Chapter 8

From: julianne.npt@sd.com
To: tutu.t@sd.com
Sent: Tuesday, 25 July 2006
Subject: While I’m Away

Tutu,
Please look into and/or follow up on the followings while I’m away on vacation. Any problem just contact Ean or Mei Lin.

1. Meeting with Mr. Tan from BKL, Tuesday, 1 Aug, 10am @ BKL office – present proposed Investment Plan – the binder is on my table.
2. Meeting with Dr. Rosa-Mary, Tuesday, 1 Aug, 2pm @ her office on Jln. Ampang – hand over the merger documents.
3. Have discussion with Ean regarding the D&C case, and compile report.
4. Finalize the Lee & Partners report by Friday, 4 Aug.
5. Assist Mei Lin with MMP’s franchising licenset, to be submitted in by … … …
6. Start on … … …
7. Call … … …
8. …
9.
10.
…
…
…

Thanks sweets! I’ll get you some souvs from Bali! Will miss you!

Regards,
Julianne Ng
Senior Legal Assistant
SD & Co.



“You look lost.”

I look up from my monitor screen to find Ean perching at the edge of the desk opposite mine. The desk is unoccupied, and my files and binders have somehow spilled over to cover half of the surface. It’s no surprise, considering how much I have to do. It’s a wonder no one has sounded me yet about tidying up the mess. But I really should straighten up the mess a bit. What is that saying, about a neat work station leading to higher work productivity?

Agh, what-ever.

I turn back to Ean. He’s looking smart, as usual. Today’s combination is black trousers team with a lavender-colored shirt and purple and silver stripe tie. I don’t know many guys who look good in lavenders.

I glance down at my wrinkled grey Zara skirt. Ugh, let’s not go there.

“I have good reason to be lost.” I say to Ean while swiveling the monitor screen towards him. He scans through it thoughtfully before giving a short laugh, shakes his head and gives my hand a squeeze.

“Tu, relax! All of us received the same email! Jules probably just changed our names around and send it to each of us.” At my mouth-open stare, he squeezes my hand again. “C’mon, it’s lunch time. The others are going to Madam Kwan’s. Do you want to join them, or would you like to spend some quiet time with me?”

I look around to make sure no one heard his outrageous remark, before slapping him on the thigh. He didn’t even flinch, the insufferable flirt!

Pushing away from the desk, I reach for my bag and say to him. “I am grabbing a bite at O’briens, and then I’m going to browse the bookshop. You can spend your quiet time with anyone you choose.” And then I walk out the office without looking back.

I need a break. I know I keep saying that, but I really need a break. Why can’t I be the one flying off to Bali for two weeks, and do nothing but spend my days on the beach with a good book, and my nights with a good man (if they really do exist!). This past month, I feel myself perching at the edge. I can, and will, fall off very soon. The only thing holding me together now is – is…? What? I don’t even know. I truly am losing it!!

“Hey, wait, check this out!”

I didn’t realize Ean is following behind me until he grabs my arm and stops me from walking out the door.

“Wh- ?”

I almost lost my balance, being so absorbed in my going-over-the-edge thoughts and all. The tip of my heel slips off the polished granite of the reception area, and I feel myself starting my oh-so-ungraceful descend onto the cold hard floor, right there, at the entrance of our office, for all to see. Ta-da!!

But I never hit the floor.

As smoothly as only Ean is able to manage, he slips his arm around my waist and catches me even before I start calling “Mummy!” – something which sort of happens in auto-pilot mode, whenever I go into a sudden panic, like now. Hm, how girlish, I know, but really, it’s an unconscious habit; the remnants of my childhood, when, as­ a little girl, I would call out for my mom whenever there was a problem.

But mummy won’t be able to help me this time. Here I am, sort of at a 45 degree angle to the floor, with one leg in mid air (the one responsible for me slipping in the first place), my bag dangling lopsided off my shoulder, and my arms flaying at my side ‘cos I am not sure where to put them – to grab on to Ean’s muscular biceps, or wind themselves helplessly around his neck? Oh, I really am not trying to play “Gone with the Wind” at the office reception, but, boy, what a picture we must make!
And it is, without question, that there is the “eye thing” happening. You know, when a man and a woman end up in this unexpected position that they will spend a breathless hour or two staring into each others eyes. And the entire world disappears as they become aware only of each other, sinking into the depths…

What is happening!?

I quickly straighten myself, put my midair-hanging feet firmly back onto the ground, grab the straps of my bag and hold on to them with both hands (just to keep them busy), then take three big steps backwards, away from Rhett, I mean Ean. Oh god, why am I panting for air? Nothing happened! Nothing!

