Chapter Eight
The stainless-steel spoon Tommy had been holding clattered into the glass mug housing the remains of his bubble tea. A guy at another table turned at the sound and smiled at him. Only Tommy’s sister, Sammi, remained oblivious, continuing to check messages on her phone while sipping occasionally on a matcha green tea. That morning Tommy had dropped into her shop and dragged her out for a break. She had been almost relieved to see him, rather than irked at the unscheduled interruption.
“Georgie?” he asked aghast.
“Yes,” replied Sammi, not really paying attention.
“Supermodel, Georgie Yeung?”
“I’d hardly call her a supermodel. She’s tall and slender, I suppose.”
“You’ve finalised Georgie and Kiki as bridesmaids. Do you not see the problem?”
“They’re my best friends. I’d have had the Kwong twins, too, but their older sister is getting married on the same day in Taipei. So it’s Georgie and Kiki.”
“And as stunning as they both are, sister dearest, Georgie is a chopstick and Kiki is a dumpling. You are never going to find bridesmaids dresses to keep them both happy. It cannot be done.”
That remark finally got her attention. She looked up, her mouth dropping open.
“I cannot believe my own gay brother would body-shame my best friends. I should disown you. Besides, I am going to let them decide what they wear.”
“There is no way in this lifetime they are going to say yes to the same dress.”
“I’m bringing along a couple of bottles of bubbly. To help oil the wheels. We’ve booked the shop for the whole afternoon and early evening. It’ll be fun.”
“It’ll be carnage,” said Tommy, scooping out the last of his drink as a thought came to him. “Could you at least insist on full-length gowns, then persuade Georgie into sandals and Kiki into wearing high heels?”
“Why?”
“To ensure you’re all around the same height. And that any wedding photo of the three of you standing together doesn’t resemble a stepladder.”
“What is with you today?”
“Sis, those photographs will be stuck to your wall or propped up on your sideboard for years to come. You need to make sure they’re fabulous.”
“Look, I am not making everyone uncomfortable for the sake of photos. Give me some credit. I want them to be lasting memories with everyone genuinely happy, and if that means having Georgie in a grass skirt and Kiki in a kaftan, then so be it.”
Tommy thrust his hands over his eyes and grimaced at the mental picture.
“You might as well call Disney right now,” he said through his fingers, “and offer them the movie rights. You’ll have the perfect cast in place for a Pixar animated movie.”
“Do you know how much effort goes into planning a wedding? Do you? And don’t you think I should be able to do whatever I want on my special day?” she asked before muttering something.
“Is everything okay?” he ventured, not wanting to seem too concerned. “Between you and Daley?”
“Of course,” she replied. She appeared confused by his question. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You seem unusually stressed today.”
“Seriously? Let me see. Apart from having had less than a sixty per cent response rate to our invitations and fussy bridesmaids to please, some of our relatives are already demanding where to be sat for the banquet. On top of that, the Hong Kong observatory has forecast amber rainstorms that weekend. And don’t get me started on my brother.”
“Do you mean your wonderful brother who has not only managed to book the Melody Triplet String Trio to play at your ceremony, but has agreed to accompany them on the cello for your grand entrance. Although you have to tell me what song you want because I’ll need to find time to practice.”
Sammi squealed and jumped up, craning across the table to hug his head.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said, letting him go. “What would I do without you?”
“Well, for starters, you would inherit our parents’ money.”
“They can donate everything to charity. I’d rather have my brother.”
“I’m serious, Sammi. Let me know what song you want. I don’t want to look like a total amateur up there. And the guest list will sort itself out. Don’t let anything spoil your big day preparations, or get in the way of the fight club this afternoon.”
They smirked at each other across the table, an effort for him because in the back of his mind he could still see the photograph of Daley and the anonymous woman in the society magazine. He really needed to talk to Daley and get the whole thing resolved.
