Sarong Party Girls

chapter 13

The thing about clubbing is, if you don’t have some rich (or stupid) guy buying you drinks the whole night, your life is really quite pathetic.

So I knew this problem with Louis and Imo better be solved ASAP. How? My head was starting to hurt. OK lah—no choice. Just call for another girls’ meeting after work at Ice Cold Beer and see how to bring it up. This bar was a good choice—mellow mellow type, plus, it was in the middle of a quite touristy area so there would definitely be ang mohs there. So even if Imo and Fann wanted to shout and whack each other in the face, I knew they wouldn’t dare to do it in front of potential ang moh boyfriends. Face is face lah. The expat community is so small—if you lose your temper once in public, everyone will talk.

I asked Fann to get there early so we could chitchat before Imo came—besides, this being Friday night it might be nice to be out and about early anyway, check out the scenery and all.

“Fann, listen—I want you to apologize to Imo…” I said, holding up my hand to Fann’s face before she started trying to interrupt, telling me that kani nah she’d already apologized to Imo how many times already, why is it her fault when Louis was the one who started it and all?

“Look, I don’t care how many times you texted or called her—you haven’t done it face-to-face,” I said, pinching her nose to get her to stop talking. This move always embarrasses her, but since secondary school, it’s always been the most effective method.

“Just do it OK?” I continued, now that she was silent. “And you’d better make it sound bloody sincere, like you are practically on your knees, begging for her forgiveness. Don’t actually get on your knees, of course. But just make it sound like it, OK? Otherwise, I tell you, this sisterhood may be over already. We’ve already lost Sher—if we lose Imo, then how? Just you and me going chionging together? Boring lah! If Imo leaves, we are over. So please—just swallow your pride and say you’re sorry. The real kind of sorry.”

I only let go of her nose after I was done talking. Fann started being damn drama and all, rubbing her nose and breathing hard, staring at me.

“Understood?” I said. Fann nodded, then took her Chanel compact out of her handbag to quickly touch up her nose before anyone else could see.

Now that that was settled, we could focus on more important things—ordering drinks! I waved at the waitress and ordered three vodka green teas. Good choice—the green tea has caffeine. (I think?) Maybe it would help me energy a bit—we had a long night ahead of us. Fann said she had something special planned later on!

Imo showed up just after our conversation ended, walking past Fann’s chair, her face like stone. Of course she didn’t say “Hi” or acknowledge Fann in any way; she just came over to give me a hug, then sat down next to me.

I looked over at Fann, she looked away, picking up her phone to see if she had gotten any new texts. Bloody hell.

“Fann,” I said, “weren’t you just telling me something right before Imo came?”

Idiot didn’t look up from her phone.

“Oi!” I said. “Fann?”

Finally, Fann put her phone down and looked at Imo. “I’m really sorry, Imo.”

I kept staring at Fann.

So she continued. “Look, I don’t know what really happened—I was so drunk! You know how sometimes when you are too high you make bloody lousy decisions? That’s all it was, Imo—I made a mistake. A really big one. Please, Imo, I don’t know how many times I can say sorry. But I know that in your heart, you must treasure our friendship right? We’ve been friends—no, sisters—for how long already? Please?”

Imo, we all know, is bloody softhearted. She cannot stay angry at anybody for long—especially people she cares about. We’ve seen this how many times with Louis already! No matter what he does, no matter who he sends home, no matter who he snogs right in front of her on the dance floor, in the end, she always forgives him. (Or, looks the other way, I suppose. I don’t get the sense that these things can really be forgiven—but that’s just me.) No matter what, Imo just wants everything to be OK. That’s her most important thing: appearances.

“OK,” Imo quietly said. “But,” she added, her voice sounding a bit fierce, “never again, OK?”

Fann offered her small finger and Imo hooked it with hers and said, “Set.”

“OK, come, come, come, drinks are here!” I said, raising my glass so we could all cheers.

“So,” I said, after we all had taken a few sips, “what’s the report, girls? Any action since last weekend?” Imo looked embarrassed.

