Sarong Party Girls

chapter 8

Bloody hell. Kin Meng, as always, was late.

Not that I was that anxious to get to the KTV lounge or to see the fucker’s face. But I had already told Albert I had to rush off to an appointment and now fifteen minutes later, guniang was still standing on the curb outside of Front Page waiting for Kin Meng. If Albert comes out for a smoke or something, he will think I was lying! Since it was Monday, it was a fairly quiet night at Mohamed Sultan—on weekends, forget about trying to walk a straight line along the neighborhood’s narrow pavements outside the rows of little prewar townhouses. The bars in those old shophouses are always jammed, which means the pavement is confirmed also jammed. Tonight though, there was almost no one around. So if Albert looked out, he’d definitely see me still standing there. What’s worse, my toes were damn painful from the office pumps I wore just for Kin Meng. In this heat, I’m not used to closed-toed shoes lah—but as Kin Meng instructed, if I want to be less slutty for KTV mamasan approval then confirm cannot wear strappy heels. So, no choice.

But the main problem was that I was damn grumpy. That weird conversation with Albert on Friday—aiyoh, I couldn’t stop thinking about it today. Was Albert really thinking it’s time for me to go? Why else would he be bringing up circulation as a good move for me in the company? Everyone knows that the girls in circulation are basically complete fucking idiots or are leftover girls from other parts of the company who are just shoved there to be forgotten about. And what was up with all that lecherous rubba-ing? Did I somehow give him the impression that I wanted something? Of course he was right—I know that I’m not getting any younger. Of course I understand that it’s high time to grow up already. But it’s not like I’m just sitting around waiting for my wrinkles to appear, not doing anything. Why else would I be trying so hard to hook an ang moh now?

Even though guniang here was upset I still had to touch up lipstick and pretend to be happy once five o’clock came because I had already promised Albert I would help him to entertain his guests, who in the end were quite interesting lah. The main guy was the foreign editor of some Ozzie or Kiwi newspaper. I know I should remember these things, but to be honest, Ozzie and Kiwi are all the same to me—seriously, is there any difference? The guys usually look the same and sound the same. Unless it’s an ang moh I think I might pok, once they tell me they are Ozzie or Kiwi I don’t really care which one is which. All I know is that unless the ang moh is very rich, if it’s a Kiwi guy, I definitely don’t want. If we get serious and get married, then how? Who wants to move there one day and live in a country filled with sheep and grass? Fate worse than death, man.

Whether he’s Ozzie or Kiwi, Leonard the foreign editor guy was bloody charming—longish white hair combed back, high nose, nice wire-rim glasses. Very cultured-looking. If he wasn’t so old I might consider. Albert also brought along his foreign editor, a Eurasian guy he went to uni with a long time ago. Even though Sean is half ang moh, he grew up here so he talks like a Singaporean—not like me or Fann, but more like Imo, when she’s at work and must impress people, that kind of thing.

Sean usually just ignores me—when he needs to see Albert he never even says “Hi” before knocking on his door. And in the cafeteria he only talks to other editors or people higher than him. Sometimes, Eurasians are just like that—just because of that little bit of white blood from how many donkey’s years ago, they think they are better than most Singaporeans. But who can blame them? They are part ang moh after all. (Some more the ones who are guys usually know they are very good-looking—aiyah, this is from years of sarong party girls throwing themselves at them. Even if they are not fully ang moh, for those SPGs with lower standards, half or quarter ang moh guys sometimes also can.) So I guess, at the end of the day, they do deserve that special treatment anyway.

But that night Sean was quite nice to me—probably because even though he and Albert kept trying to ask Leonard questions, Leonard only wanted to ask me questions. Before Albert’s bottle of Chivas appeared, Leonard already started interrogating. “So, Jazeline, what is it like to be a modern Singaporean woman?”

Hah? What kind of nonsense question is that? When I first heard it, I felt quite blur. This kind of question, nobody has ever asked me before. Usually Albert’s guests mostly just want to flirt a bit with me, maybe touch my knee or elbow now and then, but the serious questions? Those they will only ask Albert. Why should they ask me? Everyone knows that guys are the ones who actually know these things.

