The Expat Diaries: Twelve Days to Christmas (Single in the City Book 3)

by Michele Gorman

  ♫ On the Fifth day of Christmas my fortune gave to me…

  clever new plans

  champagne for two

  the good friend

  two second thoughts

  and a ticket home to see my family ♪

  I wasn’t any closer to success in Operation Proposal, but at least Sam’s inappropriate question spurred on my Christmas shopping. Luckily Josh took a flexible approach to my office hours, even if Mrs. Reese didn’t. With a day to go before the big meeting with the buyers, I had the perfect shopping alibi.

  ‘Ready, Winnie?’

  ‘I can’t go,’ she said, stabbing at her keyboard with unusual gusto.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I sat beside her, in a chair I hadn’t realized existed before excavating the sales area. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Urgh, no thanks. I have to input all of these orders again. They got wiped off the system somehow.’

  ‘All of them?’ An inch-high stack of paper stood between Winnie and our shopping spree. ‘Can’t you do it when we get back?’

  ‘No. They’re live orders. All of our live orders. The system crashed and wiped everything out. They’ve got to go in before the shipments go out. I’m sorry. I wanted to come with you.’

  ‘Never mind. Will you get them done today?’

  ‘Probably late tonight. It’s okay. I didn’t have any plans.’

  She shot me a look, sorry that she’d lobbed such an easy underhand pitch to my why-aren’t-you-dating baseball bat. ‘Sooo, have you given any more thought to going out with Stuart?’

  ‘I have.’ She paused and sighed dramatically. She could actually kill me with anticipation if she wanted to. ‘All right. I’d be happy to meet him. He’s cute. I mean, his brother is cute. They are identical, right?’

  ‘Oh, yes, identical. In fact, I think Stuart might be a little cuter. Very slightly, though.’

  ‘Is that why you want me to meet Stuart and not Brent?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Why you suggested Stuart instead of Brent. They’re both single, right?’

  I didn’t know what to say. Logically speaking, Brent was the obvious choice for a setup. I knew him much better than Stuart, spent time with him every week. Stacy was closer to Stuart. Brent was my friend. He was single and wanted to settle down. I should have suggested Brent. So why didn’t I, when he was the more obvious choice? I had to face it. I didn’t want Winnie to have him. Did that mean I wanted him for myself? Great. One more thing to add to the confusion whirling in my brain.

  It wasn’t the best mindset in which to shop for the office supplies we needed. And by office supplies, I meant the niceties that had so far eluded Josh’s priority list in his ten years at the company’s helm. For a man who appreciated fashion, he cared little for the loveliness of his surroundings. Something had to be done before the potential buyers arrived. Not that I thought chipped teacups or mismatched spoons would be deal-breakers, but my mother always said that details were important. It was as true of decor as it was of people. Show me a man who didn’t iron the back of his shirt or wore stretched out, ratty old underwear and I’ll show you someone who’d go eighty per cent, and then stop. In grooming it was disappointing. In bed it would be disastrous. So far, though, Stacy had had no complaints. I filed those conversations in the too-much-information file.

  The day was cool and sunny, and my step springy with the anticipation of spending someone else’s money. I had a relatively short list, just new kitchenware and a few pictures to brighten up Josh’s office, where the men would meet. I’d met them once before, on my first business trip to the mainland with Josh. They were Mr. Wang and Mr. Chung. No relation to the eighties pop band, but the compulsion to pogo when we met was strong. They’d worked with Josh for a few years on the supplier side. Unfortunate names aside, it was probably good that we already knew them.

  At least, it was good for Josh, and his plans to morph into the Caped Crusader of Conservation. As Winnie said, it might not be so good for the rest of us. And it definitely wasn’t good for Stacy. No doubt that’d be on the agenda over dinner.

