The decision was made for me when Stacy beat Sam by a nose. ‘Oh my God,’ she’d said, hugging me as I caught Sam’s eye over her shoulder. ‘That flight was like a million years long, I can’t believe I’m finally here!’
‘Welcome to Hong Kong, Stace! And this is Sam.’ He stood a little shyly beside me, reaching for my hand. Then he kissed her cheek, and she blushed. Actually blushed.
‘Hi, you,’ he said to me, enveloping me in his arms. His lips were magic. Just seeing them, imagining, remembering their remarkable abilities, made it hard to keep from panting. He kissed me with his whole mouth, soft and slow, so sensual, his hand holding, then caressing the back of my neck and pulling me closer, keeping me firmly with him. His other hand explored my jawline, our bodies pushing against each other. Kissing him was like being in a sensory deprivation chamber; I was aware of only my body, and its reaction to him. Somewhere in the back of my mind my mother reminded me that there were hundreds of people who may not care to see us humping each other in Arrivals. I respectfully asked her to shut up.
‘Ehem.’
Right. Stacy. ‘Sorry,’ I said after our last (well, third to last) kiss. ‘Are you ready for Hong Kong? Though you must be exhausted. You should probably take it easy tonight.’ Even as I said the words I was plotting to ditch her in my apartment. Bad friend, capital B, small f.
The fact that I feel so guilty isn’t nearly enough penance. When I shuffle off this mortal coil, Saint Peter will scoff at me and slam shut the Pearly Gates. And I’ll deserve it, because I should not be having the time of my life, holding Sam’s hand, gazing at what might be the most gorgeous view on the planet.
Think Fiji, Hawaii or one of the Caribbean jewels like St Lucia. Put the Manhattan skyline on the shore, and wire up all the buildings with jaw-dropping illumination so that the whole scene lights up like a pinball machine. Finally, build a restaurant with panoramic views atop one of the green-carpeted mountains. That’s The Peak. It’s supposed to be one of the most romantic places on earth, but surely that depends on your date. The troll with the bad breath still wouldn’t stand a chance here, whereas Sam could have his way with me in a Tesco. It’s all a matter of perspective.
At the moment my perspective is trained on Sam. I’ve just told him my news.
‘What? How? When? Congratulations! When do you start?’
‘In a week. I know, it’s fast, and I can’t believe it. I found out yesterday when Josh called but I wanted to tell you in person. Can you believe it? I’m going to be a fashion buyer’s assistant!’
Sam pushes back his chair and strides around the table to kiss me. That’s why I didn’t tell him on the phone. A momentous occasion like this should be shared personally. Preferably with skin-to-skin contact.
I’m still in shock that I got the job, though I was pretty awesome in the interview, if I do say so myself. I told Josh all about my PR assistant background, embellishing just enough without tipping into ‘Bless me Father for I have sinned’ territory. When I told him about my party-planning stint he started grinning, and I knew I was in. Who’d have thought that a CV consisting solely of menial jobs would be a career-enhancer?
‘Hannah, I’m so happy for you, really, this is great. It must be such a relief now that you’ve got a job, to know that the move was a good idea. And Stacy’s arrival too… I’m relieved it’s all working out so well for you. So tell me about this Josh. He’s your boss?’
‘Uh-huh.’ I can’t stop grinning. Sam is right. It is such a relief to have a job. It means I’m now a fully functioning grown-up living in Hong Kong. And it seems like I’ve found a great company to work for. Josh’s granddad started it in the fifties, selling blouses and dresses to high-end boutiques in London and Paris, who went crazy for Chinese silk. Then, when designers started outsourcing manufacturing to Asia, he craftily changed gears to stock knock-offs. He made a fortune, and Josh’s dad shifted the business again when the knock-offs market got too crowded. Now the company supplies fashion apparel to shops across Europe. It’s got just a dozen or so employees, but it’s very successful, and Josh seems great. When his dad died he took over the business. He was born in Hong Kong, though, oddly, he speaks the Queen’s English, and referred to England as ‘home’ in the interview.
‘Josh seems super, very friendly,’ I say. ‘And really happy that I’m going to work for him.’
‘Well, I hope he’s not like Mark,’ Sam murmurs.
