Chapter 23
23
Sunday 17 April
Linda and her mystery man have finally been outed by the press. They’d been photographed on a yacht with their naughty bits hanging in the breeze in Cannes at some after-party. Well, actually they were in the periphery of a picture with someone from One Direction or similar, and that naturally caught the attention of the news-starved Singaporean press. “Billionaire Playboy Brings Mystery Woman Onboard Tech Superstar’s Mega Yacht!”
There, in the blurry enlarged pic, was Linda in the world’s smallest white string bikini, one that a toddler could have crushed in its fist. Barefoot, she stood almost half a head taller than Massimo.
“She’s
really
with him?” Valerie said disapprovingly when we met up for a drink session that evening with Jason and Ben at a new Mexican fusion cocktail-and-tapas bar. Valerie knew about Massimo’s unsavory reputation.
“Unfortunately, yes.” I noticed that Jason was also in some kind of funk, staring stonily at a spot behind my head and downing beers. He’d been acting weird in the last group hangs. Then again, the chemistry of the group hang had been off without Linda. Clearly, she found “Poots” a much more fascinating specimen to spend her time with. My spies in her office told me that she was billing the bare minimum to get by and was always out for three-hour-long “lunches.” But now that she and Massimo were having all kinds of unnatural nocturnal dealings on top of his being her
client, the bosses were never going to fire her—they needed her to keep the law firm’s Ponzi-like billing model going.
If only they knew the means she was using to hook him
, I thought sourly. Then I thought of all the cleavage-baring client-relationship managers I knew in private banking, and I sighed. Singapore, though conservative, understands that sex sells (even if they weren’t necessarily having it themselves). Linda’s bosses might have stiff upper lips, but even they weren’t going to thumb their noses at Linda’s questionable merger-and-acquisition tactics.
Urgh. Linda always came out on top.
“She’ll come around,” Ben said. “She’ll find herself a winner.” He meant himself, clearly.
“I don’t know about that. She likes her men vapid and rich, preferably with a few STDs,” I said cattily.
“Excuse me,” Jason said, pushing his chair back loudly and walking away.
“What’s wrong with Jason?” Valerie asked, uncharacteristically observant.
“Bad nachos?” I said.
I gave Jason a quick once-over when he returned. He was definitely not taking any drugs in the toilet because he looked even more dejected than he had before. Dude was so miserable he ordered three rounds of drinks for everyone. What is going on with my friends?
Saturday 23 April
Spent the evening with Ralph Kang, Valerie, and Eric Deng at one of the old-school fine-dining Shanghainese restaurants I can never remember the name of.
Even though she was less than thrilled about seeing Ralph,
who she found lackluster and coarse in appearance, it didn’t stop Valerie from dolling up. She wore a triple-strand Mikimoto pearl necklace and a delicate, long-sleeved, body-hugging black velvet-and-lace dress, paired with spectacular black Charlotte Olympia Paloma heels and an Alexander McQueen Small De Manta clutch of mine (well, Linda’s). As for me, I played it low-key and wore one of my wrap dresses in navy blue and low kitten heels. I was nervous about the double date. I hadn’t seen Ralph since the fateful Sexless Book Club or Eric since he ambushed me at work, so I was a little nervous about how the chemistry between the four of us would turn out. Plus if things didn’t go well tonight, Eric and I would have awkwardness to smooth over when we went on our date next weekend.
Dinner did not start well. When Valerie and I arrived, the two men were deep in heated conversation and Ralph was red with displeasure. He acknowledged us with a curt greeting before storming off.
Eric leaned over and whispered, “Sorry, we just saw his ex-wife a few tables away. She’s here with her Chilean salsa instructor, who apparently was the one she was cheating on Ralph with, hence the stroppy mood.”
Ah. The ex. Eric told us that Ralph had left to see his friend, the chef, about kicking them out of the restaurant.
“I should go with him, just in case he tries to create a scene with her. He’s not one to shy away from confrontation, and I know he’s been dying to beat up Vicente.” Eric excused himself and hurried after Ralph.
Val’s eyes were huge with respect and desire. “He is so
manly
,” she whispered to me.
There was a brief commotion and the ex-wife and Vicente were unceremoniously booted out of the establishment, but Ralph’s mood did not improve. New bottles of wine appeared and things went downhill from there. Ralph was a belligerent drunk, and the
more he drank, the more silent, and redder, he got. At one point he just stopped talking entirely. Eric, bless him, tried hard to get a conversation going, but to no avail. After an hour or so, I had had enough. I told the group I had a closing and that I had to leave, at which point Ralph snapped out of his fugue state and called for the bill. When the waitress arrived with the check, Ralph took out his credit card (a flashy JP Morgan Reserve) and loudly insisted he pay for the table (not even looking to see if the amount was correct), but when she was about to leave, I got up and stuck my grotty credit card into the check presenter in her hand, asking to split the bill in half for me and Val (I would claw back the money from her later)—no way was I going to let some rich guy buy us off to feel better about how badly he had behaved the whole evening. Ralph was upset and the discussion got heated between us while the poor waitress stood there, pale, until Eric intervened, taking both cards out of the waitress’s hand and replacing them with his, a gold-edged black one I didn’t recognize. “Dinner’s on me,” he said, waving her away in his easygoing manner, even though his voice was an order.