“Well…” I started to say, trying to smile and think at the same time. How to answer? Ask me where to eat the best chicken rice, which Hotel 81 is the cleanest for one hour or where to buy the best Vietnamese girls, these kinds of questions I confirm know what to say. But what it’s like to be Singaporean woman? Aiyoh. We’re all in a bar situation, you know—it’s not an O-level exam! I could see Sean turning his face to one side so Leonard and Albert couldn’t see it. I bet he was rolling his eyes. Kani nah.

The truth is, even if I felt like I could speak honestly, I didn’t know how to explain everything—or anything, really. How to tell him about a society where girls grow up watching their fathers have mistresses and second families on the side? Or one in which you find out one day that it is your mother who is the concubine and that you are the second family? A society that makes you say, when you are twelve or fourteen or seventeen, “No matter what, when I grow up, I am never going to be the woman that tolerates that!” But then you actually grow up and you look around, and the men who are all around you, the boys you grew up with, no matter how sweet or kind or promising they were, that somehow they have turned into the men that all our fathers were and still are. And you suddenly know what you have to accept—that yes, no matter what you hoped for before, well, fuck, lumpar, kani nah etc., this cock road is just how my life is going to turn out also. Unless, unless… you can find your own way out to a different life.

“Well, if you ask me,” Albert suddenly said, when it looked like I was about to open my mouth and say something, “I think life in Singapore is great for women of Jazzy’s age now.”

I could see him gesturing to the waiter on the side to bring his bottle over even more fasterly before he continued. “They get to have good jobs like hers, the freedom to dress however they want—look at how sexy she is today! And the independence to date whomever they want! They are in the real positions of power in Singapore today, Leonard. We men are nothing but peons!”

Leonard didn’t say anything—though he did look at me a bit funny. I almost felt as if he was still half-waiting for me to jump in and say something. And kani nah, guniang here actually half-considered it! The one time Jazzy miraculously thinks of something that might be even halfway smart to say and Albert cuts me off. Bloody hell. I looked at Albert, who was now cheerfully chitchatting about some other cock topic and thought, I really don’t want to go to circulation. So I just smiled and quickly looked away, pretending that I needed to take some tissue paper out of my handbag, and hoped that Leonard wouldn’t still be looking when I actually did manage to find the stupid packet of tissues. At that moment, Albert started laughing—even winking at me and everything. So of course Sean and I quickly laughed along with him. Luckily, at that moment the bottle arrived so Albert could just start pouring. After that, Leonard asked me a few more questions—but those were more easy. Like, Did you grow up in Singapore? What do young people do for fun? That kind of no-point question. I think, in the end, Albert was a bit relieved when I said I had to leave.

“Eh, woman! Daydreaming about me ah?”

Finally. I looked at my phone. Fucker was thirty minutes late. I made sure Kin Meng could see my third finger before opening the car door.

“Hey, don’t be like that—not nice, you know,” he said, leaning over a bit so he could pinch my cheek. “Be a good girl tonight, OK?”

Once we started driving, Kin Meng explained some things. “So I have these clients who are in town from a bunch of places. They’re here to… aiyah, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about these things. You won’t understand anyway. They are all quite fun guys—my assistant thinks one of them is gay. And you know lah, those types of guys can feel a little weird in KTV lounges sometimes, so it’s good to have a girl from the office or someone normal to just chitchat with them while all that other shit is happening, take their minds and eyes off the action a bit. So when we get there—the guy’s name is Keith. You just make sure you sit next to him and help me keep him entertained and distracted, OK?”

This one is confirm can for me lah. Jazzy here is happening, OK—so of course I’ve had some gay friends in the past. Usually we just went clubbing together lah. But even if there’s no dancing involved, they usually can be quite fun. “Can,” I told Kin Meng. “As long as you are buying drinks.”

“Of course I’m buying lah! Please—don’t be stupid. Hallo, we are going to the best KTV lounge in Singapore. You save up for six months also cannot afford tonight’s bill, I can tell you right now.”

It’s true—I had heard that KTV places were damn fucking expensive. Sometimes one night you can end up spending tens of thousands of dollars—and that is not even counting what you might have to pay your individual hostesses for extras and bed rental. That’s why most of the guys who go are either on expense accounts or they have a super-rich lecherous friend who’s happy to pay for everything so he doesn’t feel like the only dirty old man around. Kin Meng at least is one of the decent guys—I can tell that he only goes to KTV lounges out of duty. Business is business—if you have to go to a KTV lounge for it, then you really have no choice. But many guys out there—I tell you—they are just sitting around waiting for clients to come in from out of town so they can finally have some fun. When clients finally fly in, wah—they get excited like hell. Finally! They have an excuse to go to KTV! Company will pay some more. Being a guy in Singapore—sometimes it really is a good life, man.

