.)
Roy quickened his step a little before getting to the bench, taking out a packet of tissue from his pocket, pulling a sheet out and wiping down the bench before looking over at me. Tilting his head a little, he waved his hand with a big flourish, like those emcees onstage before introducing a singer or some shit.
“My lady?” he said, smiling and bowing a bit. OK lah—this move, even I have to admit, is quite can. It’s stupid lah. My god. So stupid. But I couldn’t help but smile.
We sat quietly for a bit, just sipping our coffees—lattes from Starbucks, mind you. (The thought of Seng buying me kopi at the kopitiam popped into my head all of a sudden. I was trying to imagine him asking me out on a coffee date like this in the park. My god, the guy would confirm show up with those old coolie-style clear plastic bags filled with kopi and then tied together with fluorescent pink plastic string into a loop so you can hook the hot bag of kopi on your finger and bring back a whole bunch, one for each of your Ah Beng friends. That’s just what happens when you buy takeaway kopi from a kopitiam. I wondered if Seng had ever even been inside a Starbucks and actually laughed out loud.)
“What’s so funny?” Roy asked.
“Nothing, nothing,” I said, feeling a bit embarrassed. When he still looked a bit curious, I figured I should say something. “Just happy to be here.”
Roy smiled. “Good, I’m really glad, Jazzy,” he said, taking a long sip. “You know, I asked you out here today so we could maybe get to know each other in a slightly more relaxed setting. I was starting to think maybe we’d started out on a bit of an intense footing, with, you know . . .” He looked over at me, slightly embarrassed.
“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” he continued, “it was lovely how things began. You were so lovely. But it’s just not how I usually go about things. I’m really not like that back in England. I just . . . wanted to slow things down a little. See where things go.”
Interesting. In all my years of dating—especially with ang mohs—I had never heard such a speech before. Usually when guys reach the promised land, they like to stay there. No need to go anywhere else type. But here Roy was saying he wanted to get to know me outside of clubs and the bedroom? I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to this piece of information. But then I remembered that he did just move to Singapore not too long ago. The scene probably hadn’t corrupted him—yet.
So I just smiled and said, “I’m glad.” From the slightly relieved smile on his face, I could tell it was the right response.
“You know,” Roy said, leaning back, draping his arm around my shoulder and looking out at the trees, the pond, the swans in front of us, “in some ways, I feel I was destined to come to Singapore. When I was ten, one of my dad’s friends who had come here on a business trip gave me this Singapore five-dollar bill and it had this drawing of the bulbul on it—do you know what that is? No? It’s a small tropical bird that you find in various parts of the world. It’s nothing very special to look at but it’s a songbird . . . Anyway, I was just getting really into bird-watching at the time and had just been reading about the bulbul—the idea of it being on a five-dollar bill, wow. I couldn’t get over it! I guess Singapore has been on my mind ever since . . .”
Bulbul? Bird-watching? This guniang was definitely in new territory here. If it had been any of my friends telling cock stories like this I would have just laughed and whacked them on the head and said, “You talking what cock? Don’t pretend to be deep lah!” But I remembered Roy’s car. And how tenderly he wiped down the bench for me, for us. And I decided to just be quiet a bit. Let him talk. See how. And actually, by the time we finished our coffees and walked back to the car, I was feeling like maybe—just maybe—even if the oil refinery career is not quite part of the big plan, even if he has that bloody hairy nose, maybe Roy has real potential.
Just thinking about our walk while at Studemeyer’s with Fann and the guys was still making me smile. That’s how happy I was, I guess. I took out my phone and thought about texting Roy, wondering what he was up to tonight. But I thought, I just saw him earlier today. Just let it rest for a bit. See how. I put my phone back in my clutch.
At that moment, Kelvin pointed to the small oblong podium in the middle of the dance floor that was, as usual, jammed with four or five people trying to action for everyone to see. When Studemeyer’s first opened and they were still trying to be a bit atas, they actually selected podium people—sexy sexy girls and guys who actually know how to dance, dress well and also look quite steam lah. At that time, those podium people were quite inspiration—you see them dancing like in those music videos (sometimes even making the exact moves—this was especially effective with Janet Jackson songs), it just makes you want to dance harder and look sexier. Everybody feels good. But as I mentioned before, their standards really dropped after the Ah Bengs started coming. Now, they just anyhow let people go on the podium and dance. Good clubs—how can they let such things happen? No wonder all the serious clubbers don’t really like coming here anymore.
The podium tonight was a perfect example of this—my god, the variety of losers on it were A-plus-plus, man. There was one classic Ah Beng with the gelled hair and lumpar face, two Ah Lians, both wearing sequin cheena dresses like those KTV bar girls, one fat ang moh guy who confirm is a tourist—must be American, some more, judging from his T-shirt and baggy berms. I tell you—sometimes being ang moh is quite the good life. When they go to a club, they’re not Singaporeans so they don’t need to watch the dress code. Whatever you wear also any club will let you in.
