Sarong Party Girls

by Cheryl Lu-Lien Tan

  “It’s OK, Jazz,” he said, looking sad again. “These things happen. Sean is a very handsome guy—­and you know, once they move me upstairs he will probably be the one sitting in this chair. So it’s good that you played your cards right. But I never doubted you—­Jazzy. You have a good head on your shoulders. You’re going to be all right.”

  I couldn’t believe I was hearing any of this. I was still trying to think of how to explain and how to make him believe when Albert continued.

  “Anyway, I didn’t call you in to talk to you about any of this,” he said. “Remember our conversation last week? I’m glad we had it because it’s so coincidental, I was talking to the head of circulation and he has a very good opening so I thought about you. We had some nice chitchats and it’s all settled . . .”

  Circulation? What nonsense is he talking?

  “Albert, thanks for the offer but I’m very happy working for you—­really,” I said. “I don’t want to move. I really really love working for you.”

  “Come on, Jazzy—­there’s no future for you here,” he said. “Don’t make this difficult, OK? It’s a very good job—­it even pays a bit more. Win-­win! Don’t say I never take care of you.”

  “But, Albert, I—­”

  “Please. Jazzy, don’t make this difficult—­be a pro, OK?” he said. “You’ve been working for me for how long? We’ve always had a good relationship. You’ve been great. But it’s time.”

  My mouth was still open but no words were coming out. I could see in Albert’s eyes that he was starting to feel a bit bad. Of course he should—­I’m the best assistant he’s ever had!

  “Jazz, eh—­what time is it now? Aiyoh, I’m really late. Better make a move,” he said, taking off his specs, quickly folding them and putting them back in his drawer.

  “Come, come—­it’s time to knock off! Don’t you young ­people have some big fun to get to on a Friday night?” he said, getting up and gesturing for me to quickly follow him. His face was starting to look impatient.

  Quietly, I followed behind him.

  “The new girl is coming on Monday, so pack up your desk this weekend,” he said. “But come here Monday morning and show her the ropes then report to Gerald Ho over in circulation by eleven. Don’t be late. Oh, and since I have that meeting at the printing plant I won’t be in until noon, so make sure she’s all settled in and knows how to order my lunch before you go.”

  Albert didn’t look back at me as he said any of this. And he didn’t turn around once the whole time I watched him walk all the way across the long newsroom and out the door.

  The only time I had to think was the thirty-­minute taxi drive that evening from the office to Manhattan.

  Usually it only takes fifteen or twenty minutes to get to that steak house near Raffles City, but thank god for Friday night clubbers and lovebirds. There were traffic jams everywhere, so at least I could delay things a bit and have more time to think. Taxi uncle was happy of course—­he was the kind that, when he sees a chio girl in a short skirt enter his taxi, wah, uncle purposely drives super slowly so he can talk cock a bit more and maybe see if he can get a phone number or not. (As if.) But the moment he started his rubbish chitchat I just said, “Uncle—­I’ve had a bloody hard day already. Please! Don’t make it worse.” Uncle just stared at me a bit through his rearview mirror and then shut up his mouth for the rest of the drive.

  Everything happened so quickly in Albert’s office that I didn’t have time to fully react until he was long gone. First of all, I still hadn’t told him the real story yet about what happened at Sean’s. He had been walking around all day thinking that I participated in Sean’s sick games? After I thought about it a bit more, I guess I could imagine what Sean said about me. (Fucking chee bye—­probably just trying to save his own face so he doesn’t have to explain to his work buddies why some peon from the office would rather run out into the darkness and walk to the main road in high heels than stay and suck his Eurasian cock.)

  But second of all—­and this one was more important—­why am I moving to circulation and what can I do to stop it? When I thought about my career trajectory, if there was any job that I thought Albert would be kindhearted enough to help me get—­in fact, he even suggested it himself a few times—­it was as an events planner for the company or somewhere else. The guy has so many contacts—­if anyone can help me make that leap, it’s him. And it seemed at some point that he was open to helping me down the road—­what happened? And circulation? I mean, yah, he still goes over there to say hello and flirt with his old assistants a bit every week but it’s where he shoves ­people when he no longer has much use for them. How could I possibly be in that category? Jazzy has worked too damn hard for him all these years to end up like those other losers before me. I am not Michelle!

