Cheryl Tan - Sarong Party Girls

Also, if I had been nice and stayed there instead of running off to meet Louis, maybe that evening would have turned out a lot different. Maybe a lot of things in my life would have been different if I had just seen things clearer.

I started to feel damn tired. And I guess the fucker probably thought I owed him an apology or some shit. But just when I was thinking of saying something—not apologizing, mind you, but just acknowledging that maybe he expects me to apologize—Seng said, “Aiyoh, aiyoh!” and ran over to the dustbin near the bus stop.

Next to the tall plastic dustbin there was a guy curled up on the floor.

“Oi,” Seng said, using the tip of his pointy leather shoe to poke the guy’s stomach. “Oi! Oi! ”

When the guy didn’t wake up, I heard him softly say, “Kani nah.”

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“My friend lah,” he said, taking a last long puff of his ciggie and throwing it on the floor near the guy’s shoe. “We all thought the fucker went home already when he suddenly just got up and fucked off out of McDonald’s thirty minutes ago.”

Seng shook his head and exhaled slowly. I could see the smoke coming out of his nostrils as he pursed his lips, thinking, thinking.

“This lanjiao always gets this drunk,” he said, shaking his head and looking a bit worried.

Then Seng sighed, bent down and went through the guy’s pockets, taking out his iPhone and wallet. He stopped, opened the wallet and thought for a bit, then took out twenty dollars, folding the notes up nicely and carefully tucking them inside the front of his friend’s pants.

When I looked confused, Seng winked. “Taxi money,” he said, carefully putting the phone and wallet in his pockets. “Robbers won’t dare to put their hands into his underwear, even to try and steal money—haha!”

Even I had to laugh at this. As toot as this whole scene was, this actually made sense. I watched Seng dust his hands on his jeans, sigh again and clear his throat, then slowly bend down and carefully pick his friend up. They were both about the same size so Seng was having a hard time of it.

“Eh, you need any help?” I said, stepping closer.

Seng looked at me sternly. “No need, no need,” he said. “He’s really too heavy. I don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Silently, I stood there and watched as, inch by inch, Seng staggered over to a long bench under the bus stop canopy and gently laid his friend down. Buses were few and far between at that time, so the place was empty, quiet. And, this being a bus stop in Orchard Road, the benches were fairly clean. From the guy’s heaving chest, I could see he was all right. He even smacked his lips and turned on his side, his arms cradling his chest.

“Shouldn’t we send him home or something?” I said.

“No need lah—you see how bloody heavy he is?” Seng said. Which was true. His friend was not say, damn fucking fat but he also confirm was not skinny. Seng had really been staggering.

“Plus, he lives all the way up north, near the Malaysian causeway—do you know how expensive the taxi ride there and back will be?” Seng added, reaching into his pocket to pull out his ciggies, plucking one out and lighting it. “I’ll just drop off his stuff tomorrow. I want to make sure you get home soon and safe, Ah Huay. Now what time already? Your mum is really going to worry if you’re out much later.”

I stood there for a moment, looking down at the guy, still curled up. A ring of cigarette butts and crumpled tissue paper made a halo around his bench. Fucker was even smiling a bit.

“Come,” Seng said, holding out his free hand. “Let me send you home.”

I had to think for a moment. Was this it?

“Actually,” I said, “I’m waiting for someone.”

I could see Seng’s upper lip curl. He rolled his eyes and said, “Your choice.” Then he threw up his hands and walked away.

Alone—really alone, it felt—I wondered what to do next. Next to the bus stop, there was a hive of bright lights and noise—McDonald’s. I tell you, at this time of night, McDonald’s is the most happening place in town. Post-clubbing hours are a big moneymaking time for them. Even though guniang here didn’t want to go and eat with the Ah Bengs inside, smelling the place reminded me that tonight I didn’t have supper. If I eat something here now, it’s also not bad—chances are, nobody I know (or care about) will spot me here. And by the time I finish, I’m sure the taxi queue would be gone.

I was standing outside looking in, considering, when I noticed the face looking back at me in the glass. After such a long night out, my hair had deflated; long strings of it were whipped haphazardly around my face. My lipstick was mostly gone, chewed off; the mascara was still in place, though I looked a little like a raccoon from the smudges under my eyes. I missed Sher, who always carried around makeup remover towelettes in her handbag and would drag me to the loo when she thought I needed a touch-up. Where was Sher tonight? Sher always knew the right thing to do. Always. She may have married an Ah Beng, but, I realized, at least this was an Ah Beng who was there sleeping by her side at this very moment—maybe even spooning.

Sher had popped by the office one day this week to take me out to lunch. It was a quick one, but sweet. She told me all the toot stories of her Ah Beng honeymoon and I realized I hadn’t laughed that much in months—yes, even if some of it was laughing at her precious Ah Huat. Sher was good-natured about it all. I got the sense that she knew what he was and what he wasn’t and she was just A-OK with it. I guess there really was nothing left for me to say on the subject at the end of the day. Sher had even hugged me super tightly as she left, asking me once again if I would consider helping Ah Huat at work. “As if!” I had said. Sher just smiled and shrugged as she left.

The lights inside McDonald’s were so bright I couldn’t see my skin clearly, but from how papery it felt, I knew it was sallow. I suddenly heard my mum’s voice in my head: “A young girl’s face is her jewel, Ah Huay—take good care of it. Get lots of rest, eat healthily, don’t go out so late. The fire in your body increases the later you are up—if you’re up too late, the fire will burn you up. Listen to your, Ma—please.”

My mum, perhaps, was right all along.

The sky was a pale pinkish blue now; the sun wasn’t too far behind. The gigantic shopping malls that lined Orchard Road were towering black blocks against this rapidly lightening canvas. I could barely make out the Prada store sign just across the street.

Something about this dawn was reassuring, even if all around me was an army of mascara-streaked dolls staggering about, occasionally breaking into scuffles whenever a taxicab trundled by. I saw what I should have known all along. I didn’t need Seng, or Kelvin, or Louis and most certainly not Roy—not to send me home or fuck me or even to marry me. I didn’t need Sean or Albert. And thank god I didn’t need Alistair.

I may not know the future but I do know myself. I am Jazzy—and Jazzy doesn’t lose! I realized then that I had actually made my decision sometime before, even though I hadn’t wanted to admit it.

Taking my phone out, I started typing. “Sher,” I said. “OK lah. You can tell your Ah Huat—yes.”

This book would not have been possible without these people and I give them immense thanks:

To my extraordinary agent, Jin Auh, who believed in and loved Jazzy from the very beginning. Much appreciation to Mike Hale for his encouragement during the early writing of SPG . To Gordon Dahlquist, for reading closely each step of the way — Jazzy’s world was all the better for having him know it early on. And to John “Nonny” Searles, for his enormous heart.