“Why are you not working this morning?” she asked, back to sucking on her paper straw. “I thought you said this Saturday was the schoolgirl’s regional football league competition or something?”
“We had to drop out. Four of our players came down with bad colds during the week and, you know, we can’t be too careful these days. Don’t want to be accused of infecting kids on the other teams. More to the point, why are you not working this afternoon?”
“My new manager started this week. Asked if she could have the chance to run the show alone. She didn’t say as much but I think she wants to see how she gets on without me constantly looking over her shoulder. Does that mean you’re free this afternoon?”
“Whatever you’re thinking, the answer is no.” Tommy knew Sammi’s smile only too well.
“Spoilsport. You’re supposed to be helping.”
“I am. I just agreed to play cello at the ceremony. I’ve even found a male plus-one to bring.”
“No,” said Sammi, the word sounding more like disappointment than surprise. “You can’t have.”
“Why not? You’re not trying to fix me up with someone, are you?”
“Of course not. I don’t hate anyone enough to do that to them,” she replied. “Who are you bringing? Not Devon?”
“No, Devon’s got a new man. I’m bringing someone you haven’t met. It’ll be a surprise.”
“Never use that word on a bride-to-be. Who is it, Tommy?”
The phone in Tommy’s hand pinged with a message. For a second, he wondered if Devon was cancelling lunch, but when he dragged the display to his face, he couldn’t help smiling. “Talk of the devil. My date-to-be.”
“Who?” asked Sammi sternly.
“Mitchell. He’s my date to your wedding.”
“Mitchell?” Sammi appeared genuinely shocked. “Not the same Mitchell you balled out after the cocktail party? I thought you despised him?”
“We called a kind of truce. He’s not my usual type. A bit stiff and formal.”
“Real, then?”
“And he still thinks I’m an asshole—”
“I’m liking him more and more.”
“But, yes, he’s agreed to be my plus-one on the day.” Tommy read the message and smiled.
“Oh my God. You like him, don’t you?”
“Not like that. He’s a friend, Sammi. And we’re helping each other out.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to know the details. You have my approval,” she said, with a smile that aroused Tommy’s suspicions.
“Hold on. You’ve never even met him. Do you not need a background check? Or a private investigator to assess his suitability?” When she smiled sweetly at him, he stood up from the table to collect their cups. “I'm off before I get roped into any more favours.”
“Give me one minute. I need to pee. Don’t leave without me.”
Tommy huffed out a sigh and plopped back down. His sister hated being alone in public—arriving at anything first or being the last to leave. He thought about calling Mitchell but decided to wait until he was on his way. To bide his time, he pulled out the StarAsia society magazine with the picture of Daley and the unknown woman, something he had stored in his bag as a reminder of unfinished business, an additional responsibility he had taken on. When he saw Sammi appear, he stuffed the paper back inside, but not before she spotted him.
“I thought you said you didn’t read that vanity trash,” she said as she picked up her bag from the table. “They’re little more than glossy comic books for grown-ups who prefer pictures over intelligently written editorials.”
“I wouldn’t buy them. But I find they help to pass the time.”
“If a customer decides to litter my shop with any more, I’ll save them for you.”
As Tommy stood and kissed her on the cheek, a thought came to him. What if the customer who left the magazine in her shop knew about Sammi and Daley’s wedding? Had someone done so out of spite?
“Let me know how you get on today,” he said, pulling his bag onto his shoulder. “Now, I really need to go. Devon’s buying me lunch because he’s in a flap about something.”
After escaping and phoning Mitchell to help solve his nephew’s problem, Tommy hopped on the MTR train and headed to Central for his lunch meeting with Devon. On the short journey, he pulled out his phone and dialled Daley’s Singapore number once again. When the call went straight to voicemail, he decided to call later. Again. Maybe he would discuss the matter with Devon—just to unburden himself. Devon might provide some interesting observations and advice, even though he was hopeless at keeping secrets.
