The Riot Act

by Sebastian Sim

  Hashwini did as she was told just so she could keep herself busy and not be drawn into the conversation. The two China croupiers were gossiping about the Beast’s newest girlfriend, whose boobs looked as if they had expanded by one cup size since the last time she was here. How much did such an operation cost? Was it safe? Should they consider it?

  After a while, Hashwini noticed that the conversation had died down and both the croupiers wore a look of mild distress. The one seated opposite Jingxuan hopped up from the sofa and made a dash for the toilet. Jingxuan herself turned to Hashwini and winced, “Do you feel any stomach ache? I think it’s the chendol.”

  “I don’t feel anything…yet.”

  “I don’t care. I’m next,” Jingxuan declared, pointing at the only toilet available.

  Sure enough, by the time the first croupier emerged from the toilet, Hashwini was bent over in agony. There was no way she could endure till Gao Jingxuan was done. Hashwini made a snap decision. There was a VIP guest toilet sandwiched between the Emerald and Sapphire rooms. As a rule, croupiers were not allowed to use it but this was an extraordinary situation.

  Hashwini reached the VIP guest toilet just as the occupant inside activated the flush. She pressed herself against the wall and watched as the door opened and the guest inside headed straight for the reception lobby. The back profile was unmistakable; it was Teddy Toy Boy leaving earlier than usual.

  Hashwini quietly locked the door and settled down to conduct her business. The diarrhoea was fierce and furious. Whatever the kitchen staff had dropped into the pot of chendol by mistake was a killer!

  And then she spotted it—the iPhone leaning against the toilet paper dispenser.

  Picking it up, Hashwini noticed that it was protected by a nine-digit PIN. The phone’s wallpaper was a photo of Teddy sporting his signature dazzle of a smile. Had Hashwini not overheard the phone conversation earlier, she would have continued to regard Teddy as one of the sweetest men she had ever encountered. But armed with her new insight, the smile appeared contrived and deceitful. Hashwini hated it. She also hated the invisible woman she had been dealing blackjack for. Hashwini wondered what the woman looked like.

  That was when it struck her. She could try the swipe code. The first guess was obvious. She did a figure “5”, Teddy Toy Boy’s favourite number.

  And it worked.

  Hashwini tapped her way into the gallery and browsed through the albums until one particular album stopped her cold. There was a collection of photos where Teddy was in intimate poses with the woman—except that it was not a woman. It was a man, who looked majestic and stately with a head of white hair.

  Hashwini had seen the man featured in the news on quite a few occasions. He had been at the airport to receive Aung San Suu Kyi. He had presented a pot of Vanda Miss Joaquim to Prince William and Kate Middleton at the Botanic Gardens. Hashwini did not remember his name, but the man definitely held a very high position in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

  And here he was in the photo, embracing Teddy Toy Boy from behind and planting a loving kiss on his neck.

  With a trembling tap of her fingertip, Hashwini forwarded the photo to her own Gmail account.

  Chapter 11

  Jessica could feel the tingle in her toes as she clicked on the link. It led to a Facebook page titled “We Love Jessica”. This was the third Facebook Page created by fans that Andreae had managed to hunt down. The latter had been actively searching so that she could insert links back to the “J Bruise” website to trigger sales.

  The first Facebook page to catch Andreae’s attention was “Crescent Girls for J Bruise”. As the story went, a 15-year-old student from Crescent Girls’ School came out as a rape victim to five of her friends after she had read Ho Yoke Peng’s confession on the “J Bruise” website. The six of them decided to spread the message of courage. They ran a group photo on their newly-created Facebook page with the caption “One of us was raped. One of us is torn apart by pain and shame. Can you tell who?” In the spirit of support and encouragement, the six of them had bought identical bangles from the “J Bruise” website and wore them for a month. They aimed to raise awareness of sexual assault and were glad to share their story with anybody who asked. An assault on any girl was an assault on all girls. “Crescent Girls for J Bruise” welcomed contributions from readers who had similar stories of courage and survival.

