The Last Harem

by George P. Saunders

  Coffee, Tea, Singapore

  As George remembers it...

  As already detailed, Aphrodite had been threatening to return home for some months. Every week, she would tell me: just two more weeks, honey. Then I'm out of here. Two more weeks, then another two weeks, then another. Months passed.

  Then, one day, I got the call from her – the one I had been waiting for. I was actually in a story meeting with a producer who wanted to make one of my scripts; it was a strange story, a horror movie and a gangster movie mixed together. I'll call the producer Bob. He was discussing a story point with me:

  "George, I'm wondering if there's a way we can make the dead, gay, pygmy with the hunchback, lying face down in the sewer, less negative? And can we make him less gay? I don't want to offend anyone."

  I pondered the question in earnest.

  Suddenly, my cell phone rang.

  I excused myself from Bob's office and took the call.

  It was Aphrodite.

  "I'm coming into Singapore on April 7," she said.

  "Great," I said. "And when do you fly home?"

  "Well, not immediately. I'm thinking you should come out and meet me."

  I was silent. "What, go to Singapore?"

  "Why not?" she said.

  "Well, for one, I can't afford the ticket," I said.

  "It's already taken care of. I've made your reservations, you're traveling Business Class, and you're flying out of LAX on April 6, with John."

  John was Tamara's husband.

  "Why am I flying out with him?"

  "Because he meets the girls anyway, once they come out of Brunei, to collect the commissions."

  It sounded like strong-arming to me, but Aphrodite clarified John's position.

  "No, it's just that he has to do the banking in Singapore. Something about an offshore account they have there."

  Oh.

  "Singapore," I said. "Okay."

  Sure enough, Aphrodite had made good on her promise. My tickets were mailed to me three days later after my conversation with Aphrodite. Like Aphrodite six months earlier, I had a day to prepare for my voyage.

  I had just returned from a little vacation in Cabo San Lucas the day before I spoke with Aphrodite, and was planning on diving back in to work. The Cannes Film Festival began in late May, and there was much to be done regarding my three films, Intimate Deception, Making Waves and Vendetta. At first, I felt that I should decline the invitation to meet her in Singapore. But I sensed a need, and an urgency in her voice; she really wanted me to come out and spend time with her. I figured, after six months away, it was not too much to ask.

  I packed one bag and met Tamara and her husband the next day, when they picked me up at my house. I liked them, both affable people, both completely non-smarmy. They had tapped into a lucrative little venture, but they treated it like any other business. Since this was the first time I had actually spoken with them on a personal basis, I was inquisitive: How long had they been doing the Brunei thing, how do they handle the money, is there really no forced prostitution going on secretly? My questions were at times dumb, but they were patient with them. And I believed their answers. They kept assuring me I had nothing to worry about.

  At the airport, I shook hands with Tamara, after which she kissed her husband and wished us both bon voyage. John and I checked in at reservations, then headed for the Raffles Class cocktail Club. Our flight boarded in about half an hour; just enough time for a quick bite to eat and a drink.

  I learned from John that the commission he and Tamara took from the girls amounted to thirty percent. I thought it was high, but on the other hand, the girls rarely complained, simply because they were receiving so much money anyway. John told me that on occasion, a girl here and there would try to lie about how much was actually made, but that this rarely succeeded because Mr. Jan provided Tamara with an exact accounting of all moneys disbursed. Such occasions of deceit were rare, John said; when they did occur, they were ultimately terribly embarrassing for the girl in question and ultimately concluded with her grudgingly handing over the correct commission.

  I was amazed and worried to hear that the form of payment to the girls was in cash. Sing cash - and forked over on the very last stay of the respective "employee's" stay in Brunei.

  "That seems a little dangerous," I told John.

  "Not really," he said. "The only danger is once the girls arrive to Singapore, there is the possibility that they could be assaulted there in the airport and robbed. It hadn't happened yet, but the danger exists."

  "I guess that's why you meet the girls at the airport," I deduced.

  John smiled. "Yep."