‘You mean a weasely slimeball?’ Mark owns the events company I worked for in London, where Sam and I met. He was quite the fisherman, in that he loved reeling them in from the company pier. I willingly took the bait, that is, until I found out he had a stocked aquarium at home. Men like that deserve to be kicked in the tackle box.
‘I mean hiring you just to get in your pants,’ my boyfriend says.
‘… Why wouldn’t he hire me because he thinks I can do the job?’
‘I know about men like that, Han, remember? I worked for Mark too. Just be careful, that’s all I’m saying.’
‘You know what? You said the same thing about Mark when we first met. You assumed I was only there as a bit of eye candy.’
‘I was right.’
‘What?!’
‘What I mean is, Mark was an ass and he was only interested in your, you know, your other assets. That doesn’t mean you didn’t do a great job, or that you’re not going to be amazing at this job. It just means you should go into it with your eyes open.’
‘What about you? I could say the same thing about your boss.’
‘Li Ming? Why would you say the same thing about her?’
I realize I’m grasping at ridiculous straws, but I don’t like the sound of this Li Ming character. She seems to always be there when Sam calls. I know they’re sharing an apartment with the two other colleagues. I still don’t like it. ‘I think she likes you.’
‘What? Hannah, she’s my boss. We’re on an assignment together, along with the rest of the team. Trust me, she doesn’t like me. You’re not jealous, are you?’
‘No.’ Yes. Why am I jealous? I shouldn’t be jealous, should I?
He takes my hand. ‘Good, because I think you’d really like each other. She’s very nice. You have nothing to worry about.’
‘I know.’ What is wrong with me? This dinner has the potential to go seriously downhill if I don’t stop this silliness. ‘Why are we fighting?’ I force a smile. ‘All I did was tell you about my new job.’
‘Aw, Han, you’re right. I have no idea why we’re arguing. I’m sorry. Here,’ he says, raising a glass. ‘To you, and your new job, and your boss who hired you because you’re wonderful and because you’re going to be the best buyer’s assistant that Hong Kong’s ever seen. You’ll be great, and I’m so proud of you. Cheers.’
We clink glasses but the night seems a tiny bit dimmer now. It’s not just that this bickering came from nowhere. A question has been niggling.
How long does Sam plan to stay? I want to ask, but I’m afraid to hear the answer. I’m going to be seriously unhappy if the milk in my fridge lasts longer than his visit. It’s not that I haven’t asked before. And by ‘before’ I mean every day that we’ve spoken for the last two weeks. Sam simply hasn’t been able to say for sure. I guess when you’re working for a government you’re expected to work around their schedule. I also suspect that he (rightly) thinks I’ll seize on any information like a bull terrier. He doesn’t want to disappoint me. Of course he could best avoid disappointment by staying permanently, but it’s probably a little selfish to expect him to quit his job to be available for my dating needs. So I have to ask. But I don’t want to. But I have to. I’ll just finish my wine first. And make a quick call. ‘’Scuse me a sec, I should check on Stacy.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ he says with a smile. ‘Han? You know you’re a good friend, right? You do, don’t you?’
He has such a gift for saying the right thing. ‘I know, thanks. See you in a minute. I’ll just call her from out
front.’
The wind buffets me as I round the corner of the building. It’s unseasonably cool tonight (which means that the temperature has dipped below five-minutes-to-soak-through-a-blouse). To look at the locals you’d think we’re dining on the Arctic ice cap.
As usual I’m inappropriately dressed, but goose bumps are worth the sacrifice to wear my new shoes – hot pink satin, diamante encrusted, in the fashion-forward sense rather than the aging-Hollywood-has-been sense. They’re impossibly delicate, sky high and pretty enough to bring a tear to the eye. They’re also uncomfortable enough to raise a quiet sob.
Stacy picks up on the first ring. ‘Stace? It’s me. I just wanted to see how you’re settling in.’
‘Oh. Hi.’ It’s her angry voice.
‘Did you find everything okay?’ It’s a rhetorical question. We’re sharing a room the size of a walk-in freezer
‘Yes, thanks.’
‘How about towels? I bought you a scrubby glove – it’s in the shower.’ As if a loofah can slough away the feeling of desertion. ‘And there’s tea, and milk and sugar, in the kitchen. Have you eaten?’