“Aiyoh, my god,” I said. “Don’t tell me you’ve been spending this whole time moping about this stupid thing?”

When Imo didn’t say anything, I was about to scold her for not being serious. But then I thought, It’s OK, she’s been through a lot. Some more, I think maybe her mission was becoming a little different than ours. Maybe life is just like that—a mistress’s daughter perhaps is always destined to be a mistress also? Maybe it’s pointless to fight it. Sad lah, but if she wants to throw herself away, we also cannot say anything. Bang balls only.

If this is the path she’s chosen though, I wondered if I should say something.

“Imo, you know Louis cares a lot about you,” I said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. Imo smiled, blushing a little. “The thing is, guys like that—I hate to say it, but you must know your place sometimes. The only people really allowed to throw tantrums with them are their wives. One dragon lady at home is more than enough. If number two is also a dragon lady, I tell you, she won’t be shooting her fire around him for very long.”

Imo looked a bit sheepish at this point. As much as she didn’t want to openly admit it—or her relationship with Louis, I guess—she understood perfectly clearly what I was talking about. I didn’t want to embarrass her anymore so I quickly changed the subject.

“Fann? You leh?” I asked.

Fann smiled and said, “Guniang here had a hot date—don’t play play! Remember Melvin the Australian?” she said.

I didn’t, but who cares? Australians are confirm OK. So I nodded.

“Sher was right when she told me last month to just ignore his texts—he started calling and texting, even dropping by my pet store, pretending he just ‘happened to be in the neighborhood!’ ” Fann said, smiling.

Aiseh! This one is quite win.

“So yesterday, I finally agreed to let him take me out for dinner,” she went on. “Very nice restaurant some more—you know that new happening Spanish place on Keong Saik Road? The guy cooked for that big chef in London or something?”

I tell you, I don’t know why she’s trying to tell us these kinds of stupid details. Who cares? Food is food. Unless it’s super good chicken rice or barbecue stingray then I really don’t give a flying shit.

“Hallo—guniang,” I said, “please, fast-forward all that Food Network crap and get to the important part.”

“OK, OK,” she said, blinking her eyes one time at me before carrying on.

“It was nice—a real date! He didn’t even bring up the fact that we had hooked up a few times when we were drunk. He was very gentlemanly and sweet. And I realized it was actually nice to talk to him.”

Fann looked so happy, I guess I should be happy too. Now I remember who this guy was. And if he’s the one I think he was—hallo, her hookup history simply had too many Australians—then he’s quite good-looking!

“Well anyway,” Fann continued, “Melvin promised us a power night tonight!”

Apparently, the Australian has a friend who just opened a bar near Boat Quay. Since it’s not been open for that long, right now it’s just his ang moh friends and their friends who know about it. But everyone was supposed to spread the word to come out for a big opening party that night. Ang mohs and their ang moh friends? Set lah! Plus, since Melvin knows the owner—hello, free drinks! So this was what it was. I had been wondering all day what on earth was happening.

“Wear a skirt—and nice panties,” Fann had texted to me and Imo earlier in the day. When I texted back, “Why?” Fann didn’t respond. The whole day I kept wondering what Fann could possibly have planned—all the possibilities made me laugh. Albert even asked me at some point, “Jazzy—why you smiling so much today? Good sex last night, is it?”

“Aiyoh, boss, no lah,” I just said. “If it’s not with you, how can the sex be good?”

This actually made Albert stop walking. Then we both laughed until I had to fetch some water since he started coughing. (Can’t have him dying on my shift, man—I’ll be jinxed for life! No one will ever hire me again as an executive assistant.)

Laughing aside, I was glad things were back to normal with Albert—he hadn’t mentioned our conversation again that week and I didn’t ask him anything. After the four o’clock meeting, he even stopped by my desk and rubba-ed my neck a bit. Just like old times.