  I could see no one would mess with John; he stood about six foot two, with wall to wall muscles. If you were a girl returning from Brunei, with a chunk of cash on you, John's presence could make you feel quite safe.

  Still, I felt peevish toward the Sultanate's total disregard for the security of the girls once they had received their money. I tried to imagine half a million dollars of cash in my hands. I couldn't.

  Raffles Class, or Business Class, is a marvelous way to fly. From the moment you board the big 747, you are treated like a king. Stewardesses meet you with champagne, and even before the airplane taxis down the runway for takeoff, you've already had a few hefty shots of alcohol. For the record, I believe Singapore Airlines is the best airline in the world. The folks who work for it spoil their customers well.

  After takeoff, I made a very deliberate decision: I was going to take advantage of Aphrodite's generosity and try absolutely everything on the menu, liquid and non. I started out with a Charles Heidsieck Blanc des Millenaires, 1985 champagne, followed by a California white wine, the Geyser Peak Chardonnay, 1994. I followed lunch of canapes, soba and unagi kabayaki (a broiled fillet of eel Japanese style steak) with a German Wine, the Winninger Domgarten Riseling Spatlese, 1995.

  Nor was I restricted to these several wines. There was also an unlimited supply of fine whiskeys available, all of which I tasted in the first few hours after take-off. I concluded my lunch with a glass of Romano Sambuca.

  Okay. Maybe I was a wee bit tipsy afterwards, but so far I was having a grand time.

  A variety of movies began to play: Jumanji, with Robert Williams, and something with Jean Claude Van Damme, the title of which I can't recall at the moment. Before I knew it, a light meal was about to be served. I felt suddenly very peckish again, and decided to order the Veal with sage and Parma Ham in Marsala Wine Sauce, served with Mousseline Potatoes and Buttered Cauliflower. Wine was of course mandatory, so I sampled a California Red, a Geyser Peak Cabernet, 1994, from Sonoma County, along with an Italian little nothing called Terrabianca Piano Del Cipresso, 1993. And though I generally don't touch the stuff stateside (I was already sounding like one of those jetsetter-types), I ordered a Taylor's Late Bottled Vintage Port, year 1990. It was lovely.

  A storm took us by surprise about four hours out of Tokyo. The turbulence hit us like a ton of bricks, and the plane was rocked back and forth continuously. John got horribly airsick, and was in the lavatory for the next hour, as were quite a few other passengers in the Raffles Class section. I assume that I was so drunk that the turbulence had little effect on my system; I ordered another scotch and pretended I was on a roller coaster.

  Dinner arrived just as the storm ended. Marvelous timing. I ordered the Beef Teppan Yaki with grated radish, along with the Kisetu No Yasai, translated of which meant lots of selected seasonal vegetables. I also ordered the Braised Fillet of Fish with garlic and ginger.

  "You eat a lot," John commented, still green from airsickness.

  "Yes. Are you going to have the Sautéed Chicken or the Beef?" I said.

  He got up and returned to the lavatory for a renewed bout of vomiting. I felt sorry for him, and told him on his return that he should drink more.

  "I don't drink," he said.

  "Too bad," I remarked, and ordered another highball.

  Another hour of airs
ickness, however, and John capitulated. He ordered a whiskey. Then another. He began to feel considerably better, and by the time we landed in Tokyo, we were new best friends.

  It was early evening when we disembarked the plane for the same layover in Tokyo that Aphrodite and the girls experienced six months earlier. Well into his cups, John revealed to me exactly how much money Aphrodite was bringing home. He brought out his pocket calculator, and quickly did the computation, keeping in mind the exchange rate on the Sing Dollar (roughly 80 cents to our American dollar).

  He showed me the figure on the calculator.

  I felt lightheaded.

  The figure was around $2,000,000 Sing. Roughly $1,500,000 American dollars.

  "Oh, boy," I said.

  He smiled and nodded. "Makes you wish you were blonde, beautiful and female, huh?"

  I agreed. Almost.

  "What about the tax consequences?" I asked.

