Cheryl Tan - Sarong Party Girls

Roy led me all the way to the back of the restaurant, where there was a wide black wooden door—like one of those heavy castle doors you sometimes see in films. The waiter standing outside like a statue quickly jumped forward to open the door for us as we got close. The moment it opened, I could hear people laughing quite loudly inside. Good—I actually had been quite scared that this was going to be some atas party where I don’t even know what to say to people. At least it sounded like this could be fun.

Considering how big the door was, the room was actually quite small. Or maybe it was that the table inside was quite big. Either way, there was one long table that filled almost the whole room and all around it were eight men—mostly ang mohs but there were also two toot Chinese faces in there. There was just one woman there—a long-haired young girl, pretty in a flat-faced kind of way, Asian, though one of those slightly darker-skinned Asians—who was sitting close to the oldest man in the room, a guy with scruffy white hair wearing a flannel collared shirt.

“Finally!” the flannel-shirt guy said, getting up. “We were wondering where you went—I don’t want to know but I’m glad you brought us some fresh meat! Now bring that bitty thing over here so we can have a good look!”

I was having a bit of trouble understanding everything the guy was saying—he was talking so loudly and with such a heavy American twang—a bit like those ones you see in those old Clint Eastwood movies or the ones set a long time ago on some kind of plantation. These kinds of accents, you don’t normally hear in Singapore so much. Usually the Americans I meet all speak like Keanu Reeves—a little bland, like newscasters on CNN; no accent, really. But I figured that this guy must be a big shot if he is the oldest in the room, and also the loudest. So guniang here knew that she’d better try and follow along!

Roy quickly brought me all the way to the back of the room, since the guy was at the far end of the table, sitting like a king, having dinner with his advisors or something.

“This is Bill Tucker,” Roy said, waving at the guy. “Or Tucker—everyone calls him that.”

“Hi,” I said, smiling and offering my hand for him to shake. “I’m Jazzy.”

“My, my,” Tucker said, shaking my hand—his grip was so firm my crushed hand immediately started paining a bit. He was looking at me up and down now—even stopped damn long at my boobs. (No shame!) I started wondering if it was such a good idea to wear my red bra—he was so tall, he confirm can look down my dress.

“Aren’t you a catch?” Tucker said, shaking his head. “Now why are we so formal? Come over here!”

Before I could figure out what he meant, he yanked my hand toward him so I practically fell into his big chest. Luckily guniang was at least fast enough to turn my face as this was happening so my lipstick didn’t end up smearing all over his blue checked shirt. But this wasn’t the end—Tucker wrapped me in his strong arms, tight tight type, then cupped his hands over my backside and gave it a big squeeze.

“Aiyoh!” I shouted, then quickly feeling a bit embarrassed—guniang here was damn worried I was a bit too loud. This was Roy’s office function, after all. I didn’t want to make him feel ashamed about me.

So I quickly said, “Oops, sorry,” and giggled a little bit. “I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“Oh don’t worry, honey—I like loud,” Tucker said, laughing so hard that he finally released me—but not before he slapped my backside one time, really hard! The guys at the table quickly laughed along with him, too. I could hear that Roy behind me was joining in. One of the Chinese guys at the other end of the table was laughing a bit less than the rest. I tried to read his face—he looked a bit worried, and maybe sorry for me. I guess in my pearl earrings and nice makeup he must think I’m a nice lady or some shit. When he noticed me noticing him though, he quickly looked away and laughed even harder.

“Now enough of all this—let’s sit down so we can finally eat some meat,” Tucker said. “Now, y’all over there move so Jazzy over here can sit next to Vanida. You know girls, they like to do everything together—chitchat together, go to the bathroom together, fuck a man together…”

Even before the laughter from that disappeared, the two ang mohs sitting next to the girl quickly moved to the other side of the room, where a waiter was now adding chairs so they could sit down.

Tucker started talking again the moment Roy and I sat down. “Now this pretty thing is Vanida,” he said.

I stuck out my hand to shake Vanida’s. She looked a little surprised to be offered a handshake but adjusted her gauzy silk wrap over her tight bustier dress a bit so she could shake my hand. I was about to introduce myself when Tucker continued talking: “I knew I’d like this one the moment they told me her name—I figured any girl whose parents have the right mind to give their daughter a name that’s like ‘vagina’ have got their priorities straight!” He slapped the leg of his jeans and laughed loudly again. Roy and the boys followed along, laughing even louder.

Now, I know that in some social circles I can be considered a bit kampong lah—I’ve never been to the States or London before, I’m not rich, and sometimes, even though my English is very good, I still don’t quite understand the different language social customs or slangs of different countries. But in my whole life, not even in the sleaziest of clubs and certainly not on any work events that Albert had dragged me to, I had never met anyone like Tucker. I had met Americans before, of course—but none of them were ever like this. Usually, no matter where they came from or how little money they had, they were at least classy a bit. But this guy—my god! But he’s an important client of Roy’s? No choice, even if I was a bit uncomfortable, I figured I’d better just endure the dinner for Roy. I wanted so desperately to make him see me as good partner material, after all. This was my chance.

So, I just smiled.

I guess they must have ordered already because a round of big steaks started arriving—all American steaks. Even though American steaks are much more expensive than Ozzie or Kiwi steaks, apparently Tucker only eats American beef. And he wants everyone to eat American beef, so we all got one—with mashed potato and grilled asparagus some more. At least this was the one bright spot—the food itself was going to be something like what I had envisioned when I used to dream about eating at Manhattan one day.

“Who are these people?” I whispered to Roy as the table got a bit quiet while everyone was cutting their meat and passing around plates of asparagus.

“Boys in my office,” he whispered back. “And Tucker—his firm is one of our really big clients. He’s semiretired now but still comes through a few times a year on his way to or from Bangkok.”

“And his girlfriend?” I asked.

“Girlfriend? Please,” Roy said, laughing a bit and rolling his eyes. “I’m learning more and more about the ways of white men in Asia this week. Apparently it’s a new girl for Tucker every time. But he likes this one a little more than the previous ones, I think. He was telling us the other night that he kept her for most of the month he was in Bangkok this time and even paid extra to bring her along with him on his Singapore leg.”

I guess I must have looked concerned or something because Roy pinched my cheek and smiled.

“Look, I know it’s a bit strange,” he said. “But I really did want to see you and I promise you, after this dinner is over, I am all yours. I’ll make it up to you.”

OK lah—now this evening was actually going somewhere. Guniang smiled back.