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.

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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.

Chapter 5

"Hey, Tu," It was Kaelyn on the phone.

"Yup, what’s up?"

"Just wondering what you're up to later tonight."

"Me? Hmmm..." I smiled to myself. "Not much. Just spending time in my new home, walking around the place and enjoying every piece of furniture, every wall, every window, every cabinet..."

My friend laughed. "You are crazy! I know you are gloriously happy with the new place and all that, but may I remind u that apart from the built in kitchen cabinet, the only other piece of furniture u have in that place is your new queen size bed. You’re gonna spend the entire night staring at it?"

I walked over to the kitchenette and ran my hand over the beautiful oak counter top. Then I pulled out the drawers one by one. There are nothing much in them yet, just a set of new cutleries n a couple of tea towels, but they are still nice to look at.

"Stop making fun of my new home. It’s a bit empty now, but I’m slowly furnishing it. This place has character; you can’t just plunk any old sort of furniture into it, you know?”

"Oh wow, now u sound like that designer on TV, what’s his name? That guy with curly hair and wears only leather pants?"

I reached up to open the cabinets above the counter. My new dining set from Ikea sat orderly on the shelf. 4 bowls, 4 small plates, 4 big plates, and a serving dish.

"Kaelyn Yang, you tease me some more and I won’t invite u over when Mrs. Sachiiya bakes her yummy scones."

Mrs. Sachiiya is my new land lady. Her husband, Mr. Sachiiya is in fact the “gardener” whom I met the day I inspected the studio and signed the contract. Apparently the Sachiiyas are different from the rich folks around the area. They do their own gardening. And their own baking too! Mrs Sachiiya has a live in maid as well as an elderly housekeeper, but she loves to cook, and bakes the most amazing scones, in all sorts of flavors! The day I moved in, she dropped by with a basket of aromatic lavender scones – with real lavender flowers, not the essence sort – still warm from the oven. Yumm! I totally feel like I was in the English country or something! Lyn complained that I always seem to manage to get myself really great landladies. I guess I’m lucky in that sense, but not when it comes to housemates or roommates. Bambi was just one bad experience, and I hope will be my last. I love this new place and I’m so not sharing it this time, irregardless of what anyone says. Yes, including Ean.

I took a last look at my gleaming new dishes before closing the cabinet, and walked over to the adjoining living area, still empty save for a couple of boxes which I have yet unpack. But my parents had said they would buy me a new TV and a sofa as house warming presents, so the space will be looking more like a home soon. Oh I’m so excited! As u can tell, I have yet gotten over the thrill of having a place of my own, even thou it is only rented. But I’m sure u would agree that this is by far the best place to rent. The coolest!

"Ok ok, no more teasing," Lyn said. "Anyway, I was calling to see if you feel like going out tonight.”
One thing you should know about Kaelyn, she never asks me out at the last minute unless she’s up to something. I wonder what it is this time.

“Why?” I asked, just to bait her a bit.

“Well, Jasmine, my project manager, is having a birthday party at this lounge in the city, and she'd invited the entire office.”

Lyn works at a small graphic design firm, and the entire office, including the tea lady and receptionist, amounts to only 7 people. All female. And I tried to remind her so. But she promptly brushed it off. Yup, this something’s up, that’s for sure.

“That’s beside the point,” she said. “Anyway she’s also bringing a few other friends.”

“And…?”

“And, so I thought, maybe it would be nice to go check it out, and hang out a bit. We can always leave if we don’t like it. But I heard that this place is like, the IT place at the moment, very chic and slick, I think you’d like it.”

“I would?” Haha, I know I wasn’t being very helpful there, but I just couldn’t resist! “But you know I don’t like noisy clubs, and I can’t stand the smoke.”

“Oh no, but this place is more a lounge than a club! And I hear they play a lot of jazz and chill music, the kind you like.”

“So…?”

“So?! So I thought, maybe, you know, we could go check it out!”

My friend’s getting frustrated, but she’s yet to tell me the real reason behind this sudden interest to attend Jasmine’s birthday party. She doesn’t even like the girl! She is always complaining how Jasmine is too thin, too arrogant, too bossy, too friendly, too fake, too pretty – yup, you get the idea. And as for the rest of the group, they gossips too much, laughs too loud, talks about nothing except how to find the right man, how to make the man your boyfriend, how to get your boyfriend to look at no one else but you, how to turn your boyfriend into your husband, how to get your husband to buy you whatever you want, and on and on and on… Gosh, it’s exhausting just thinking about it.

