Sarong Party Girls (6 page)

This argument ah, she every week also say. I don't know why she still tries. She knows I listen until tired already. Cannot listen anymore.

Yes, of course I know she always wished she could have joined SQ. Then maybe she could have done something more with her life than be a hairdresser in a sleazy Excelsior Plaza salon where only cheapskate housewives go for those 1980s tight spiro perms. My ah pa is an OK guy lah, but he's not rich, definitely not handsome, boring job, whole day watch football or go downstairs to the kopitiam to drink Tiger beer and smoke cigarettes type. Of course when you add all those things together, my mum was not happy. This kind of life, my god, if you dare to offer to me I confirm will tell you, “Eh, thank you ah—­but balls, lah!”

But my life is actually not bad—­I don't know what my mum complaining about. Be an executive assistant to newspaper editor, you think it's an easy job? Boss is always grumpy, I sometimes end up staying late because there's always some news breaking somewhere. And now with texting, I'm somehow always on call—­late at night also sometimes get text from the boss to ask me to book a table or buy a present or make an appointment or something. This one is not an anyhow kind of job you know—­it's a real career! Got future! My boss is a big guy, which means I am actually quite important. If my boss someday becomes publisher, then I'll be the publisher's assistant. Serious one! Don't play play.

Yes, I know some of my school friends, all the smart girls, they managed to grow up to be lawyers, accountants and banking types. Even one of them actually became a surgeon—­I also don't know how. When we found out about it, we were all damn stunned. I mean, I didn't go to the most terrible school in Singapore but even I also know that judging from the kinds of girls who went to my government school, for any of them to become a surgeon is almost as difficult as winning the Toto big prize. (Although if you saw this surgeon girl and the kind of backside face she has, you can tell that she's quite smart.)

But me, I may not know much but at least I know what I can do—­and I know what is just crazy to consider. I know I'm smart enough to be a secretary or executive assistant. But to become a doctor, lawyer or banker? I'm smart enough to know not to dream about it.

Don't talk about becoming a doctor, I can't even imagine marrying a doctor. Usually they are not the types of guys that you meet at the clubs and bar. At least not the ones we usually go to. But then again the doctors who come here from America or Australia are usually older, married already, stay-­at-­home type. I guess it's a bit weird if you see them at Clarke Quay at 1
A.M.,
chionging in the SPG clubs. And the doctors who are Singaporean—­my god, please, those are the most boring. Sure, if you marry one then your life will be good money-­wise, but I tell you, those guys are the ones with the bossiest mothers, who will live with you and interfere with every single thing you try to do with your husband and kids. Give me that kind of life—­hallo, I'd rather stay at home with my parents until I drop dead.

This Singapore Airlines issue though, I've explained it over and over to my mum until I'm fucking tired. It's just wasting my saliva to even try telling her again.

But seeing the China girls at Lunar tonight, I started thinking that maybe my mum actually has a point. Maybe joining SQ or some shit like that is better than us trying to run around Singapore and anyhow hit balls. So many girls out there, so many different things to fight. I suddenly felt quite tired. And I also suddenly wished Sher was there at Lunar with us.

If Sher was here, confirm she would find something funny to say. (Also, usually when Sher is around, more guys talk to us, even if there are other chio girls around for them to look at.) I was trying to think where she was tonight. The wedding was a few nights ago—­where did she say she was going for her honeymoon? Langkawi? Or Batam? Typical Ah Beng honeymoon. Marrying an ang moh means you get a honeymoon that's not a cheapo Malaysia or Indonesia trip. Our friend Dolly last year went to Paris for her honeymoon when she married that American guy, OK! He's not even that rich but he said Paris was very romantic, so honeymoon must go there. By the time Dolly came back, she was pregnant already! Talk about number one win. But if you marry an Ah Beng, aiyoh—­they just want to bring you somewhere nearby so you don't need to fly for so long and there's cheap local food so they don't have to pay big money for Western crap. All they want is to garabing garabung—­fast fast one so then they can smoke a cigarette, text their friends and play Candy Crush.

