Cheryl Tan - Sarong Party Girls

“You ready to go home now or not?” he asked.

When I shook my head, he continued. “Good—me too,” he said. “Come, I’ll bring you somewhere.”

I guess I must have looked nauseous or something, because he quickly added, “Aiyoh, please—don’t think that your backside is so great. People here are not trying to make a move on you—I just want to bring you somewhere more fun.”

Set! I just laughed, gave him the thumbs-up sign and grabbed my handbag.

The club Kelvin had in mind was actually not far—good lah, no need to queue up for taxi. When he saw me hobbling a bit because my feet were hurting he was actually nice enough to offer me his arm to help me steady steady all. I have to admit that I was a little shocked—I whole life long had never seen this side of Kelvin before. It actually made me feel a bit bad about being so mean about talking about his socks crotch over the years. (But just for a moment.) Then I realized—hallo, if he weren’t so toot as to stuff his crotch with socks then we wouldn’t have anything to make fun of him about. It’s his own bloody fault.

After a few minutes, Kelvin turned into the Dynasty Hotel lobby, which was a bit quiet—of course, it was five-something in the morning after all! I was about to ask him whether there was really a bar or not—the lobby was so deserted. But as we walked through the lobby all the way to the back, I could hear people chitchatting and some muffled clubby music. When we got to the far end of the lobby, there was a small partition and behind that, big double glass doors under the sign SOS. Walao—what kind of toot bar is this?

The moment Kelvin opened the heavy glass door—voom! The music suddenly got damn bloody loud, filling the lobby momentarily. And inside, I could see a big crowd jammed around a bar, and an even bigger crowd cramming a small parquet dance floor. There were a few dark banquettes scattered around—I couldn’t really see much but I could see moving shapes in all of them.

I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to enter or not but Kelvin had already started walking in, so I fasterly followed. He squeezed his way through to the bar and cleared enough room so I could stand next to him.

“What do you want?” he said, quickly tilting his head up slightly in that attitude Ah Beng way.

I was so confused by the surroundings I didn’t know what to say. “Whatever you’re having,” I said.

“Two Jamesons on the rocks,” Kelvin said to the bartender, holding up two fingers and watching him closely as he poured, I guess to make sure that he was getting his money’s worth. Since Louis wasn’t here, Kelvin was paying for our drinks after all.

“Come—cheers,” he said, when the drinks arrived. “Just cheers—no bottoms up. If you want to bottoms-up, you can take out your wallet and buy the next round.”

Bloody hell. But, I have to say, fair is fair. I clinked his glass and took a sip.

Kelvin turned around and stood on the raised step underneath the bar so he could get a better look at the dance floor, so I did the same.

“What the hell is this place?” I asked.

“My god, why are you so kampong—you’ve really never been here before?”

When I nodded, Kelvin shook his head.

“SOS—or, as we call it, ‘SBS.’ For si beh sian —super boring! This is where people come to find the last-chance hookup for the night,” he said.

“Now is the damn happening time here lah,” he added. “At this time the atas clubs are all doing last call, so if you still haven’t found someone to pok yet, then go to SOS. This bar only closes at seven A.M.! If by seven A.M. you still haven’t found a hookup yet, then even you yourself have no choice but to admit you are a loser. Just fuck off and eat breakfast then go home. But most people confirm can find someone here. It’s just a matter of adjusting expectations.”

Even though Kelvin was talking to me, he wasn’t looking at me—he was very carefully staring at each corner of the room, squinting. I could see him making mental calculations in his head—does that girl look chio enough to lose his spot at the bar near the bartender? Or maybe there’s someone with more potential who just hasn’t shown up yet?

“Eh, Kelvin,” I said. “Now what time already—you don’t want to go home? Worst-case scenario you can always go home and pok your wife, no? Come here for what?”

“Talk cock lah,” he said, laughing a little even though his face didn’t look like he was laughing at all. “The bitch is moving out next week. She’s been having a bloody affair with her meditation therapist! Fucking lanjiao fucker. She’s moving in with that fucking California-educated hippie and all, while trying to take all my money.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I just joined Kelvin in scanning the room. Together, we leaned back against the bar, quietly, side by side, and just did a look see.

If you just walked in and didn’t know anything, you would think that SOS was damn happening. Everywhere people were cheering, bottoms-upping, dancing like crazy, hugging, air-kissing, real kissing, rubba-ing. Every single person was being damn action, as if they were having a number one time. But if you looked closely, you could see that actually, this one is all for show. Even though the mouth is smiling, the eyes are quite sad. The ones who were hooking up didn’t look tender or passionate. It was a manic desperation; the fear of being alone, of going home alone. And the only ones who didn’t have this kind of look on their faces were the small young Thai girls who, even though it was five-something in the morning, still had perfect hair and makeup and they certainly didn’t look mabuk. Calmly, they perched on bar stools or banquets, preening and scanning the crowd, occasionally getting up to circle the dance floor.

“Kelvin,” I said, “I think I’d better make a move first.”

He didn’t look at me—just nodded and kept slowly sipping his Jameson, still scanning the room.

Now I really didn’t know what else to say. So I just bottoms-up my drink and fasterly left.

When I got to the front of the hotel, I wondered what to do. Even though it was damn late, I still didn’t feel like going home. (Plus, the Dynasty Hotel taxi queue was jammed with SOS people—who looked even more desperate and drunk now that we were outside and the sky was very gradually lightening.)

So, I decided to walk along Orchard Road a little. At this time, the street was especially bright, with the streetlights still beaming down, and although it was almost six, it was actually a bit noisy since post-clubbing people were stumbling about. Slowly, I walked, passing the Crabtree & Evelyn where Imo likes to buy her atas shower gels, past the Ferragamo shop where Imo, Sher and I went to buy Fann a wallet for her birthday last year after saving up money for a few weeks. I was about to head to the bus stop when I noticed a familiar face coming toward me. Kani nah!

I stood very still, hoping that if I didn’t move, maybe I wouldn’t be noticed.

“Oi, Jazzy—following me around is it?” Seng said when he got closer. I could tell that the fucker had noticed me from far away but was trying to act cool, not even looking at me.

“You go and dream lah,” I said, blinking at him.

Seng looked at me up and down, pulled out his pack of menthols and lit one up.

“So late still haven’t gone home?” he said, staring at me coolly.

I didn’t say anything. I watched as he ran his fingers through his long fringe and swept it back. Fucker was still trying to act cool and all. He took a long drag of his ciggie, still looking at me as he slowly scratched his cheek with his long pinkie fingernail.

“How come one of your atas friends isn’t driving you home in his Rolls-Royce?” he said, blinking and looking away for a bit, then looking back. It didn’t occur to me until now that I hadn’t seen or heard from him since that night when I ditched him at Studemeyer’s. I suddenly felt bad. No matter how annoying Seng had been to show up, his heart was always in a good place. Plus, we’d been friends for so long—far longer than I’ve been with any of these fuckers I’ve been clubbing with every night.