Chapter Five
Mitchell glanced down at his phone. Usually he wouldn’t care about the time. After all, he worked late most nights. And Hong Kong locals didn’t seem as obsessed with punctuality as their Western counterparts. But for his boss to keep everyone sitting around in a conference room until almost seven, like the accused awaiting the jury’s verdict, felt nothing short of cruel. None of the nine managers in the room spoke or made eye contact, each playing with their mobile phones, everyone probably suspecting something serious without realising how bad things had become. The smell of fear and foreboding would have been tangible even to someone not employed by the bank. Such was the suspense that when the conference door finally opened, at least one person dropped their phone.
Pauline Ng once confided in Mitchell that any interview candidate who said their desire to work in human resources stemmed from their love of humanity or because they considered themselves a ‘people person’ would instantly raise a red flag. In their business-critical department, she argued, staff witnessed the very worst of human nature. Even what should be considered the positives of a business, things like promotions, wage increases or bonuses, were all too readily met with jealousy, or grumbles of dissatisfaction or inequality, which often resulted in escalations. Pauline’s thirty years in the business may have jaded her to the positives, but some of her team swore she relished the opportunity to dish out bad news.
“I’ve come directly from a call with the global head of operations. What I am about to tell you is in the strictest confidence. You are here because this involves you in your role within this department. Nothing I tell you can be discussed with or communicated in any form to anyone outside of this room without my explicit consent. You all know a privacy clause is included in our terms and conditions of employment, but due to the sensitive and confidential nature of what I am about to divulge, I need you all to sign a separate non-disclosure agreement before I continue. Mitchell, if you will, please.”
Mitchell handed out the soft folders containing the NDAs produced by their legal department. He already knew the agreement prohibited the person from disclosing details to anyone, including family members, friends, colleagues and, in particular, to members of the press. If anyone in the room had not grasped the seriousness of the meeting before, they did now.
Pauline waited patiently until everyone had signed the agreements and handed them back to Mitchell, and he had checked them and nodded his confirmation. All the while, the room remained deathly silent.
“The board has come to a decision about the future of operations here in Hong Kong. Our job is to make changes happen as smoothly and efficiently as possible with the minimum disruption to business. In a nutshell, the bank will move regional operations, such as support departments and the China desk, to Singapore. All other core roles will be absorbed back into London. Hong Kong will become a satellite office—like Seoul and Tokyo—with minimal staffing. The board want everything completed by the end of the second quarter.”
Even as hardened HR professionals, nobody could have anticipated the extent of the change and the inevitable consequences. He’d had the same reaction in the back of the taxi when Pauline had first divulged the news.
“That makes no sense.” Helen Cheong, Pauline’s assistant regional manager and an Australian expat, had been brought up and educated in Sydney and tended to be vocal in meetings. Mitchell wondered why Pauline had not confided in her before the meeting, but his boss always had her reasons. “Even in the wake of the recent turmoil, Hong Kong is still—commercially—the main gateway into the China market. Our Singapore office doesn’t have the talent to run a China desk.”
“Not yet. But they will. We’ll be enticing key staff members to relocate with the right incentives. And there are plenty of other banks operating there with skilled staff who might welcome the opportunity to work for a more global organisation. Moreover, the business language of Singapore is English, and plenty of people in the workforce speak two or three other languages, including Mandarin, Cantonese and other Chinese dialects. And many speak Hindi and other Indian languages, as well as Bahasa Indonesia and Malaysia. It’s a no-brainer.”
Helen did not seem satisfied but, surprisingly, let the matter go. Mitchell wondered why she did not mention the strict entry criteria for foreigners to work in Singapore. Nobody knew more about regional labour laws than Helen. How they would meet the deadline to get everything done was anybody’s guess.
“Look,” said Pauline, softening her tone. “We all know the board has been nervous about the mainland’s influence over the region for years. In this way, we’re future-proofing the organisation against any developments or changes to Hong Kong’s regulatory framework, changes that might adversely affect the way we do business. The point is the decision is final. It’s our job to make things happen as smoothly as possible. Members of the board understand the critical nature of your involvement and have promised financial incentives. I’ll be flying to London to meet with my counterparts and discuss the realignment of key positions. While I’m away, Helen and Mitchell will hold down the fort. Going forward, they will manage all retrenchment activities and, once we have the green light, help run them alongside senior staff. The rest of you will help to coordinate them for all other staff. When I return from London, I expect to have a full list of exactly who will go and who will remain.”
