Cheryl Tan - Sarong Party Girls

But at least Louis booked a table at Studemeyer’s and even though he hadn’t come out yet, he let us pull out his bottles from his liquor locker and all. So Andrew and Kelvin—who were so happy their wives let them come out to chiong for the night that they arrived at Studemeyer’s super early—had been drinking there since 9 P.M. By the time Fann and I got there, Louis’s bottle of Chivas was gone and they were asking the manager to bring out his Grey Goose and whatever the hell unfinished bottles Louis had in his locker.

“Come, come, cheers!” Andrew said, making vodka sodas for us four and passing them around.

“Eh, ladies,” Kelvin said after we bottoms-up and Andrew started making another round. “Tonight—be prepared. There’s an extra special show!”

When Kelvin said that, guniang here panicked a bit. I remember the last time we were out with Louis and his gang and they were talking about a special show coming on—my god, I could still taste the sourness of defeat from that night at Lunar, that Chinese club.

I looked at Fann, who was looking at her phone. I considered gesturing to her that perhaps we should leave. (Although I guess the more effective way of communicating that to her would have been to text her, even though she was sitting just one seat over.) The truth is, I was not feeling much like being in a club that night at all. Guniang here didn’t need any drinks to feel high—I was already feeling quite buzzed from a date with Roy. Yes—Roy!

My mum always says that good deeds bring good karma and guniang here has always thought that’s a bit bullshit lah. This kind of zen-zen-type stuff—please, it’s not very modern thinking! You think this one is what—ancient Japan, is it? (I know I should respect it and all but I always think it’s a bit wasting time only.) But this morning, after peeling all those bean sprouts and being a good girl for my mum, even clearing all the dishes after lunch, I got back to my room to find my phone beeping.

“I know it’s a bit late to be asking but are you free for coffee this afternoon?” Roy said.

After the awfulness of last night, guniang here was so happy to hear from Roy that I almost wanted to run back outside and hug my mum, I tell you. Maybe things were looking up a bit after all.

Of course, I waited half an hour before texting back—good, make him worry. Then I said, “OK.”

Roy had warned me to wear really comfortable walking shoes—a bit strange but I thought, OK, maybe he wants to go walking along Orchard Road to go shopping or something? It’s true—sometimes, when you’re doing heavy-duty shopping, especially on Sunday when all the families and kids are out, better be prepared to fasterly maneuver through all that crap. So I made sure to put on my nice sneakers—these were about five years old but guniang here uses them so little they’re still shiny shiny and all. I tell you—they look so new that if you put them on display in the store right now, people wouldn’t think twice about trying them on.

Roy had taken my coffee order by text so he had two medium-sized styrofoam cups in his car when he showed up downstairs. His car wasn’t too big or flashy—no Mercedes SUV here—but it wasn’t terrible. It was one of those MINI Coopers that were in fashion these days. Forest green, with one fat white stripe running down the side of it—not bad. Masculine and not that boring lucky red like so many Singaporeans were choosing when buying that kind of cute car.

The fact that he even had a car—and I deduced it was his because most companies wouldn’t buy a MINI as their company car, let’s face it—was promising. Cars are so expensive in Singapore—the island is so small, the government wants to discourage people from buying too many and clogging the roadways and all. So, first of all, they’re all imported and taxes on them are crazy. On top of that, even before you buy the car you have to bid on a certificate of entitlement to buy a car—each year the government only issues so few. So, my god, once those COEs are issued, everyone bids like crazy to get one. All in, you should know that if you want to buy a decent car, you know you’d better have at least a hundred thousand dollars in your bank account or you can forget about it.

So the fact that Roy has one—it’s not bad. Either he’s making enough to buy one himself or he’s valuable enough to his company that they factored a Singapore car allowance into his contract. Or maybe he came from a super rich family? From the looks of it, it was a brand-new MINI too. When guniang here saw the car—wah, I was immediately damn happy. This was promising!

Roy reached over to give me a hello kiss on the lips the moment I slid into his car. I turned my face slightly so he got my cheek instead, but made sure to give him a sweet little smile.

“Afternoon,” he said, smiling and turning his music down a little. I had thought he might be listening to pop or club music—I guess I’ll always associate him with that since that’s what was playing when we first met. But he was actually listening to the Beach Boys. Interesting. I wondered if he’d lived in the States before—or if maybe he might get posted there in the future? A lot of these oil guys I know often get stationed in Houston or some shit. I don’t really know how I would like living there lah—but it seems pretty fun from all the movies I’ve seen. I was trying to think whether that’s where all the cowboy movies are? Can consider.

We chitchatted a bit as he drove—nothing serious lah. Just how was your morning (I didn’t tell him about the bean sprout peeling—too LC), what have you been up to, that kind of thing. I was hoping he’d say something about why he hadn’t texted me since our date a few nights ago (and wondered about asking or commenting on it, but I didn’t want to seem needy). Besides, I guess it had really only been just over a day, really.

At that moment, I was just feeling happy to be sitting in this cute little car, with Roy, slowly driving past the tall boring buildings in my housing estate, turning onto a road near downtown that would lead us to leafy Bukit Timah, where the rich or expats with kids live. The trees, each one perfectly spaced apart and elegantly shaped, along the wide road medians were getting greener and fuller. As we neared the botanical gardens, Roy slowed down, turning into the car park. Ah, this kind of walk. To be honest, guniang here is not really a nature nature type of girl. (Please, not many Singaporeans truly are. If they say they are, I can tell you—confirm it’s all lies and posing. With all these great malls and cinemas around—who wants to spend time in a dirty garden?) But I had decided that Roy had potential—and he did seem sweet. So I guess, why not?

Roy handed me my coffee—“milk, two sugars, right?”—as we got out of the car. “It was such a nice day,” he said as we entered the tall iron gates to the gardens. “I thought perhaps it might be nice to get out.”

Once we got inside the park, I let Roy take the lead. Seemed like he’d been here before and probably knew his way around. Of course I’d been to the botanical gardens before—only once though, on a primary school excursion and even then I found it damn boring. Except for the couples doing photo shoots in their wedding outfits, seriously—what else was there to see in this place? But if Roy likes it then I’ll keep an open mind lah.

“I like coming here to clear my head,” Roy said, leading me down a narrow path toward the heart of the gardens. “Singapore’s so different from where I grew up—not quite the countryside but definitely not the city,” he added. I tried to think about whether I’d asked where he grew up in the UK. And decided not to risk asking him again, in case we’d already had this discussion that night when I was drunk.