That night, after settling up at Ice Cold Beer, Fann instructed us all to powder our noses, touch up lipstick and wash all the chicken wing grease off our fingers. Good that we were all together, Fann said. Better to walk in all together—more impact; three super chio girls coming in at same time is better than one. I was getting quite excited about tonight lah. Even though my date with Roy went well, guniang must keep options open! I was still not quite sure if the oil refinery thing was for me. Plus, you never know when you’re going to find someone better. Must always have an open mind.

So I had worn this short flared black skirt—imitation Gucci from a few years ago! Don’t play play, I tell you. (At that time when this Gucci skirt was fashion, I even saw Anne Hathaway wear one in a magazine photo.) And on top I had this stretchy red blouse with a V-neck. Guniang here doesn’t have much tetek, so must add push-up bra.

Once we neared the bar, Fann got serious and looked closely at me, from my fluffy blow-dried hair to my red top and small skirt to my skinny black heels.

“Can,” she said, nodding and then pointing at Imo. “This one here—never listen. Look at her!”

Imo looked chio as always but she was wearing pants! Baggy baggy harem pants, some more.

“Aiyoh—you think this bar is what? Magic bottle is it?” I said.

“Shut up lah,” Imo answered. “I had no time to go home and change after work today. And hello, these pants this season are very fashion, you know!”

Please, I don’t care how fashion they are—any pants that make my backside look like I need a giant diaper is confirm not sexy. I’ll stick to my few-seasons-old pretend-Gucci skirt, thank you very much.

Fann was patting some powder on her nose to get ready then she said, “Come, let’s go.” She didn’t tell us that much about the bar but from what she did say I gathered that the bar sounded quite mellow, one of those hangout places for low-key ang mohs. I know this is Friday night and we should be out chionging the clubs somewhere—Louis certainly had tried to get us to go out with him but Fann put her foot down. But sometimes I guess a change of scene may not be bad. Plus, the name was promising—Carlyle’s. Quite atas sounding, right?

When we got close to the bar though, we could tell right away that it was anything but mellow. The scene was just like Studemeyer’s or Attica—there was even a queue outside! And through the glass windows, we could see that the bar was damn packed—people’s dancing bodies were pressing against the glass and all. What was happening? It was only 10 P.M. At this point—the night technically hadn’t even really started yet!

Luckily, Melvin was standing outside waiting for us. Not bad—score points already. His smile got huge when he saw Fann and he quickly started walking toward us to give her a big hug. She just laughed and gave him her cheek to kiss. Good strategy. (I started thinking maybe last night at the end, I shouldn’t have kissed Roy so hot and heavy. Today, the bugger didn’t text me!)

“Hi, I’m Melvin,” he said, shaking my hand and then Imo’s.

“Imogen,” Imo said, smiling. “But everyone calls me Imo.”

“And I’m Jazeline—but you can call me Jazzy,” I said. Fann gave me a long stare. My god—don’t tell me guniang thinks I’m flirting with her boy. (Plus, hallo—she is one to talk! Who is the one who cannot be trusted around guys we’ve already reserved?)

“I’m afraid that it’s a little more crowded than usual,” Melvin said, pointing at the long line. “Time Out Singapore just wrote about this place so I guess the masses have come to check it out. I mean, it’s good for my friend Steve but… well, anyway, let’s check it out. It’s a fun place and I promise you’ll get good drinks. Steve’s said he’ll take care of us.”

Melvin put his arm around Fann’s waist and led her to the door. The bouncer, I guess, knew Melvin because they high-fived each other before the guy unhooked the velvet rope and let us all in. Just before we entered, I looked back at the long line. I could tell many of the girls in line were SPGs and some were now glaring at us. Aiyoh, so petty. If they are not in the in crowd then they’re just not in lah. Why should they be jealous? Wasting energy.

Katy Perry was blasting through the whole bar when we got inside. The place itself was quite small but along one long wall there was big bar with a wide wooden counter. On the ceiling, all along the bar, there was a thick railing, almost like those old handrails on public buses, but this one was shiny and gold-plated. Quite interesting, I suppose.