“Jazzy, when we go in, don’t talk to the guys—except for Keith,” Kin Meng said as his car slowed down near a bright car park near Tiong Bahru. “Keith is OK because he’s gay. Mamasan will know that tonight, he is a losing proposition. Since she confirm cannot make money on him, it’s OK for you to hog his attention. But the rest of the guys? Hands off, otherwise mamasan will stare and stare and then later come and whack your face. If that happens, guniang—even I cannot save you. The mamasan at Temple of Heaven is damn fucking power.”

As Kin Meng turned into the car park, his SUV was suddenly filled with bright neon lights. I had passed by this place many times before—usually in a taxi going to Tiong Bahru for supper after clubbing, so I’m definitely quite mabuk at those times. And when you are busy trying not to throw up you don’t really notice a lot of things around you lah—so I never really looked twice at Temple of Heaven even though the flashing signboard outside was so large it almost covered the entire front of the three-story building. The sign was shaped like a pagoda—like the actual Temple of Heaven in Beijing, I guess—and outlined in Chinese New Year red and lucky yellow neon lights. And right in the middle were the two Chinese words for Temple of Heaven: Tian Tan. And underneath that, in words that were almost as huge: MARTELL.

Even before Kin Meng stopped his SUV, two tall slender women wearing tight red cheongsams (and at least five-inch high heels) ran up to open his door. “Hi, hi—ni hao!” they both said, smiling and ushering him in. One of them came to my side to open my door too, but when she saw I wasn’t a guy, her smile disappeared. Kani nah. I wanted to slap her face one time.

Kin Meng was already halfway up the steps by the time I got out of the car. Wah, these steps were crazy—covered in thick red carpet, with a shiny gold railing on each side and big lights shining down on you from the ceiling. Taking each step up made me feel damn high-class—I felt like I was in one of those Hollywood movies where Marilyn Monroe is walking up the steps to an old glamorous hotel in Italy or some shit and all these guys in white suits are all around, treating her like a queen. I never thought that just walking up steps could make you feel beautiful.

“Miss? Miss?”

I turned around to see an Ah Beng in a black tuxedo chasing me up the stairs.

“Miss? Stop! Stop, please!! What are you doing here ah?” he asked.

Luckily Kin Meng bothered to wait for me at the top of the steps.

“Boy—she’s with me,” he said. The Ah Beng bowed and ran back down again.

Aiyoh. This one—North Korea is it? Want to enter KTV lounge also get interrogated until like that.

“Jazzy—stick close to me ah?” Kin Meng said. “Oh, and remember—don’t try to get friendly, even chitchat, with any of the girls. That kind of lesbian shit—not allowed. They confirm will throw you out.”

The mamasan appeared as soon as Kin Meng stepped through the round doorway—kind of like the ones I saw in the Qing Dynasty Village years ago when I went there on primary school excursion. It was quite a toot amusement park lah—no wonder so quickly close down—but I remember thinking those old doorways and Chinese buildings looked quite authentic.

“Huanyin, huanyin! Long time never come!” mamasan said, leaning forward so Kin Meng could kiss her on the cheek. When he mentioned a power mamasan I had expected some old, powdery, sharp-chinned dragon lady with fierce eyes and one of those Chinese fans that you know she’s just waiting to use to whack you on the head. But this woman looked young and she was quite pretty—a bit like Gong Li. Not the Gong Li now lah but back when she was still a young hot actress and Zhang Yimou still wanted to fuck her. The fierce eyes were definitely there though.

“We booked the usual room, Mr. Tay—your colleagues are already here,” mamasan said, turning to walk up a wide grand marble staircase in the middle of the room. If it weren’t for the gaudy gold lights and cheongsams all around, this place could perhaps pass as an old French palace, man. The ceilings were so high; everything looked so drama.

At the top of the stairs, mamasan led us down a long, wide hall, opening the door to a room that looked like a dark red nest. The walls were lined on three sides with plump cushioned seating and on the fourth wall, there was a big flat TV screen. Leslie Cheung, wearing silver sequined hotpants, no shirt and a tight white jacket with feathers sewn all the way down each sleeve, was dancing around onstage. Seeing this almost made me cry. So classic—1980s Cantopop is really the best.