I got tired with the game and decided to ask her right out. “So, is your horoscope guide telling you to attend some social activities because it will help in some way?”

No answer from the other end. I can just see her in my head, her mouth clamped up and tilted to the side as she adopts the defensive air. She had stopped explaining her obsession with the horoscope to me, because she knows that even though I refuse to understand why she allows the prediction to navigate the way she tackle her life, I have sort of come to terms with it. Sort of.

“I – it said that – well, not that I’m hoping to – it’s just that – I,” Lyn stopped, and I heard her taking a deep breath, “I’ll just read out the prediction. Make of it whatever you want.”

“Uh huh.”

“Take advantage of a chance to mix business with pleasure, which pays off professionally and romantically. This is also the time of enhanced beauty, confidence and charisma, resulting in the ego trip of everyone wanting a piece of you. However, try not be swept away by this sudden wave. Remember to always be cautious and patient, and try to keep at least one foot firmly on the ground.”

I was quiet for a moment, trying to digest the information. To be fair, I can imagine Lyn’s eagerness to go out tonight, if only just to test out the truth behind the prediction. But I am really beginning to get worried; this astro-celestial-cosmic-horoscope stuff is beginning to run her life! But it wasn’t worth arguing with her over this, as we’ve been through it so many times we are both exhausted with the topic already. I guess, as her bestest friend, it is my responsibility to look out for her and make sure she doesn’t fall too deep into the mumbo-jumbos (if she hasn’t already!).

“So,” I said, “what’s the dress code?”

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10pm:
We’ve just arrived at the lounge. The place wasn’t very big, but well designed, in tones of deep browns and various shades of violets, accented with strips of silvers and steel. The bar was situated at the far wall, facing a small dance platform. The walls were lined with sheer curtains in silver and purple, and groups of low plush sofas and armchairs scattered across the floor. The atmosphere was stylish, and the music was good.

But too bad I can’t say the same for Lyn’s colleagues and friends. As Lyn introduced me around, most of them threw a half hearted greeting in my general direction and then went straight back to their own conversations. One girl made a feeble attempt to chat, but someone else pulled her away before we could even shake hands and exchange names.
Yup, it’s going to be a very long night.

11pm:
We’ve been at the lounge for about an hour or so, and I am so ready to fall asleep. Not from the alcohol, mind you. More like the lack of it, in fact. Apparently these people’s idea of drinking was to mix light beer with Sprite. Hello? They are probably better off having the party at home; it’s such a waste of money!

And yet the girls were making such a big deal out of it, trying to look sophisticated and nonchalant in their white-on-white outfits and absurdly high sandals. They actually managed to daintily sip on their beer-Sprite concoction while huddling together at one end of the sofa, talking softly and then giggling loudly. Kaelyn, who’s been sitting at the edge of the group since we arrived, has been ignored most of the time. How is this turning out to be an advantage for her professionally and romantically, I seriously have no idea.

As for yours truly, I’ve been by myself for the best part of the hour but I think I am really better off alone than to be part of the group who are now discussing about whether or not they’ll be having a hang over after the second glass of Speer (my new name for the beer-Sprite mixture); whether the cute bar tender is stealing glances their way and who he’s really looking at; and whether their g-strings are showing through their low-cut white pants.

12.30am:
Lyn and I are in the ladies.
“So, found yourself a professional opportunity yet?”
Lyn shot me a look in the mirror, and I know better than to say anymore.

1:00am:
Lyn and I are on our way home.

2:00am:
Lyn and I collapsed on my new queen size bed.
Two empty bottles of very good Cabernet Sauvignon sat on the floor.
“So, wha-s the mo-raw of the ss-story?” I am not drunk, not really, but somehow my facial muscles aren’t working very well, and I think I have a very silly grin on my face.
“Hahaha – very funny, Tu! The moral of thes store-ry, ish of coursh, never hang outs wif peoples who drinks beer with Sh-pright!”

11.30am, next day:
Gawd, I have such a headache! Has to be the stupid Speer I had last night!