Once we were out of the restaurant, Ralph having stayed back to speak with the chef while Valerie reapplied her face in the ladies’, I pulled Eric aside to unleash my frustration. “Your friend was a jerk today.”
“Excuse me?”
“You saw how he was in there. Loud, rude to Valerie and me, drunk!”
He pulled out a cigarette and stuck it, unlit, between his lips. “So?”
“So!” I sputtered with indignation. “That’s just not the way it’s done, that’s what. You don’t act like this on a date.” I was also very disconcerted with his attitude. Birds of a feather flock together, etc.
“And what do you want from me?”
“An apology. An explanation for his appalling behavior. I don’t know.”
He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. “I’m going to smoke this cigarette, then I’m going to address the situation. Do you smoke?”
“No,” I said sulkily. “I quit.” (Although I did occasionally stress-smoke, I did not add.)
“Then please excuse me.”
He then walked to the other end of the parking lot and smoked his cigarette while I gradually cooled down. By the time he was back I was much calmer.
“OK, here’s my take. Ralph’s being rude today, and I apologize on his behalf, but he’s a curmudgeonly dog most of the time. He’s a highly stressed individual, that’s why he looks so bad. I’m not telling you this to excuse his behavior, more to give you some context: the man’s been hurting from his divorce and he’s not masking his feelings even though you’re not close to him, and you’ll find that in some circles that’s about the most refreshing quality a man can have. Isn’t that what you millennials love to harp on about? Being authentic? And Ralph is not much older.”
“Why, I mean, I don’t . . . well, I guess when you put it
that
way, we could all . . . you know. Well! This!” I blathered on in this fashion, flattered at being mistaken for a millennial. Then the penny dropped. “Wait—how old is Ralph Kang?”
“Ralph? He’s thirty-nine.”
My jaw dropped. He looked so weathered.
“And I think your friend is old enough to decide what she wants without you policing her. Did she even put you up to this tirade?”
“No,” I conceded. “But I could see that she was uncomfortable with his actions.”
“Maybe you were projecting. Because from where I’m standing, those two have not come out of the restaurant in the last twenty minutes or so that we’ve been out here. I’m pretty sure they’re in the toilet getting acquainted.”
I glanced at my watch and groaned.
“You need to relax, Andrea Tang,” he admonished. “You’re very . . . tightly wound up.”
“So I’ve been told. It’s part of my charm.”
Without missing a beat, Eric said, “No, it’s not. You have much more going for you than your anxiety.”
I waited for him to tell me what I had going on for a few beats, even if it were irreverent or inappropriate (“—like your crazy eyes or your hefty body odor!”; “—such as your ability to tell, from one sniff of a baby’s head, whether they will grow up lactose-intolerant/racist!”) before realizing that he had stopped talking and was looking at me expectantly. I guess the kind of witty rejoinders I craved, that people like Linda and Suresh supplied at the drop of a hat, were not everyone’s forte, and at that moment I missed Linda. “I’m glad,” I said. “So tell me about your authentic self then while we wait for those knuckleheads.”
He chuckled. “You mean you haven’t Google stalked every last bit of available information?”
“There, um, isn’t much about you dating back more than twelve years.” He was an older man, and having a scant digital (especially social media) trail was pretty common with men his age, was what I wanted to say. Although it did not explain why Valerie couldn’t find much on Ralph on the internet. “And not a lot on Ralph, either.”
“Ah, my skimpy Facebook and LinkedIn profiles.” He grinned. “What can I say, I like being mysterious. And Ralph, like me, is just about as discreet as you can get, for his level of wealth. I respect that.”
“Sorry, but I don’t do mystery; in fact I got badly bit just a few weeks ago by mystery.”
“Oh, how so?”
“Someone I met online stole something from me.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Maybe I can help.”
“It’s a dead end. Never mind.” I was sorry I’d brought up Orson and tried to change the subject. “So tell me, what’s not on the WWW? Who are you?”
“Well, it looks like those two are still in there, so clearly we’ve got time. But first things first: do you smoke cigars?” He had magicked one out of his jacket pocket.
I nodded. He lit the cigar and passed it to me. I puffed on it a little self-consciously, coughed, and passed the cigar back.