  Perhaps I should try and explain the evening at Sean’s to Albert a bit more? I know that on weekends, I’m really not allowed to contact him unless it’s an emergency like the New Times building is burning down or his boss wants to give him company box seats for a soccer match. (And even then, I can make this emergency call only for some games—­Singapore versus Kelantan, can; Singapore versus Terengganu? If I dare to call him over that one, I confirm will get a scolding for at least two weeks.) But this issue with Sean’s party and circulation—­even if it’s not an emergency for him, it’s an emergency for me! Or maybe I can send him an email or a text to try and explain a bit and beg for my job back?

  Aiyoh, this one. How come I have ­people in my life to advise me on all sorts of things—­shopping lah, flirting lah, where to put your tongue on a guy’s cock lah. But when I have a career problem, everybody in my life is all bloody goondu about this kind of thing?

  I was still thinking about this, with no solution yet, when the taxi uncle pulled up to the Imperial Hotel.

  “Well,” I thought, as I paid taxi uncle, giving him a twenty-­cents tip because he was so nice to keep quiet. (At least uncle couldn’t say that guniang here was not appreciative.) “At least there’s Roy.”

  Before heading to the second floor where Manhattan was, even though I was a bit late, I made sure to stop in the loo to powder my nose first. After rinsing my face with some water and blotching it off with a tissue, I looked hard into the mirror. Pretty eyes, not bad nose, clear skin, nice smile. I even blew-­dry my hair this morning so it was a bit puffy, got volume and all. And I wore sweet dangly pearl earrings—­must look a bit classy for a work dinner after all—­to go with my black, slightly clingy silk dress, which was a little longer than the one last night but showed just a bit of cleavage. I even made sure to wear red lacy push-­up bra so Roy confirm could get a few small peeps here and there at dinner.

  Tonight, I’m going to show him why he needs me! Especially with some new tricks I learned from Alistair last week, I confirm can make Roy more satisfied than any girl has ever even tried.

  “Jazzy,” I mouthed into the mirror, pointing at my own face, “you are damn happening! Roy would be lucky to have you.”

  After that, guniang was energy a bit already. No need iPhone ­music—­in my head, I could already hear that Madonna song “Express Yourself.”

  “Don’t go for second best, baby, put your love to the test!”

  Guniang was mouthing the lyrics as I put on new lipstick, touched up my mascara and eye shadow, pinched my cheeks a bit to make them rosy, fluffed up my hair and blew a kiss into the mirror and all. (Of course it’s at that last moment that some old auntie walked into the loo and stared at me like I was mad.)

  Roy was waiting outside Manhattan when I got off the escalator. Wah—­he even had a big smile come on when he saw me. I tell you, after my bloody lousy day and the crazy night last night, seeing his smile made me happier than I’d felt in a long time.

  “There you are!” he said, walking forward to hug me—­tight. He pulled back a bit, kissed me very softly on the cheek a
nd said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes. I’ve missed you. Sorry that work has been so crazy. I’ve been dying for it all to be over so I could see you again.”

  Aiseh. Guniang here was damn happy!

  But must act cool a bit lah. “I’m glad,” I just said, smiling sweetly.

  “Now, before we go in, I have to explain something,” Roy said. “This guy is a really big client so I have to be very nice to him. But he’s a little . . . unusual, Jazzy. It’s hard to explain but he may be a little surprising and I just have to beg you to be a little patient—­OK? It’s just one dinner—­we’ve just got to get through it.”

  I was just so happy to be there I just nodded along. It was a work dinner—­how bad could it be?

  “Great—­I’m starving,” Roy said, “and everyone’s already inside. Shall we?” He stuck out his arm, so I took it, feeling like a lady and all. (Not lady like Camilla—­but Lady Diana, of course.)

