FORTUNE COOKIE

by Bryce Courtenay

  There was no air-conditioning and, despite the efforts of an ailing ceiling fan in the centre of the room directly above our table, it was stinking hot. The small room had six tables, all of them occupied, which I took to be a testimony to Aunty Daisy’s modest prices and good cooking. Willy Wonka ordered two Tiger beers from the solitary waiter, an elderly Malay in slippers who snuffled as he shuffled. His cheeks were covered in white stubble and he’d obviously lost most of his teeth because his chin almost touched the end of his nose.

  ‘Make sure they’re cold,’ I said in my limited Malay. If he heard me he made no sign other than a sniff.

  ‘Table fridge,’ Willy Wonka said.

  I was impressed. It was very rare for a restaurant that catered for locals to be able to afford a fridge. That was also the reason you knew the food was always fresh. No proprietor who hoped to stay open for long could afford to serve pork, fish or any food that might go off in the appalling heat unless it was very fresh. But the downside was that beer was invariably served warm, or, if you occasionally got lucky and were early to lunch, a few bottles would have been left in the ice that had accompanied the fish from market.

  ‘A table fridge – that’s pretty posh.’

  Willy Wonka laughed. ‘No, it’s one of my dad’s inventions. We’ve got a big box freezer at home in the garage and my dad loves Aunty Daisy’s cooking and drops in for lunch twice a week, but he doesn’t like warm beer, so he invented the table fridge. He makes one the night before he comes and Aunty Daisy sends a kitchen hand up to get it from our place an hour before he comes for lunch. He made one last night specially for us today.’

  I felt ashamed. I’d been churlish and self-indulgent and very nearly cancelled lunch. It was obvious Willy Wonka had gone to a lot of trouble in anticipation.

  Old Shuffle ’n’ Snuffle arrived shortly afterwards carrying a deep aluminium roasting dish with a handle at each end, the shoulders and spouts of two bottles of Tiger beer protruding above the rim.

  ‘Ah, the table fridge! Check this out, buddy,’ Willy Wonka exclaimed.

  We watched as the old bloke placed the dish at the centre of the table, and I saw that it contained a solid block of ice, the bottles resting in two holes in the ice block so they could easily be lifted out. In addition, two more holes in the ice contained two frosted beer glasses.

  ‘Neat, hey?’

  ‘Very damn clever and, like all good ideas, dead bloody simple,’ I noted.

  The old waiter shuffled in again with two more beers, which he placed in the holes vacated by the glasses; then, when we’d finished the original bottles, two more arrived. In this manner you could theoretically drink cold beer all afternoon, or for as long as it took for the ice to melt.

  Willy Wonka wasn’t the silent type, and I was grateful for the fact that he could talk the hind leg off a donkey and proceeded to do so as Aunty Daisy plied us with savouries that would have sent Elma Kelly into raptures. But, apart from making the effort to congratulate Aunty Daisy after each of these, I contributed little more than a series of grunts to the tirade about Lee Kuan Yew’s latest ruling on long hair and hippies who smoked funny cigarettes. A taxi driver had been made an example of and jailed for thirty days for throwing a cigarette butt on the pavement, and this also produced an indignant tirade. But finally my garrulous Chinese copywriter and host could bear it no longer. ‘What’s wrong, Simon?’ he asked.

  ‘Huh? Oh, nothing. Bad day. Got a bee in my bonnet, that’s all.’

  ‘Bullshit.’

  ‘Oh, just a bit of a contretemps with the chairman.’

  ‘Simon, it’s more serious than that, isn’t it? In Production they say you are the only one not afraid of Sidney Wing and that he doesn’t like it. He wants people to be afraid of him. You’ve had a row, haven’t you?’

  Of course I couldn’t tell him about the threat to Mercy B. Lord. ‘Mate, he’s brought in a new account, Citizen Watches. Wants us to make a TV commercial. Trouble is —’

  ‘Yeah? Shit, hey!’ Willy Wonka exclaimed, clearly excited, my reason for the row with Sidney Wing quite forgotten at the prospect of a TV commercial. ‘Have you ever made one … I mean, a TV commercial?’

  ‘Yeah, a few back home, mostly for cigarettes.’ I grinned. ‘All real deep and meaningful groundbreaking stuff,’ I said, sending myself up. But the irony was lost on him. ‘Would you like an example? A blow by blow?’ I offered. I wasn’t anxious to talk about the row with Sidney Wing and I hoped this would act as a diversion.