‘Where would I eat? I’ve never been here before.’
Oh yes, definitely her angry voice. ‘If you take a left out of the building and walk a couple of minutes, there’s a whole row of restaurants. Tomorrow I’ll take you to lunch at a dumpling place that you’ll love.’ As best friends, we sometimes know each other better than we do ourselves. So we know that if either of us cracks and admits to being mad (her) or guilty (me), the argumentative floodgates will open and we’ll end up on the phone till morning. Like the proverbial elephant in the room – I will not mention it, I will not. And I hope she’s too tired for a fight. ‘I’ll be home by midnight so if you’re still up, I’ll see you then, okay?’
‘Sure, okay, see you later.’
‘… Bye.’
‘… Bye.’
I don’t know why I thought that’d make me feel better.
‘How’s she doing?’ Sam wants to know when I navigate back to the table, slightly weaving in my shoes.
‘She’s angry.’ I could sugar-coat it, but it wouldn’t do any good to lie to him. He has an eerie sixth sense that sees through me.
‘Well, she did just land today,’ he points out.
‘So did you!’
‘Darlin’, I’m not judging you. Really I’m not. I love being here with you. It’s selfish of me, but I’m glad you’re with me instead of Stacy tonight.’
Okay then. Because, for the record, he asked me here. I was ready to sacrifice my happiness to stay with Stacy. I wouldn’t have been good company, but I was ready to do it. ‘Stacy isn’t sharing your point of view at the moment.’
‘Let me ask you something. How would you describe the relationship between you two?’
He’s always asking me questions like this, and often much more random (like, if you could have any superhero power, what would it be?). He’s a real ponderer. ‘We’re best friends.’
‘I know that. But what’s your relationship? I mean, who has the upper hand?’
The thought pops instantly into my head. ‘She does,’ I say. She always has. I’m her canary in the coalmine, ready to play the warm-up to her headline show…
Or am I? Certainly that was my role when we were growing up, and such an instinctive role for me that I never questioned it. I happily followed her natural lead, generally without touching the brakes of common sense. Once, when she decided that brunettes have no fun, she stole her mother’s Nice ’n Easy permanent color and turned me into a blonde. Fortunately, or unfortunately, her mom caught us mid-rinse, and put an end to Stacy’s dreams of fair-haired partiality. We were nine. I spent the fourth grade growing out my roots.
But if I’m honest, our relationship did change when I moved to London. Certainly at first we talked every day. I needed her advice, her support, and that connection to home. But as I settled in and made a few friends, the power shifted. I think Stacy even started getting a little insecure. So I revise my answer. ‘Maybe I have the upper hand now.’
‘Yes, I think so. After all, she followed you here, right?’
‘Are you trying to make me feel bad?’ I frown at him.
‘No, no. Come here.’ He holds my face as he kisses me over the table. ‘I just mean that you’re not the same people you were before you left the US. It’s going to take time to establish your boundaries again. She’s probably a little unsure about where she fits in your life now, and that’s hard for her. I’m sure that’s the only reason she’s acting mad now. It’s not really because we’re here and she’s in your apartment. So don’t be so hard on yourself. Think about it. You know her best. Besides, I’m really glad you’re here with me.’
‘Me too.’ Ah, the way he’s looking at me! Like I’m his one true love and we’re the only two people in the world. Like he wants to tell me something. Oh. Is this it? Is he going to say it?
‘Han.’
‘Yes?’ He’s going to say it. I wish I hadn’t eaten the spinach.
‘I need to tell you something.’
Despite the typhoon blowing across the balcony, this is the perfect setting to declare our love. I’ve dreamed about this moment since we first kissed. ‘What is it?’ That garlic mayonnaise was probably a mistake too.
‘I have to go back to Ho Chi Minh on Sunday.’
‘What?!’
What about ‘I love you’? Or at least ‘I’m staying longer than the sell-by dates in your fridge’? Who wastes a setting like this delivering bad news? Unless this is the dating equivalent of dumping a girl in a quiet restaurant, counting on the setting to keep her from sobbing into her tarte Tatin. Oops. Too late.
