Chapter Two
Tommy Chow perched on the corner of the faux-antique writing desk in his sister Sammi’s Wellington Street aromatherapy shop, Candles in the Mist, flicking through a society magazine. Sammi trusted nobody else to unpack and check the deliveries of her stock, especially the artisanal ceramic oil burners. Half-past nine, she still had another half an hour before the doors opened for trade. There was something magical about the store with its musk-laden air and softly lit interior. Clusters of candles of various shapes, sizes, colours and scents sat on tabletops surrounded by regimented rows of aromatherapy oils, devices and other beautiful but wholly superfluous lifestyle curios. Everything had been arranged on Chinese antique rosewood tables or dressers amid hanging red lanterns.
“What do you think of this?” asked Sammi, holding an egg-shaped device in her palm. Tommy squinted a few times before shrugging.
“Looks like a sex toy.”
“Barbarian. This is a mini humidifier—for travelling—combined with a diffuser, to slowly release essential oils. Comes with LED mood light settings.”
“Wow, who doesn’t need one of those? You should rename this shop Unessential Objects.”
“And you should keep your opinions to yourself.”
“Then you should stop asking for them.”
He’d offered to help unpack, knowing she would decline because, being a control freak, she insisted on personally inspecting every item in her inventory. Instead, he had popped along to her favourite juice shop two doors down and bought her what he called her lawn juice—a mix of green apples, green vegetables and wheat grass. Until she had the ring on her finger, she reminded him repeatedly, there would be no more cream-topped iced caramel macchiatos.
“What did you get up to last night?” she asked, filling the silence. “Back to trawling the bars again? Or have you turned over a new leaf and decided progressing to cocktail parties or other grown-up activities is now your thing?”
He should never have told her. Almost three weeks ago Tommy had found himself attending a cocktail party in Repulse Bay, invited by a friend of a friend. Unsurprisingly, his sister knew one of the hosts, Kate Kirkby, who attended the same Pilates class. She and her wife had used the party to introduce the little girl they hoped to adopt.”
“I did my one and only cocktail party, remember? Three weeks ago. An experience I would blank from memory.”
“So you did. What happened again?”
“I told you. Pretty dull to begin with. But just as things started to look promising, this gweilo dickhead stuck his fat nose in.”
“You know using the term gweilo for a Westerner is considered offensive these days, don’t you?”
Tommy rolled his eyes. His sister preached political correctness when the situation suited her. He said nothing because she also invariably had his corner.
“Whatever.”
“Anyway, go on,” she said, her head buried in a box. “Which gweilo? There are so many.”
Quite unnecessarily, Tommy turned away to smirk.
“I told you. You’re getting worse than Grandma. Mitchell Baxter. One of Harold Choi’s like-and-subscribe followers.”
Sammi’s head popped out of the box.
“Ah yes, Mitchell Baxter. Hang on, I remember this. You’d been chatting with two older guys, one a cute drunk and the other a little wild and uncultured, but they both seemed game for some post-cocktail fun. Did I get that right?”
“Exactly. Anyway, the roughneck invited us back to his place. We’d barely made it to the front of the taxi queue when this asshole friend of Harold’s shuffles up. He starts chatting to Mr Handsome-But-Drunk, asking how his wife was and how many days left before their baby’s due—”
“Wait! You never told me that,” said Sammi. She froze with a newspaper-wrapped container in her hands, staring at him open-mouthed and horrified. “This guy’s out partying while his wife’s at home pregnant with their baby, about to give birth—”
“Chill, will you? He was attending on her behalf. And I’d hardly call it partying—”
“Honestly, brother. You are a total dick sometimes.”
“Anyway, this friend of Harold’s gets Daddy-To-Be all guilt-ridden until he cries off, saying he really ought to cab it back to Wifey. Meanwhile, this other not-so-hottie, Dash something, still seemed pretty keen—”
“Hold on. Dash? Not Dash Hernandez?”
“I didn’t get his last name—”
“Honey, how many Dashes are there in this town? You never mentioned his name before. Otherwise I would have remembered. Did he look like an olive-skinned Captain Spock but with earrings and long, greasy, black hair?”
“Uh, yes, that sounds about right.”