A short stroll from the Mid-Levels escalator, Pink Propaganda Brasserie was nestled among the parade of bars and restaurants along Wyndham Street. A popular venue, Thursday to Sunday evenings saw revellers spilling out across the pavement until closing time. During the day the kitchen served a range of mid-priced bar foods, and the place had become Tommy’s second home. He faltered to a stop when he spotted Devon seated at a table outside the café with someone.
Aaron, one of their occasional friends, sat with him, talking and gesticulating wildly with his hands. The three had gone to school together. Coming from an orthodox family, Aaron had suppressed his innate queerness growing up and had been unassuming and aloof during their schooldays. Tommy remembered standing next to Aaron in the playground during Halloween as they’d both watched Devon, kitted out in a witch’s costume and green makeup, arms apart, on one of the lunch benches belting out a fabulous rendition of Defying Gravity from Wicked . Aaron had made his disapproval plain to those around him, but even then Tommy had been able to tell the distaste had been used to deflect attention from himself and mask his jealousy.
When Aaron’s parents had migrated to Vancouver, he and his sister had chosen to stay behind to finish their studies and look for employment in Hong Kong. Aaron’s newfound independence had allowed him to rise from the fires of suppression like a feather boa phoenix. He had quickly become a much-discussed member of the gay community. Relatively hot, financially independent and promiscuous, he had been Tommy’s main rival for a time. They had only remained lukewarm friends because Devon insisted that members of the tribe needed to have one another’s backs.
“Tommy Chow,” said Aaron, rising from his seat and blowing air kisses. “Gorgeous as ever.”
Aaron had made no bones about his desire to sleep with Tommy. Unfortunately for Aaron, Tommy found his indiscretion and pushiness—more than his flamboyance—a total turn off.
“Hello, Aaron. And how are you?”
He should have known better than to ask the question. Aaron—someone who never reciprocated by pausing to ask a person how they were—took the greeting as an opportunity to soliloquise. As they listened, Devon looked over at Tommy and shrugged an apology. Tommy caught a waiter’s attention and ordered sparkling water and a green salad. A good twenty minutes later, as Tommy tucked into his food, Aaron finally stopped speaking when his phone rang. After an elaborate eye roll, he stood and moved away to take the call in private.
“Before you say anything,” said Devon, “he was passing and saw me sitting alone. I think he decided to play the Good Sumerian and keep me company. Now quickly, let me tell you my news.”
Devon talked at length about Oscar, about the sex between them being amazing and how, after one prolonged session, he had told Oscar that they ought to set up their own OnlyFans channel, except Oscar had had no idea what that meant. Finally Devon got to the point, which had him hot and bothered.
“You know the lease on my place comes up next month?”
“Yes. And your landlord’s putting the rent up by thirty per cent, the crook.
“To make up for rent freezes over the past few years.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. It’s still extortion. Have you found a new place yet?”
“No, but—”
“I can help you with the deposit, if you want.”
“Thank you, but—”
“And help move your stuff in over a weekend, if you need me. As long as it’s not the weekend of the wedding—”
“Oscar’s asked me to move in with him.”
Mitchell took a moment to process what Devon had said and noticed his terrified expression.
“But that’s great, isn’t it?”
Devon blinked. And blinked again.
“He’s asked me to move in. With him.”
“I heard you the first time. What’s the problem, Dev?”
“The problem is we’ve only just met. It’s a huge step, don’t you think? And I like him so much. But we’re both independent, both used to having our own space. I’m worried that if we’re sharing the same flat and he gets to know the real me, he’ll lose interest and end up throwing me out.”
“Is that it? Is that what’s got you all wound up?”
Mitchell wanted to say something more about the insecurities of gay men but sensed that now was not a good time. Besides, he knew his sister shared many of those. Perhaps everyone did.
“How have you left things? With Oscar?”
“I told him I’d think about it.”
“And how did he take that?”
“Honestly, he seemed a little disappointed. I think he thought I’d jump at the chance.”