  Willy Wonka nodded vigorously. ‘Yeah, man! You can do all that stuff?’

  I began hamming up a typical Wills TV spot, one I’d worked on for Escort Filter Tipped. ‘Location: cliff top, late afternoon,’ I began. ‘Music over then under. Open on long shot: male smoker meets pretty female smoker. Sound effects: gulls overhead, crash of waves. Cut to two shot medium close-up.’ I paused to explain. ‘That means both of them from the waist up. He offers her an Escort Filter Tipped. Cut to close-up of pack and girl’s hand.’ I grinned. ‘She withdraws a fag. Cut back to medium close-up as he lights her cigarette using expensive lighter. Voiceover: “The flavour is filtered to bring you the smooth Virginia tobacco taste.” Cut to close-up of her face: she inhales, looks up, exhales. “Will you be my Escort?” she asks, small grin. Cut to two shot: he exhales, smiles down at her. Cut to long shot: they walk arm in arm towards the edge of the cliff. Dissolve to silhouette of couple standing on edge of cliff, brilliant sunset background. Sound effects: gull calls, waves crashing on the shore below. Voiceover: “Enjoy the true smoking satisfaction of new Escort Filter Tipped.” Dissolve to close-up of pack against sunset with slogan: “Smooth Virginia Tobacco Taste”.’

  Willy Wonka looked deeply impressed, although he probably didn’t understand it all. ‘Wow! Shit, hey, Simon. You did that?’ he exclaimed. ‘We could do that again, man!’ He thought for a moment. ‘Only this time he gives her a Citizen watch. “Will you be a Citizen?” he asks.’ Willy Wonka looked pleased with himself. Then, misty-eyed, he went on, ‘Enjoy the timeless gift of beautiful time. Citizen Watches.’

  I realised that my irony had been completely wasted. ‘Mate, those cigarette commercials were absolute unadulterated crap.’

  Willy Wonka looked at me uneasily, not quite believing he’d heard me correctly. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Yeah, no-expense-spared total shit.’

  ‘But we are going to make one, aren’t we? The first TV commercial in Singapore?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Mate, the budget Sidney’s agreed to wouldn’t hire a cameraman for a day. That’s if we could even find one in Singapore with a 35-millimetre movie camera. Or a studio to build a set, let alone lights, crew, make-up, talent, wardrobe.’ I shrugged. ‘And we couldn’t make it in time anyway. It takes a week just to process the film at the lab in Hong Kong.’

  ‘But in your cigarette commercial you did it all outside. Couldn’t we do the same?’ Willy Wonka said hopefully, neatly inserting himself into any production crew he thought might eventuate.

  ‘What, do it on location? No, mate, take my word for it, that’s even more expensive. Not a chance.’

  ‘So what are you going to do?’

  ‘Dunno. Sidney’s demanded that I make it. That’s what the row was all about. He doesn’t want to go back to Hercules Sun, the Citizen agent, and tell him he got it all wrong, that he was talking through his arse.’

  ‘Did you say Hercules Sun? My dad says he’s Triads, a nasty piece of work.’

  ‘Yeah? All the more reason, I suppose, why Sidney isn’t willing to eat crow.’

  ‘Crow not good to eat, huh? What’s it mean?’

  ‘Humiliate himself, lose face.’

  ‘I know a guy with a camera, Simon.’

  ‘What, Kodak home movies?’

  ‘No, a big one.’

  ‘But 35-millimetre?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Probably 16-millimetre. Some keen amateurs have them.’

  ‘No, I don
’t think so. He’s not an amateur. Sometimes he does stuff for the BBC, when something big happens here.’

  Aunty Daisy arrived at that moment with the lobster in spicy sauce. There was much ado about the dish and the usual congratulations for the beaming ex-family cook, who looked to be in her sixties, then a question from me, followed by her explanation about how the spicy sauce was prepared. Aunty Daisy left with an instruction to us to eat the lobster while it was hot because the sauce lost some of its flavour when it congealed. We opened the second two bottles of beer from the ice-block table fridge and got stuck in. As a cook Aunty Daisy was every bit as good as she was cracked up to be. I made up my mind to bring Elma to True Blue, but I’d wait until the heat wasn’t so severe.