Everything in the room was red—the walls were covered in shiny red wallpaper; the cushions were all covered in slippery red silk. Maybe the dim lighting wasn’t red (I couldn’t be sure) but it really looked that way since everything else was red.

Once my eyes adjusted I could see three ang mohs and one Chinese guy, who seemed to be busy mixing whiskey sodas. “Hey, thanks for hurrying so much to come and see us ah?” the Chinese guy shouted. “Boss, we were waiting for you until our balls were turning blue, man.”

“Sorry, sorry—I had to pick this one up,” Kin Meng said, pointing over at me. “Jazzy—meet the guys: Sam works with me in the Singapore office; Nigel and George came in from London; and Keith over here just flew in from Hong Kong.”

After shaking everybody’s hand, I felt Kin Meng nudge me in the back to go and sit next to Keith.

Keith was quite a good-looking guy in that slightly nerdy British way—tall, clean-cut and skinny; he even had a thin boyish face. (And since Kin Meng was entertaining him in Singapore’s number one KTV lounge that means Keith must have money—or at least must be quite important.) Aiyoh, so wasted. If only he liked girls! And this one is confirm true lah—I could tell from how he didn’t even look for one second at my tetek or backside that I’m not his type for pok-ing.

“Hi,” Keith said, leaning close to me to whisper. “This is a little awkward, isn’t it?”

I didn’t know what to say so I just covered my mouth and giggled. Keith laughed too.

After Kin Meng settled in next to me, the mamasan got serious.

“Tonight, do you want butterfly or by the hour?” she asked.

Kin Meng looked at his watch—it was 9 P.M. “Not much time left in the early shift,” he said. “We’ll do the hourly girls. Butterfly—wasting time only.”

Butterfly? Kin Meng could see from my face that Jazzy here catch no ball so he came closer and whispered, “Butterfly girls fly from one room to another. Those girls split one hour among four rooms, so you only get each one for fifteen minutes. It’s cheaper, yes, but not so worth it right now. The late shift is starting soon—the girls, the drinks, everything gets much more expensive then. Better get our fun in quickly.”

“Mr. Tay, the girls—the usual kind?” mamasan asked.

Kin Meng looked around at the guys—he seemed to be mentally calculating something.

“Tonight we have a range of tastes—just bring a variety so people can pick,” he said. “You know what kind I like, but also throw in one with big breasts, a tall one with very nice legs… eh, Sam, these days, what are you in the mood for?”

“Hmm—you got new China girls?” Sam asked.

Mamasan nodded.

“OK, then China lah,” Sam said. “Madam!” he shouted after the mamasan as she started to leave the room. “Very young ones, OK?”

Mamasan disappeared, returning a few minutes later with ten girls, all of them looking cheerful and smiling, all of them wearing sexy shiny dresses. Mamasan was good lah—the group had a few girls fitting each of Kin Meng’s descriptions. Plus, the young China girls Sam ordered were wearing dark red lipstick and tight mini cheongsams with big slits down each side.

“Aiseh!” Sam said quite loudly, jumping up so he could inspect them closely, as if he’d never seen women in his life before.

Nigel got the big-boobs one, George picked one with such long legs she looked like runway model and Kin Meng chose a Korean-ish girl with the same look as the girls he had in his phone. (But later when she had to introduce herself to him I realized she wasn’t one of his previous girls.)

Sam was taking quite long to pick from the three China girls. “How?” he said, turning to look at Kin Meng as if he was begging him. “Boss—cannot take it lah. All of them also make me steam! How—can I have two?”

“Don’t even think about it—as if you can handle more than one!” Kin Meng said. “Hurry up—you’re holding everyone up.”

So Sam just did an eeny-meeny-miney-moe and ended up with the shortest smallest one—so small in fact that she looked like she was about fourteen. The leftover girls quietly left.

Once the girls sat down next to their guys, they started mixing drinks for themselves.

“Come, come,” Big Boobs said. “Let’s bottoms up!”

Everyone clinked their glasses and drank. Even though I never say no to free whiskey—I’d already had a few at Front Page so I only drank half. When I put my glass down, I saw that Keith also only drank half.

