by Ovidia Yu
Aunty Lee remembered how interested Cherril had been in Jonny Ho’s plans. ‘What did Jonny Ho do to make you angry with him? I know there must be something, because at first you two were so happy talking about this plan, that plan, but now when you hear his name you put on your frozen face.’
‘It’s nothing. He asked me about my surname: whether I was married to an Indian man or English man.’
‘Why … ?’ Aunty was stopped by the expression on her partner’s face.
‘Why did he ask? Or why did I find it offensive?’
‘Both. More the second one because I think the reason he asked is because he wanted to know. If I don’t know Mycroft’s family I also would ask you, what.’
Fortunately, this made Cherril laugh. Her face relaxed. ‘You’re different. Oh I don’t know. Maybe I overreacted. I suppose because some people seem to think it’s a step up to have a Caucasian husband and a step down to have an Indian one, and I could tell Jonny Ho is one of those. I just pretended not to hear him. I think he saw I minded because he tried to make it better by telling me that he was surprised because I was very pretty and should have no problem finding a Chinese husband. Of course that made it worse. Then later he said I was lucky to have such fair skin; unless my husband was very dark we could still have cute babies.’
‘Alamak!’
‘That’s what he told me. “I can help you, you know. You don’t have to stay with the black-skin husband. Even if you don’t like me, I have many Chinese friends, I can find you a good man”.’
Aunty Lee snorted. ‘Maybe he wants to make cute babies with you. You should have offered to sell him skin-whitening products.’
‘He probably manufactures the stuff. Can you believe how many businesses he’s involved in? What does he want to see you about, anyway?’
It was Thursday afternoon after the lunch rush. The part-time helpers had gone off till it was time to make and pack the dinner takeaway orders. Cherril could cope with any teatime guests on her own. Arranging for people to order takeaway dinners online and by phone had been one of Cherril’s better ideas. It saved a lot of time because people were forced to decide on what they wanted ahead of time instead of asking questions about every ingredient in every dish till something sparked their appetite. Since the café was close to several large housing estates and condominiums, they could still close their doors at 8 p.m. on most days. This allowed most people to collect ‘home cooked’ dinners on their way home; it wouldn’t have been possible if they served dinners on the premises. Nina and Mark had set up the automated phone order system, and there were several promising buzzes that Aunty Lee forced herself not to leap up to process.
Cherril had finally sat down to her own lunch and would go through the orders after. Aunty Lee was seldom hungry after a morning of sampling and taste testing sauces and dishes but Cherril had made herself a peanut butter sandwich, ‘just for a change,’ she had said when she saw Aunty Lee looking at it. Aunty Lee understood perfectly. Sometimes you needed something just a little different and disconcerting to remind you not to take for granted the things that you had chosen to keep close to you in daily life.
That was what Aunty Lee thought of Jonny Ho.
Jonny Ho was very interesting indeed, even apart from his soap opera-star good looks. Aunty Lee thought she could see a little of what Patty had found so attractive in the man. His English was far too proper to have been picked up naturally, at least in Singapore, but at least he could be easily understood. Maybe he could get a job as a MediaCorp actor if his many businesses didn’t work out. MediaCorp was Singapore’s main commercial media company, turning out plots that reminded Aunty Lee of Jonny Ho’s more flamboyant ideas. It was his dynamic energy that was his most attractive point. Even if you did not like what people were doing, the mere fact of their doing something while others stood by drew your attention to them.
The blare of a car horn sounded just then.
‘I suppose I’m going to find out,’ Aunty Lee said. ‘I’m just going to the toilet first. Go and tell him I’m coming so that he doesn’t blare his horn anymore. Don’t let me forget my handbag. Tell him I’ll be out in a minute!’
Stationing herself by the entrance with Aunty Lee’s large handbag, Cherril saw Jonny Ho’s blue Subaru idling on the feeder road in front the café. He touched his horn again on seeing her instead of Aunty Lee, and she decided to let him wait. The loud horn went perfectly with the loud person driving the loud car.