  "Well, either you pay the taxes, or you set up an offshore account," he said. "We recommend to all the girls not to take chances. Pay your damned taxes. You can afford it. But also put some money into a Singapore bank."

  I found the advice very sound and reminded myself to have a conversation with Aphrodite concerning the issues of taxes.

  We re-boarded the airplane an hour later and finished off the leg of our journey to Singapore.

  As George Remembers Singapore...

  The first condition of right thought is right sensation,

  The first condition of understanding a foreign country

  is to smell it...

  T.S. Elliot

  Singapore.

  The first thing you do notice about it once you get off the airplane is that it smells . . . clean. When you get outside the terminal, after the hot, humid, sticky air hits you in the face like a jackhammer, the second smell that assaults your senses is that of green, growing things. Hence its self-proclaimed name of The Garden City. In Singapore, flora and fauna have made their peace with the urban jungle.

  It's a felony to litter in Singapore. There was a case recently of a young American who was caned to death for smattering graffiti against an apartment building several years back. Drug selling is a definite no-no, and the penalty for such a crime if you're caught and convicted is really quite basic: You're executed. Summarily. Hanged. End of story.

  It is quite possibly the most downright beautiful city in the world. Even at night, driving down to Orchard Street from the airport, where John and I would stay at the Hyatt Regency, the intrinsic loveliness of the town is obvious.

  I had educated myself on Singapore and knew it had humble beginnings. It was once just a backwater of pirates and traders. Today, seven hundred years later, it is a city-state of almost three million inhabitants and the busiest seaport in Southeast Asia. Singapore is shaped roughly as a diamond and has an area of roughly 600 square miles. Before the British came and influenced its development, Singapore, as already mentioned, was simply a drudgy piece of swampland that was perfect for pirates to dump bodies of their victims.

  Sir Thomas Raffles turned Singapore into a paradise. When he came here in 1819, he was already a famous explorer, naturalist, historian and visionary. He claimed the island after a little political maneuvering with the local sultans and proved himself to be a humanitarian by abolishing slavery. He contributed to architecture and culture and oversaw a completely new city construction. But Raffles was a tragic figure; in a few years, his children would be dead from tropical disease and a fire wiped out his invaluable records. He was hauled back to London for a lawsuit brought against him by his employer, The East India Company and died in London a poor and despondent man at the age of forty five. Still, his influence on Singapore remains outstanding, and up until 1942, the city-state continued to thrive.

  In 1942, the Japanese invaded Singapore, thus ending British Rule there. Three years of horror followed. An estimated 25,000 to 50,000 Chinese were marched to the beaches and were executed or tortured by the Japanese Kempei Thai for being, of all things, too Western. Almost 30,000 Allied POWs were held in Changi Prison, an ordeal described by author James Clavell in his novel King Rat, and then marched to Thailand where thousands died constructing the famous bridge over the River Kwai. By the time the Japanese surrendered to Lord Mountbatten in 1945, it is estimated that over 100,000 civilians died from starvation, torture or execution.

  Today, Singapore is a parliamentary republic with a constitution and political system based on British models. Its economy is flourishing, thanks to foreign corporations such as National Semiconductor, Apple and Hewlett-Packard who have eagerly established factories there. Despite a complete lack of natural resources except for its strategic location and deepwater harbors, money seems to gravitate toward Singapore like dirt to ground.

  And here I was. An Ugly American in the Jewel of the Orient. A very hungover one at that.

  John and I took a taxi from the airport to the Hyatt Regency, right smack in the middle of town off of Orchard Hill Street. We checked in briefly, and then headed for our rooms. A message was waiting for me there. It was in an envelope and had my name on it.

  The message was from Aphrodite.

  She would be arriving tomorrow morning at 11 a.m.

  She missed me. She loved me.

  I smiled.

  I could hardly wait to see her.

  Sing, Money, Sing!

  As George remembers it...

  John and I got to the airport an hour before Aphrodite's flight was scheduled to arrive. We both ordered a beer.

  "How much have you and Tamara made off the girls so far?" I asked.