  We had much to discuss, because I needed her help too. With only days to go before Sam and I left for the States, I was getting desperate. I was afraid I’d snap and demand, ‘Are you gonna ask me to marry you or what?!’ Nothing said romance like a threatening ultimatum. No, I needed a Plan B. And I had an idea.

  So I rushed the shopping a bit, ticking off the office list and Christmas list in a single shop. Clearly such a lack of devotion to my favorite pastime meant I wasn’t in my right mind. But what mother wouldn’t love a Chinese tea set? This was a woman who’d waxed lyrical over macaroni portraits in my childhood. And my older sister may not have seemed like the sort who’d love a Hello Kitty wall clock, but you never did know. Dad would get something from the mall at home. It would be a shirt. It was always a shirt. Not because we didn’t care to put thought into his presents. It was because he got so uncomfortable when we gave him anything else, like he couldn’t possibly imagine what he’d do with that. Even if that was a tie. Dad didn’t welcome deviation of any kind.

  That left Sam’s gift. What do you get for your boyfriend when he’s going to give you a diamond ring? The cufflinks I thought of a couple months ago didn’t sound appropriate any more. I was stuck for ideas. Was that a sign? Was I subconsciously unwilling to invest in a gift, because I knew we wouldn’t be together?

  … No, Hannah. You were simply short of ideas. God, I did like to make a drama of everything.

  Plan B did involve a gift for him, in a way. But I didn’t want him opening that beside the Christmas tree, surrounded by my family.

  The sex shop was in a nondescript, modern building, like nearly all in Central. It was also beside one of the elevated walkways that crisscrossed the city. On the second floor. Eye level, should there be display windows to showcase its wares. With my luck someone I knew would see me going in. Or spy me through the window comparing the merits of the Rampant Rabbit against those of King Dong.

  Hong Kong took a very puritanical view of sex. I didn’t know if that was because Chinese were more reserved than us in the West. Or whether they got up to exactly what we did, but didn’t admit it in public. I didn’t feel comfortable approaching the topic with Winnie. Our friendship hadn’t quite advanced to the do-you-like-to-be-trussed-up-like-a-roasting-chicken phase. A quick internet search told me that sex shops were thin on the ground in the city. And I didn’t have the luxury of time to order anything online.

  My Plan B probably didn’t sound earth-shatteringly brilliant, but I was quietly confident that at least it wouldn’t do any harm. And in my history of plans gone wrong, that was actually a vote of confidence.

  I could feel my face burning as I walked in. The walls were lined with brightly colored boxes. I knew I was there to look at them, handle them and even buy them, but I could only steal sideways glances, like an extra on the set of The Young Victoria.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A young Chinese woman with a pierced nose asked as I pretended to be in the wrong shop.

  I knew I needed her help. It would have taken me hours to go through all the options, and I’d have expired from mortification in the process. She was paid to help. Obviously she wasn’t embarrassed by the stock, or she wouldn’t have worked there. I needed to think of her as a doctor, a dispassionate professional who just happened to be wearing a white PVC maid’s outfit and thigh-high boots. ‘Yes, thank you. I’m looking for some things.’ She waited for me to elaborate. I wondered whether Hong Kong’s postal system had an express delivery service that I didn’t know about. ‘I’m not sure exactly what I want. Something for my boyfriend. And me. Us.’

  ‘What do you and your boyfriend like? Vibrator, dildo, beads, maybe handcuffs or harnesses? Costumes?’

  She lost me at beads, as I imagined Sam’s reaction to an anal plug. ‘No, no, nothing… hardcore. I really just want to spice things up a bit. Just a bit.’ In the condiment cupboard of sex, I was loo
king for the salt and pepper.

  Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. I did come up with it while replaying Sam and the Incredible Bedroom Vixen in my head. Oh, the things I imagined them doing! If that’s what he wanted, and, based on the fact that he’d done it (her) in the first place, it must have been, then upping the sexy factor couldn’t hurt. As long as I steered clear of those beads.

  Bracing myself, I said, ‘I’m thinking of gentle things, romantic things.’

