Sarong Party Girls

chapter 19

Whole day long I was sitting at my desk, thinking about how to bring up the box of sex toys.

Not to Sean of course, but to Albert. I had managed to avoid Sean all day—which wasn’t hard because I’m sure he also wanted to avoid me. I did see Su Fen once or twice though and each time she not only didn’t quickly look down or avoid me—bloody hell, that girl is really not shy! Instead, she just stared at me, blinked once and then walked away.

Every time I tried to talk to Albert though, he just either rushed right past me and said he had a meeting to go to (even though I know it’s lies—hallo, I am the one who keeps his schedule after all) or really must go to the loo. After about the fifth time he did that, I figured out that he must be avoiding me too.

But like that, how? This was the first time guniang really needed his advice, man. Plus, what was this about circulation?

I decided to use my lunch break to kaypoh a bit.

Once Albert had safely disappeared to his business lunch in the financial district, I headed straight over to the next building—the decrepit old one where no one in the newsroom, except Albert, ever went. To the right of the lobby, which looked like it was still firmly in the 1970s, was a big sign: CIRCULATION.

A Malay receptionist greeted me the moment I pushed open the door. “Good afternoon, miss!” she said in a cheery singsong voice. “How can I help you?”

“Oh, I’m here from the news side,” I said, flashing my New Times pass. She smiled and nodded. “I just wanted to look-see a bit,” I added. “Can?”

“Of course, of course,” she said, waving me in. “Just go right in.”

Past the reception area, there was a large cavernous room filled with neat rows of desks, all in a grid. Even though it was lunchtime, the room was filled with women, some eating sandwiches at their desks, others gathered together, chitchatting over cups of tea. At first I thought I didn’t know anyone here but a youngish woman caught my eye in the far corner—wasn’t that Michelle? Albert’s assistant before me? And that woman she was chatting with—that was Pauline, the one before Michelle! I had met Michelle when I first arrived but knew Pauline from a photo Albert had once shown me. In another corner of the room, I spied a woman I sometimes saw having coffee with Albert in the cafeteria. Could she be another former assistant? I had thought all along that these women left for jobs elsewhere—perhaps they became executive assistants to men higher up than Albert, or for CEOs along Shenton Way. But no, here they all were, in some apparent dumping ground for the assistants Albert had outgrown. As much as I’m sure Albert was going to paint this as a good career move, this was essentially a cemetery for aging women that the New Times—or rather, Albert—didn’t want anymore!

I was so shocked I didn’t even see that Michelle had spotted me. She was waving vigorously by the time I noticed.

I knew what I should do, but I simply couldn’t. No, this was not a place for Jazzy—not today and definitely not in the near future. I quickly turned around and walked out, back across the parking lot and into my shiny, clean building. My heart didn’t stop racing until I was safely back in my plump swivel chair. “Jazzy,” I told myself. “You need to use your brain to think! This cannot happen to you. It simply cannot.”

Albert returned from lunch just slightly mabuk, though still ignoring me. He didn’t say a word to me for most of the afternoon. Toward the end of the day though, just as I was starting to put files away and clean my kopi cup, Albert popped his head out of his office and said, “Jazz, can you come in for a minute?”

Finally! “Yes, boss!” I said, and quickly went in.

“Come, sit, sit,” he said, opening his drawer and taking out his specs.

Was he doing this to get a better view today? Oh, that’s right. Guniang was wearing a skirt today. I started to walk over to his sofa, wondering if I should offer to mix him a drink first, when Albert said, “Not today, Jazz—I’m late for drinks already, so I don’t have much time. Just come sit on the chair over here.”

OK—guniang today was actually wearing nice panties and all, since I had that dinner tonight with Roy and his company. If Albert didn’t care about peeping, it’s his own pasal. I just walked over and sat on one of the black metal chairs in front of his desk.

Albert was quiet and looked like he was thinking hard about something. I didn’t want to interrupt him but I had decided last night when I got home—if he doesn’t know what is happening with Sean, he should know. This kind of shameful thing can be very bad for the New Times, you know. I may not read the newspaper but I always look at the headlines, so I know that the New Times really likes to splash stories about politicians and CEOs having scandalous affairs all over the front page. If word about Sean’s sex-box parties gets out—die lah! The New Times will have no more face already. Besides, if Albert sees me as a valuable person who can give him information about his underlings in the newsroom, maybe I won’t be moved to circulation after all?

No, Jazzy must be brave. Even if I might get in trouble for being the one to tell on Sean’s parties, better to just do it.

“Albert, I really need to tell you something,” I said, starting to launch into the story I had been trying to tell him all day. But Albert cut me off!

“I know,” he said, looking a bit serious and sad. “No need to say. Actually, I really don’t want to hear the details, but I know.”

Know? Know what? And how can he know? Babi… did that bitch Su Fen tell him something? What did she say?

“No, Albert, I really need to tell you…”

“I know, you went to Sean’s party,” Albert said; his face looking a bit red, patches of it appearing all over his forehead even. Everyone knew whenever that happened, Albert was truly embarrassed. He cleared his throat. “Look—I know what happens there. And I hear the party was a big success, everyone had a good time, et cetera, et cetera. Sean already told a few of us about it after the morning meeting. Wah, that Su Fen—is she really as talented as he says? Wait, don’t tell me. I want to find out myself.”

What? What did Sean say? What should I say? And then I realized: what can I say that Albert would believe over Sean’s word?

“Hey, Albert, you know what kind of girl I am—I didn’t… I mean, I did go but I didn’t… I can’t…” I said. Damn bloody irritating. The story I had been thinking about telling him since I got home last night and practiced during all those hours when guniang couldn’t fall asleep suddenly wasn’t coming out.