‘Oh sweetheart, please don’t cry,’ he says, wiping my tears, and probably not a little mascara, with his fingers. ‘I hate that my job keeps me out of Hong Kong, and away from you. I didn’t expect there to be this much travel, not at the start. Hey, please stop crying. I can’t stand to see you upset because of me. Really, Han. I miss you so much when I’m away. I’d much rather stay here, but I’ve taken this job and this is the assignment. I don’t have a choice unless I quit. I’ve thought about that, believe me, because this isn’t what I want. Living out of a suitcase isn’t exactly my ideal. But I can’t quit. At least not till I’ve given it a chance, and put in my time. You understand that, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ No, not really.
‘Darlin’, I’ll be back again soon, in just a couple weeks. And we’ve got a few days before I go. We’ll make the most of it. How ’bout we take Stacy sightseeing tomorrow, maybe to see the Ten Thousand Buddhas in Sha Tin? It’s a monastery, she’ll love it, and I’ll spring for lunch.’
A monastery is no substitute for a boyfriend. ‘Okay, that’ll be nice–’ sniffle ‘–But Sam, I’m already thinking about Sunday. I’m going to miss you so much!’ I hate it when I blubber. I don’t cry daintily; I effuse copious amounts of bodily fluids.
‘Oh, please don’t worry about that now. It’s not Sunday yet. And of course I’ll miss you too. But we can talk every day. We do now, don’t we?’
‘I suppose.’
‘Besides, you’ve got Stacy here, and you’re going to need to find an apartment, and start your job. You’ll be so busy that you won’t even notice I’m gone.’
Why do men say stupid things like this? I had a boyfriend once tell me that I shouldn’t worry about him meeting his foxy ex (his words, admittedly in a different conversation) because even though she was still in love with him, he’d made a commitment to me. How is that supposed to make a girl feel better?
‘Should we get the bill?’ I suggest. If I’m going to make the most of our few days together, we need to skip the coffees.
‘Sure,’ he says, making the universal check-please hand signal to a passing waiter. ‘It’s a nice night. What do you say we walk back to your place from the tram?’
‘I, erm…’ I say that’s a terrible idea. Stacy is sleeping a meter from my
bed. And he can’t have failed to notice my footwear. ‘Why don’t we take a taxi to your apartment?’
‘I didn’t think you’d want to stay on Stacy’s first night.’
This is going to get very awkward if I have to spell it out. ‘I don’t plan to stay…’
‘A quickie?’ He’s grinning. ‘But I’d feel so used.’
‘Are you upset to know you’re wanted for your body?’
‘I’ve never been so proud in my life. Come on.’ He grabs my hand and hurries me, as fast as my shoes will allow, towards the tram. I don’t care that we’re making a spectacle of ourselves as we navigate the stairs in a pre-coital embrace. And Stacy will have to forgive me if I’m a little late.
I’m very late.
‘Have fun?’ Her words cut through me as I gently close the front door. I guess there’s a small chance that they’ve been sharpened by my guilt rather than her anger.
‘It was a magical night, Stace. I’ve missed him so much! It seems like forever since we’ve seen each other, even though I know it’s only been a few weeks. And it was amazing to catch up, and finally get to spend time together here. It was like we’d never been apart, I guess that’s a sign isn’t it, to be so connected? And this was our first time together in Hong Kong, our christening I guess you’d call it, and it was fun, we went to The Peak for dinner, I’ll take you there, it’s got an incredible view, though different from Kowloon, sort of the opposite view if you know what I mean, and the food’s good, but we can just go to see it too, and go somewhere else to eat…’ Maybe hyper-babbling will stave off the inevitable conversation.
‘Good.’ She’s still mad.
‘Are you tired?’
‘No. I feel rough though.’
Stacy is one of life’s beautiful women, with sleek blonde hair and flawless skin that always looks tanned despite her bat-like aversion to sunshine. For her, feeling rough translates into slight shadows beneath her eyes that only she can see. When I arrived I looked like I’d just been sprung from solitary confinement. ‘Aw, Stace, it’s the jet lag. It takes a few days to adjust. Want to watch TV? They dub Friends into Cantonese.’
The Expat Diaries: Misfortune Cookie (Single in the City Book 2) Page 5