  I had never been to Manhattan before but I had always heard good things about it—­Singapore’s number one steak house! So of course I had booked Albert dinner reservations there. But this restaurant is so expensive—­all the steaks are flown in from New Zealand or New York, that kind of thing, so the starting price for one piece is ninety-­six dollars, man. Kani nah! So of course even though Albert did occasionally take me along on his business lunches or dinners, he had never taken me here, not even when his dining companion’s company was paying. So when Roy texted that this was where the dinner is—­guniang thought, no matter what happens tonight, confirm is a win already.

  Lightly holding Roy’s arm, guniang here was almost floating as we walked through the restaurant. The burgundy carpeting was so thick that I could feel my heels sink in a bit each time I took a step—­in fact, it was so deep and thick, I could feel the soft carpet tickling my toes with each step. The tables were all covered with nicely ironed tablecloths, the waiters all wore tuxedos and had hair combed back neatly, like those old butlers in British shows. And every time one of them was near us, he would stop walking, bow a bit and stick his hands out, as if he were ushering us to a church pew. There was even some kind of violin classical shit playing softly in the background.

  This place—­it was exactly as I had always imagined in my fantasies of actually being taken here for a meal.

  Roy led me all the way to the back of the restaurant, where there was a wide black wooden door—­like one of those heavy castle doors you sometimes see in films. The waiter standing outside like a statue quickly jumped forward to open the door for us as we got close. The moment it opened, I could hear ­people laughing quite loudly inside. Good—­I actually had been quite scared that this was going to be some atas party where I don’t even know what to say to ­people. At least it sounded like this could be fun.

  Considering how big the door was, the room was actually quite small. Or maybe it was that the table inside was quite big. Either way, there was one long table that filled almost the whole room and all around it were eight men—­mostly ang mohs but there were also two toot Chinese faces in there. There was just one woman there—­a long-­haired young girl, pretty in a flat-­faced kind of way, Asian, though one of those slightly darker-­skinned Asians—­who was sitting close to the oldest man in the room, a guy with scruffy white hair wearing a flannel collared shirt.

  “Finally!” the flannel-­shirt guy said, getting up. “We were wondering where you went—­I don’t want to know but I’m glad you brought us some fresh meat! Now bring that bitty thing over here so we can have a good look!”

  I was having a bit of trouble understanding everything the guy was saying—­he was talking so loudly and with such a heavy American twang—­a bit like those ones you see in those old Clint Eastwood movies or the ones set a long time ago on some kind of plantation. These kinds of accents, you don’t normally hear in Singapore so much. Usually the Americans I meet all speak like Keanu Reeves—­a little bland, like newscasters on CNN; no accent, really. But I figured that this guy must be a big shot if he is the oldest in the room, and also the loudest. So guniang here knew that she’d better try and follow along!

  Roy quickly brought me all the way to the back of the room, since the guy was at the far end of the table, sitting like a king, having dinner with his advisors or something.

  “This is Bill Tucker,” Roy said, waving at the guy. “Or Tucker—­everyone calls him that.”

  “Hi,” I said, smiling and offering my hand for him to shake. “I’m Jazzy.”

  “My, my,” Tucker said, shaking my hand—­his grip was so firm my crushed hand immediately started paining a bit. He was looking at me up and down now—­even stopped damn long at my boobs. (No shame!) I started wondering if it was such a good idea to wear my red bra—­he was so tall, he confirm can look down my dress.

  “Aren’t you a catch?” Tucker said, shaking his head. “Now why are we so formal? Come over here!”

  Before I could figure out what he meant, he yanked my hand toward him so I practically fell into his big chest. Luckily guniang was at least fast enough to turn my face as this was happening so my lipstick didn’t end up smearing all over his blue checked shirt. But this wasn’t the end—­Tucker wrapped me in his strong arms, tight tight type, then cupped his hands over my backside and gave it a big squeeze.

  “Aiyoh!” I shouted, then quickly feeling a bit embarrassed—­guniang here was damn worried I was a bit too loud. This was Roy’s office function, after all. I didn’t want to make him feel ashamed about me.