“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 and 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 god! 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.

“Of course you don’t,” Tucker said to the Chinese guy. “Small limp dicks, tiny tongues. I can tell you right now, my friend—you have definitely never made any woman come.”

The whole table started laughing again—even the two Chinese guys. And even Roy!

“Now, just ask Vanida over here,” Tucker continued, putting his arm around Vanida, who was so skinny and small to begin with but looked even skinnier and smaller when she was mashed into his armpit. “Ask her how many times I make her come every night. What is it—three times at least? Four times? You should hear her when she’s really going!”

I didn’t know what to do. I looked at Vanida, still squeezed under Tucker’s arm. She was smiling a very small smile, her eyes looking downward, but she nodded anyway. Everyone started laughing even louder now.

“Roy,” I whispered, squeezing his thigh under the table so he would stop laughing and listen to me for a minute. “This is not right.”

Roy just looked at me a little apologetically, whispered the words “Not now” and kept laughing along.

I waited for Tucker to release Vanida before taking out one of my business cards. Looking at what it said made me sad again: “New Times, assistant to the editor.” Would I have the same phone number on Monday? I didn’t even know. But at least this was a way to get ahold of me somehow. I must remember to tell the new girl to forward all messages to me in case Vanida calls. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if she did but surely there must be some way I can help her.

I thought back to all the women I had come across just in the last two weeks—the girls at the KTV lounges, having to flash bits of their ass, legs, more for lousy garlands from drunk businessmen, the China girls at Lunar having to put on that show night after night, the modern SPGs on the bar counter at Carlyle’s in their heels and little skirts, kicking up their feet for guys to enjoy. And then, Jazzy. The Jazzy who would never become an event planner now in all probability. The Jazzy who was getting shipped off to circulation on Monday like yesterday’s fish. The Jazzy who was pushed to invite Louis in. The Jazzy that Sean thought he could add to his sex-toy harem. The Jazzy everyone liked having fun with and no one wanted to keep. Who would protect Jazzy now?

“Vanida,” I said as quietly as I could while Tucker was telling his next story—I couldn’t really hear but I’m sure it was about sex and his amazing cock. I saw Roy look at me whispering to Vanida, frown very nervously and then look away.

“This is my business card,” I said. “If you ever need help, you can always call me. OK?”

I wasn’t sure if she understood what I was trying to tell her but she took my card and looked at it for a long time.

“What’s this?” Tucker asked, grabbing the card and looking at it closely. “Oh, New Times, eh? Exchanging business cards—how cute. You want to keep in touch to swap blowjob tips or go shopping? Or are you one of those bleeding-heart feminists in the media who actually thinks she can help whores like her?”

No one was laughing now. Vanida actually pulled away from me and moved closer to Tucker, her small fingers holding on to his elbow.

“I have to say,” Tucker said, chuckling a bit. “Singaporean women like you really crack me up. What do they call you—‘sarong party girls’? You think you’re so great that you won’t date one of those losers sitting over there,” he added, pointing at the two Chinese guys at the far end.

“You think only white guys deserve you. But please—you and Vanida, the two of you are the exact same kind of girl. All you’re both after is more money, more power in your little world. And you’ll do anything to get it. And I’m the sleazy one?” Then he laughed a bit louder, tossed out a loud “Control your woman, Roy!” before giving Vanida a big loud kiss and going back to cutting his steak.

Guniang here was tongue-tied. But then I looked at Roy—wasn’t he going to say something to defend me? Roy just gave me an embarrassed look and turned to the guy next to him, asking him to pass the asparagus.

I looked at the plate in front of me. I had only eaten a few bites of steak—it really was damn shiok lah, buttery and fatty fatty. And I hadn’t even tried the truffled mashed potatoes yet. But I slowly folded my stiff napkin and put it by my plate.

“Mr. Tucker?” I said, leaning past Vanida, who quickly shrank back the moment she saw me moving toward her, as if I was going to try and talk to her again or some shit.

“Thank you very much for this delicious dinner,” I said. “But I really have to go.”

The whole room was quiet for only half of my long walk to the door.

“Let the bitch go,” I heard Tucker loudly saying to Roy just before the door closed behind me. “We’ll find you ten better ones tonight—the kind that knows the only acceptable time to open their mouths is when your cock comes out.” The last thing I heard was everyone starting to laugh again.

I couldn’t even look at any of the waiters around me as I walked, all by myself, through the big restaurant. Did any of them see how that guy had grabbed me? All the things he had said? If they did, I’m sure they’d have a lot to gossip about. Kani nah! Now I really could never come back to Manhattan.

Outside, I stopped by the escalator and decided to wait a bit. Maybe Roy was stunned in there and didn’t have time to react? And then maybe after I left he realized he was wrong and told Tucker off? If he did, I’m sure he wouldn’t stay. So, OK. I decided, let’s wait a bit.

Guniang waited five minutes. Ten minutes. Then, OK. I guess, it’s just like that.

As I got on the escalator down, I didn’t know how to feel. There was a jabbing pain in my chest; my heart. And I felt like crying—but Jazzy cannot cry! Maybe I just really needed a hug. Maybe I needed someone who could cheer me up a bit, make me smile. So I took my phone out and texted Alistair: “Free tonight? Fauntleroy?;)”

He replied right away. “Wish I could, my dear. But the wife has booked us on a sudden weekend trip to Bali. Not sure why. Leaving first thing tomorrow. Text you when I’m back Monday?”

Bali… I guess Sharon was taking my advice after all and was trying to mend things by booking a romantic holiday. Good for her. Good to see her trying—trying to win her man back from the fucking slut who borrowed him.

“OK,” I texted back. Even though I knew right then that I didn’t plan to see him again.