  The second Facebook page had, surprisingly, been created by a teenage boy called Lee Joo Seen. In the “about” section, Joo Seen declared that he was sickened by the locker room culture of teenage boys who thought nothing of making crude sexual jokes about female schoolmates they barely knew or female celebrities who happened to be currently in the limelight. He personally felt that these boys were guilty of verbalised, imagined assault on the targeted females and ought to be called out. It was Jessica’s tale of courage that had inspired him to create a Facebook page he called “Stop the Bruising”. Joo Seen posted a photo of his school’s basketball team training on the court and tagged an audio clip of what he claimed was a re-enactment of their locker room banter. He invited readers to share their thoughts via comments, and vowed that he would eventually send the offenders a link to this page. It was Joo Seen’s hope that the public shaming would lead to their reflection and a change of behaviour.

  In comparison, the newest page, “We Love Jessica”, was nothing more than a group of tweens coming together to share their adoration for her. They took photos of their soft toys and handicraft work, and dedicated them to Jessica, the bravest rape survivor they had ever seen. Jessica cringed at their reference to her as a “rape survivor” but could not deny how good it felt to learn that she was an idol to countless tween girls.

  “We have to get The Straits Times to interview you.”

  Jessica stared at Andreae in horror. “Please don’t do that.”

  “Why not?” Andreae argued. “It will drive traffic to the ‘J Bruise’ website. We ought to ride on the momentum.”

  “What if they ask me about my supposed rape—the one that did not happen—in case you’ve forgotten?”

  Andreae stuck out her tongue. That inconvenient truth had indeed slipped her mind.

  As it turned out, a reporter from The Straits Times did eventually contact Jessica to request an interview. They were going to run an article about an incident that happened one year ago. There had been an unprecedented train breakdown that left 750,000 commuters stranded during rush hour. Amidst the pandemonium, an expatriate by the name of Anton Cassidy had been caught on video verbally abusing a hearing-impaired technician. The video clip also caught the silhouette of a young lady who courageously defended the victim from the bully. The identity of the young lady had remained a mystery until two days ago, when the technician stepped forward and claimed that he now knew who his saviour was; it was Jessica Tan Jia Lin, the J Bruise girl.

  Jessica caught her breath. What did Adhha want? Why had he chosen to reveal her identity now, when he had been so adamant about keeping it a secret then? Jessica informed the reporter that she would hold back on the interview request until she had read the piece on Adhha.

  The Life & Leisure section devoted an entire page to Adhha’s story. It traced his bitter childhood growing up poor and hearing-impaired until he became inspired by Singapore’s football legend Fandi Ahmad. If Fandi Ahmad could rise from humble beginnings to become the first Singaporean millionaire sportsperson, so could he. Adhha knew he had a talent for track and field even at a young age. He did not back down when his school principal discouraged him from competitive training on account of his hearing impairment. He persisted and proved the principal wrong by winning two gold medals at his very first sports meet.

  After Adhha graduated from the Institute of Technical Education and found employment with SMRT as a technician, he continued to train for regional sports meets in his spare time. A considerable portion of his meagre income was spent on nutrition and supplements necessary for his training, for it was almo
st impossible to get sponsorship as a private athlete. Adhha confessed that there were days he felt bitter and frustrated about the lack of support for handicapped athletes like himself. But he soldiered on, determined to chart his own course.

  On the day when the train system broke down, a group of commuters were trapped in a carriage whose doors would not open on account of a technical glitch. Adhha empathised with the frustration of the commuters and was prepared to endure a tongue-lashing from them. One expatriate was particularly brutal in his tirade. At one point, a young lady from the platform crowd, who must have stayed behind to help, decided to stand up to the bully. She boldly denounced the expatriate’s behaviour and demanded that the man apologise to Adhha. In the tussle that ensued, she was pushed down onto the ground and suffered a sprained ankle. Although Adhha brought her to the clinic for treatment, he had been careless and forgot to get her name or contact information.

