[Pixs of models for illustration purpose only]
Chow Kah and Jessica are sharing a mike and belting a duet, their cheeks almost touching.
The door is rapped several times and Mummy Lulu enters. A whiff of Poison Dior floats in the air. “Thousand apologies. Sorry to interrupt,” she says. “I’ve invitation cards for all of you.”
“Invitation to what?” Hussein asks, withdrawing his hand from Wati’s lap.
“I just moved to a penthouse. I’m having a house-warming party next Saturday. Please come. Here are the invitation cards.” She hands three pink envelopes to Chow Kah, Hussein and I. “Call me if you don’t know the way there. Now please continue your singing.”
“Jess, will you be there?” Chow Kah asks.
“Of course.” Jessica leans forward, reaches for her Sapporo beer and takes a sip.
“If you’re not there, I won’t go.”
Hussein asks: “Wati, you’re attending?”
“Yes, Sayang. All the GRO’s will be there, including me.” Wati [top pix] plants a kiss on his cheek. “Make sure you come, okay?”
******
Chow Kah and I take the lift to the penthouse of Crystal Heights in Cheras.
A chandelier hangs from the ceiling in the living room and an Italian carved settee set dominates the furnishings. Mummy Lulu introduces us to her husband, a pot-bellied man with a bald crown. Our social niceties are brief. “Excuse us. We've to mingle around,” she says. "Help yourselves to the food.”
Most of the guests are staff of Hot Legs Niteclub & Karaoke and its regular patrons. The General Manager of the nightclub is chatting with Mummy Lulu’s husband. Hussein and Wati are in the balcony, enjoying the view, his arm around her waist.
The buffet table is chocked with platters of lotus-leaf rice, fried bee hoon, egg tarts, satay, shrimp bruschetta and pizza puffs. Bottles of Castle Lager, Sapporo Beer and Bir Bintang tempt drinkers.
I go for the lotus-leaf rice while Chow Kah attacks the fried bee hoon.
“What does her husband do?” I scoop a spoonful of rice into my mouth.
“I heard he’s a Papasan. How the rice?”
“Great.”
“Eeek! A strand of hair in my fried bee hoon! How disgusting!” Chow Kah says. He walks up to Mummy Lulu who’s chatting with Jessica. “Mummy, who’s your caterer? Pleaaaase! Ask them to be more hygienic! See?” He holds the four-inch long strand of hair with his thumb and forefinger. “Hair! Get a better caterer next time! If this is the way you treat your guests, I won’t come to Hot Legs again. Yeech! I feel like vomiting!”
“I’m so sorry,” Mummy Lulu says. “I didn’t use any caterer. I --.”
“Actually, it’s my fault,“ Jessica [left pix] says. “I came early this morning to help Mummy Lulu prepare the food. I fried the bee hoon. That hair must be mine.”
“Oh, is that so?” Chow Kah smiles. “Well, actually, it’s a trivial matter.” Using chopsticks, he pincers bee hoon into his mouth. “Accidents will happen, Jess. That’s Murphy’s Law. I say...this fried bee hoon’s delicious. I must have a second helping after this.” He continues to eat. “One day I’ll come to your house and you can fry bee hoon for me. It’s amazing how you can turn simple bee hoon into such a tasty dish. I’ll talk to you later.” He walks away, takes more fried bee hoon from the buffet table and joins Hussein, who’s lounging on the settee and supporting Wati on his lap.
I overhear Mummy Lulu say to Jessica: “Phew! Thanks for the lie.”
Jessica brushes her hand against Mummy Lulu’s shoulders. “My gawd! You've dandruff.”
/end
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