“Who else in the office knows about this?” asked Helen.
“Upper management, naturally. And heads of department heard the announcement Tuesday. They, too, have signed NDAs and will be pivotal in ensuring this is executed smoothly.”
“And what about us?” asked Helen, a question everyone was probably thinking. “What’s going to happen to us once we’ve done the dirty work and this is all over?”
His boss appeared to have been expecting the question because she began nodding even before Helen had finished asking her question.
“Clearly, we’re no longer going to need such a large team. Along with other professionals, you will be given a choice wherever possible. For those willing to relocate, we will try to find you similar positions in Singapore or other offices around the network. If you prefer to take a redundancy package, then that will also be made available.”
Pauline had not said those exact words to him, but suddenly, the depressing reality hit home. Undoubtedly, he would be invited to apply for a job back in the bank’s head office in London—which would unquestionably entail a demotion—or he would be offered a payout.
“After everything we’ve done to make this bank an employer of choice?” said Helen. “What kind of message is this sending? Not only to investors, but to those considering a career with us?”
“I understand how you feel, Helen,” said Pauline. “And believe me when I tell you that I’ve done my level best to argue our corner. But the decision has been made.”
Mitchell could almost touch the negative energy in the room. Although he understood Helen’s pain, he felt more for the local staff who had silently absorbed the news. And because of the NDA, they wouldn’t even be able to confide in their close family members.
“What’s important during these times,” said Mitchell, dragging up memories from past experience, “is for us to keep things professional. Some people will welcome the payout, those who may have already been thinking about moving on. For others, our more institutional employees, those who have only ever worked for us, this will be a bombshell. And with that shock often comes inertia and the inability to see a way forward. If we’re going to do our jobs properly, then we’ll need to provide all we can in terms of counselling, talking to recruitment agencies on their behalf and assisting them with their interviewing skills. A part of our responsibility is to help them discover a way forward and visualise a new future.”
Even Helen nodded her agreement.
“In the meantime,” said Pauline, “’it’s business as usual. I called this meeting to ensure you’re all aware of what’s coming down the line. When I return from London, I will have all the headcount and financial information we need to begin planning our approach. In the meantime, Mitchell and Helen will set up brainstorming meetings for us to decide how we will run retrenchment meetings. Remember, this development is strictly confidential. You are legally bound by the agreement you signed not to disclose anything with anybody. Do I make myself clear?”
Pauline waited until everyone in the room had nodded their understanding.
“What do we do about ongoing recruitments?” asked one of the managers.
“There shouldn’t be any. We have a hiring freeze at the moment. But for any business-critical roles, let them continue for now. We must do everything we can to avoid rumour and speculation.”
At the end of the meeting, Pauline asked Mitchell to remain behind for a brief chat, but before they could speak, Helen cornered her. Mitchell stood by the window at the far end of the conference room, giving them relative privacy while looking out over the calming Victoria Harbour nightscape. Even though they lowered their voices, Mitchell could discern the barely restrained anger in Helen’s tone. When she finally left, Pauline beckoned him over before letting out an exaggerated sigh.
“Anybody would think I enjoy being the bearer of bad tidings,” she said, using her back to push the conference room door closed. “This decision affects me, too.”
Mitchell said nothing. Pauline would land on her feet. She always did.
“Look, a quick heads-up. When the announcement is made publicly, Helen will be one of the first to be laid off. You and I will manage that particular meeting. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you how important it is that this particular piece of information remains strictly between the two of us.”
Another bombshell. Not only did he consider Helen a friend, but they worked well together. Sharing the burden of the retrenchment interviews with her would have helped keep him sane.
“You’re letting her go when we need her most?”
“I don’t trust her to remain impartial. And if I’m going to be perfectly honest, I don’t trust her not to leak this information to employees or the press. Whereas I am confident you will remain professional throughout. We’re going to need people like you to see us through this rocky time and to provide continuity once we’ve moved to the next phase of operations here.”
