by Ho, Lauren
Saturday 21 May
Rained all day. My plan to access internet through PC in “reading room” was foiled as apparently “the torrential rain and thunderstorm prevented the technician from flying.” Wished I was back home in Singapore, where I have phones and a computer and Netflix. Nature is cool, but there’s only so much one can take of it, sans filter.
Then, miraculously, and rather cruelly, the rain stopped an hour before sunset.
Since it was our last night anyway and we must drink, we went to one of the pool bars to watch the sunset. Linda popped a bottle of vintage Krug champagne. “It was a good vacation, wasn’t it?” she said, after drinking straight from the bottle. “No phones, no men.”
I chugged the champagne before passing it back to her. I watched the sun melt into the ocean like something out of Candy Crush. “It’s so good to be off-grid,” I said, lying.
“Great, then I’ll pass you the phones tomorrow.”
“Yeah, whatever.” I could take another twenty-four hours, no problem.
Linda smiled into the middle distance; I recognized her impression of Scarlett O’Hara in Gone with the Wind. “You know what? I think I’m going to be fine,” she said. “Thanks for hosting me at your place for so long. I’ll be out of your hair by the first week of June.”
Hallelujah!
Sunday 22 May
9:30 a.m. Sky is an untroubled blue. Not a cloud for miles around. WTF.
8:45 p.m. Landed. All three phones restored to my possession. It’s good to be home.
9:35 p.m. Not good to be home. Mounting panic scrolling through ominously titled email chains dated from Friday. Apparently the coinvestor, Chapel Town, is now pulling out of the deal, and although the reasons and details are not clear, it is very bad, since that would leave Sungguh Capital waving their dick in the wind. And private equity firms generally don’t tolerate being made to look foolish. Someone was going to pay. Just hope it’s not me.
Monday 23 May
8:15 a.m. Back in the office. Saw Suresh. Promptly ducked out of office. Went to the library with my laptop to work, pretending to be very busy with a stack of random statutes on my table. Was actually doodling on my legal pad and being totally unproductive, as I was not even sure there was any active file under which I could bill this time thus spent as “research.”
How the mighty had fallen.
Suresh sent me a bunch of texts and emails trying to get me to discuss what he calls “VizWare-geddon.” I closed them without bothering to read past the first line, just in case it was an excuse to get me to talk about us. The idea of being in the same room or file with Suresh made me want to run back to Maldives and spend the monsoon without Wi-Fi. There was also something else acting upon me, a foreign emotion: indifference. The strange thing is, even though I had originally been upset about VizWare potentially not being acquired after all my hard work, I couldn’t find the strength to get a move on fixing it. I could be making some calls, writing some emails to find out what was the underlying issue—but I just didn’t want to. Maybe, after my first week off in five years, I just needed time to get back into the swing of things and to care about my work again. You know, the way most people feel on Mondays—times a thousand, I suppose.
It’s just … the idea of working so hard for clients like VizWare, for guys who’d rip into me like I was beneath them, just made me, well, less than enthused.
I tried to psych myself up about putting in the hours by thinking about the financial freedom I would have once I was top of the pyramid of rats. It helped, somewhat. I needed to regain my Winner Mentality.
Then I went to Mong to talk about the VizWare acquisition, preparing to shoulder the fault of the stalled transaction with the equanimity of a eunuch confronted with the threat of a kick to the groin.
Mong looked up at me and said, “We don’t know why Chapel Town pulled out. It’s probably not even your fault. And if this is the way you’re going to act after taking a week off, you might as well resign right now. I didn’t raise you to be a quitter.”
I was emotional. “Sim Mong, thank you for believing in me.”
“Sure.” He paused for a second before saying, eyes not quite meeting mine, “Also you should know that you’re no longer the lead senior associate on the file as the other partners have requested a change.”
“What? But … but am I still on the file?”
“Ah, that. Well, actually, you’re off the file completely. I’m really sorry, but don’t worry, you’re doing really well otherwise.”
“But Sungguh Capital is one of my biggest and oldest files.”
“There’ll be others.”