When he looked over, his sister had walked to the counter to search through a pile of old newspapers before pulling one out. After checking a few sections, she folded a page and held up a news article containing a small photograph.
“Now what?” he asked as she brought the paper over.
“Tommy, you have got to be more careful. Dash Hernandez is trouble. Look at this news article. There’s an ongoing court case at the moment. One of his guests overdosed on the bathroom floor at a party he was throwing last September. Dear old Dash denies all knowledge, alleges the girl turned up with a friend and brought her own shit. But everyone close to him says Dash has even been rumoured to deal. If you want my opinion—and I know you rarely do—I think you dodged a bullet that night.”
Tommy stared at the photo of Dash, who admittedly looked a bit like Jack Sparrow’s less attractive older brother. When he had suggested they go back to his place for more drinks and a bit of fun, Tommy’s mind had instantly latched onto the idea of sex. Drugs had never even crossed his mind. Perhaps his sister had a point.
At the taxi rank, Dash had simply shrugged off Daddy-To-Be bailing on them until Mitchell suggested Dash might want to make sure the man got home safely, offering to phone the hottie’s wife and tell him they were on their way. And just like that, the after-party promise was flushed down the pan, with Tommy left feeling righteously pissed.
He had waited for Mitchell to finish the call before going for the jugular.
“ What the fuck was that all about ?”
Having just popped the phone back into his jacket pocket, Mitchell had looked reassuringly startled at Tommy’s anger.
“ I know his wife. We work together. He should be at home —”
“ That’s not your call to make, is it? He’s a grown man. Who do you think you are? His mother-in-law ?”
“ Of course not, but —”
“ And both of them don’t have pregnant wives, do they? Why did you chase the other guy off ?”
Even beneath the stark streetlight, Tommy had noticed Mitchell’s face drain of colour. Maybe he’d had a sudden epiphany about being a prize asshole, but his argument for the defence had seemed to have evaporated.
“ Just when I thought I’d salvaged something out of this car wreck of an evening, you come along and steal the tow truck. What gives you the right ?”
“ I—I’m sorry. I didn’t think —”
“ No, you didn’t think, did you? I am sick of Harold and his judgemental queens thinking they’re so much better than everyone else and having an opinion about everything. You should all try looking in the mirror at some point. And keep your nose out of other people’s business .”
Tommy had twirled around and attitude-strutted down the pathway pretty damn confidently—a move he’d picked up from Drag Race —just in time to witness a red taxi pull up. Maybe he had overreacted a little, but his point had been made.
“ Look—Tommy, isn’t it ?” Mitchell had called out. “ You probably don’t remember me —”
“ I know who you are, Mitchell Baxter .”
“ Oh, I see. Then perhaps we can share the taxi? I’m happy to drop you off in town or somewhere. Just tell me where .”
“ Too late. Thanks to you I’ve lost my mojo .” Tommy had stopped to look over his shoulder in disgust. “ And do you honestly think I’d get in a cab with you after you pulled a stunt like that? You’d probably dump me outside the Methodist church in Wanchai for an AA meeting. Or at the local police station citing parole violation. No, fuck you very much. Have a nice life .”
Okay, with hindsight, maybe he had been a touch overdramatic. Shit. Whatever. He was unlikely to see the guy again. Right now, he needed something to divert his sister’s schoolmarm glare.
“On a brighter note, any updates on the wedding?” he asked, and noticed her stern features brighten.
“I haven’t had a chance to tell you. You know what a pain the wedding banquet was becoming, because of the numbers and the date. Well, for the ceremony, we secured the front lawn of the Repulse Bay. But they’re not able to cater the banquet. Eventually Daley’s father stepped in and pulled some strings. He knows one of the owners of the Grand Hyatt and managed to book us the Grand Ballroom on the date we wanted. Four hundred and fifty guests. And we have preferential rates for a hundred rooms already blocked. At least that’s one major headache out of the way.”