The crowd was damn thick—everyone was moving, dancing a bit to the music and just clogging the whole area. I also didn’t know where to go. Melvin was leading Fann somewhere though—toward the back, near the end of the long bar. Fann reached back to hold my hand so I reached back to hold Imo’s hand. By the time we got to the end of the bar, guniang here already had beer spilled on me three times. Kani nah. But at least the table that we were given was a bit more quiet. And it was right next to the bar, so we could see all the action. I guess Melvin’s friend had already prepped the table—there was a big ice bucket, a tower of glasses, carafes of orange juice and soda. Nice!

After we sat down, Melvin started shouting across the table. But I couldn’t hear a thing—it was so fucking loud. Fann whispered in his ear and he went off toward the bar—I guess, to order our drinks.

“Oi, Fann,” I said. “You sure we want to stay here? This bar is practically a rugby field—except there are scrums everywhere and guys don’t care if you’re a guniang or a guy, everyone’s just pushing. How is this fun? Should we see if Louis has his usual table at Studemeyer’s?”

“We have to stay, Jazz—Melvin will be upset,” Fann said. “Just stay for a while lah—he says it will get more fun. And excuse me, how many times have I followed you all over Singapore to this bar or that club, no questions asked, just because you want to maybe see someone there?”

Right then, Melvin came back with a tray of Sex on the Beach shots—the tray was so big there were about thirty-plus shots there!

“I think each one of us gets about eight!” he shouted, setting down the tray and grabbing two shots. “Bottoms up!”

So we followed him—each person grabbed two glasses, clinked them and then whacked both shots, one after the other. The shots were not strong at all—more sweet and fruity than strong. My god, all this sugar—make us fat only. I made a mental note to make sure to vomit extra hard later. But for now, aiyah—just drink lah. We quickly did a bottoms up a few more times until all the shots gone. A waitress appeared to clear the table, disappeared and then came back holding an unopened bottle of Grey Goose and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. Grey Goose is not bad. And Jack Daniel’s is not as expensive as Chivas—but hey, if it’s free, we anything also will whack.

Fann was right—it was getting to be more fun already. Imo reached over and started to put some ice in a glass but Melvin stopped her. “Allow me!” he shouted.

Wah, this one is quite not bad! (I quietly gave Fann a thumbs-up sign.)

Melvin mixed four vodka sodas then passed them around. We quickly did one bottoms up so we could quickly get a bit high, since those shots really didn’t do anything except make us feel like peeing. I tell you—those Sex on the Beach shots probably were mostly food coloring and fruit juice. None of us were feeling even a bit buzzed. But I could see that Melvin was trying to make up for them—his vodka sodas were damn power! After just the first bottoms up, my eyes couldn’t focus for a few seconds.

After that, we slowed down a bit—Melvin mixed another round of vodka sodas for us to sip and passed the glasses back to us. Not really thinking about it, I took a short red cocktail straw and knotted it twice, popping it into my glass. This way, I could differentiate my glass from all of theirs, otherwise bloody hell, all the drinks look the same, and all of us just end up sharing saliva. Seeing the straw made me feel a bit bad. Seng was the one who taught me that strategy years ago when we were teenagers and first started going to clubs—he always made one knot on his straw so I made two. Usually, especially later and later in the night, when it was just the two of us left, we could really tell whose drink was whose. I always pitied all the others around us—just passing germs to each other by accidentally sharing drinks.

That afternoon, Seng had texted a few times, asking me to come out with him and his friends tonight. They were going to some cock club in near Marina. Just seeing the name, I knew that this club confirm is one of those places where no ang mohs go—guniang here had never heard of it before! Plus, none of the ang mohs I know had ever mentioned it before. Jazzy? Go to this kind of club? Waste time only.

“Eh, don’t be so proud lah,” Seng finally texted. “Why no give me face? Trying to make me beg you to come out with me tonight, is it? Uncle here getting too old to kneel lah.”