The girls immediately noticed Keith’s glass and started pestering him. “Wah, how can be like that? Must bottoms up!” They kept cho-cho-ing him until he agreed to bottoms-up the whole thing. None of them bothered to say anything to me. Once Keith put his glass down, Big Boobs and China Girl made another round of drinks for everyone. Everyone except me, that is. Wah lao, guniang here was invisible.

Sam started frenching China girl the moment she finished making drinks. I could hear her giggling and saying, “Aiyoh! You’re so naughty!”

“Come! Another bottoms up!” Big Boobs announced.

Everyone clinked their glasses again. (Only Keith clinked his glass with mine. Kani nah.) While China Girl started making another round, Sam got up to walk toward the door. Before closing it again, he looked back, nodded at Kin Meng and said, “Boss, I go toilet ah?”

As soon as we heard the door close, Kin Meng said to China Girl, “Xiao jie—sorry, but my friend’s not feeling well.”

The girl actually looked angry for a second, then quickly went back to smiling. “No problem,” she said, smoothing down her cheongsam and getting up to leave. Now that her business in this room was over, her English suddenly sounded much more Singaporean than broken Chinese-y. “I hope he feels better,” she said, not even looking back at Kin Meng.

As soon as she left, mamasan reappeared with three more young China girls—none of them were the ones from before. First, she came over to talk to Kin Meng though. Mamasan’s face was blank, but even I could tell she was irritated.

“Madam—he just had a quick taste only, nothing serious yet,” Kin Meng said. “But if there’s a problem, just charge me for her also. No trouble, OK?”

Mamasan nodded and went over to wait by her girls. Sam reappeared so quickly I could tell he didn’t go to the loo. This time, he quickly picked one—the one with the biggest eyes and fairest skin.

“What happened?” Kin Meng asked when Sam sat back down.

“Bad breath,” Sam said, picking up his glass and downing his drink, taking a long time to swirl the last sip around his mouth before swallowing. New China Girl grabbed the whiskey bottle to refill his glass even before he could set it back down.

Kin Meng just nodded and put his arm around his Korean girl again. When he saw me staring at him, he whispered, “It’s always easier to have someone else get rid of your girl. More polite.”

Everything had happened so quickly once we got to Temple of Heaven that I was still trying to absorb what I had seen. I had heard what happens in KTV lounges of course, but to see it happen in front of me… young girls getting picked or rejected like chickens in a wet market? I am very open-minded, but even I think maybe this is not quite right. Even though I didn’t have that much to drink that evening—usually I only start to get high after six or seven whiskeys and maybe feel sick after ten or so—I started to feel something in my chest and coming up the back of my throat. Jazzy, I told myself, you’d better buck up! You promised to help Kin Meng out—and you asked to tag along anyway. Don’t be a spoilsport!

New China Girl had switched off the Leslie Cheung concert video and was starting to sing some Elva Hsiao song. That singer is a good choice lah—although a lot of guys still think Sammi Cheng is damn pretty and has the better songs, hallo, she’s forty already! Who wants to hit their own handgun while thinking about someone their auntie’s age? So even though Sammi’s songs are all very nice to hear and sing, in a KTV room, if you’re one of these lounge girls, maybe it’s better to choose a younger singer. Elva is not say that young but at least she’s not antique.

Big Boobs was trying to instigate a few more rounds of bottoms up—if the two bottles of Chivas quickly disappeared then she could try to persuade get Kin Meng to buy Veuve, after all. (Which is not more expensive than Chivas, but people always drink champagne much faster. So in the end, Kin Meng’s bill confirm will be bigger.) George and Long Legs had disappeared god knows where and Sam was rubba-ing New China Girl all over—her backside, under her skirt, up her thighs—as she sang. Kin Meng wasn’t doing any of that shit—I guess he meant it when he was telling me that one time that he only does naked Japanese baths with these girls; no hanky panky. But he had his arm around Korean Girl, her head on his chest, her right hand stroking his knee.

“I guess I’m supposed to understand why this has to be a part of doing business when I’m in Singapore,” Keith suddenly said, putting away his phone. He had been glued to it, texting, since the singing started. He was smiling at me though, so I guess he wasn’t upset about the situation. “Are you OK, Jazzy?”