  She nodded, carefully considering her arsenal of seduction. ‘I understand. Something like this?’ She handed me a black silk mask. Now that didn’t look slutty at all. ‘And maybe some oils? For massage?’

  I liked that idea. We could light candles, put on some music. Make sure we had towels covering the sheets, of course. We weren’t animals. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  I didn’t just think that, did I? I didn’t just describe what was supposed to be a hot sexual experience as nice. A couple of oils and a sleep mask weren’t very adventurous, considering my mom might use them before bed. Sam loved adventure, that much I knew. I needed more. I just wasn’t sure he’d appreciate a veiny dildo in bed with us. Perhaps there was a middle ground. Adventure-lite. ‘Can I see your outfits and things?’

  I found what I was looking for right away. Nothing too tacky. Just a little surprise under my clothes for Saturday night. I felt sexier already.

  Stacy was home unusually early, like she’d promised, so we didn’t have to eat at 11 p.m. I had our late-night meals to thank for my expanding waistline. Though the city’s dim sum, and my gym aversion, weren’t blameless. ‘Things are slowing down now,’ she explained. ‘Everyone’s getting ready for Christmas. Speaking of which, we’ve booked our trip to Malaysia! I’m still jealous of you, though, for going home.’ She sighed. ‘I miss the snow.’

  ‘I know, me too. I can’t wait. I’ve described it to Sam as the perfect winter wonderland. I might have exaggerated.’

  ‘Not possible. It is a perfect winter wonderland. Josh doesn’t believe half the stuff I tell him about our childhood. I’ll have to bring him home to prove I’m not lying. Malaysia will be nice too, though. So while you’re arguing with your family, I’ll be relaxing in the sun with the water at my feet.’

  ‘It’s good timing. Hopefully by the time you go, the company sale issue will have been settled one way or another. It can’t be nice being in limbo like this.’

  ‘It’s not, but I guess we’ll deal with whatever the outcome is. Besides, it’s not definite that he’ll go to England if he does sell.’

  But it was pretty likely. She had to know that. ‘I’m sure it’ll all work out,’ I said instead. It was no use reminding Stacy about that. She had a very strict policy of not worrying about things until there was definitely something to worry about.

  As she told me about the romantic beachside resort where she planned to rock around the Christmas tree with Josh, I set to work on the take-out boxes. Hong Kong’s restaurant culture was similar to New York’s and our kitchen was the least lived-in room in the apartment. It made a decent place to air dry clothes, though, which was handy since I lived in the laundry room. That sounded like a short step away from living in a cage under the stairs, but it was just a practical (read: economic) decision. Her company paid for her accommodation, but only enough for a one bedroom place in the Mid-levels. I didn’t have much to contribute towards living expenses, since a big part of my compensation came in the form of job satisfaction. Only a paltry paycheck actually hit my bank account. Once I got used to sleeping in a room where I could touch two walls at once, it wasn’t bad. It did have the only window in the apartment with a view of the city and the harbor.

  As we picked through our noodles, wielding chopsticks with nearly professional ease after a year of practice, I told her about Plan B. She was all for bedroom frolics, but raised a good point.

  ‘Won’t it be weird, after all this time sleeping together, to suddenly have new moves? Might he think you’ve been playing away?’

  When she said that, my stomach dropped. Technically, I had played away. Stacy didn’t know that. It was one of the only secrets I’d ever kept from her. But never, not once, did I consider confiding. It wasn’t exactly my finest moment, now, was it?

  ‘There might be airport security at the ferry,’ she said. ‘You don’t want to have to show the security guard your dong at the X-ray machine. And just make sure nothing’s battery-operated. I’m not covering for you at the roulette table if your handbag starts vibrating.’

  ‘No batteries, I promise.’ Operation Proposal, subsection Plan B, would commence on Saturday, when we all went to the casino in Macau. Come on, Lady Luck. Smile on me.