  According to the Straits Times article, Adhha could not stop thinking about the young lady. More so than courage, she had demonstrated a sense of righteousness. He had reflected upon it and came to understand that he should not have allowed that expatriate to talk to him in that way. To endure in silence would merely encourage such insolent behaviour. That paradigm shift in mindset had a profound impact on his behaviour. Adhha vowed to demand respect when it was due. He would no longer humble himself and suffer the incivility of customers who behaved badly. Neither would he allow the management to discount his work performance merely because he needed to schedule time off for his athletic training. He learnt to stand up for himself and that had made all the difference.

  Adhha claimed that he was exhilarated when he chanced upon the “J Bruise” website. There she was, the young lady whose courage and righteousness had inspired him so tremendously! He felt it was his duty to bring attention to such an exemplary young Singaporean who had not only survived rape but rose up to become a heroine. That was the reason he had approached The Straits Times. Everyone needed to know that Jessica was the mystery saviour who had stood up for him.

  “This is good!” Andreae was delighted. “You must wear a J Bruise T-shirt for the interview.”

  “I am not sure I want to do it.”

  “Why not?”

  “What if they want to talk about the rape?”

  “Oh my God, you are so traumatised by the rape that did not happen,” Andreae groused. “Look around you, Jess. You have inspired so many people. This is all good!”

  “I don’t know… I don’t even understand why Adhha changed his mind and went to the media. He was so afraid of people finding out about us back then.”

  “Just ask him.”

  It struck Jessica that Andreae was right. What was stopping her from asking Adhha for an explanation? She might have deleted his number, but there was always Facebook messaging.

  It appeared that Adhha had been waiting for her message. The two of them spent a few minutes catching up on the past one year before Jessica popped the question. Why did you go to The Straits Times?

  I felt guilty, Adhha wrote. I should not have stolen your moment in the limelight. I was being selfish back then.

  “I smell bullshit.” Andreae wrinkled her nose. “Grill him for the truth.”

  I don’t believe you, Jessica wrote.

  I don’t blame you. I have been an asshole. But I still keep your messages in my pager. Whenever I feel lonely, I will look at the “TW” message and feel warm and loved all over again. Can we meet? I missed you so much.

  “What does he mean by ‘TW’ message?” Andreae probed.

  Jessica blushed and told her.

  I will agree to meet provided you tell me the truth, Jessica replied. She secretly felt warm and loved all over again thinking about their secret hideout and Adhha’s eagerness to please. Why did you do the interview?

  It took a little more cajoling but Adhha finally came clean. He badly needed some sponsorship for the upcoming ASEAN sports meet and wanted to raise his profile before approaching the sponsors.

  “That’s disgusting,” Jessica hissed.

  “No, it is not,” Andreae disagreed. “In fact, you two should do some product endorsement together. I can picture it, a thirty-second romance clip as part of an omega-3 fish oil commercial. Everyone’s a winner.”

  “You’re crazy!” Jessica laughed.

  The prospect of meeting up with Adhha again was, though she would not admit it, rather thrilling. She fondly recalled Adhha’s puppy eyes and his taut, sinewy physique, and decided that everyone deserved a second chance. She picked up her mobile phone and texted, I am free this Sunday. Where do you want to meet?

  No response came. Both girls stared at the screen for an interminable minute.

  “Maybe he went to the toilet,” Andreae guessed.

  “People bring their mobile phones with them to the toilet,” Jessica snapped irritably. Adhha was being rude. How could he terminate a texted conversation so abruptly? This man was impossible!

  Fifteen minutes later, when the two girls had settled down to watch an episode of The Walking Dead, Adhha’s message came.

  You won’t believe who just texted me. The producer from Arm Wrestle for Love. He wants to invite both you and me on the show!

  Jessica almost jumped out of her skin when Andreae started screeching with delight right beside her ear. She herself was in a daze. This could not be happening.

  Arm Wrestle for Love was a popular game show on Channel 5. Each episode featured a young lady who had to pick one from out of two admirers competing for her love. Each candidate selected a charity he rooted for, and fifty per cent of the sum accumulated from viewers’ dial-in votes, each raising $5, would go to the winner’s charity. It was public romance for a good cause.