“You ok?”

Mm hm, I manage a nod.

“You sure?” Is that laughter in his eyes?

I nod again. That’s all I can do, stupidly enough.

Then he shrugs, oh so casually, and turns to the notice board next to the reception desk. It is then I finally notice the poster with the words “Annual Holiday” stamped across the top. Next to the text is the image of a coconut tree, white sand, a cruise ship, blue sky and even bluer water. Hey, that looks like my holiday!

“It says here that it’ll be taking place during National Day’s week, and it’s for all staffs from the ‘Corporate-Commercial’ and the ‘Finance-Property’ departments. That’s us! I heard some of the secretaries talking about it this morning, but didn’t realize it’s happening so soon.” He turns to me, who am still standing stupidly behind him, “something to look forward to, huh?”

I manage a smile. “Hm, yeah, definitely.”

Ean nods in agreement, and, after another glance at the poster, tilts his head towards the door.

“Shall we?”

“Huh?”

I receive a questioning look. “Lunch? You wanted to grab a sandwich on the way to the bookshop, right?”

“Oh ya. Of course. Sure.”

“Lets go then.”

“Ya. Ok.”

Ya. So Intelligent, Tutu!

Chapter 7

Peach Gathered Waist Blouse, $580
Natural Leather Peep Toe Pump, $750
Grey Tailor Pants, $630
White Suede Bag and Matching Purse, $1,180

… $1,180 for a handbag and a matching purse! Amazing. I think I can get at least 5 sets of reasonably good quality and fashionable bags and purses with that price! And the price tags aren’t even in Ringgit! How many people will actually buy these stuffs? And for people who do, how often do you think they will want to be spotted in public wearing the same Peach Gathered Waist Blouse?

I guess you can probably tell by now that I’m not the runway fashion sort of girl. For one thing, it’s impossible to become a runway girl when living on the kind of salary that I have. If I get myself a pair of heels for $750 (whatever currency that may be), my car will be running on water, and you’ll see me chewing on leafs and dry barks. Hmm, yummm.

Also, I don’t believe in having to spend a million dollars in order look a million dollars. It’s all in the S.O.S. – “Sense of Style”. If you have it, you have it. If you don’t, well, too bad, babe.

When you walk on the streets, do you want people saying “She’s wearing the latest Gucci jeans”, or, “She’s so Gucci!”? Think about it. You are wearing the clothes, not the clothes wearing you. Ha! Spoken like a professional!

“For someone who’s about to surrender herself over to my pampering hands, you look awfully stressed.”

The voice comes from behind me. I look up from the magazine spread I’m reading and meet the gaze of my hairdresser in the mirror’s reflection. I smile my apologies.

“Hey Sam, sorry, I was just thinking about something.”

“Not about work, I hope. You know my rules; only happy thoughts allowed in my salon.”

“I don’t think she’s thinking about work. But she could be thinking about someone from work.”

Both Sam and I turn to look at Kaelyn, who is seated at the next station, her head decorated in shampoo suds. I shoot her a scowl. That girl talks too much. I can see interest and curiosity dawning on Sam’s face, but I say nothing.

Samuel Hansen, 35 years old, but looks more like 28 (or even 26, on his good days – darn it!). The mixed heritage is a bonus, of course. His mom is Chinese-Portuguese. His dad is English-Japanese-Spanish. Sam speaks over 8 different languages, not counting the dialects; it’s quite amazing to listen to him sometimes. And some of the girls would sigh and go all starry eyes when he serenades them with Spanish songs, even though they were actually only nursery rhymes.

Sam has jet black hair that never misbehaves, and eyes an odd mysterious shade of grey. He is tall, just an inch shy of 6 feet, though he swears he’s the shortest among his siblings. His tan is always even, and his skincare collection is probably more complicated than mine and Kaelyn’s combined together. Dressing wise, needless to say, he is always trendy and stylish. Sam always manages to look like he has thrown the look together carelessly, without much thought. He looks like he gets up in the morning and, wham, gorgeous male in the making. In short, he is the perfect example of today’s Metrosexual man.

Kaelyn, like the other girls, used to drool all over him. But I find myself wondering, how do you have a relationship with a man who spends more time in the bathroom than you do? However, having said that, no one can be exactly sure if Sam is really plain, straight heterosexual. And I know he likes to keep us all guessing.

Now, Sam runs his fingers through my limp, lifeless tresses, and he is frowning. I know what he will say even before he starts shaking his head.