I didn’t bother to respond.

Imo was starting to look a bit bored—her eyes were glued to her phone, which she put on the table so she could keep an eye on it even when we were all chitchatting. But it didn’t vibrate even once. Fann was sitting very close to Melvin, who was rubba-ing her arm and kissing her cheek now and then. And her top—bloody good choice—had a low cowl neck, so if you were taller than her (which Melvin definitely was), all you had to do was look down a bit only to see everything. (And Fann of course didn’t wear bra. Good girl!) This, Melvin had obviously figured out already because he kept looking down, while Fann just purposely moved around now and then, letting her shirt fall even farther down occasionally before giggling, covering her mouth and pulling it back up. Walao. I was so touched I almost shed a tear—the student was becoming the master.

Melvin—confirm blue balls, man. I could see the look on his face—he looked like he was sweating a bit, clearly getting more and more desperate. Plus Fann told me today she was definitely not going to let him pok her again until she officially became his girlfriend. Good lah—even if Imo is a gone case and I’m not so successful yet, if Fann manages to hook him, then at least we have a 33 percent success rate. We would have something to show.

Who knew that of the three of us, the least chio one is the one who win first? Aiyoh—sometimes life is like that. You just cannot predict. Even though of course I am happy for Fann, I started to feel a bit sad for myself. I don’t understand why I can’t just find a nice cute cute ang moh guy with a good job (like, not at an oil refinery) who wants me—for more than just one or two fun nights. Yah, I know—I’m not as pretty as Sher, my backside is not as nice as Fann’s and my clothes are not as atas as Imo’s, but I’m also not bad, I think. I’m such a nice girl—why doesn’t anybody just want that?

The music suddenly started to get a bit louder—some Lady Gaga shit or something and people all over the bar were going crazy. Melvin opened the bottle of Jack Daniel’s and made four whiskey sodas. I was about to lean over and thank him when he pointed toward the bar, asking me to turn around. “Watch,” he said to all of us. “This is the fun part.”

Everyone was watching the bartenders now—these three buff Eurasian-looking young guys with short cropped hair who looked just like American sailors during Fleet Week. The guys were doing that Cocktail act—throwing bottles around and shaking and mixing. After they finished, they shouted together: “Kamikaze!”

The one in the middle looked around the bar, at all the tables—then pointed at me. “You—come up, lady!” I didn’t know what was going on so I was a bit scared. I just started waving my hands “No” and shaking my head but the crowd all around me started clapping and shouting all together, “Why are we waiting? Why are we waiting?” I felt someone pinch my arm damn bloody hard—kani nah! So I turned around.

“Just hurry up and go!” Fann said. “Don’t be so embarrassing!”

Since it was her night, her bar, her boyfriend, I felt like I had no choice. When I stood up, the whole bar started cheering damn loudly. Guniang here was feeling a bit dizzy from the drinks so far. And once I got near the bar, these few guys standing in front of the bar grabbed me—aiyoh! I had no idea what was going on so I struggled a bit. But these tall ang moh guys—they were all too strong! They lifted me onto the bar and left me lying down. Of course I immediately tried to get up but the bartenders were holding me down—one holding my ankles, the other pressing down my shoulders. The middle guy just said, “Don’t worry—this is just a bit of good clean fun,” and winked at me. Good clean fun? Guniang here was feeling so blur and getting damn bloody scared—how can this be good clean fun?

But I didn’t want to embarrass Fann or Melvin, so I just smiled back at the bartender. Whatever happens, it couldn’t be so bad right? After all, this is a public bar. And even if it gets bad I’m sure Fann and Imo will try and save me. (As long as one isn’t too busy snogging her ang moh while the other is too busy staring at her nonvibrating phone, that is.)

So I tried to relax a bit. The bartenders were shaking their shakers once again and threw them up in the air a few times before shouting all together: “Body shot!”