  “Who do you think the producer will invite as Adhha’s rival?” Andreae wondered aloud.

  The mystery was solved the very next day when the Arm Wrestle for Love producer sent Jessica an official invitation via email. Competing for her love would be Adhha bin Jimari, SMRT technician, and Ng Chong Jin, STAR specialist.

  “Oh no! Not him!” Jessica despaired. “Why is he haunting me every step of the way?”

  “I know you can’t stand him, but Chong Jin is as much a player in this riot drama as you are,” Andreae said. “Besides, you are the embodiment of courage and magnanimity to your fans. You have to live up to your reputation. Accept the challenge and face up to the man. Remember that this is for a good cause.”

  Jessica bit her lip and nodded. The slightest nudge was all she needed; how often did one get invited to appear on live television?

  “This is so exciting!” Andreae enthused. “I Googled. The highest rating thus far belonged to the episode they called ‘Battle of Brain versus Brawn’, where the Literature teacher from St Joseph’s Institution had to pick between the hunky PE teacher from Hwa Chong Institution and the brainy Physics teacher from Raffles Institution. It was believed that the entire student population in Singapore tuned in to watch.”

  “And who won?”

  “The hunky one. Naturally,” Andreae laughed. “Your episode should be titled ‘Raw Enforcement versus Heavy Tunnel Works’. Haha…”

  Jessica gave Andreae a smack on her shoulder. She should not have explained her “TW” code to her friend.

  Both Omala and Kuan Eng expressed gratitude when Jessica informed that she intended to nominate Migrant Workers Count Too as her choice of charity. The rule of the game dictated that fifty per cent of the accumulated sum from the loser’s dial-in votes would go to Jessica’s nominated charity. Krison was slow to respond to the news. When he did, the lack of enthusiasm was unmistakable. Jessica was secretly gratified; Krison’s reticence was surely a sign of jealousy.

  Jessica and Andreae held long discussions about what she should wear for the upcoming event. Past contestants had turned up in slutty chest plungers and hip huggers as though they were streetwalkers, or pink frills and white laces as though they were overgrown dolls. Jessica must n
ot make the same mistake. She was the torchbearer for a cause. The white J Bruise T-shirt represented purity of mind and singularity of purpose. The calf-length tight skirt showcased a modern woman’s embrace of her femininity. The ankle-wrap Timberland boots proved she was ready for any terrain in her fight for justice. And the J Bruise accessories that adorned her wrists, neck and ear lobes were reminders that she stood in solidarity with all women who endured trauma and hardship. Now Jessica was ready for the biggest game show on local television.

  The night eventually arrived. Jessica was initially nervous as she stepped onto the stage in Studio Two; this was, after all, a live recording. The spotlight trained on her made it impossible to discern the faces of the audience but the thunderous applause and screams from her fans were all she needed to channel courage from within. Everyone in the studio was an admirer; there was no reason for her to be fearful.

  The first segment, “Minefield of Secret Truths”, required Jessica to answer a series of personal questions that probed her stance on topics as solemn as work ethics and as risqué as sexual preference. After each reply, Jessica would have to undergo a blind psychological test by picking one out of six pictures which appealed to her. This test was designed, purportedly, to uncover the secret truths embedded in her subconscious. The more the results differed from her earlier replies, the bigger a liar she would have proved herself to be. Fortunately, Jessica scored a respectable eighty per cent match, which landed her in the “highly honest” bandwidth.

  The first contestant to be invited on stage was the SMRT technician Adhha bin Jimari. The applause from the studio audience was noticeably subdued compared to the display of enthusiasm that had greeted Jessica earlier. When he presented the subject of his admiration with his choice of gift—a limited-edition train model of the first generation subway train carriage back in 1988, the host turned to ask for audience affirmation. Amidst weak applause, a group of girls began to boo loudly and gave a negative thumbs-down. Jessica was taken aback. She did not anticipate such a hostile response from the audience and secretly felt sorry for Adhha.