“I have been hunting far and wide for strong candidates to join my team and I’m so glad Christina brought you to my attention,” Elvis continued. “You will be the ace in my royal flush.”
As transparent as Elvis’ attempt to stroke her ego was, it worked. Sharon took it as a compliment that Elvis would place her on the same level as Dr Gimme Lao. In her mind, she locked on to the star candidate as the benchmark to beat.
When the election campaign began in 2011, Elvis and Christina Overee went to great lengths to coach her. They did not doubt her capabilities but they knew her appeal to the electorate needed work.
“Always smile. Show your teeth, or you will come across either condescending or insincere.”
“You will be walking the ground and talking to the average Singaporean. Mirror their language. If they don’t speak good English, forget about your perfect grammar and elite school vocabulary. Speak Singlish, and dialects, where possible. Go down to their level.”
Sharon was grateful for the coaching. She came from an affluent background and studied in elite schools. She did not have many friends who lived in public housing. At work, she had to impress her superiors but never had to be circumspect around her subordinates. Left on her own, she would not know how to connect with the blue-collar working population.
Sharon memorised catchphrases that were well-used among the masses and peppered her speeches with them. She taunted her political opponent and claimed that the crafty man employed “pattern more than badminton”. She cringed inwardly when she spouted the asinine phrase but the crowd loved it and cheered. She would have loved to coin the term Machiavellian, but the word would be lost on her audience. The Overees were right. It was a different ballgame soliciting votes from people who formed the bulge in the bell curve of intelligence quotient. To showcase her brilliance would only alienate them.
So Sharon continued to speak the language of the masses. She claimed that she would run the estate maintenance of her constituency efficiently such that “swee swee bo zhao zui”, which in Hokkien meant that it was “so nice that there is no leakage of water”. By voting her in, they would guarantee themselves a reliable representative who was “woon woon jiak bee hoon”, or “steady like eating vermicelli”. Although she secretly found many of these rhyming phrases moronic, the audience lapped them up. So Sharon continued to show her teeth when she smiled and spoke the language of the populace and for that, the electorate of her constituency voted her into parliament.
As far as Sharon was concerned, the real bonus was her engineered transfer from the Economic Development Board to Temasak Holdings prior to the election; she could not have contested as a civil servant. It was a dream come true working for one of the biggest sovereign funds in the world. She had to believe that the Overees were her lucky stars!
Sharon reached the airport arrival hall at four o’clock sharp. The two security officers who were there to receive Elvis spotted her coming down the escalator and quickly came forward to take her garment bag. They informed her that the flight from Cebu had touched down and that Elvis should be clearing customs in no time.
Sharon whipped out her mobile phone to check her messages. There was one from Masri bin Khairuman. Masri was a university undergraduate who volunteered his services as a grassroots leader at her constituency. She had tasked him to keep a lookout for any social media postings that concerned her. He had sent a message with a YouTube link and a sad face emoji.
Sharon had an inkling, even before she clicked on the link, that someone would have posted a clip of her awkward “sexy” dance routine at the Sunflower Retirement Home this morning, and she was right. To her dismay, the viewer comments ran the gamut from ridicule to outright malice.
“What a clown! She dances like a retard.”
“Election is long over. Will you stop wasting time kissing babies and dancing with retirees, and go do your job already?”
“Do you guys know how much money she takes home as an MP? Singapore has the best-paid politicians in the world and this is what she does all day. Easy money. Best job ever!”
“Love that sneeze! Right into that bitch’s face! Give the man a Tiger!”
Sharon was still scrolling through the comments when a sudden peck on her cheek so startled her she yelped and took a step back. She looked up and caught her husband looking equally startled by her abrupt reaction.
“Oh dear, your wife doesn’t look very pleased to see you, Yu Chin,” Elvis teased them. Both men were tanned from their diving trip. Elvis was an avid diver and often dragged her husband along on his bimonthly weekend dives.