Am I OK? Usually, when I’m out like this, there’s one person who asks me that question—Sher. I suddenly wished she was there. Unlike me, she would have the balls to say something polite (but with attitude) to the guys and tell them she has to leave so that we could escape. But then again, why would I wish this kind of dirty scene on someone I care about?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, smiling back at Keith. “I guess… it’s just more shocking than I thought it would be. I’ve never been inside a KTV lounge before!”

“I can imagine,” Keith said, laughing. “You seem like a nice girl, Jazzy.”

That’s when the shouting started.

“Aiyoh, aiyoh, aiyoh!” Sam said. He was standing up now, jumping up and down and pointing at the far darkest corner of the room. I couldn’t really see what he was pointing at so I stood up also. I could sort of make out a small love seat and some movement.

But it turns out I didn’t need to squint so hard because Sam took out his iPhone and turned on the flashlight, shining it at the corner. Long Legs was seated, her minidress bunched up at her hips, her legs spread wide open, dangling off the sides of the chair. And I guess she wasn’t wearing panties because George was kneeling in front of her with his face in her you know where!

“My god, George! Why on earth are you doing that?” Sam shouted.

George had stopped and turned around now, looking a little embarrassed. Long Legs quickly closed her legs and sat properly, taking a tissue out of her handbag to wipe George’s mouth, helping him off his knees and onto the love seat. Sam’s light was still on them so we could see everything.

“KTV girls are the last kinds of girls you should do that with—aiyoh, they are so dirty!” Sam continued. Kin Meng stared hard at him—no matter what they thought of what we all had just seen George do, he was still their business client after all. He should never be insulted—especially not in front of girls. Sam was really throwing away Kin Meng’s face.

Sam tried to make it seem like it was a joke and started to laugh. Kin Meng quickly laughed along too. And once that happened the KTV girls also joined in, giggling along. Sam decided to try and say something funny to defuse the situation more. “Hey, George,” he said, “I don’t know how your women treat you in the UK, but you come here to buy these girls so you don’t have to do that kind of shit. You don’t have to win these girls over by pretending you like that kind of gross shit!” He started laughing again. But Kin Meng didn’t laugh along this time.

“Well, as a matter of fact, I happen to like it…” George said.

I could see Kin Meng’s shoulders tensing up. He was probably worried that the clients would get upset.

“Sam,” he whispered, “quiet lah. You know these ang moh guys—sometimes they just like this kind of weird shit. If he wants to do that, then just let him do it.”

Sam turned off his iPhone light. Kin Meng waved over to George and said, “Come, George, why don’t you take… um sorry, I forget her name, somewhere more private?”

Kin Meng picked up the receiver of the plastic red phone in the center of the tinted glass coffee table in front of us. “Yah, hello, we want to dapao one—yes, just one. For now. .. What? Oh, yes, of course five-star room. .. Hmm, I don’t know—one? Maybe two hours?…” Kin Meng put the phone down so he could look over at George, who had Long Legs on his lap now and was violently frenching her.

Kin Meng quietly laughed and shook his head then picked the phone back up. “Just book it for the whole night. Thanks.”

In just a minute, mamasan appeared again. She smiled at Long Legs, bowed slightly at Kin Meng and then whisked George and the girl away.

New China Girl had stopped singing while all the excitement was happening, so all we heard now was the melody of what must be one of Elva’s sad songs. (Not that I knew the song—I only guessed this because Elva’s face was on the TV, looking like she was going to cry.)

“Come, bottoms up! Bottoms up!” Big Boobs said, holding up her glass. This time I also joined in, throwing my head back as I drank and really cleaning out my glass. The ragged feeling of the whiskey burning down my throat warmed my face and nipped the feeling that my eyes were about to tear up. Even then, when I did tear up a bit, I just told Keith, who had noticed, “Whiskey sometimes does that to me—too strong, too strong!” I even fanned my mouth with my hand to make him believe.

The thing is, I always knew shit like that happens in these places. Growing up in Singapore with KTV bars in so many neighborhoods—how not to know? But to see it happening in front of me—girls getting packed up to go just like a box of noodles at a hawker center—is a bit too much lah. How can these girls possibly be paid enough for a job like this to be worth it? And these guys—I don’t know about George or Nigel but Kin Meng is married, Sam’s wife is seven months pregnant with their first kid. Even if you marry someone who seems like a good guy, in this kind of working environment, is it confirmed that this kind of thing will happen anyway?

“Do you want to get out of here?” Keith asked.

