Cheryl Tan - Sarong Party Girls

But at least we live in Tiong Bahru. The location really is A-plus-plus.

As always, it was so dark in the kitchen even though it was not even 11 A.M., so we had to really squint a bit to see what we were peeling. It was fine lah—after all these years of helping my mum, I’m used to it already lah.

Side by side we worked, not saying a word. It was somewhat comforting to hear the rhythmic snapping of the green beans from my side and to feel my fingers breaking off the crisp, tough roots of the bean sprouts in my basket and tossing them onto the old Chinese newspaper my mum had laid out for rubbish. I was so focused on this that Alistair and the debauchery of last night quickly vanished. This was simple; this felt good. I know I always look down on shit like this lah, saying that I’m going to have a maid in the future to do this kind of crap job for me—but my mum is right about things (sometimes). Of course it’s nice to have a maid—or two, like future Jazzy will have—but simple hard work like this also can be satisfying. Later on, when I eat my mum’s stir-fry I confirm will feel a bit more shiok. Guniang here earned it after all, my hands here peeling all my mum’s bean sprouts until sore!

“Ah Huay,” my mum suddenly said, interrupting my blank thoughts. “You OK or not? Not feeling well, is it? Is something wrong? Want me to boil some barley water for you?”

My god. And she wonders why I don’t like helping her. Guniang here decides to finally be nice to her mum without complaining about having to spend a morning peeling bean sprouts for her also end up getting interrogated like this.

“Yah?” I said. “Don’t worry. All OK.”

My mum looked at me, still snapping her green beans, her mouth opening slightly. “Ah Huay ah,” she said very quietly. “Your ah pa and I are getting very worried about you, you know. You always go out so late, we don’t know who you are with, you come home drunk, we also don’t know what you’re up to when you’re out… Decent girls don’t act like that, you know. If you carry on like that, one day something bad is going to happen to you.” She looked so sad that I was actually feeling a bit bad. I thought about trying to explain to her how everything I was doing was my only chance at actually finding a good husband—that this is what all the girls were doing these days anyway. Besides, most nights, it actually was fun!

“You ah,” my mum said, sighing very loudly, “always sailing too close to the wind.”

“Ma—just don’t worry,” I said, smiling at her. “Everything’s OK. OK?”

She didn’t say anything; just grabbed another handful of green beans. We didn’t say another word until the two tubs were empty.

A few hours later, my phone rang—like, actually rang.

Normally, I don’t really like talking on the phone these days, unless it’s for work lah, so most people know not to actually call me. But guniang here was so stunned to hear the phone ring that I just picked up the call.

“Oi!” was all I heard. Ah, Fann.

“Yes?” I said. “Finished your sex fest with Melvin yet?”

Fann snorted. “Talk rubbish lah!” she said. “I stuck to my plan of course. Just snogging and rubba-ing. I refused to follow him home. The guy had super blue balls, man! He’s already been texting me all morning asking when he’ll see me again.”

Bloody hell. In the end Fann managed to win while I ended up opening my whole kitchen?

“Anyway,” Fann said, “I’m downstairs. My mum sent me to your neighborhood seamstress to pick up a dress. Are you home?”

“Yah, yah,” I said. “Come up—my mum’s just putting lunch on the table.”

A few minutes later, after Fann had said hello to my mum and given her the oranges she quickly bought before coming up, we found ourselves sitting down in the kitchen. The small table was already filled with dishes. Some of them, I know, my mum had planned to save for dinner that night. But once she heard that we were having a guest, my mum decided to just bring everything out, so we had my dad’s favorite salted mustard greens soup lah, some braised duck and fatty roast pork, stir-fried noodles with green beans and bean sprouts, some leftover fried tofu from yesterday.

“Wah—aunty! Such a happening lunch!” Fann said.

My mother smiled a little and gestured to us to quickly eat. “You girls eat first,” she said. “I’ll wait for your pa to come home then eat with him.” Fann started to protest and ask her to sit and eat with us but my mum just waved her away, walking out to the living room to turn the TV on. Aiyah, our parents’ generation is just like that—they think the youngsters feel more comfortable if they’re not around. Which is actually true lah.

The moment my mum left the kitchen, Fann grabbed her chopsticks and started piling all sorts of food on her rice bowl. Watching her, I realized how hungry I was so I did the same. We didn’t really pause again until our rice bowls were half-empty.

“Jazzy,” Fann said after a long sip of chrysanthemum tea in between bites. “So… what did you think?”

“Of? The club? The cute bartenders? The shots?” I said, reaching for more roast pork.

Fann slapped my hand. “Aiyoh—don’t be like that lah!” she said. “You know what I’m asking!”

I wasn’t sure what to say—but I knew I shouldn’t pause too long or Fann would think I didn’t like Melvin. It’s true that Melvin probably wouldn’t be the type of ang moh I’d like to end up with. There was something too—quick—about him. Yes, I know it’s ironic considering I was the one who spent the night with an ang moh—something I wasn’t about to tell Fann with my mum sitting in the next room. But at the same time, I had been very clearheaded about Alistair. I wasn’t expecting anything more from him than a few hours of fun, though it was a few hours I was regretting more and more each time I thought about Sharon. With Melvin though, if Fann saw him as a real prospect, we needed to judge him by different standards! To have him pawing at her breasts like that in a public bar? Aiyoh—is that really what a guy who is serious about a girl does?

“Well,” I said, “he seems nice.”

Fann wrinkled her nose. “Oi, woman—if you have something to say, just directly say it lah,” she said.

“OK then,” I said. “Is he serious?”

Fann smiled at this question. Now I was really curious.

“Well, I have one thing to say,” Fann said, picking up her chopsticks again and reaching over to pick up the nicest-looking, fattiest piece of roast pork on the table. Bloody hell—I’d had my eye on that since we sat down but thought I should save it for my mum.

“Brunch,” she said, once she’d examined the pork closely, decided it would definitely do and put it in her bowl. “He’s invited me to Sunday brunch—at the Australian Club. With his close friends. And their wives or girlfriends.”

Jazzy here almost started tearing up after hearing this. Brunch? A daylight activity? With friends and their wives? In an ang moh club, no less! This was some serious shit going on right here.

I reached over and squeezed Fann’s hand. She looked at me and I looked right back at her—and we both started squealing.

Saturday night started out damn cock.

First, Imo suggested going to Studemeyer’s. “The deejay tonight is quite good!” she texted. So, OK, we all agreed to go. But then, when Fann and I showed up at the VIP table Louis booked, Imo stood us up! Turns out she left Carlyle’s early last night because she wasn’t feeling well. Then, it turns out she was actually quite sick, so all we got once we were already at Studemeyer’s was a text from her saying, “Sorry, sorry!” (And a bunch of lines about how much exactly she was hugging the toilet bowl, which we looked at one time and fasterly deleted. Who needs that kind of shit floating around our heads on a happening Saturday night out?)