* * * *
Mitchell eventually left the office at eight-thirty but didn't feel like returning to his empty home. Pauline’s pointed comment about providing continuity kept nagging at him. Did she mean he was being considered to head up the downsized operation in Hong Kong? Or had the comment simply been an observation? After any late-in-the-day meetings, Helen would usually drag him for coffee or a drink to decompress. Tonight he didn’t want to sit and try to make nice with her, knowing what Pauline had just told him. Instead, Mitchell phoned Kate, but the call went straight to voicemail. He was about to scroll down to Harold’s number when a message appeared on his screen.
Tommy: Play run-through this Thu. Want me to snap photos for ur nephew ?
He considered ignoring the message. After all, he had seen Tommy the day before and still didn’t feel entirely comfortable around him. Tommy taking the initiative to apologise had felt both gracious and genuine, but would they ever be friends? Doubtful. They were, after all, total opposites. But Tommy was following through on his offer to help get Zane into the theatre scene. Maybe Mitchell needed to be the better man this time. Before he could talk himself out of the idea, he texted back.
Mitchell: Sounds excellent. Don’t suppose you’re up for a coffee or a glass of wine right now ?
Almost instantly, a message popped up on his screen.
Tommy: Brief Encounter. Half an hour .
Mitchell checked the time. Maybe an innocent chat with someone unconnected with his work was just what he needed. One of the many things he loved about working on the island was that a person could get to most places quickly at night, either on foot or in one of the plentiful, air-conditioned public taxis. Brief Encounter was a bar off the network of escalators that rose from the Central business district up to the dizzy heights of Conduit Road. Moreover, the bar was on his walk home.
Mitchell: Perfect. See you there .
* * * *
The nighttime air had turned pleasantly balmy as Mitchell neared the familiar watering hole. Hidden in a small courtyard down a narrow lane, Brief Encounter—once an exclusively gay bar—had become a popular haunt with locals and expats of all persuasions and somewhere only tourists in the know would find.
When Mitchell drew close, he saw Tommy sitting outside on one of the high tables, checking his phone. Only a handful of people had ventured out Monday night, but Mitchell noticed three men at a nearby table blatantly appraising Tommy. As Mitchell approached, one of the group stood up, goaded on by the others, and picked up his beer bottle, ready to walk over.
“Tommy,” he called out, noticing that when Tommy looked in his direction and waved, the man aborted his approach.
“I appreciate this,” said Mitchell at the table. Tommy had a champagne flute of something sparkling. “Let me get you another. What is that? Prosecco?”
“Let me buy. Still haven’t thanked you properly for saving me. And this is ginger ale because it’s a school night.”
“After the day I’ve had, I could use something stronger, but I’ll have the same.”
While Tommy headed inside, Mitchell took a deep breath of humid evening air and peered around. He loved the sensory bustle of Hong Kong. Accompanying the sound of distant traffic, a vaguely familiar Cantonese pop song sounded from deep inside the bar. Somewhere along the lane, light shone from the back door of a café, the odour of frying noodles from the kitchen mingling with the night’s musk and making his mouth water. Thick branches of an ancient banyan tree overhung that section of the lane, and when he looked up through the trellised limbs, he could see a full moon. Tonight, a beautiful halo accompanied the celestial phenomenon.
“What are you looking at?” asked Tommy, placing a glass of red wine in front of Mitchell.
“There’s a full moon tonight,” said Mitchell, prodding his forefinger into the night sky.
“You shouldn’t do that. Point at the moon,” said Tommy as he sat down.
Ever conscious of being culturally insensitive, Mitchell pulled his hand down and peered around to see if anyone else had noticed. His mood of wonderment had dissolved into one of mild embarrassment.
“Why?” he whispered.
“Nothing to worry about,” said Tommy, grinning impishly. “A superstition my Taiwanese grandmother taught us as kids. Those who point at the moon risk having bits of their ears fall off.”
“What?” Mitchell choked, which made Tommy’s smile broaden. “I’ve heard superstitions about not looking at the full moon through glass, but never that one.”
“Honestly, I think it’s a way to teach kids not to point at strangers. But according to my grandma, legend has it that Chang’e, the Chinese goddess banished to the moon for stealing her consort’s potion of immortality, didn’t like people pointing at her. If she caught anyone doing so, her vengeance was to cut off bits of their ears.”
“Brutal.”
“That’s Chinese mythology for you. Filled with cautionary tales.”
“Whereas in Europe the Brothers Grimm only wrote happy and cuddly stories with loveable characters to give children sweet dreams. You know, like Red Riding Hood’s wolf and Hansel and Gretel’s witch.”
