Sarong Party Girls (20 page)

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.