Cherril knew Nina would not have approved of someone summoning Aunty Lee out of the café with a car horn, even less would she have approved of Aunty Lee responding. Suddenly Cherril missed Nina very much. Nina would have told Jonny Ho off with no second thoughts. But she knew … or suspected … it was precisely because of Nina that Aunty Lee was leading Jonny Ho on. Surely she could not seriously consider working with the man!
‘Wah, had to pack your suitcase, is it?’ Jonny said when Aunty Lee approached the car, having taken her handbag from Cherril.
She could tell he meant it as a joke. The man was out to charm her, which he did by throwing out flirtatious insults in the manner of adolescent boys. Some men never grew up beyond that stage. He was nervous and that gave his words an accusing edge: ‘Come out for car ride also take so long. Get in, quick. We got to get going.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Wait and you’ll see. Do you like my car?’ He revved the engine and they took off in the direction of Dunearn Road.
‘Your car is designed for skinny young people with good knees, not people like me. Are we going to meet with Nina? I want to see Nina. Can you turn around and stop by my house first, to get some things for Nina?’
‘Who is Nina? Oh … no, not today. Beth is still very busy and working very hard and she needs Nina to help her. Anyway Beth will get her whatever she needs.’ His face darkened when Nina’s name came up, so Aunty Lee pursued the matter.
‘I want to pass some things to Nina. She does not have very many of her clothes with her. And she must have finished her vitamins by now. I want to pass her a new tube. Do you take Vitamin C? It is very good for you, you know. And psyllium husk also. Since we started taking psyllium husk, no more problem in the bathroom!’
But Jonny Ho continued heading towards Dunearn Road and the city rather than turning back into Binjai Park where Aunty Lee’s house was.
He was an impatient driver, changing lanes left and right to get out from behind slower cars and keeping up a running commentary on how stupid the other drivers were. He kept his engine revving even when they were stopped at a red light, and the car sounded like a powerful beast dying to be unleashed. The powerful beast was frustrated along the length of Orchard Road, where there were junctions and pedestrian crossings every few hundred metres. Indeed, the whole of Singapore offered few opportunities to exercise such a car. You could beat all the other cars by taking off as soon as the light changed in your favour, but they would catch up with you at the next light.
‘Do you drive up to Malaysia?’ Aunty Lee wondered whether Jonny Ho was one of the daredevils that went expressway racing.
‘What for? I am sounding out some business deals there, but flying is faster.’
He had business deals everywhere, and ideas for more. Jonny Ho’s gusto for new ideas and projects reminded Aunty Lee of her stepson, Mark, who was also always in search of something to devote himself to. The problem with Mark was that throughout his schooldays he had always been in the top class of a top school without ever being a top student. He had been an average runner and average swimmer without ever making the school team in any sport. As a result, he had been labelled ‘creative’ and ‘artistic’ and come to think of himself as an innovator and entrepreneur. But his interest seldom went beyond coming up with ideas and talking about them. He had never learned to work hard at anything, dropping out of every challenge once the real work began.
Fortunately, or not, his wife, Selina, saw herself as sensible, practical, and organize
d. She had been very impressed by how well she organized and disciplined other girls during her time as Head Prefect, and so far the rest of her life had not measured up to that glowing start. Selina might have made a good CEO or army sergeant or hospital administrator, but her time in school had also conditioned her to believe that in order to be fulfilled she needed to be married to a successful man. Without her Mark Lee might have been an artistic dilettante respected for his gourmet tastes and musical talents. Thanks to his wife he was an impulsive entrepreneur who had lost a substantial amount of money over the years, because Selina, unfortunately, was not much better at managing money than her husband.
There was something about Beth Kwuan that reminded Aunty Lee of Selina. But what? Selina was married and having a baby; Beth had never married and didn’t seem likely to. Selina invested all her energy into making something of her husband; Beth was following her dreams and setting up her own school. The two women couldn’t have been more different, other than both having been school prefects … and they had both kept the habit of telling other people to follow the rules they knew better than anyone else.