“Fair point.” Tommy had a nice laugh, unaffected and infectious. Mitchell took a sip of his drink and peered quizzically across the table.
“You bought me red wine,” said Mitchell. “I asked for ginger ale.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted something stronger? We can switch, if you want.”
“No. This is a good call. Only the one, though.”
Such was his limit. Time had taught him that any more than two alcoholic drinks and his usual tightly belted self-control might come undone a notch or two.
“Bad day?”
Mitchell let out a sigh. “The worst. And thank you. For the drink and the company.”
“You want to talk about it?”
“I wish I could,” said Mitchell. “But it’s all highly confidential. Tell me about your day.”
“Usual Monday chaos. At lunchtime our head teacher called me in for a chat and mentioned that she'd overheard other teachers commenting that when I start projects, I get easily distracted. One of them suggested ADHD and another said I might be somewhere on the spectrum.”
Mitchell groaned. “Everyone’s a professional psychiatrist these days.”
“I told her not to worry, that I’m not on the spectrum, not even close. Tommy Chow is over the fucking rainbow.”
Mitchell laughed aloud for the first time that day, and it felt like a weight had been lifted from him.
“You didn’t really?”
“Not in so many words, but she got the message. Hey, let me tell you about the staging of this play. Then you can let your nephew know what he’s in for.”
Mitchell knew the synopsis of Cabaret , but Tommy filled in small details about the set design and the staging for the play. He ended by explaining how Mitchell’s nephew, Zane—Tommy had remembered his name—would be needed for quick set-changes and to help ensure the props were always in the right place at the right time.
“Is Zane gay?” asked Tommy out of the blue.
Mitchell stared at him over the top of his wine glass.
“I’m just curious,” said Tommy. “I’m not prying. We have a very inclusive theatre community. Everyone’s friendly and welcoming, but if you’re concerned, I can keep an eye on him and fend off any unwanted attention.”
“Like I said, I know hardly anything about him. But what I do know is that he’s my sister’s kid, and as such can take care of himself. He’ll also behave himself because he knows what it’s like to face her wrath.”
“Fair enough. And if you want, I can show him around when you’re busy.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I’d be happy to. Or if it makes you feel better, how about we agree to a trade-off?”
“Trade-off? What kind of a trade-off?”
Across the table, Tommy began drawing a circle in the condensation on his tall glass.
“My sister’s getting married this year…” he began, but appeared unable to make eye contact with Mitchell. Eventually, he sighed deeply before continuing.
“Okay, look. Total transparency. My sister’s getting married in July and the groom’s best man is his best friend, this gorgeous Australian hunk. We’ve only met once, but I got a vibe from him. And the dude totally slays the surfer beach bum look. Think of a blond, blue-eyed, pumped-up version of Henry Cavill. Yikes. The thing is, I don’t really know how to engage him and I don’t want to come across as completely superficial—”
“You’re doing a pretty fine job right now—”
“Will you listen? They’re having the bachelor party in Singapore, but the wedding will be here. The thing is, I fell to pieces last time I was in his presence.”
“I find it hard to imagine you being lost for words in anyone’s presence. You’ve certainly never been with me.”
“That’s because I don’t find you—uh—intimidating.”
Mitchell knew precisely what Tommy meant. He didn’t find Mitchell attractive.
“Anyway, I wondered—” began Tommy.
“You want my help.”
“Yes.”
“At the wedding?” asked Mitchell.
At least Tommy had the decency to look and sound tentative, as though he knew he was probably asking too much.
“As what? Your date?”
“If you’re free.”
“While you romance some other guy—”
“Alec.”
“Let me see if I’ve got this right. You’re suggesting introducing me as your plus-one while trying to hook up with the best man. I’m sure I won’t be the only person in the room who might find that behaviour a tad unchivalrous.”
“Details. We can work out motives and mechanics later.”
“And you’re going to just introduce me there and then? Some random guy you just met on the streets? Are your family going to buy that?”
“Maybe. Okay, we might need to tidy you up a bit.”
“Should I be offended right now?”
“No, I just mean the guys I tend to go for are more fussy about their appearance. We might need to work on your hair, clothes, grooming—”
“Stop right there. You are not Queer Eye -ing me. If you want me there, you take me as I am or not at all.”