I held it together as best as I could as I exited his office. Then I lunged into the Integrity conference room and let out a scream of anger.
7:25 p.m. Found out via text from Kai that Mong is no longer the partner on the file (it was now Yasmine Sidek’s file; Yasmine was Genevieve’s supervising partner and the latter’s PA, Jill, had blabbed to Kai), but the client had requested that Suresh stay on as the lead since he had performed well in Luxembourg. Was that why Suresh wanted to talk? Had his whole nice-guy act in Luxembourg been just that—an act?
It had to be. I was a fool to trust him.
Stormed back to the office to confront him. But he had already gone home, not even bothering to Office Face-Time Battle. Coward.
11:20 p.m. New strip from TLTS: since Water and Rhean can’t be together, physically, they’ve decided to do the one thing they can do, and do well, together—they kill.
Hmph. No parallels with Suresh’s and my real-life situation, of course.
I whipped out my phone.
You thief, I wrote to Suresh, but did not send. Because I hadn’t just been referring to work. Sending him such a text would have been a stupid, heart-baring move, lacking in strategy—in short: not a Power Move. No matter what I felt, or what he had done, Suresh was still my colleague. I had to pretend to respect him.
31
Thursday 26 May
8:05 a.m. Got an email from Suresh that he had accepted a three-month secondment in Jakarta. This doesn’t seem like the kind of thing one would do when one’s fiancée makes a long-awaited move to Singapore, but what the hell do I know.
Also: he told me that he’d been “offered” and he had “immediately rejected” the offer to be lead senior associate on Sungguh, which would now be overseen by Genevieve. That means nothing—maybe he thinks it’s a matter of time before Sungguh ditches our firm for good. I can’t believe I trusted him.
His betrayal is the only reason I’m upset with him, of course. No other reason.
4:50 p.m. Oh shit. Just saw Massimo Poon and Berenice Chan featured on local news for their “lavish, retro-inspired vow renewal ceremony in Bali.” Shit.
9:10 p.m. House is suspiciously quiet. Thought Linda was not home until I found her lying, passed-out drunk, behind the couch. Had to prop her up with some pillows and cover her with a blanket, because she was, once again, butt naked in my living room. But I’ll deal with that another day.
Friday 27 May
1:25 p.m. It’s really not been my week.
Just received news that the VizWare deal is definitely off. Apparently the founder of Chapel Town just passed away from natural causes, which in his case was old age (he was close to ninety). The general counsel of the firm wrote to us to say that nothing will move until the son has come on board and has had a chance to decide on the pending investments, but that would have to wait till they had sorted out other estate matters.
Well. There’s nothing much you can say to that. It was too late for me anyway, because the founder’s death hadn’t absolved my part in the whole Luxembourg kerfuffle that had delayed the signing in the first place. And now Sungguh Capital was pissed at me and the firm.
Things were not looking good for my case for partnership.
I asked Mong what I could do to make up for potentially jeopardizing the Sungguh Capital relationship, since I was alre
ady billing like crazy.
He thought about it. “Bring me a huge new client the scale of Sungguh Capital or get the VizWare closing back on track.”
Well, that’s it, I’m doomed.
2:25 p.m. Got tired of playing out worst-case scenarios in my head and called Eric to ask him out; he said yes. We’re going to watch a community (!) musical tonight.
10:25 p.m. My dejection must have shown on my face, because Eric asked me what the problem was. Told him all about the Luxemburg fiasco without going into details about the parties involved, and told him about Mong’s challenge to me.
He listened attentively and then said, jokingly I suppose, although he hardly ever jokes, “I guess that means I’ll really have to give you some business.”
I laughed. “Well, I don’t know if that’s appropriate. It smacks of nepotism.”
He looked bemused. “Why wouldn’t it be? We’re not dating.”
“We’re—not?” I said, taken aback.
“No,” he said, a smile creasing his face. “Not yet. So, I don’t see any conflict of interest that prevents you from being my lawyer if I do pass your firm some work, do you?”