  "I'd say, over a million dollars in the past three years," he said.

  "Very nice," I said.

  "Hey, it's a living."

  The Royal Brunei airplane landed right on time. As I have already mentioned, when I saw Aphrodite for the first time in six months, she had changed. She had . . . grown.

  We ran to one another. And held on tight for a few moments.

  When she looked at me, she was crying.

  "Do I look fat?" was the first question she asked.

  "Never better," I said, and kissed her.

  We returned to the Hyatt Regency, promising to stop in on John a few hours later to pass on commission money from Aphrodite's "wages." Before we did anything else, we headed for our room and ordered champagne.

  I confess, I wanted to make love immediately – a primal need to restore and validate my connection with Aphrodite.

  But Aphrodite wanted to do something else.

  She wanted to count money.

  Sing Money.

  It was in an envelope.

  $1,500,000 in American dollars.

  I was quite frankly terrified.

  "We're counting almost two million dollars in cash," I said quietly. "This should be in a vault."

  "We have a safe in the room," Aphrodite said.

  "I'd prefer something bigger," I said.

  We decided to find a bank the next day and deposit some money forthwith. Afterwards, we went shopping. Like most men, I find shopping tedious and downright dull. Aphrodite, like most women, loved to shop. She spent the next two days buying new clothes, not only for herself, but for her family - and me. This, despite the cornucopia of clothes and jewelry she had already acquired in Brunei.

  We spent our second evening in the Raffles Hotel, a splendid place with amazing ambiance, and allegedly, the oldest lodging house in Singapore. Early guests of the Raffles included Joseph Conrad and Rudyard Kipling. The hotel is famous for the creation of something called the Singapore Sling, a pulverizing combination of gin, cherry herring, Cointreau, Benedictinie pineapple, lime juice and Angostura bitters.

  Aphrodite and I had about three Slings each.

  After which we decided dinner was superfluous, and it would probably be best to simply go home and sleep.

  The last day in Singapore was spent at the famous Singapore Zoo. It is, by far, the best zoo in Asia, according to all my
sources. Over 2,000 animals live there, including rare and endangered species. We took a tram over the Seletar Reservoir which allowed us an unfettered view from the air, looking down into the zoo grounds. There were no cages or iron bars enclosing the animals. We spotted a Sumatran orangutan, a Thai elephant, a Malaysian tiger and even some Komodo dragons.

  Once on the ground, these creatures were even more magnificent to behold up close.

  But I remembered that there was one animal in particular Aphrodite wished to find, simply as she put it, to find out "what makes them so mean."

  I asked her what the animal was.

  "An aggressive monkey," she said.

  I smiled.

  It was good to have Aphrodite back.

  ***

  Prices were exorbitant. I went over with a thousand dollars in my pocket. I was damn near broke at the time. As may be surmised, it was Aphrodite who arranged my travel to Singapore, Aphrodite who absorbed the cost of the $3,000 plus ticket. She offered to pay for everything at the time, insistent that I not spend a penny. All American, red-blooded, egocentric male that I was, however, I steadfastly insisted on bearing the brunt of some of the cost of my journey. It was my mission. My quest. I am Man, hear me Roar.

  I succeeded in my endeavor to maintain financial independence for exactly forty eight hours. Because at the end of that time, after buying a few meals, and paying for a night or two at the Hyatt Regency for our rooms, my paltry grand had happily evaporated. I was pauperized by Singapore in short order, financially emasculated by this beautiful town, lined block to block with every conceivable clothing, jewelry and novelty store imaginable. A virtual bag boy by my second day, Aphrodite, by necessity, took over our financial future. My sugar mama.

  And what a takeover.

  The Big Picture called Gluttony:

  We dined. Dined well. Champagne and room service were our mainstay, and by God, not cheap bubbly or tawdry service at that. We felt like royalty. The Bag Boy and the Goddess in the Emperor's New Clothes. Sure, I felt guilty about her spending all this money. But Aphrodite's generosity and capacity for fine dining and good living soon overwhelmed my own attempts at self-righteous moderation.