Tommy paused to assess Mitchell for a few seconds.
“I suppose that might make the breaking up part a little more convincing.”
“Remember, I’m doing you a favour here. How old are you, Tommy?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“I’m thirty-eight. Which makes me nine years your senior. Have you considered the reputational damage that might cause?”
Mitchell watched as Tommy stared down at his drink, a deep furrow between his brows.
“I’ll survive.”
“I meant me, not you.”
When Tommy’s gaze swung back, Mitchell began to laugh, which had Tommy joining in.
“You’re a dick.”
“Seriously though, Tommy. Shouldn’t we at least be seen together before the event?”
“We’re here right now, aren’t we?”
“For nobody to see.”
“Come to the play run-through this Thursday.”
“The way work’s going right now, that might be difficult. What are you doing Sunday?”
Tommy grinned, probably thinking Mitchell meant brunch in town or a drink with friends. But something in Mitchell’s expression must have given him cause for caution.
“Why?” he asked, his eyes narrowing. “What did you have in mind?”
“Oscar’s taking a group of us on a hike Sunday. The first two stages of the MacLehose. Early start, though. The trek takes around six hours, and the second section is supposed to have some steep climbs.”
“I usually catch up on sleep Sunday mornings.”
“Shame. Would have given us a chance to swap stories about each other. And your friend, Devon, will be disappointed.”
“Devon’s going? Are you serious?”
“Gospel. According to Saint Oscar.”
Mitchell watched the cute little knot form between Tommy’s brows again as he looked away to consider Mitchell’s words. Eventually he returned his gaze and heaved out a sigh.
“If it helps promote the illusion, then I’ll come.”
“Excellent. I’ll let Oscar know. He’s arranging a minibus to take us there and bring us back after we’ve finished. They’re picking us up is from outside pier three in Central at six. Do you need an early morning call?”
“I can wake up on Sunday mornings,” said Tommy indignantly. “I just usually choose not to. About my proposal. Do we have a deal?”
“We do. Where’s the wedding?” asked Mitchell.
“On the front lawn of the Repulse Bay hotel for the midday ceremony and cocktails. But my sister’s fiancé has managed to snag the large ballroom at the Grand Hyatt for the banquet. Middle of July.”
“The Repulse Bay front lawn in July? What if it rains?”
“They have this wonderful invention called a marquee. And before you say it, we still have the Hyatt ballroom if there’s a typhoon. But it had better be a super-typhoon. Otherwise, some weather god or another will have to answer to my sister and grandmother.”
Mitchell hadn’t considered the family angle. Would he need to be friendly to Tommy’s family members only to be dumped on the day of the sister’s wedding? Maybe he would have to be the one breaking them up to make sure Tommy ended the day smelling of roses. Except Mitchell was hopeless at lying. Always had been. And on top of that, Hong Kong had a way of making sure you ran into people again, even those you might not want to see.
“Listen, my sister’s looking for recommendations for wine to serve at the hen night dinner. You’re a wine buff, aren’t you? I noticed you savouring a glass of red at Beth and Kate’s place.”
Mitchell smiled down at the tabletop, not because of the veiled compliment but at the thought that Tommy had noticed him.
“I wouldn’t exactly call myself a connoisseur, but I know what I like.”
“What about the wine you’re drinking right now.“
“This? Italian red. Montepulciano D’Abruzzo. Dry and quite young, a recent vintage.”
“Wow. Spot on. I’m impressed.”
“You shouldn’t be. I often come to this bar and Montepulciano D’Abruzzo is the only house red they serve by the glass. And always a recent vintage. You don’t have to be a connoisseur to know that, just familiar with the bar’s drinks menu. Or as your friend, Devon, might say, there’s more than one way to skin a banana.”
Tommy laughed again, a sound Mitchell was beginning to enjoy.
“You know, Devon might have a habit of mixing up sayings—”
“Malaphors, I believe they’re called. A blend of aphorisms and malapropisms.”
“If you say so. But first of all, you should know that he is the nicest, kindest guy I know, with not a bad bone in his body, and, secondly, I am fairly sure that sometimes when you think he’s mixing them up, he actually knows exactly what he’s saying.”
“I look forward to hearing more on Sunday morning at six during our first official date.”
Tommy merely groaned. “Hell, what have I let myself in for?”