“I’m sorry. I was just distracted by this,” Sharon said, showing them the hideous clip. Both men frowned when they browsed through the disparaging comments.
“Did you say one of the reporters might have uploaded this clip? He is stupid if he thinks he can get away unscathed,” Elvis said, clearly displeased. He turned to Yu Chin and instructed, “Get William Fernandez on the line.”
William Fernandez was the editor-in-chief of Singapore Press Holdings. Over the phone, Elvis curtly made it clear that he wanted the culprit sussed out, held accountable, and the YouTube clip removed.
“Thank you, Elvis,” Sharon said gratefully after Elvis ended the call.
“You’re on my team, Sharon. I won’t allow anyone on my team to be bullied.” Elvis winked. “Besides, your husband knows too many of my secrets.”
“That is true,” Yu Chin laughed. “I have so much dirt on him we could retire in the Bahamas if I chose to blackmail him.”
“Hey, you’ve promised to retire together with me and go diving around the world, remember? Don’t go back on your promise!”
Sharon watched as Elvis cuffed her husband good-naturedly on his shoulder. She never ceased to be amazed by the easy camaraderie the pair shared. Elvis thanked her for fetching his clothes and instructed one of the security officers to help carry Yu Chin’s diving gear to Sharon’s vehicle. Yu Chin would have to accompany Elvis to his meeting.
Sharon set off to attend two funeral wakes: one the parent of an influential business community leader, the other the parent of a prominent grassroots leader. It was dark by the time she reached home. She could feel the soreness in her feet as she kicked off her heels. She needed a bath badly.
As Sharon waited for the bathtub to fill up, she studied her profile in the full-length mirror. In her opinion, her chest was too flat, her shoulders too bony and her kneecaps resembled prunes. These were features that had stung her hard during her teenage years; she imagined that the boys in her class rated all the girls and parked her in the “undesirable” category. In defiance, she was fiercely intelligent and outspoken. She could just as easily return the judgement and condemn these academic weaklings. It did not matter that no boys had ever asked her out on a date while she was in high school and junior college. Winning the President’s Scholarship to Yale and leaving these underachievers in her dust were revenge enough.
Sharon poured a generous dose of bath salts into the tub and immersed herself in the steaming water. It was the one indulgence for which Sharon allowed herself no time limit. All the other items on her daily schedule were strictly timed. But when it came to steaming hot baths, she could soak for an hour or longer, never mind the wrinkled prunes that sprouted on her toes and fingertips. It was calming, rejuvenating and sensual. It was better than sex.
The truth was, Sharon’s sex life with her husband was as stagnant as a tub of still bath water. As gallant and charming as Yu Chin was in social settings, he was rather passive in bed. He would often roll over to her side, wrap his limbs around her body, kiss and cuddle and hold her tight until one of them fell asleep. On the occasions that she indicated she wanted to go the full distance, he was overly gentle and hesitant in his moves, as though she were a porcelain doll that he feared he might shatter into pieces. Their lovemaking was never the roar and thunder of a waterfall, but the sluggish currents beneath a serene pond. Sharon had never experienced an
orgasm with him.
Yu Chin was an attractive man. He had sharp features, and his jovial personality added to his charm. Sharon had been rather taken by him from their very first meeting. The Overees must have sensed her attraction for they went out of their way to create opportunities for the two to interact. Christina would claim to be too exhausted to attend a charity dinner and so pass the tickets to Sharon and Yu Chin. Or something unexpected would pop up in Elvis’ schedule, and he would ask Sharon to keep Yu Chin company at a game of golf. It wasn’t long before the two began to date exclusively.
Sharon judged Yu Chin to be an excellent candidate for marriage. He hailed from a prominent family—he was third in line to inherit the Gwee Shipping Conglomerate, the second largest firm of its kind in Asia. He had inherited a secluded two-storey bungalow near the end of East Sussex Lane, a prized estate along the swanky Holland belt, where he lived alone. Women would kill to date an eligible bachelor such as him. Which begged the question that haunted Sharon at the back of her mind—why was this man not already married?