“Nooo,” I conceded. Although I have to say, dear Diary, that I was disappointed to learn that we had really been attending that atrocious play as platonic companions. Because we could have just had a business lunch.
Also—I was starting to like him. In a not-strictly-business kind of way.
Urgh. Just my luck all over again.
32
Wednesday 1 June
11:28 p.m. Mong called me this morning with an excited voice. Turns out Eric had indeed given a file to my department, with the strict instructions that I would be the lead senior associate on it.
I was flushed with pleasure at the loud stream of hearty congratulations from Mong. The only thing that detracted from my pleasure was the strange feeling of guilt and shame I felt. But surely this was not nepotism—he said it himself: we were just casual friends!
Speaking of which, we’re going out again tonight, for a dining-in-the-dark experience. As friends, of course.
Thursday 2 June
Went with Eric to Karma to watch stand-up comedy, of the openmic, anyone-can-do-it variety. I’ve always enjoyed the thrill of unearthing new talent at open-mics.
Not tonight, though. Heard so many bad jokes about porn and masturbation that at the end of the evening I couldn’t look Eric in the eye for suggesting that as a fun night out.
Friday 3 June
Tonight we’re watching an arthouse film, German, Cold War, subtitles only. The potential for amorous overtures at a film such as this is just—endless.
At the rate we are going, I’m beginning to think he’s friend-zoning me.
Saturday 4 June
11:25 a.m. In a foul mood. Just woke up and found Linda doing something completely inappropriate on my living room couch. When we came back from Maldives, she’d promised that she would move out; she’s still parked in my living room, moping and bingeing rom-coms when she’s not at work. All because of Massimo Egghead. My beautiful leather couch is no longer cream-colored but gray, and there is a permanent smell of vodka in the air. I may never get rid of her.
I need to get rid of her.
2:10 p.m. Back from solo lunch. Could have had lunch with Eric, who asked yesterday, but decided not to. I’m very confused: is he really trying to be my friend? Can straight women and men, where at least one of them finds the other attractive, ever just be friends without it getting complicated?
In contrast, Valerie and Ralph Kang were regularly smushing uglies in all manner of dwellings and non-dwellings around the city-state. Mr. Kang, it would seem, delighted in having outdoor sex, especially in seedy back alleys where the possibility of contracting dengue along with jail time for public indecency and internet infamy got him hot and bothered.
“Younger men are just so … vigorous,” Valerie gushed, while I barfed a little into my mouth. Not wanting the sex gravy train to stop, she was even contemplating getting butt implants at his suggestion. I told her it was a bad idea and sent her loads of “surgery gone wrong” listicles, but she was too far gone, even if she didn’t care to admit it. What was a butt implant in the grand scheme of things if you’re already mostly flammable?
“I’ve got some referrals for a good plastic surgeon in Bangkok,” she told me. (Really? I thought. What happened to your current surgeon(s)?)
“Why have elective plastic surgery if you’ve, er, never had any before?”
“Ralph might be my last chance at the One. I’m already forty-s—Never mind,” she said, flustered.
“You don’t look a day over twenty-eight,” I lied automatically. She appreciated it, though. Sometimes that’s what we need from our friends: sweet, sweet lies. “Ralph looks so much older compared to you.”
Valerie perked up. “He does, doesn’t he? He could use a good maintenance regime consisting of a monthly chemical peel, IPL photofacial, and maybe either a vampire facial or a Venus Freeze to hold everything together.”
“Right, right,” I said, making mental notes of everything so I could google later.
Linda, though, was a whole big pile of cow poo that needed more than the glue of lies to hold her all together. For some reason the news about Twitter Avatar Man and his third wife had really gotten under her skin. Nothing I said or did made any difference to her fugue state when she was not at work: not bribery, not threats, not even flattery. She didn’t want to engage or talk, even about herself; she was increasingly lax about personal hygiene and upkeep; she wouldn’t even eat, she, a woman who once cry-ate her way through different body parts of a suckling pig in front of me when she had a bad breakup at uni. It was like living with a teenager again, except this teenager was a functioning alcoholic with bottomless funds to cushion her downward spiral.