And then—wah, this one I actually had never seen on the podium before—there was one vainpot auntie up there, a bit chubby chubby but still damn bloody vain. Auntie looked quite old—maybe thirty-something?—but even so, somehow she was the most energy, the most action of all the podium dancers. She was wearing tight jeans—but not those fashion fashion dark blue one. Hers were light blue; the denim looked like those cheapo, buy from the “fashion” stalls at the wet market kind. And yeah, her jeans were damn tight on her—but I can tell you it’s not because the jeans were designed to be tight. Even though the dance floor was quite dark, I could see from here that her legs were blown up like two sausage rolls. But lagi best was her top—she wore this loose, a bit see-through white tank top with such big arm holes that you could see her lacy bra. And this auntie’s bra—don’t play play! Fluorescent orange! Plus, she danced until so powerful that her bra straps kept slipping, so every few minutes auntie had to stop dancing, catch her breath and pull up her bra. She would stop, rest for a few seconds and then—action again!
I tell you, the four of us watched her for a few songs—and we laughed until we almost fell over the railing, man!
“Ladies,” Kelvin said, raising his glass to cheers with us again. “Please—promise me that when you are that old I won’t see your saggy backsides up on that podium!”
“Eh, Kelvin,” I said, clinking my glass with his. “Thanks for the advice—I see you are listening to your own advice as well? You and auntie over there are both the same age but I don’t see you joining her up there on the podium.”
Kelvin stopped smiling—his face had this bang balls look. He gave me the third finger but Andrew, Fann and I just laughed and laughed.
Just when I started to be in OK mood, settling into the clubbing scene and not really thinking about texting Roy anymore or wondering what he’s doing tonight, I saw someone waving at me from the dance floor. Kani nah—it’s Seng! Why does he have to be so bloody GPS—know how to find me and all? I didn’t want to be rude, so I just waved back then looked away. But ten minutes later, the fucker showed up on our level and was standing next to me in our booth!
“Excuse me?” Kelvin said to Seng and the even bigger Ah Beng friend he had dragged up with him to the VIP section. “Sorry, but this is a private table that we have reserved.”
“It’s OK,” Seng said, giving Kelvin a big fuck-off face. “That one,” he added, pointing at me, “my friend.”
Kelvin laughed, then looked at me. “Jazz? Real or not?”
Seng look at me; I look at him. I felt quite bad, especially after thinking about what my mum told me the other day, about how he bought her and Pa breakfast last week and all.
“Yeah, yeah, no problems—he’s my old friend,” I said, feeling damn bloody embarrassed. “But this one—is from a very long time ago!”
Kelvin just shook his head and gave me a dagger look before going over to whisper to Andrew. Fann looked at me and mouthed the words: “Why is he here?” I had nothing to say.
“Jazzy—this one, my friend Richard; Richard—Jazzy, my neighbor,” Seng said. His friend was one of those really smelly-face Ah Bengs—the kind of face that always looks like he just ate something wrong. Richard just looked at me, tilted his chin up and nodded. When Ah Bengs say hallo—is like that one. They never shake hands.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Seng.
“I sometimes come here,” he said. “Studemeyer’s is damn happening!”
Aiyoh, my god. Of course Seng is the exact sort of guy who would think this club is still happening.
“Don’t angry lah, Jazzy,” Seng said. “Long long time never see you in club already. Let’s just dance a bit.”
I was trying to think about what to do when the deejay started playing Black Eyed Peas and everyone around us started dancing like crazy and singing, “I gotta feeling . . . that tonight’s gonna be a good night!” and all. I didn’t want to kill the mood so I decided to dance along, but each time I looked over at Seng and Richard, my blood would really boil. The Ah Bengs were just happily dancing along, ignoring the dirty looks that Fann, Kelvin and Andrew were giving them. Why on earth was Seng here? Isn’t it bad enough that he harasses me in my own neighborhood, he comes to my house when I’m not there, but now he has to talk to me in clubs when I’m with my atas friends? And he even dares to bring his mega Ah Beng friend along when bothering me! Please. He really doesn’t understand his place in life.
Halfway through the song, Andrew slowly danced closer to me, moving between me and Seng, who gave him a dirty look. Andrew leaned close to my ear and said, “This bugger—is he really your friend?”
I nodded but made sure to roll my eyes.
“He keeps giving me dirty looks—bodyguard, is it? Or boy toy?” Andrew said, purposely putting his arm around me now. I’ve never been Andrew’s type so he’s never done anything like this to me before—and I knew that this move tonight wasn’t about that, really. And I knew his strategy worked—I could see Seng glaring at him even more.
“Aiyoh, Jazzy,” Andrew said, getting closer and really whispering in my ear now. “We’ve been partying together for so long, why are you giving us no face by bringing an Ah Beng cock blocker? Want to make us jealous, is it?”