What time is it now? One something in the morning? I'm guessing that Sher's Ah Huat confirm must be snoring away already. If he had anything to drink then he's probably been sleeping for hours and hours. Whatever lah. Her life; she chose it. As long as Fann, Imo and I don't end up like that, I heck care what happens to Sher.

Just thinking about Sher made my blood boil all over again. No—­no matter how fucked up Lunar and its China girls were, my mother was not right. Sher was not right. There was a better future for me, Fann and Imo out there—­there had to be. We just had to push out there and get it. Cannot be scared.

“Eh, girls,” I said, tapping on Fann and Imo's shoulders and pointing at the Lunar VIP section exit. “Come, let's siam.” We tried to air-­kiss Louis goodbye but he was still staring so hard at the dance show that even Imo couldn't get his attention. So we just left. Nobody looked even once at us—­not even at my chio Seven jeans backside—­as we squeezed our way through all the guys to get to the door.

Outside, I was so angry I just started walking. Fann and Imo quietly followed—­I didn't know if they were drunk or just being blur. As long as I could hear their click clack heels behind me I didn't quite care. Before we went to Lunar, I was thinking OK lah, we go, we try to understand their game, then we can try and figure out how to beat them. But those bloody cheongsam and schoolgirl China girls—­they have no standards! Even the ones who were not performing, those just there to flirt and hook husbands and boyfriends, they're all the same! Unless we are willing to just do anything to hook a guy, we have no chance against them.

“Oi—­Jazzy! Don't walk so fast lah!” I heard Fann shouting behind me. ­“People's feet pain, you know. Where you going?”

I actually didn't know. It was only 1
A.M.
—­too early for supper and definitely too soon to go home. I was feeling quite sad and had no mood for partying anymore. But then Imo pointed at the queue in front of us. “Eh,” she said, “the bouncer at Attica tonight is Louis's old friend.” Win Toto lah! This means we wouldn't need to pay the thirty-­dollar cover charge.

“OK,” I said. “Let's go in and see how.”

The music was damn loud the moment we walked in. At that time in the morning, Attica was just starting to get happening—­they have a license to close at six, after all. So 1
A.M.
is when ­people really start showing up. The front part of the club is nice—­newer-­looking, less grungy, got nice shiny podiums for ­people to dance and all. But this part is where they play hip-­hop lah—­so unless you want to meet black guys or those wannabe black guys, you'd better fasterly walk through and go to the second building in the back. I tell you, Singaporean guys who want to act black are the worst—­all attitude and they think they're so cool, but when you get to know them better you find out that they are just as no-­balls as all the other Singaporean guys. Some more the ones who are really into trying to be black are usually short short small small one. You just need to see them one time and you know—­if you go home with them, their cocks confirm will also be short short small small. Waste time only.

So Fann, Imo and I quickly walked through to the building in the back, where a different crowd hangs. This second building—­my god, the first time I went there, I remember I was quite scared. Sher practically had to hold my hand the whole time and push my backside up the carpeted stairs—­the stairwell was so dark I couldn't see where I was going and it was so narrow that there were ­people pushing and shoving, trying to come down right when we were walking up. Kani nah—­fucking annoying! The whole thing was so small, tight and scary I felt like I couldn't breathe. I almost wanted to go home, but Sher said she had heard the place was very worth it. So, even if I was scared also better keep walking. In the end, once we got to the second floor and got used to the super loud Euro techno music, it was quite a good evening lah. Those really white really skinny ang moh guys always seem to like Euro techno the best. So this club was quite the primo place to hook them. We were with Louis at that time so we had a VIP table and of course, Chivas bottles. We met some cute Scottish guys and Fann ended up going on a few dates with one of them. So overall, it was worth it—­even if Fann had absolutely no idea what cock her guy was saying every time he opened his mouth.

Tonight was different though—­we didn't have Sher. And usually she's the one who starts conversations with guys. Or rather, guys try to start talking to her first. Also, we didn't have Louis there, so we didn't have any bottles. So we all knew what had to be done: fasterly find some guys to buy drinks for us. Fortunately, Imo's dress was looking exactly the kind of chio that these Euro Euro guys like—­small black dress, a little bit more sophisticated-­looking, sexy sexy one. So the moment we got there, some ang moh guy from the VIP area came down to the bar to ask if we wanted to join his friends.