  And then, halfway through the lobster, an idea hit me. The block of ice! Trying to conceal my excitement, I turned to Willy Wonka and enquired, ‘This cameraman – how well do you know him?’

  ‘He took the pictures for my sister’s wedding.’

  ‘Movie?’

  ‘No, colour photographs. They were damned good.’

  My heart sank. ‘He’s a wedding photographer?’

  ‘Yeah, he has a studio.’

  ‘I thought you said he worked for the BBC.’

  ‘Yeah, but only on the side; he does weddings to make a living.’

  ‘Do you know him well?’

  ‘Well, yeah, I suppose, sort of … he does all the big weddings.’

  It wasn’t sounding good. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Harry “Three Thumbs” Poon.’

  ‘You’re kidding! How’d he get the name? Is he clumsy?’

  ‘No, he was born with three thumbs. He has two on his left hand.’

  ‘And he has a big movie camera?’

  ‘Yeah, that’s right.’

  ‘When can we meet him?’

  ‘I’ll have to call home and get his number from my mum.’

  ‘Can you do that now?’

  ‘Now? This moment?’

  ‘Yes, I think I’ve got a great idea.’

  ‘For a TV commercial?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  ‘You already have, Willy Wonka, more than you can ever possibly know.’

  ‘Don’t eat my lobster while I’m gone,’ he laughed, rising from the table.

  ‘Tell him we don’t have a lot of money.’

  ‘We’ll have to buy him a big lunch, Simon.’

  ‘Naturally. Tell him swallows-nest soup and Swatow tea.’

  Willy Wonka laughed again. ‘He’s a married man, Simon!’

  Swatow tea was a very expensive brew served in a tiny cup to the guest of honour at the conclusion of a banquet. No Chinese business deal takes place without its attendant banquet, and feasting is the very first move in a business deal. ‘Eat first, do business later’ is the Chinese mercantile mantra – that way you get to eat even if the deal isn’t closed. It could be a simple lunch at the bottom rung of the business ladder or a veritable banquet at the top. Budget permitting, or if the deal were sufficiently important, the elaborate meal would be followed up with the complimentary services of a lady of the night, not at a girlie bar, but a private assignation in one’s hotel room, where she would be waiting wearing little more than a set of false eyelashes, tiny spangled G-string and possibly thigh-high boots. Ronnie had explained to me that Sidney favoured using the services of a woman who called herself Sabina Fong, and who boasted having had one of the very first breast implants in Singapore. Her grapefruit-sized, unyielding mammaries were thought to be beyond the wildest dreams of the clients Ronnie was attempting to impress. The tiny cup of Swatow tea at the conclusion of a banquet was intended to equip the drinker with a hard-on that couldn’t be discouraged with a stout stick.

  Needless to say, the luncheon we invited Harry ‘Three Thumbs’ Poon to share with us as a prelude to engaging him and his camera didn’t run to such Elysian heights. He’d never attempted to film a commercial with his early 35-millimetre camera, having hitherto only used it to point at riot mobs, police brutality, dockside fires and the like. He’d never filmed anything in close-up and couldn’t guarantee sharp focus. He knew nothing about lighting but I guessed I could manage that. But he was enthusiastic and cheap as chips, and besides, he was all there was.

  The idea was so simple it was scary. Simple-sounding ideas have a nasty habit of turning out to be very complicated. I planned to freeze the watch in a block of ice overnight, then, with the camera locked, chip open the block with a hammer and cold chisel, remove the watch to show that it was still working, then dump it into a glass saucepan of boiling water and remove it to show it was still keeping perfect time. All of this in sixty seconds without any cutaways, just one continuous shot, the whole demonstration taking place in front of the viewer’s eyes. The Citizen watch was aptly named ‘Hero’, so the voiceover would simply state: ‘No extremes of temperature can possibly stop the Citizen Hero. It’s never too cold, never too hot for a Citizen watch.’

  Willy Wonka offered the use of his dad’s garage freezer and we shot the entire commercial in the kitchen of his home: Harry ‘Three Thumbs’ Poon on camera, Willy Wonka chipping the block of ice and removing the watch, holding it close to the camera to show the sweep of the second hand, then dumping it into the steaming glass saucepan of boiling water and removing it exactly fifteen seconds later. Sounds simple, but it wasn’t; it was all timed to the split-second. I did the lighting and whatever direction was involved. Finally, we used Dansford’s mellifluous American tones for the voiceover.