Oh, just a body shot? Why didn’t the bartender just say so earlier? If he had, I wouldn’t have been so worried. Cheh! A body shot is nothing. Guniang here has done it many times before—one time, it was even Fann who was the one who licked a Lemon Drop out of my navel! Don’t play play!

“Who’s up?” the middle one said. Immediately, there was a scrum in front of the bar.

“Wait! Wait!” the bartender said. “Men—don’t fight. The lady gets to choose.”

OK, this was looking promising. Who knew? Maybe I would meet a boyfriend out of this? I smiled, thinking about how we would have to explain this to our grandkids. “So your ah-ma here was spread out on the bar and a kamikaze shot was poured all over her…” Aiyah—good, let them know that their grandparents were happening once.

I looked around at the guys in front of the bar, all fighting one another to get close to me. (I have to admit that guniang over here did feel quite shiok about this. All this attention? As if I’m a supermodel or some shit.)

Who to pick? There was a range of guys—cute cute ones but also got damn ugly chee bye face ones. Among them, one of them look a bit familiar—ang moh, a bit older, around forty maybe, with a bit of longish shaggy gray hair, not bad-looking lah but from his big eye bags and saggy skin, he didn’t look so healthy. I was trying to think of how I knew him—not very possible that I actually did, I was thinking, since the ang mohs I actually bother to talk to at clubs are never that old. So I stared a bit longer, squinting squinting and all. The guy noticed me staring at him and my god, he started pushing his way up to the front saying, “I think the lady has chosen!” Once he got to the front, he turned around to face the crowd behind him and pumped both fists into the air.

Aiyoh, who does he think he is? Champion boxer, is it? But even if I didn’t actually choose him, this situation was habis—everybody started cheering right then, so it was all confirmed. Bloody hell.

When the guy turned back around, I realized how I know him—I had seen a phone-full of pictures of him just a few days before. It was Sharon’s husband!

I could feel the two bartenders at the ends holding my shoulders and ankles down again. The middle bartender pulled up my red blouse until it reached almost the bottom of my push-up bra. Walao—Sharon’s husband’s eyes got damn bloody big. I was not very happy but I really didn’t want to spoil the moment or embarrass Fann and Melvin so I just smiled at him.

“Hey, lovebirds—stop making eyes at each other,” the middle bartender shouted. “There’s time for plenty of that—and much more—later!” The crowd started clapping and cheering again.

“Ready?” the bartender asked.

Sharon’s husband nodded and bent down a bit. The moment the bartender started pouring his shaker all over my stomach, Sharon’s husband was suddenly super action! I could feel his fat tongue all over my stomach, fasterly licking and licking, his head was frantically bobbing up and down, from side to side, trying to catch all the liquid before it rolled off. To get a firmer grip the fucker at some point even grabbed the waistband of my skirt—I could feel him pulling it down a bit so his tongue could get some of the shot that was dripping down there. I tried to move a bit, to try and signal him to stop being so lecherous but all this did was make the two bartenders hold my ankles and arms down even more firmly. There was so much noise, so much movement, that no one seemed to notice any of this.

It was never-ending. How much more liquid could there be in that shaker? How many shots were there?

“And that’s the last drop!” the bartender suddenly announced, pouring the last few splashes of it onto my stomach. Thank goodness. Sharon’s husband was still licking though.

“Hey there, fella—enough already!” the bartender said. “There’s a Hotel 81 near here—just get a room!” The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter again.

Even Sharon’s husband knew that it was finally time to stop lah—even though I could tell that the fucker was damn reluctant. He gave my stomach a few final slow licks, then dug his tongue into my navel before kissing it. As he stood back up, he pumped his fists into the air again. Everyone cheered.

Guniang was feeling a bit shocked. Luckily one of the bartenders was nice enough to pull my blouse back down for me—and thankfully, in a decent way, too. I appreciated that he didn’t try and touch my tetek or anything.

“I think you… what’s your name?” he said, helping me sit up on the bar.

“Jazzy,” I said.

“Jazzy—what a musical name!” he said. “Jazzy—I think you deserve some kamikazes of your own. Boys, don’t you think?”