Andrew was rubbing his nose on my ear now and kept looking over at Seng to make sure he was seeing everything. This was getting out of hand. I don’t know what Andrew was playing at but guniang tonight had no mood to flirt with anybody. Not even with Chairman Andrew with his millions of dollars, thank you very much. After last night with Alistair and then today’s sweet walk with Roy, all I wanted tonight was some good clean fun—no hooking up, no drama. My god, that Alistair guy was still texting me! Guniang here just wanted to forget that it ever happened.
I sweetly smiled and moved away from Andrew. “No lah,” I said, smiling even more. “This guy is my teenage friend—from a long time ago. I also don’t know what longkang he came from tonight. Trust me—this kind of guy, I definitely didn’t invite him.”
I looked over at Fann, who had stopped dancing awhile ago and was sitting on the banquette, texting and looking grumpy. I looked over at Seng, who was staring at me and Andrew, probably trying to figure out if he should interfere and try to whack Andrew’s face or something. Like that—how?
My phone was in my pocket vibrating—actually, it had vibrated a few times that night but I didn’t care about answering since it was probably Alistair. But at this moment, I needed an excuse to take a break from all this manhood crap so I sat down next to Fann and checked my texts.
There were two texts from Alistair. I didn’t bother to look at them.
Then, from Louis: “Jazz—Inferno is damn happening tonight. You girls come here lah. I’m not going to Studemeyer’s.” After that he sent a few more saying, “Hello? Hello?” then “Coming or not?”
“Fann,” I said, “let’s go.”
“Thank god,” she said, quickly picking up her handbag and getting up. “Bloody boring here, man.”
“Andrew,” I said, giving him a hug. “We make a move first.”
As Fann and I ran out, I gave a quick wave to Kelvin, Seng and Richard. They all looked a bit blur. I could see them wondering if we were going to the toilet or leaving for good. Whatever, lah.
Once we were outside, Fann said, “Eh, I think I’ll go home first.”
“Home your head lah—it’s only eleven P.M.!” I said. “You think I don’t know where you going—to see Melvin, right?”
At least Fann had the decency to look a bit embarrassed.
“Aiyoh—it’s Saturday night!” I said. “Come on, woman—this is not nice.”
“Jazzy,” she said. “Weren’t you the one who told us that we must be focused on our mission? I am being focused! Melvin is a good catch. Things are going well,” she said, smiling as if she was remembering something about him, and then giggling a little.
Watching her made me feel bad. It’s true. I shouldn’t lose sight of the mission. If Fann has a chance to be happy, then I really shouldn’t be so selfish. I guess this is how it is lah—when people have wings already, they know how to fly. You cannot hold them back.
“Aiyah, OK fine—just go and give your backside to him lah!” I said, smacking her pantat one time and smiling.
Fann pointed her third finger at me. “You? What are you going to do?”
“Don’t worry—I’ll join Louis at Inferno,” I said. “The night is still young—maybe I’ll meet my ang moh billionaire tonight!”
chapter 16
There was a unicorn at the door when I got to Inferno.
Of course, not a real unicorn lah. But some tall, buff guy dressed like a unicorn; the horn at the top of his mask was even long and sharp—sharp enough to seriously hurt someone, probably. Wah, I thought, if there’s a fight here tonight, this guy no need to carry parang also can win. Nowadays in Singapore, you cannot be too careful. Just last month, some guy was walking by the McDonald’s near the cinema on Orchard Road minding his own business when some Ah Beng gang thought he was ac
ting too ya ya or some shit and whacked him with a parang! That guy was slashed with that machete I don’t know how many times, go hospital all; blood all over the place. There were even kids all around watching this happening—the Ah Bengs just didn’t care.
Ah Bengs these days—really getting to be too much. That’s why I don’t really understand Seng. Picking up all these Ah Beng habits is a slippery slope, you know—one day you are growing a long fingernail to dig your ears and saying “jee-lo” instead of “zero” and the next day you may find yourself holding parang and whacking innocent people on the street just because you think they’re staring at you. All I know is, guniang here better just stay out of it all.
Inferno is safe though—this kind of club, confirm will have no Ah Bengs. Since it opened last month, it’s not only one of the hottest clubs in Singapore, but actually, in the world! Just yesterday, the New Times wrote a big story that the Perth Tribune called Inferno the “Best New Bar in Southeast Asia,” all. If a newspaper in Perth is actually saying that then this club is confirm happening!
Once the unicorn ushered me into the club, a tall and pretty Eurasian girl in a sexy black dress—short, yes, but with a classy classy cut—welcomed me and led me to a reception room. “And you are with?” she said in a British accent, pulling out an iPad wrapped in zebra skin. I was quite impressed—I whole life never see this kind of iPad cover before. I wanted to ask her whether I could touch it or not but thought, Jazzy, please, wake up your head. You cannot be so LC!
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