Jonny Ho drove them to Ngee Ann City off Orchard Boulevard. As he started up the winding ramp to the car park, Aunty Lee suddenly remembered why she had avoided that mall for so long: the ginseng chicken at the Crystal Jade restaurant. That ginseng chicken was the bane of her cooking existence. Despite many attempts she had never managed to get her chicken as simultaneously tender and flavourful as theirs.
A new thought struck her now. ‘Do you think I should rear my own chickens? If we rear the chickens and feed ginseng to them then the taste will be inside the chicken meat.’
‘You want chickens? I can source chickens for you,’ Jonny Ho told her without slowing down. ‘I can find you the best chicken meat at the best price. But before we talk business we got to trust each other, right? That’s why we are here today.’
Aunty Lee did not see how a trip to Ngee Ann City could inspire trust, but Jonny Ho led her to the office lifts in the Podium Block and pressed the button for the seventeenth floor.
‘What are we doing here?’ Aunty Lee looked around the plush lobby. The whole floor was occupied by a branch of Cognate Finance, and the lifts opened onto a lobby with mirrors and antique-looking tables with pots of orchids boasting massive sprays of blooms.
‘Real,,’ Aunty Lee confirmed after a test pinch and sniff. These days imitation orchids were looking so authentic only the ‘green culture’ fanatics and the very wealthy bothered to cultivate the real thing. Cognate Finance definitely catered to the very wealthy. Aunty Lee knew Cognate took care of her investments but she had never been to this branch. It was much nicer than the Raffles Place branch, she thought. That office was surrounded by office blocks and other banks, but here you had shopping centres and restaurants.
‘Afterwards I want to go down to the basement food hall and see what is new there. I heard there is a sticky rice place and the Thai seafood stall has moved in also.’
Jonny Ho wasn’t listening. He seemed to be looking around for someone. He took Aunty Lee’s arm and guided her through the entrance doors when they slid open and now he stood, still holding her arm, in what might have been a posh airport business lounge. There were several conversational clusters (comfortably upholstered chairs around low coffee tables) and a discreet desk against the far wall. Aunty Lee was surprised but did not mind. It was nice that this young man was concerned about her falling down or wandering off, whatever he thought of her mental state.
‘We’re going to talk to a banker about Patty’s investments. I think you will find it quite interesting.’
Aunty Lee didn’t tell him Patty’s personal banker had already turned down her inquiry. She only hoped the banker wouldn’t mention it in the presence of Patty’s husband.
‘Can I help you?’ A tall dark woman in a grey skirt suit paused on her way past them.
‘No problem. We are waiting for somebody,’ Jonny said brusquely.
‘Well, have a good day.’ The woman smiled, nodded to Aunty Lee, and left.
Jonny Ho’s polite deference disappeared even before the doors slid shut after the woman. “‘Have a good day’, ‘Have a good day,’” he mocked with an exaggerated Indian accent. ‘Trying to sound so important. Who do you think you are talking to … Finally! What took you so long? We were standing here looking stupid, answering stupid questions!’
‘I’m so sorry, Jonny. My boss was on the phone and got held up, then she had some things for me to do … ’ The girl looked and sounded flustered but she looked sweet and smiled at Aunty Lee.
Aunty Lee smiled back and studied her curiously. The young woman was plump and dressed in a soft, pale blue, long-sleeved knitwear blouse over a bright pink floral skirt. The colours suited her and matched the blue highlights on her eyelids and blue stones in her earrings. Aunty Lee saw that, despite her hurry, she had found time to freshen her lipstick … which, like the pink shimmer on her nails, matched the flowers on her skirt. Unless she was this perfectly coordinated every day (which was, of course, possible) this girl had dressed up specially to impress someone. And Aunty Lee knew who that someone was. She looked up at Jonny Ho expecting embarrassed awareness. But Jonny was looking around the room. For all the attention he paid her, the girl might have been a piece of furniture. But Aunty Lee knew he must have cultivated her at some point. A woman’s interest in a man needs some encouragement before she displays it.