The crowd started cheering, so he poured me two shots and said, “Carry on!”

After the bad feeling of the body shot, I could still feel Sharon’s husband’s tongue on my skin—guniang here really did feel like she needed to get fucking high. So I grabbed both shots, raised them to the crowd and drained each one.

My god—these shots were definitely not like the Sex on the Beach shots. Each one was bloody strong! But good—I was immediately high!

The music—which I guess had been turned down a bit during the Jazzy Body Shot time—suddenly blasted back on. This time, it was another Katy Perry song—“Firework” or some shit—and everyone started dancing like mad again. Two skinny Singaporean girls in minidresses and heels started climbing onto the bar, one on each side of me. My goodness me—I was feeling quite blur at this point so I didn’t really know what to do lah. But then the girls grabbed my arms and helped me up so I suddenly found myself standing on the bar. I wanted to immediately climb back down but when I glanced over at our table, Imo and Melvin were clapping along to the beats and Fann gave me two thumbs up. So, no choice.

I was feeling slightly like an auntie at this point, looking at these young girls in high heels, wondering how come they’re so daring, not afraid of falling off the fucking bar. (Then I caught myself realizing that that’s exactly something that my mum would say.) I was damn worried about falling myself, given how tipsy I was feeling. Then I saw the girls each using one hand to hold the gold railing on the ceiling for support, so I followed.

The shots were starting to make me feel good—and being that high above everyone else made me feel like I was floating. I knew the guys below me could probably see my lacy red panties every time I shook my backside and moved my legs but I didn’t care. Some of them were cute after all—as Albert sometimes liked to say, “Any publicity is good publicity.”

Looking out at the crowd—guys were staring at me, confirm quite interested, and a few ang moh women were giving me dagger eyes. Good! I purposely shook my backside at them a bit more. I felt good—perhaps even like a celebrity. In between songs, the bartender kept giving us shots, too—each one wasn’t that strong but they did make me feel more wild. I was really dancing like madwoman now, sometimes use my free hand to push up my boobs and all. The guys—I could tell from their eyes. They were all damn steam.

After a few songs, guniang’s feet were hurting so I squatted down. Before I could try and figure out how to climb off, three guys rushed forward to help me get off the bar counter! I’d never felt so special, man. Good to have this feeling, especially after this cock week and last weekend. I guess I should thank Fann and Melvin.

I was adjusting my skirt, getting ready to walk back to the table when a short ang moh guy with a paunch and messy gray beard tapped me on the shoulder. My god—of all the handsome guys at the bar, this one is the one who wants to chase me? Why is my life so unfortunate?

I blinked at him and started to walk away but he said, “Jazzy? I’m Steve—Steve Carlyle, Melvin’s friend.” Oh—bar owner! Of course I should be nice to him. So I turned around and smiled.

“You were terrific up there! Really lit up the room,” Steve said, shaking my hand. “Do you want to be one of my regular bar-top girls? I can’t pay you—not like Galaxy or one of those bigger flashier clubs. But I will give you free bottles. And you and your friends never have to queue up; you’ll always have a table.”

Wah—guniang here has been going clubbing for so long but I’d never been asked to be podium girl before! I’d always thought this kind of podium-girl arrangement is a bit LC. It’s true that podium girls at bars and clubs are just regular girls, not pros, who are just good at dancing and look quite cute but still—hallo, how much different is this arrangement, at the end of the day, from KTV hostesses entertaining guys by throwing around their body? And those girls get paid more! With LV handbags on the side if they are really smart about their strategies! Although I’d always thought that—that was based on having never actually tried it. In the end, after dancing up on the bar with those girls at Carlyle’s, the whole thing actually was quite fun lah. Plus, I didn’t want to be rude to Melvin’s friend.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, making sure to smile at him really sweetly before walking away.

“By the way,” I quickly added, winking at him, “could we have some Chivas at our table?”