“Baby Doll, what have you been doing with your hair?”

“Nothing,” I reply.

He purse his lips as he takes a step back, still staring at my hair. “Well, maybe that’s the problem.”

Beside us, Kaelyn giggles but hide her face behind the magazine she is reading.

After a while, Sam says, “Don’t worry, Baby Doll, I’ll­­­­ make you beautiful again.”

That’s what I like about visiting Sam. It’s not just the posh set up of his salon, which is sleek but warm and open; or the plush arm chairs where you can curl up and get comfortable; or the great coffee they serve you instead of the standard lukewarm Chinese tea. Sam doesn’t overwhelm you with all the designer-talk or tries to make you feel like you’ve been living in some backward village where they’ve just discovered 2-in-1 shampoos. He definitely doesn’t overload you with all the must-haves of beauty products or talk you into signing up for a 10 session treatment course you don’t really need. Sam’s honest and sincere, and takes his job seriously. He shows you, rather than tell you, that you can trust him.

I sit back and prepare to let him do his magic.

But just as I close my eyes, my phone starts ringing. I should have turned the damn thing off. Please don’t let it be the office! I start chanting in my head as I reach for my bag. Please, please, please don’t let it be –

– Ean. It’s Ean.

“Hey, you,” he says immediately when I answer.

“Hey,” I reply, mimicking his casual tone.

“You busy?”

“I’m at the hair salon.”

“Ah,” he says knowingly, “is that a major makeover, or just a little modification?”

I have to smile at his words. “I haven’t decided yet.”

“Well, if you ask me, you are gorgeous just the way you are.”

Ah – right… Now, how do one reply to that?!

I decide on a light-hearted response. After all, Ean’s forever flirting. I should be used to it by now. Never take the guy seriously, that’s what Mrs. Tay in HR always says. “Well, if you ask me, being gorgeous is not good enough.”

Ean laughs. “So what else do you need?”

“Why, brains of course! Ean Aw, don’t you know anything? Intelligence, wit and throw in some boldness – that’s the way to go!”

He laughs again, and it sounds good. “Obviously I don’t know enough. That’s why I need you, my intelligent Princess, to guide me. This world is too complicated for me!”

I ignore the flutter in my stomach. It means nothing, his words. Nothing.

“You don’t need me.”

“I need you,” Sam comes up from behind and speaks into the phone. He flashes me a playful grin when I wave at him to go away.

“Who was that?” Ean ask on the other end.

“Er, that was Sam, my –“

I didn’t get to finish my sentence. Sam fishes the phone out of my hold, and says to Ean, in his perfect British accent, “This is Samuel. I’m afraid Lady Tutu will be unavailable for the rest of the day. Thank you for calling, and have a nice day.”

Then he ends the call.

The reflection in the mirror shows a girl (me) with a turban wrap on her head and mouth open wide in totally speechlessness. Kaelyn, however, throws her head back and starts laughing, disregarding the foils in her hair which Sam’s assistant is fixing on.

“There you go,” Sam says as he returns the phone into my bag, “no more interruption.” Then he notices the shock on my face. “Ooops, sorry Baby Doll, was that someone important?”

Ah…

“No, no one important, Sam darling,” my busy body best friend comes to my rescue, or not. “Just the man.”

“Oh? Hm,” Sam puts his hands on my shoulders and lean forward so his head is level with mine. He winks at me in the mirror. “I thought I am the only man in your life, Baby Doll.”

The world is going mad; from out of no where I have two good looking men outrageously flirting with me. And I have no idea what to do with them.

“Ean’s just a colleague,” I finally manage to say, through gritted teeth, while throwing a dark glare in Kaelyn’s direction.

“And he’s married,” Kaelyn helpfully adds. Oh, I can just kill her sometimes!

“He’s separated.” I should keep my mouth shut, really I should.

“Oh please, everyone separates and gets back together again these days. It’s the trend!” My friend should shut up too.

I ignore Kaelyn. She gives me these lectures every other day. I seem to have formed some sort of opinion about Ean, and it doesn’t seem good. She’s not even met the guy yet! Probably just being protective. Kaelyn can be such a mother hen sometimes.

Sam starts working his scissors through my locks. His hands moving in a rhythm only he is in tune to. He has this look on his face when he is in total concentration, another one of those looks which gets the girls swooning. When he’s in this mode, he’s totally oblivious to whatever that goes on around him. I’m just thankful that he’s stop teasing me.

I close my eyes and lean back into the seat. It’s pampering time!