She decided to ask Christina about this.
“He was in love, for the longest time, with someone who was not available, someone who was already married,” Christina revealed. “He needs to move on, but he can’t do it by himself. It’s really up to you, Sharon. You can save him.”
And that was exactly what Sharon had decided to do—to propose marriage to this man who needed saving.
The water in the tub was getting chilly. Sharon drained out half of the tub and turned on the hot water faucet to refill it. As she leant back again, she reached for the hairbrush on the ledge. She was about to run it through her hair when she spotted a strand of white dangling from the bristles.
As far as she remembered, neither she nor her husband had white hair.
Despite the steaming water streaming into the tub, Sharon felt a chill in her bones. She had never questioned her husband about his past love but she had always imagined it had been an older woman. Yu Chin was a man who needed mothering.
In her mind, Sharon saw a shadow emerge from the past belonging to a woman she had never met but who she knew had a tight rein on her husband’s heart. Sharon knew the woman had caused her husband unbearable pain but now she wondered if the woman had not also provided immeasurable pleasure for him. What had lovemaking been like for her husband and that woman? Did she bring roar and thunder to their copulation?
The shadow in her mind began to take on a form—a voluptuous figure wrapped around her husband, clawing his back with its nails, licking his ear lobe with its tongue, grabbing his buttocks and pushing him deep into itself, violently, repeatedly until he came with a roar that was all sharp pain and deep pleasure.
Sharon burst into a wail. Her body shook as she wept inconsolably, upsetting the serenity of the water and sending waves spilling over onto the rug below. She did not hold back her tears. Those were angry tears. Her flat-chested, bony physique was found wanting by her husband. She was not enough for him. He had gone back to the other woman, and she had invaded the sanctity of their marital home.
Sharon did not know how long she wept. But once she was done, a sense of clarity returned to her mind. Now she was ready to deal with the problem.
As she reached for the scrub pad, her mobile phone pinged with a message from Yu Chin.
Drive down to Cantonment Police HQ ASAP. Elvis and I are on our way. The police will brief us.
On what? she texted back.
Riot in Little India. Escalating.
Sharon experienced a momentary confusion. What was Yu Chin talking about? If there was major rioting in India—the country—yes, that would explain Elvis Overee’s alarm. But why would she, or the police for that matter, be involved? But riot in Little India, in her constituency? How could that be possible?
Sharon dismissed her doubt as she speedily dried herself and threw on some clothes. The police briefing would clear the confusion. Little India was part of Jalan Besar constituency, which was under her care. The media would take notice of how she responded to the crisis. She was glad she had had her emotions sorted out in the bathtub earlier. She needed her mind to be sharp and clear.
There was a police sergeant stationed at the car park lobby of the police headquarters to usher her to the Special Operations Command Centre located at basement two. Sharon could immediately sense the tension in the air. Two dozen police officers were hunched over their terminals, their eyes trained on the screens and ears plugged into their headsets, awaiting orders. Yu Chin popped his head out from the control room in the rear and waved her over. Sharon could see through the glass panel that the police commissioner was deep in discussion with Elvis Overee and two other men she did not recognise.
“What is going on?” Sharon asked in a hushed tone. She reminded herself that she had been called to duty as the Jalan Besar constituency parliamentarian. Her matrimonial crisis would have to take a back seat for now.
“The cause is as yet unknown but apparently, the migrant worker crowd at Little India has gone wild. The workers were rioting along Serangoon Road, overturning vehicles and setting them on fire.” Yu Chin drew her into the control room and directed her attention to the large screen hanging overhead. “Look. The police have set up video live-streaming from atop a block of flats facing the main road. Can you believe what is happening?”