Her fiancé, Singaporean Daley Tan, came from a wealthy family. His father owned commercial properties in Singapore and Malaysia, although Daley had found his niche in men’s jewellery, mainly trading in high-end watches, his primary passion. The family was not in the top league of Crazy Rich Asians, but they were very comfortably off, and, more importantly, the money hadn’t spoilt them. In fact, Tommy had always considered Daley a little nerdy with his designer but thick-lensed glasses and chubby face. And the few times they’d met in Singapore, Daley had taken them for lunch at his favourite spot, a dai pai dong open-air food stall, where they’d sat on plastic stools on the street slurping prawn noodles from chipped bowls.
“We’ll put up close relatives from overseas in our parent’s flat. Gran and Aunt Mabel have offered, too. And be prepared to be invited to join a message group for the bridesmaids, groomsmen and other organisers. And no, Daley and I are not included. One last thing. Mum asked if you could take your cello home. It’s taking up space in their spare room.”
“I’ll pop over Saturday.”
“And the string quartet I wanted for the ceremony is a bust. They accepted a better offer in Los Angeles the same weekend. I don’t suppose you’d rethink getting up on stage and playing—”
“Absolutely not, sis. I am not looking like a dickhead in front of our friends and relatives.”
Or any potential hook-ups , he thought, but said nothing.
“You used to be good, Tommy.”
For a second, Tommy thought his sister meant his ability to hook up.
“Used to be. Past tense. I haven’t practised in years. Move on. What other news?”
“Well, the hotel’s organising the catering for the banquet—so that’s one headache out of the way—and Mother’s friend is sorting out the flowers. Bridesmaid’s dresses will be a challenge, but I am working on a strategy. And can you believe that, despite his insane schedule, Alec has agreed to be Daley’s best man. Oh, and you’ll never guess who…”
Tommy heard no more. Dusty blond-haired, stunningly good-looking Australian Alec Janussen, complete with surfer bod and easy confidence, had been at Daley’s thirtieth birthday celebration in Singapore. Alec and Daley had gone to university together in Sydney and remained lifelong buddies. Not often did Tommy get tongue-tied, but once left alone with the demigod, he had been unable to find anything remotely interesting to say in response to Alec’s questions. Even though Tommy had sensed a definite vibe, staring at the light blond chest hair, the freckled skin beneath his open-neck silk shirt, and the well-defined pecs stretching the fabric, he'd been so embarrassed at freezing that he’d excused himself to use the restroom before heading upstairs and locking himself in his hotel room. Since then, he had told nobody and hoped Alec had written him off as a basket case. Were the gods giving him a second chance?
“—and I didn’t know what to tell them, because you haven’t told me yet.”
“I’m sorry. Told you what?”
“Who you’re bringing? Is poor Ming going to be hanging off your arm again, pretending to be your doting girlfriend? Or are you going to grow a pair and actually bring a man-date?”
Throughout the years—even though most of his immediate family knew he was gay—he had never brought a guy to a family event. Not that he had met anyone worth bringing along. But even if he had, would he have had the courage to introduce them to his critical extended family? Having a girl on his arm meant he could still scout the room for hook-ups without anyone suspecting. At his grandmother’s seventieth banquet, Ming had sat chatting at the family table during dessert while he was in the men’s room getting a blow job from a waiter.
“I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”
“Well start. I’m sending out save-the-date cards next Tuesday, and I’m putting you down as a plus-one.”
Tommy waited a few seconds before voicing what he was aching to ask.
“Is Alec bringing anyone?”
He felt grateful when Sammi carried on unpacking items without looking up.
“No idea. But I don’t think so. Just as well, really. He’ll have his work cut out just keeping Daley to schedule. You know how unpunctual my fiancé can be, which is ironic considering he sells timepieces for a living? And did I mention the latest on the bridesmaid situation? Nightmare. Oh, but hang on, let me start by giving you an update on the current guest list dramas. So, Auntie Myleen has outright refused to attend if her ex-husband is invited…”
Tommy tuned Sammi out, his attention drawn to a two-page spread in the magazine, maybe because of her mention of timepieces. In the forefront there stood a beautiful man and woman, both actors he vaguely knew, and both clearly used to being in the spotlight. Chatting to a nondescript bald man in a white tuxedo, Tommy noticed they wore the same sparkling brand of sports watch. Were it not for the informal scattering of people, this could have been an advert for the watch company. A quick glance at the accompanying text told him the actors were attending the launch of a new range of elegant sports watches by a well-known manufacturer. Someone had gone to great lengths to pick the perfect Bali setting, with elegantly dressed people standing on a pristine lawn decorated with white pavilions and an ancient, moss-covered Hindu temple as the backdrop.