  So I quickly said, “Oops, sorry,” and giggled a little bit. “I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

  “Oh don’t worry, honey—­I like loud,” Tucker said, laughing so hard that he finally released me—­but not before he slapped my backside one time, really hard! The guys at the table quickly laughed along with him, too. I could hear that Roy behind me was joining in. One of the Chinese guys at the other end of the table was laughing a bit less than the rest. I tried to read his face—­he looked a bit worried, and maybe sorry for me. I guess in my pearl earrings and nice makeup he must think I’m a nice lady or some shit. When he noticed me noticing him though, he quickly looked away and laughed even harder.

  “Now enough of all this—­let’s sit down so we can finally eat some meat,” Tucker said. “Now, y’all over there move so Jazzy over here can sit next to Vanida. You know girls, they like to do everything together—­chitchat together, go to the bathroom together, fuck a man together . . .”

  Even before the laughter from that disappeared, the two ang mohs sitting next to the girl quickly moved to the other side of the room, where a waiter was now adding chairs so they could sit down.

  Tucker started talking again the moment Roy and I sat down. “Now this pretty thing is Vanida,” he said.

  I stuck out my hand to shake Vanida’s. She looked a little surprised to be offered a handshake but adjusted her gauzy silk wrap over her tight bustier dress a bit so she could shake my hand. I was about to introduce myself when Tucker continued talking: “I knew I’d like this one the moment they told me her name—­I figured any girl whose parents have the right mind to give their daughter a name that’s like ‘vagina’ have got their priorities straight!” He slapped the leg of his jeans and laughed loudly again. Roy and the boys followed along, laughing even louder.

  Now, I know that in some social circles I can be considered a bit kampong lah—­I’ve never been to the States or London before, I’m not rich, and sometimes, even though my English is very good, I still don’t quite understand the different language social customs or slangs of different countries. But in my whole life, not even in the sleaziest of clubs and certainly not on any work events that Albert had dragged me to, I had never met anyone like Tucker. I had met Americans before, of course—­but none of them were ever like this. Usually, no matter where they came from or how little money they had, they were at least classy a bit. But this guy—­my g
od! But he’s an important client of Roy’s? No choice, even if I was a bit uncomfortable, I figured I’d better just endure the dinner for Roy. I wanted so desperately to make him see me as good partner material, after all. This was my chance.

  So, I just smiled.

  I guess they must have ordered already because a round of big steaks started arriving—­all American steaks. Even though American steaks are much more expensive than Ozzie or Kiwi steaks, apparently Tucker only eats American beef. And he wants everyone to eat American beef, so we all got one—­with mashed potato and grilled asparagus some more. At least this was the one bright spot—­the food itself was going to be something like what I had envisioned when I used to dream about eating at Manhattan one day.

  “Who are these ­people?” I whispered to Roy as the table got a bit quiet while everyone was cutting their meat and passing around plates of asparagus.

  “Boys in my office,” he whispered back. “And Tucker—­his firm is one of our really big clients. He’s semiretired now but still comes through a few times a year on his way to or from Bangkok.”

  “And his girlfriend?” I asked.

  “Girlfriend? Please,” Roy said, laughing a bit and rolling his eyes. “I’m learning more and more about the ways of white men in Asia this week. Apparently it’s a new girl for Tucker every time. But he likes this one a little more than the previous ones, I think. He was telling us the other night that he kept her for most of the month he was in Bangkok this time and even paid extra to bring her along with him on his Singapore leg.”

  I guess I must have looked concerned or something because Roy pinched my cheek and smiled.

  “Look, I know it’s a bit strange,” he said. “But I really did want to see you and I promise you, after this dinner is over, I am all yours. I’ll make it up to you.”

  OK lah—­now this evening was actually going somewhere. Guniang smiled back.

  The whole table around us suddenly got super noisy—­everyone was laughing at something that Tucker just said, so Roy and I turned back to them and tried to follow along. I guess one of the Chinese guys had made some comment about not really knowing how to tell whether a woman has come or something. The things that were being discussed at this dinner—­just shameful! Americans, I tell you.