By the time I got back to the table and sat down, I could see the waitress walking over with a bottle of Chivas from the bar.

“Eh—where did Imo go?” I asked, looking at her empty seat. Her phone wasn’t on the table either.

Fann just shrugged—that woman was a bit mabuk, I could tell. Her eyes were half-closed; her body swaying a bit. The bottle of Jack was almost empty, surrounded by a few small glasses—I guess they had been doing shots. When the waitress showed up with the bottle of Chivas and opened it, sticking a spout in, Fann suddenly got damn energy, clapping her hands and all.

“Come—another round!” Melvin said, pouring three big shots of Jack, wiping out the bottle. The two of them bottoms-up their glasses but I just sipped mine. Not that they noticed—Melvin had started to stick his hand inside Fann’s blouse, pretending to be holding her waist but from the way the fabric was moving I could see it gradually moving upward. I considered taking Fann to the ladies’ room to remind her of her grand plan to not let Melvin get any action until she became his girlfriend but the woman was too far gone. Shameless!

“Aiyoh!” Fann said, squealing and swatting Melvin’s arm so he immediately moved his hand back down to her waist. “How can you go there? We’re in public! You are so bad, Melvin. Just for that, you must be punished.”

Fann climbed on top of Melvin, sitting on his lap. Holding his head, she started frenching him deeply and moving her hips around, clearly rubba-ing his cock. These two—my god, it was like I was not even there. Just when he started to rubba her backside with his hands, she whacked him.

“No!” she said, taking the bottle of Chivas and sticking it inside her cleavage. “You must be punished,” she said, kneeling on his thighs now so the spout was just over his mouth.

When she said, “Drink!” she leaned forward, using her hands to cup her boobs up and steady the bottle. Then she started pouring Chivas into his mouth.

Kani nah. That was my hard-earned Chivas! You think I let that gross guy do a body shot on me, dance until my feet hurt, show my panties to the whole bar—all that so that I can sit here and watch Fann use her pushed-up boobs to pour my Chivas down her boyfriend’s throat?

But guniang here knows when she has become an extra. It was time to get lost.

Fann and Melvin of course didn’t even notice when I finished my whiskey, grabbed my handbag and got up.

Once I got outside the bar, it hit me how drunk I was. It hadn’t rained that day so the air was still bloody humid. I could feel my blouse and skirt glued to my sticky skin. Damn gross.

“Jazzy! Right? It is Jazzy?” I heard one of the ang mohs sitting outside the bar say.

I turned around to look but it was so dark and I was a bit dizzy so I wasn’t sure who was talking to me at first. Then, aiyoh, my god—it was Sharon’s husband!

“I’m Alistair,” he said, taking my left hand and kissing it.

I wanted to throw up—of all the guys in the bar, I would pick him to be the second-last guy I wanted kissing my hand. (Steve the paunchy bar owner would be the first.)

“Nice to meet you, but I’m not feeling well,” I said, taking my hand back and walking away. “I’m going to make a move first.”

“Wait!” he said, walking quickly to catch up with me. “May I send you home?”

Aiyoh—this guy really has balls, man. I stopped and quickly turned around, quite pissed off. I was about to say something like, “I’m your wife’s friend, you know! Don’t you give a shit about Sharon and your baby at home?”

But then I thought about it—is Sharon really my friend? Was she ever really my friend? That stuck-up bitch Sharon? Who called me shallow and all that crap when guniang here was just trying to help her? Whose husband is here steaming over me so much that if I tap his cock one time I bet he confirm will instantly come all over his pants? Besides, from Sharon’s Givenchy bag and the photos of her vacations, I was guessing that he was quite loaded.

“Hmm…” I said, scrunching my face up a bit and lightly touching his shoulder with my finger and making a little circle, like I was thinking hard about it.

“Please?” he said. His eyes were really begging me. I bet I could get this fucker to do anything I wanted. I should text his wife a photo, man. Who has the power now, Sharon?

“Well,” I said, smiling a bit shyly, “your tongue did feel nice…”