  ♫ On the Sixth day of Christmas my fortune gave to me…

  sneaky people meddling

  clever new plans

  champagne for two

  the good friend

  two second thoughts

  and a ticket home to see my family ♪

  Our new teacups and spoons gleamed, pictures were straightened and we’d hidden away most of the detritus from the past twenty years. We were as ready for the buyers as we’d ever be. None of us had slept well, Josh because of excitement and the rest of us from worry, so the crockery had its inaugural outing long before the men arrived. I was so wired by the 11 a.m. meeting that my teeth were vibrating.

  I thought about Stacy as I inspected the office for errant mess. Though she brushed me off over dinner, she did eventually talk about Josh. I’d never heard her speak about a boyfriend like that before, and we’d talked every day for nearly our whole lives. How had I missed that she was holding things back lately? I felt like a pretty lousy friend. Didn’t she trust me? Ironic, I know, given my silence about Brent. No, it wasn’t that, she promised. It wasn’t that at all. She was on uneven ground, and didn’t trust her footing.

  Stacy’d never been in love before. Not due to lack of willing partners. That was my problem, not hers. Before Sam, nobody had ever said those three little words. I’d never met anyone who thought my quirks were adorable instead of weird, or saw my dimpled thighs as delightful. Nobody’s heart giddy-upped when they heard my tone-deaf singing or thought I looked like a ballerina when I avoided dog poo on the sidewalk. Until Sam, I’d only looked men square in the eye, never from atop a pedestal.

  I’d never been in love either. Sure, I’d lusted. I’d wanted. I’d even blind crushed. But I’d never loved. It was wonderful, exhilarating. And terrifying. I understood Stacy’s fear.

  She wasn’t the world’s most trusting person in the first place. When her dad left her and her mom, he carved a hole in her life, a hole that she filled with bravado. It was one of her biggest attractions, that confidence. As her best friend I knew it was one of her biggest confidence tricks. But men didn’t know that, and they loved her for her independence. She’d never, never been the girl to obsessively call someone she liked. That was me. Not once had she blurted out feelings that made the man run for the hills. Me again. That, and looks, and brains, and wit and kindness made her practically irresistible. So of course I assumed Josh would fall in love with her when they first got together. How could he not? I just didn’t expect her to fall in love back.

  While the rest of us imagined anniversaries after the second date and practiced writing our new married last names, Stacy was always even-keeled on the dating pond. Her friends, social life, work and occasionally family came first. Men were a pleasant diversion. But Josh seemed different.

  Her feelings certainly upped the stakes in the prospective sale. No, none of us had slept well.

  They arrived a few minutes early. Wang and Chung were as disparate in their appearance as any of the comedy greats. Wang could have eaten Chung and still had room for dessert. Chung gave the impression that he’d happily be a snack if Wang felt peckish. Before moving to Hong Kong I’d never seen that level of reverence among colleagues. Felicity, my boss in London, didn’t exactly engender deference. Homicidal thoughts, yes.
Now that I had a normal boss who didn’t sabotage my career, the memories (flashbacks) of being Felicity’s gimp had faded. But they’d faded like any terrible experience does: details become hazy but the involuntary shudders and occasional night terrors don’t go away.

  I was Josh’s Chung today, for customary purposes. Chinese meetings necessitated a matching number of underlings to keep from losing face. We just needed to nod for emphasis when required. Which was fine by me. My forte was negotiating sample sales, not business deals. From the sound of things, business deals in China weren’t settled quickly. Josh and Mr. Wang talked at length about the journey to Hong Kong, the weather, Wang’s company, Hong Kong news, mainland news. I started to wonder whether they’d get to the sale at all.

  Finally, Mr. Wang said, ‘We were very interested to learn about your business. Thank you for sending the documents. Very useful to us.’

  The dance had begun.

  ‘I’m glad you found them useful,’ Josh said carefully. ‘Our companies have worked together for several years.’