As Sammi droned on, Tommy refocused his attention on the people in the background, his gaze drawn instantly to the tall Caucasian man in the tan suit with the Arctic-blue eyes, chin dimple and long blond hair. Talk about coincidence. There stood the man himself, Alec Janussen, with Daley standing alongside. He was about to interrupt Sammi and show her, but something about the composition didn’t feel right, and he leant forward to study the photograph in more detail.
A pretty but unknown Asian woman stood to Daley’s right. The photographer—probably more concerned about the foreground matter—had captured the poor thing with her eyes closed. But that wasn’t what had caught Tommy’s attention. Whoever she was, the woman seemed overly familiar with Daley, leaning in close while holding his hand.
Had Sammi seen the picture? Did he dare ask or show her? Perhaps there was a perfectly innocent explanation. Having said that, she had enough on her plate right now without worrying about her husband-to-be’s fidelity. But he had to know the truth. She was his sister, after all.
“Sammi,” he began, holding up the magazine cover. “Did you buy this?”
“Please. Give me some credit. When have you known me to buy that sort of trash? Somebody left it in the shop. Why are you asking?”
“Do you mind if I take this copy? Not my kind of thing, but there’s an article that might interest Devon.”
“Be my guest. I was going to drop the thing into the trash where it belongs. Now will you please answer my question? Mum and Dad have been nagging me constantly about who you’re bringing. They hate to be blindsided when people ask questions about you. And Grandma said she’ll hit the roof if you bring another one of those pretty but dumb shop mannequins.”
As Tommy tucked the magazine into his jacket, he looked up when the ping of a bell and a new voice—one he knew only too well—carried across the space.
“She will, too,” came his grandmother’s voice. “You are thirty years old this year. At your age, I had two children to raise and still did the accounts for all three of your grandfather’s companies. And what do you have? Not even a casual boyfriend.”
Tommy laughed again. His grandmother on his mother’s side was the coolest person on the planet. While his mother and father had reacted with disappointment learning about their little prince’s sexual orientation, his grandmother had embraced the difference and scolded his parents for being shocked at being blessed with such a loving child. Moreover, she never once commented on his private life.
“I have a job teaching kids to look after their physical well-being, Grandma. And what did Grandfather always say? Get a steady job first and the rest will follow later.”
“And? You have the steady job. Now start worrying before you run out of time,” she said, stopping to pick up and sniff at a French vanilla-scented candle. “It’s gone nine. Why is the closed sign still on the door? Do you not want business? It’s the weekend, in case you had forgotten. Everybody will be out shopping very soon.”
“Morning, Po-po," said Sammi. "Shop opens at ten.”
“Ten? I have finished most of my shopping by ten.”
“That’s only because I taught you to shop online. If you’re talking about online shopping and shipping then my business is never closed.”
“Smart girl has an answer for everything.”
“Just like you taught me, Po-po.”
Tommy made the mistake of chuckling. When his grandmother’s attention swung his way, he noticed his sister grinning as she checked stock.
“Are you helping your sister in the shop today, Tommy?”
“Can’t, Grandma. Having coffee with Devon in a minute. He has a special favour to ask. Then I’ve got a lunch meeting with a teacher colleague. We’re discussing plans for the new play she’s co-directing and I’m stage managing.”
“Always helping other people. And will they return the favour and suggest a nice boy for you to bring to your sister’s wedding? Would be good to enjoy the celebration without having to spend the day making excuses to our relatives about why my good-looking and eligible grandson is still single.”
His sister snorted loudly while bending down to pull out a wrapped object. Tommy sighed and rolled his eyes. Okay, he thought, most of the time his grandmother didn’t pester him about his love life.
“Don’t worry, Po-po. I promise I’ll bring someone to make you proud.”
Two months until the big day. Battles had been fought and won in less time. And if he couldn’t find a suitable hottie by then, there was always his best friend, Devon.