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!

Chapter 6

It’s been really hectic at work lately. My poor frail body (and soul) is just about to snap into two and get buried under the crazy amount of work load. I’ve been going to work at 7am and staying back till 9pm. That’s no way to live, I tell you. I hardly see the sun anymore, except for the rare moments when I pop out for a cup of frappucino – take away, of course.

The only way I’m surviving is by telling myself that this will not last. I’m seriously considering a change of career. I heard there’s a model search in town. Maybe they’ll discover me? Or not. Don’t think anyone notices me these days, with my hair bunched up in a tight ponytail because I have no time for any glamorous styling whatsoever, and its too dull and lifeless to have it down; I hardly have time for breakfast, so there’s no way you’ll catch me waking up at some insane hour just to put on make up; dark circles are permanently imprinted beneath my eyes, so I’ve been hiding behind my glasses. Well, guess I shouldn’t be too hopeful about becoming the next Amber Chia.

The other option would be to find a rich old man, preferably a fat and balding one, and marry him. Yeah right, Tutu, keep on dreaming, I can just see where this one is going.

.......................................................................♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

It’s Saturday afternoon, 4pm, and the sun is casting lazy shadows across the lawn. I’m putting out my second load of washing; I haven’t had the time or the energy to tackle them during the week.

Can you imagine hanging up your laundry within an English country-styled garden? I can tell you that it is immensely pleasurable. Every time I am out here, I feel so peaceful, and so away from the loud and demanding world. It’s really very amazing.

There are a couple of low trees in the garden on one side of my studio. Mr. Sachiiya told me they were lemon trees. How did he manage to grow lemons in this weather?

Mr. Sachiiya’s friendly face wrinkled with a smile when I threw him my question. “Shhh, that’s my little secret,” he said.

The trees are not bearing fruits yet, but the leaves are already giving out a sweet and tangy fresh perfume, and small buds are starting to sprout from between the greens. And right next to the trees is my laundry area. Despite the old fashion setting, Mr. Sachiiya made sure I had a proper and sturdy clothes line. And now, with my laundry flapping in the breeze among the trees within the picturesque garden (yes, there’s actually a real breeze!), this postcard image is complete! (“Wish you were here?”)

I picked up a pair of pants from the laundry pile and draped it over the line. As I bent down again, my fringe escaped from the clip which was holding them in place. With my hands busy, I blow out a breath which flutters my fringe, sending them temporarily in the air, before they settle back against my face. I probably should visit my hairdresser sometime soon, I can’t remember when my last visit was, which just goes to show how crazy and unorganized my life has been lately. Just thinking about it gets me frustrated. And the thing is I realize I am the only one who can make the changes. It won’t work just sitting around complaining about my environment.

Hm, am I starting to sound like one of Kaelyn’s horoscopes?

Just as I am putting up the last of my washing, which happens to be my new polka dot bra and panty set, I hear Mrs. Sachiiya calling for me.

“Tutu! Tutu, you have a visitor!”


I turn around to see the elderly lady coming down the garden path, and following closely behind her – Ean?! What is he doing here? Oh gosh, I am wearing my super worn out shorts the oldest t-shirt, which probably has stains all over it, and my hair is a mess, and my newly laundered bras and panties are flapping in the air – What is he doing here!?

I step forward and almost tripover my laundry basket. Klutz!

“Tutu, my dear, how are you?” Mrs. Sachiiya is forever warm and friendly. Then she noted my laundry. “Oh, you’re doing your laundry! I was telling my daughter in law about you. You work so hard, yet finds time to keep the place tidy and wash your own laundry. So disciplined. Such a good girl!”

“Erm…” What am I suppose to say to that? “Thank you, Mrs. Sachiiya. Erm… that’s too kind of you. Really, it’s nothing much, just erm, doing what I should…”

I trail off when I catch Ean’s eyes and he winks at me from behind Mrs. Sachiiya. I frown back.

“So sorry to bother you, Mrs. Sachiiya, I didn’t realize my friend was dropping by for a visit, or I would have met him at the gates.”

“Oh, not at all, my dear, not at all! In fact, your friend was just telling me how much he enjoys our garden, and even mentioned that he does a bit of gardening himself as well! That’s very rare among young people these days. My own grandson can’t tell the difference between African Lilies and Cornflowers.”

I can’t either, but I say nothing and just cock an eyebrow at Ean. Him, gardening? I can’t imagine.

“My father loves gardening,” Ean say as a way of explaining, “What I know, I learn from him.”

Mrs. Sachiiya beams at him, the approval on her face unmistakable. Then she gives my arm a pat. “Well, I’ll leave you two young people alone now.” She turns around to head back towards the main house. But after a few steps, she stop and call back to me. “Oh Tutu, I’m baking a banana cake for tea. I expect to see you in the kitchen in half an hour’s time, and make sure to bring your friend too, of course!”

“Oh Mrs. Sachiiya, that’s not necessary, he won’t be staying long –“

“Of course we’ll love to! Thank you very much for the invitation, Mrs. Sachiiya,” Ean cut me off before I could say anymore. “See you in a while!”

Satisfied, the elderly lady continue back to the house.

I stare at Ean with what could only be total astonishment plus a lot of curiosity plus some frustration. He catches my look, but only grins at me in return and says, “I drive a Ford and I have a condo in the outskirts. Am I rich enough for you?”

I look at him in absolute incomprehension. “What?”

His laughs, and I notice how the sides of his eyes crinkle when he do so. Then he tilts his head at my top, “Love your t-shirt.”

I follow his gaze and look down.

Ah. Now I see.

I’m wearing one of my crazy t-shirts, bought during the ancient ages when I thought wearing cheeky writings were cool. But I didn’t realize the message I was sending out wasn’t so appropriate for my age. I was only 15 then. And the message reads: “If you’re rich, I’m single”. In gold.

During the exchange with Mrs. Sachiiya, I have temporarily forgotten about my shabby attire! But I have to steel myself against Ean’s apparently innocent flirting. He is always doing it. I cross my arms over my chest, hiding most of the words, and look up at him.

“What are you doing here?” I demand, not sounding too friendly, but I don’t like to be taken my surprise, especially when I don’t recall giving him my new address. Not that I am not happy to see him, but that’s beside the point.

Ean shrugs very casually, in a fashion only he is able to deliver. “Just wanted to see you, Outside of the office, that is.”

I mentally draws in a breath, but outside, I appear cool.

He continues. “You know how hard we’ve been working lately, and we hardly have time to talk anymore. You remember how we used to talk, Tu?”

Yeah, but that was before I found out you have a wife, and you never even bothered to tell me!

But I didn’t say that. Instead, I imitates his casual shrug. “Yeah, well, like you said, we’ve both been caught up with work,” And then, because I just can’t resist, “Besides, I’m sure your wife is more than willing to talk to you when you gets home at the end of the day.”

“We’ve separated.”

Oh. Oh.