Sharon stared at the live-streaming in astonishment. That was unmistakably Little India. But the derangement on screen was an alien spectacle. The people of Singapore were known for their orderly behaviour; they queued for buses and trains, to consult the doctor at the clinic or to pay for their purchases at the supermarket. Her people respected order. Yu Chin was right. These troublemakers were migrant workers.
“What is the police commissioner doing about it?”
“All the Special Tactics and Rescue teams have been dispatched. They are assessing the situation. Once the Minister of Home Affairs arrives, the police commissioner will brief all of us on the response procedures.”
Sharon suddenly clutched Yu Chin on his arm and pointed at the screen. “Do you see that?”
“What?” Yu Chin squinted his eyes and searched, but all he could see was a moving jigsaw of pandemonium. “What are you referring to?”
“There! You see that tall migrant worker carrying the woman and moving in the crowd? She looks unconscious.”
“Where? I don’t see it.”
Sharon tried to point it out but the hanging screen was too high up. She turned and shot out of the control room to the nearest police officer seated in front of a terminal. “Can you log on to the live-stream feed, please?”
Yu Chin caught up with her. “What is it? Should I alert Elvis?”
“There he is!” It took Sharon close to a minute to locate the target she was searching for. “Can you zoom in, please?”
The police officer zoomed in just in time for them to catch sight of a migrant worker carrying a woman into an ambulance through the back door.
“She’s probably injured and he’s seeking medical help,” Yu Chin conjectured.
“Actually, the ambulance is empty,” the police office said. “The riot situation is out of hand and we cannot guarantee the safety of the medical staff. We gave orders for them to retreat behind the police line thirty minutes ago.”
Sharon and Yu Chin stared at the screen. Once the migrant worker realised the ambulance was empty, he would surely exit and seek help somewhere else. But an entire minute passed and the ambulance door remained shut.
“This is no good.” Sharon shook her head. “Get the police commissioner to send in the STAR team! We cannot afford to make the situation worse by also having a sexual assault victim on our hands.”
The police commissioner reacted with lightning speed once he understood the situation. The STAR team was alerted to locate the deserted ambulance and break in to rescue a possible hostage. As the group crowded around the terminal and watched with bated breath, they saw a lone STAR team member
race to the ambulance, pry open the back door and clamber in. Despite the collective tension, everyone was secretly amazed at how fast the team member had responded.
All eyes were fixed on the screen as the STAR team member re-emerged. He was carrying a woman over his shoulder in a fireman lift. The woman appeared to be highly agitated. As the police officer zoomed in to allow for a closer look, there was a collective gasp of horror. The woman had her jeans pulled midway down her thighs, and her lacy underwear was showing.
Sharon felt her heart sink.
Part Two
Ear Mites
Chapter 4
Hashwini glared at the view count on her blog—51. It had remained frozen at 51 for the last 48 hours. Surely her blog would have gone viral by now? That was her best article yet!
The Night Little India Burned After I Lit the Match.
The title of the post was superimposed over the cover picture, the selfie in which she was wearing a look of alarm and dismay as a torched vehicle burned fiercely in the background. Hashwini wished she had erased Kaustubh from the picture before she had posted it but she was hopelessly handicapped when it came to the technicalities of photo editing. There he was at the left margin, looking into the camera and flashing a victory sign with two fingers. What was the nincompoop thinking? He had absolutely destroyed the photo.
Hashwini wondered if it was worth the trouble to edit the photo and repost it. She might not know how to do it, but Euu Ki would. Flaming diva that he was, Euu Ki was surprisingly proficient in the art of photo editing.
Are you at the casino? Need to chat.
Euu Ki’s texted reply came almost immediately.
Shift ended. Just finished shower.
Cuddling with Mr Big?
Mr Big was really Estelito Agcaoili Lasa, a casino pit manager from the Philippines. But Euu Ki fancied himself to embody the spirit of Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City, and Estelito Agcaoili Lasa naturally took on the moniker of Mr Big once the two became an item.
The Riot Act Page 6