He cocked his head and listened to the faint music from the restaurant. “They are playing my favorite song, by Teresa Teng. That’s a good sign. Would you do me the honor?”
He held out his hand and made a gesture for me to step into his arms. I did so after a slight hesitation. It seemed no more unusual than our previous interactions had been. Why stop now?
We started to slow dance in the parking lot, him puffing vigorously on his cigar over my head while I listened to the beating of his heart.
“Here’s the deal, Andrea Tang. I know you think I’m a wild card because you can’t google my life story, but I’m going to change that: I’m going to lay all my cards in front of you. I’ll do that because I trust you.” A pause as he puffed on his cigar and whirled me around before dipping me. “I am fifty-two. I’ve never been married, but I have a six-year-old daughter who is deaf and whose mom was someone I had a one-night stand with. For the past six years, I’ve been supporting them both. The mother has a strict confidentiality agreement with me. The child lives with me every other week, and I pay her mother a decent allowance to ensure they are both comfortable and the mother can further her studies at a local university. Was that too much of an information dump for your due diligence? Are you scared off?”
I thought about it. His honesty had been so striking, his tone so matter-of-fact, that I was underwhelmed. A masterful performance. “I don’t scare easily.” Then I recalled something that had
been bothering me. “There is one little thing . . . ,” I said hesitantly.
“Oh?” His voice had a velvety texture to it.
“Who’s DeeDee Halim to you? Why are you living together?”
He laughed. “Rashidah? DeeDee is a good friend, nothing more. Our parents are close. Trust me.”
Trust me.
We continued to sway in the empty parking lot. With anyone else it would have been ludicrous. “Most women would not be so forgiving of my past—I must say that one or two women I’ve tried to start a relationship with couldn’t look past my daughter’s existence. But I’ve never regretted having her in my life, not for one minute. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“Why don’t you marry the mother? You obviously care for your daughter.”
“I’ve considered it, but it feels a little too convenient. Marriage is a beautiful institution, and I don’t want to cheapen it by entering into it just because I got someone pregnant. It would have been different if the mother and I had an existing relationship, and my daughter resulted from that. I’ve tried to do right by both of them, all the same.”
I played devil’s advocate. “You could have just ignored her claim.”
He raised his eyebrow. “No. My parents taught me that whatever I do in life, I must be ready to shoulder the responsibility of the consequences.”
A dutiful man. “Where are your parents now?”
“My mom passed away more than twenty years ago, and my father lives in Hong Kong now. I see him as often as I can.”
“He doesn’t live with you?” I heard the judgment in my voice.
“No, but that’s because he’s remarried and I would think his second wife, my stepsister, and half brothers would prefer I don’t see him so often. Anyway, he’s got Alzheimer’s, so I don’t think he even recognizes me anymore.” He stopped moving, gave me a rueful
smile. “I’m no spring chicken, Andrea. The day approaches when I won’t have my parents with me, and it is sad.”
He’s filial,
my mother’s voice screeched excitedly in my head. “Shut up,” I muttered.
“I’m sorry?”
“Er, nothing.” I blushed.
We had just been standing there with his arms around me. He let go of me gently. We smiled at each other.
“I don’t think those two are coming out anytime soon,” I marveled, a little surprised that I had forgotten about Valerie and Ralph.
“We should have dinner next week, instead of lunch,” he said.
After the emotional wringer I put him through, there was no way I could say no. Dinner it was.
1:05 a.m.
New strip from
TLTS
. Water sends out a coded message via the local paper’s Lonely Hearts column, asking for Rhean to meet him at a local bar, time and date given. He waits for her to turn up, with no idea if she’s seen the ad.
It’s a long wait, with only beer to keep him warm. Water gives up. But just before he leaves, she appears. Water is struck by her face. It is not a classically beautiful one by any measure, too hard. Only the eyes are soft, like gray stars. Her hair curling masses around that face in flames of red. Trembling, he asks her who she is.
“Don’t you recognize me?” she asks.
“No . . . I’m afraid not.”
“Ron, it’s Louise.” She smiles, sadly. “But you can call me Rhean now, I suppose.”
Turns out Water’s wife did not die in the freak accident at their lab but was spirited away by the bosses at the lab and experimented on. When she escaped, she went looking for him and caught him in the act of gutting a well-known hate preacher. Instead of being horrified, she was overjoyed to see him again and wanted to reach
out to him so that they could meet, but only in a public space. Just in case.
Water stares at her, thunderstruck, as memories from his past resurface. He walks toward her to embrace her, when they realize, for some reason, this is a physical impossibility—they are repelling each other.
“Like repels like,” he says, comprehension dawning on him.
They stare at each other with horror.
OMG! Just let them have that moment, Suresh, you monster!