The situation needed to stop—I needed help. More specifically, I needed outside intervention.
Sunday 5 June
Spent today in the office. Opened the door and half-expected to see Suresh, placidly typing, before I remembered that he was a slimy file-stealing worm that had a fiancée.
Had a foursome with Eric Deng and two strangers—in a board games café (tsk-tsk, gutterbrain much?). Over three hours of intensive Monopoly, which is one of my favorite board games, although midway I flashed back to Catan with Suresh and had to dig my fingernails into my palms to stop myself from comparing that night with this. Didn’t help that it was in the exact same board games café we were last in.
Midway during a particularly intense round of gameplay, Eric got up to get me a beer from the counter—and I totally slow-checked his butt. And then I looked up and caught him clocking me doing just that. The old, passive me would have frozen and ducked my head or pretended he had something on the seat of his pants, but the new me, the I’ve-seen-things me, met his gaze full-on. A challenge was issued. Ball’s in your court now, Eric. I’m not friend-zoning you at all.
Monday 6 June
Nearly tripped over Linda’s prone figure on the way to work. When asked, she said she had permission to work from home that day.
And then I found out the extent of Massimo’s depravity. Kai had heard on the PA grapevine that Massimo was still a client at Linda’s law firm—what’s more, he’d specifically asked for her to be the partner in charge for his files, so that even while she was dodging his calls (she is made of very stern stuff, in her own way), she couldn’t dodge him at work if he chose to show up. That’s why the firm is being so lenient with her—because she’s still one of the top billing partners. And that’s why she’s choosing not to show up at work on certain days.
Scary how much your PAs know about you. That’s why, in our world, we have a saying: keep your PAs close; keep your enemy’s PA on retainer.
Saturday 11 June
I’ve decided to bring Jason into the mix. If there’s one aspect of Linda’s personality I can count on, it’s her vanity. Having a young, attractive
male in the house would be just the thing she needed to jolt her back to her normal self.
It’s a sign of how Singaporean I’m becoming: relying on Foreign Talent to work on jobs I don’t want to do myself. Go me!
Anyway. I invited Jason to have brunch at my place today, but not before letting it be known to Linda in an off-hand way that Jason was coming, and in less than thirty minutes she had showered; washed and deep-conditioned the rat’s nest that had sat on top of her oily face for two weeks; scrubbed, toned, and moisturized; sheared off her armpit and leg hair; and poured her skinny frame into denim shorts and an airy boho-chic white top she had “borrowed” from my closet, looking fresh-faced and beautiful without makeup. She’d even brushed her teeth and gargled. My plan had worked like a charm.
“Hi, Jason,” she said primly, sipping on a glass of iced tea (iced vodka with a smidge of tea) when Jason sauntered into the living room carrying cupcakes and looking like he had walked out of a Gap commercial.
“Hey,” he said cautiously; I guess he wasn’t used to being the center of her attention. Linda put on her best wide-brimmed smile and gestured for Jason to sit beside her at the round dining table. I rolled my eyes as I watched him approach, without guile. It was like watching Bambi circle a panther, thinking the latter wanted to be his friend. He should be afraid—she hadn’t eaten a man in weeks.
Nonetheless, brunch went better than I could have envisaged. We talked about everything light and airy, nothing serious (that had been the brief to Jason), and Linda lost a bit of that old dishrag look in her eyes. Brunch became drunken dinner became drunken movie marathon, and everyone was having a whale of a good time, not least because I had appointed myself Linda’s new chastity belt, having wedged myself between Jason and Linda for maximum Rebound Romance Inhibiting Efficacy (it’s not an easy task for any man to resist Linda once the old girl started turning on her charm). For this visit, Jason’s purpose was to act as much-needed eye candy and trigger Linda’s dormant hormones; now that the purpose had been served, I had to keep her from consuming him—it was early days, and he was becoming dear to me. Having Jason and Linda around made me realize how much I had missed my friends, even flighty Valerie, who had now replaced me with Ralph. I was not going to let Linda’s raging libido and loose morals endanger the delicate pH of our raggedy band, at least not yet.