My god, yes. I grabbed my handbag. Keith whispered to Kin Meng, who nodded and tilted his head to look at me, waving. Keith took my hand and led me toward the door. Just before we closed it, I saw Big Boobs climb onto Nigel, straddling him and lifting her long hair up at the neck so he could run his hands all the way up her back as she gave him a lap dance. I guess now that the boring gay guy and square female colleague are not there anymore, the fun could really begin.

I was still a bit dazed as we slowly walked down the stairs, which seemed as grand and beautiful as it did earlier—maybe even a little bit more, since Keith was still holding my hand and guiding me down the stairs. I tried to block out everything I saw that night—if I did, I could at least pretend in my head for a few minutes that he was my date and he was leading us down the stairs to our Rolls-Royce outside.

“Why were you here, Jazzy?” he asked.

“Well, Kin Meng thought you might need some normal company… you know,” I said.

Keith’s face got serious a bit. “Oh goodness—I never need the company in that kind of setting that badly,” he said. “He really shouldn’t have brought you there. I’m very very sorry, Jazzy.”

At the foot of the stairs, we heard music. Some kind of Mandopop in the background, layered with waves and waves of cheering and laughing. Eh? Were people watching a football match in there?

I followed the sound to a heavy bronze door on the other side of the lobby. A stocky Ah Beng in a tuxedo opened the door for us even before Keith and I got to it. Once we stepped through, the cheering and laughing got louder all around us. The room was quite big—not as big as Lunar or any of those clubs but larger than your usual bar. And all around us were cushioned circular banquettes filled with men in suits—a floor of padded pods all facing a stage. Onstage, a row of nine girls in strapless mini sequined dresses lined the background while one stood in the front, her shiny gold heels just a few centimeters away from the tip of the stage, where a row of men were seated on bar stools, leaning forward.

“More! More! More! More!” The guys were shouting all together. A short Ah Beng, also in a tux, was walking up and down the stage with a mic in one hand, using his other hand to wave and rile the crowd up even more.

“Hallo, hallo, gentlemen! Are there any more people who want to hang flowers on this beautiful lady? Look at how chio she is! Her hair like silk, face like fairy, legs long long,” the Ah Beng said. “Hallo, little girl—come, show them a bit!” The crowd cheered louder. The girl tucked her hair behind one ear, winked at the crowd and bent over to pull up her minidress very very slowly. The guys started shouting even more, but she stopped just before getting close to her panties. (As if she was wearing any.) A few started booing but a young guy in the front row jumped up and said, “OK—I buy her the five-thousand-dollar garland!”

Once there were really no other bids, a fresh-faced girl got onstage holding a garland of red plastic flowers. The minidressed girl bent her head so the garland could be placed around her neck, then she waved at the crowd, blew a few kisses to the guy in the front row and joined the rest of the girls in the back row.

“Don’t worry,” Keith said. I guess he noticed the worried look on my face. “He’s not buying her services—well, not really. She does have to come and sit with him for a drink—and if she is open to more, she can negotiate. But the five thousand dollars doesn’t buy him a night or anything like that.”

“Then—why is he paying so much?” I asked. I tell you ah—guys sometimes are damn fucking crazy. Pay that much—at least must get some product out of it! What’s the point of throwing away thousands of dollars on a few plastic flowers. If you go to a wet market, you can buy the same thing for fifty cents!

Keith shrugged. “Competition? Winning? Showing other guys that you are the one who can spend the most? Isn’t that what guys care about in Singapore?”

The room was very quiet now. The Ah Beng onstage was in the middle of introducing a new girl, one who looked exactly like all the others except that her minidress was powder blue. (Each girl was wearing a different color—it made me think of Teletubbies.)

“One hundred dollars!”

“Two hundred dollars!”

“Five hundred dollars!”

“Eight hundred eighty-eight dollars!”

A bidding war was going on between two banquettes of balding Chinese guys in the middle of the room.

Keith elbowed me softly and leaned over. “Shall we?”

“Are you crazy? How would I have that kind of money?”

“Kin Meng’s company does,” he said, grinning. “Don’t worry—I’m going to sign that contract they want tomorrow. Well? Go on.”

So I stepped into the center of the main aisle, waved my hands until Ah Beng looked over, probably wondering what in fuck’s sake I was trying to do. Before he could say anything, I shouted, “Ten thousand dollars!”