The rest of the night, I was quite blur. I remember doing tequila shots. Then drinking beer from a jug. Then someone ordered champagne. Then I remember Fann getting quite sick. By that time I was already a bit gone. And I was dancing with this guy whose face I couldn't really see—­it was so dark! But he was tall, no glasses, quite skinny and his accent ah—­super British, man. Like those old butlers in those British movies—­sexy!—­but as far as I could tell, he wasn't that old.

At that time, Imo started ignoring everyone because she started texting like crazy. Ah, must be 4
A.M.
already—­Louis was probably looking to leave Lunar. I guess he didn't find any Chinese backside that he liked.

“Jazzy, ah,” Imo said, tapping me on the shoulder. “I think I'd better make a move first.” I was so high by that point that I just nodded and kept dancing.

“Eh, Jazzy—­I'm going to send Fann home with Louis. You leave also lah—­we can send you home too.” I could tell she was a bit worried about leaving me alone there. Usually we have Louis or one of his friends around to make sure we're OK—­to either send us to a taxi stand or make sure that if we're going home with a guy, that the guy is decent. But these ­people, we'd only just met them a few hours ago. We didn't know anything about them beyond the fact that they were British and they all worked in Jurong on one of those oil refineries. (Which means they confirm are not rich.)

But aiyoh, guniang over here was finally having good time tonight—­why must Imo be so naggy? I just waved and said, “Aiyah, no need lah. I how old already—­I don't need another mum, thank you very much. I'll be OK.” She still looked a bit worried. So I pointed at the guy behind me rubba-­ing his crotch into my backside and touching my stomach with his hands as he danced.

“Please,” I said, giving her two thumbs up in case she couldn't hear me since the music was so loud. “He'll take care of me—­don't worry!” So she just said “OK” and started helping Fann off the couch and toward the door.

After they left, I started to panic. The music was so loud my feet were hurting from the “boom boom boom” I could feel from the floor. Each time there was a “boom” the guy behind me was rubba-­ing into my backside even more, pushing me forward, until I felt like I was almost going to fall over the railing in front of me. Walao! I wanted to say something to him but then I remembered that I actually don't remember his name.

Some more I couldn't even hear what song was playing because all techno songs sound the same. And the laser lights shooting all over the room were starting to make my eyes a bit pain. I looked at the dance floor in front of us and it was jammed with all these ang moh guys and Singaporean girls, all of them rubba-­ing and hugging and pushing and touching. Long black hair was flying around; white hairy arms were holding on to backsides and waists all over the floor. Maybe Imo was right. I should have left with them.

“Hey, sweetie,” my ang moh suddenly said in my ear. So I turned around. And the moment I did that he just started kissing me—­big, wet slobbery ones. His chubby lips were like suction cups, man. And he kissed me for so long that one of his friends started pointing and cheering, actually spilling beer all over himself because he was jumping up and down. Kani nah—­never see ­people hook up before is it?

The kissing actually wasn't that shiok. His tongue and my tongue were not quite in sync and some more he was quite the aggressive type—­move head, move hands, everything also rubba. I started thinking, now it's maybe four something? If I leave now, the cab queue is probably still quite short—­no need to wait for so long. Maybe can even buy supper on the way home.

But then I thought about how chio I looked tonight. In my Seven jeans, my backside was super power! And my small black tank top was damn sexy. Even so, all those guys at Lunar didn't even look at me one time once those China girls came out. How can like that? I know Louis had warned me about the situation. But that was total defeat. And Jazzy cannot lose!

No. Even if this guy is a lousy fuck, I must have something to show for tonight.

So I stopped kissing him for a moment. He looked a bit confused, but then I smiled sweetly at him, then looked a bit demure and all, even fluttering my eyelids a little bit. (I tell you, ang mohs—­especially drunk ang mohs—­really love that geisha shit.)