  Sometimes the gods smile benignly. We had no idea whether the watches would actually survive the extremes of temperature, whether the ice blocks would be sufficiently clear to reveal the sweep of the second hand through the ice and whether the glass saucepan and boiling water would be similarly translucent. We’d encased three Hero watches in ice blocks and all came out of the freezer almost as clear as glass. The first one didn’t chip open quickly enough, but the second did. The watch under the ice could clearly be seen to be working, and it kept working while it was bubbling in the glass saucepan. We made it on budget and on deadline, including the film processing and sound mixing at the Saw Bros facilities in Hong Kong, which cost a little more than half the budget.

  The commercial was a huge success and the entire Singapore stock of Citizen watches sold out in a week. The same happened in Hong Kong. I did a full-page newspaper ad in the Straits Times: the top third a photograph of the Citizen Hero embedded in the ice block, the middle third with it boiling in the glass saucepan, and the bottom third mostly white space with the words

  We can do the same for you

  Samuel Oswald Wing Advertising – Singapore

  The agency’s phone rang hot for days and we were flooded with potential new clients wanting TV commercials made by the agency with the proven sales record. On a hunch that this was the start of something very big, I offered to buy a 75 per cent share of Harry ‘Three Thumbs’ Poon’s wedding photography business, which he happily accepted. We then registered the name ‘Three Thumbs Films’ and I offered Willy Wonka a 24 per cent share, on the proviso that he go to Australia or the US to be trained in film. I’d persuaded the board of Samuel Oswald Brickman to let him join the TV production department for a year’s training. I told Dansford that I’d pay for his airfare and board. But he’d insisted the agency pay and contacted New York, explaining that it was in the interests of the fledgling local TV commercial facility. They agreed and, much to Sidney Wing’s chagrin, we were required to meet his costs. His family happily supported the plan, having never seen the value in a sociology degree. They were relieved to think that the exaggerated sense of social justice that had motivated Willy Wonka originally was finally out of his system. This left me with 51 per cent – in other words, a controlling interest, something the importance of which Chairman Meow had hammered into us as teenagers. ‘In business, sooner or later there is disharmony. Always own the final vote. Even
if it is only 1 per cent more shares than all the rest put together, it is still enough.’

  The Citizen Hero TV commercial won the first Asian Advertising Award for television and a Clio in America as the world’s best commercial in the watch and jewellery category. Needless to say, Sidney Wing flew to America to collect the award at the spectacular black-tie awards night in New York, accompanied by the president and senior vice presidents from the New York office. Jonas Bold had been among them and phoned a day later to say that you couldn’t have wiped the smile off Sidney Wing’s face with a blunt axe, and that our beloved chairman had modestly claimed he’d done everything himself, from having the idea, through production on a shoestring budget to the final product. Furthermore, the only time my name was mentioned was when Wing stated that I had been violently opposed to making the ad in the first place.

  Having passed the halfway mark of my contract I didn’t give a continental. Locally, my contribution was well known and, I admit, the commercial and the awards it won didn’t do my reputation any harm. Sidney Wing, of course, never thanked me for saving his arse, or for anything else for that matter. When I met Hercules Sun his first words to me were, ‘So you’re the guy who told Sidney Wing my television commercial couldn’t be done, eh? Damned good thing he didn’t listen to you, Mr Koo. I’m not sure I want you working on my advertising account.’

  I kept quiet, my silence being the price I happily paid for keeping Mercy B. Lord safe. I comforted myself that revenge is a dish best served cold and that I could wait, though until when and for what, I had no idea. It was one of my father’s sayings, although I never witnessed him putting it into action.

  The only hitch in all these carefully laid plans concerned poor Willy Wonka. Flushed with the success of his newly minted film career and with a giant-killing first TV commercial under his belt, he’d declared himself crazy about film. He was waiting for a special temporary working visa to be arranged for him by my former chairman, Charles Brickman, when he received a conscription notice to join the fledgling Singapore Army. One of the most unlikely soldiers Singapore’s armed forces were ever likely to encounter was dragged kicking and screaming from the agency into the arms of the unsuspecting military. No doubt they hoped to make a man of him. All I knew was that I’d lost a very good young man who might not suit the military template but was a one-off well worth cultivating in any society. While the long hair had to go, I ardently hoped that the essential Willy Wonka would remain unscathed over the two years of compulsory military service.