‘Why don’t we talk inside your office?’ Jonny Ho started to walk in the direction the girl had come from. His hand was still holding Aunty Lee’s forearm from below and she walked along with him, slightly faster than she would have on her own. She didn’t get a chance to look at the paintings on the walls or into the rooms they were passing along the corridor. Many of these seemed to be empty conference rooms. He might have been supporting a frail grandmother protectively, Aunty Lee thought, or a girlfriend possessively.
‘Of course. We can talk in my office.’ The woman edged past them and hurried on ahead, right to the end of the corridor. She had chunky legs and didn’t seem very steady on the high heels she was wearing.
Aunty Lee could not remember much of the Raffles Place branch of Cognate so she looked around with interest. She remembered the feeling of being surrounded by luxury that encouraged you to take it for granted. That was present here too. The thick carpeting of the room the girl now led them into, for instance. It was neither dark nor light nor thick enough to draw your attention to it but Aunty Lee knew that if she had been alone in this room she would have been tempted to take off her shoes so she could sink her toes through the thick soft pile.
It was a large corner room. Windows on two walls met at a right angle and gave the impression the desk at their apex was suspended over the city.
‘Please have a seat … both of you.’ The girl seated herself behind the desk and opened a file in front of her. ‘Jonny … Mr Ho … it’s good to see you again. What can I do for you today?’
‘I told you, you call me Jonny.’ Jonny’s confident assurance returned as he settled into his chair and stretched out his long legs. ‘We are all friends here together, right? Miss Wong, I want to introduce you to Mrs M. L. Lee. Mrs Lee and I are thinking of going into a business partnership together. But in such cases you cannot be too careful, right? So since we are both clients of your banking services I thought the best thing we can do is come here and get you to check us out for each other.’
‘Hello, Mrs Lee, I am Miss Wong. And if I may say so that’s very wise of you,’ the girl said. ‘Let me just show you both what we have.’
‘You haven’t been working here long, right?’ Aunty Lee said conversationally, looking around the office. The name plaque on the desk read Ms Wilhelmina Wong. The girl did not, Aunty Lee thought, look like a ‘Wilhelmina’.
‘Why do you say that?’ Miss Wong said with a little laugh.
‘The decoration here doesn’t suit you. You wear such pretty bright co
lours but your office decor all so dark and sophisticated.’
What Aunty Lee really meant was that the elegant, minimalist office decor (three sprigs of dark red orchids in a curved tube of black glass) seemed designed by an older, more assured woman who probably did Pilates and asked for Hokkien Mee without fried lard cubes … if indeed she ever ate fried Hokkien Mee. The plump, sweet Miss Wong behind the desk looked as though she would order her Hokkien Mee with extra pork and would be more at home in Aunty Lee’s own cheerful, cluttered kitchen.
‘Also, the name on your desk says “Ms Wong” but you call yourself “Miss Wong”. Why ah?’
‘I use both,’ Miss Wong said, again prefacing it with a little laugh. It was a buying time laugh, Aunty Lee thought. Someone must have told her to laugh every time she felt inclined to say ‘Uhm’ or ‘Er’.
‘When dealing with the younger, more Westernized clients, I use “Ms”. But when dealing with the older, more respectable clients such as yourself I use “Miss”. It’s all about making the clients feel at ease.’
‘The office decor here is all professionally done,’ Jonny Ho explained. ‘Everything here is standardized. That’s how it’s done in big companies.’ He turned back to the girl. ‘Go ahead.’
Miss Wong went ahead. To Aunty Lee’s surprise she began with a list of Aunty Lee’s own investments. Aunty Lee had never paid much attention to the trading of her investments. As M. L. had always said, it was no use celebrating paper gains or crying over paper losses. He had not invested to make money and was content as long as he preserved his capital and made more than he would have got from a fixed deposit account.
Darren persisted in sending Aunty Lee printouts of all transactions made on her behalf, but she trusted him and seldom bothered to read them. Since these were single-sided printouts on beautiful thick paper (such a waste of the trees cut down to produce them) Aunty Lee used them as rough paper for shopping reminders, instructions, and recipe corrections. As far as she could tell, what Miss Wong was reading sounded fairly accurate.