Tommy thought back to a conversation with Mitchell about people who were meant to be together. Although he had only known them as a couple for a short while, Devon and Oscar fell comfortably into that category.
“Let me show you this through Oscar’s eyes. He really cares about you—any fool can see that—and he’s also a decent person. When he sees his lover in a predicament, of course he wants to help. But he also respects you, which is why he hasn’t pushed you to make a decision. I’m pretty sure he was nervous enough about asking you in the first place. As for living together, well, you never know until you try. But I’d say the most crucial thing is that you talk to each other, tell him your concerns about living in close proximity and maybe about setting boundaries or ground rules on personal space. Tell him you’ll want to move some of your furniture in and put your stamp of fabulousness on the apartment, with his help, approval and assistance naturally—”
“I’m not sure I could do that.”
“Has he been to your place?”
“Once or twice. His apartment is much bigger.”
“Listen to me. You resuscitated that squalid little flat in Tin Hau. I remember when you first moved into that hole with its stark white walls, chocolate brown woodwork and whitewashed windows. Two weeks later the place was unrecognisable. Walls in shades of terracotta, gold and apricot. Diffusers with amazing scents. Rows of musical theatre posters lining the walls, colourful chiffon draped over table lamps, and who would have thought self-assembly furniture could look so chic and fashionable? You have a knack for making things fabulous, Devon. That’s your thing.”
Devon sat thinking for a few moments before his sadness melted away.
“I know you don’t do relationships, Tommy, but Oscar and I are at that point where neither of us can do anything wrong in each other’s eyes. And you’re right, we do need to have a chat. Thank you, darling. If only you and I were compatible, we would make an awesome couple.”
Sammi had once said the same thing. But neither Tommy nor Devon had ever felt anything more than friendship for each other, as though they were siblings.
“Good. Then it’s my turn. I’m considering hitting on Alec, the best man at my sister’s wedding. What do you think?”
“Is he attractive?”
“Stunning as a Hemsworth. Mitchell’s going to help. He’s agreed to be my date to the wedding.”
Tommy didn’t miss the insinuation behind Devon’s grin.
“Let me rephrase that. Mitchell Baxter has agreed to be my pretend date—”
“Mitchell Baxter?” came Aaron’s voice high-pitched voice. He had returned unnoticed and stood now with his hands braced on the back of Devon’s chair. “Tell me you don’t mean Emperor Harold’s foot soldier, Mitchell Baxter?”
Tommy nodded, picking from his plate of green lettuce and avoiding eye contact.
“Oh, dear. Are you sure about that, Tommy?”
“We have an agreement.”
“Do you seriously not see? To say the man is barely average is being generous. He stands out like bad shoes. We’re catwalk, darling, and he’s not even on the reserve guest list. Have you not noticed his complete lack of style? And don’t, whatever you do, accidentally let him into your bed, because that is the kind of mercy fuck that will end up with the words stalker written all over it.”
Aaron’s words seemed unnecessarily harsh, even for him. Tommy wanted to brush them off, but his brain had stalled.
“Have you even thought about how that kind of association might affect your already waning reputation? You know what our tribe is like once they start talking. Look, if you really want, I could move a few things around and come with. A far more appropriate choice, don’t you think? What date is this wedding thing?”
Tommy looked to Devon for help, at a loss for how to respond.
“Mitchell agreed to escort Tommy,” said Devon, after a quick wink to Tommy, “because we want to make sure my Oscar has a friend to keep him company while Tommy and I are showcasing our Strictly Come Dancing moves out on the dance floor. Unless, of course, you’re happy to chat to Oscar, in which case I hope you’re up-to-date with the latest developments in environmentalism and conversation.”
“And conservation,” corrected Tommy.
“That, too,” said Devon.
Tommy remained straight-faced while Aaron’s expression—as he stared at the top of Devon’s head—morphed from surprise into disgust. Every now and again Devon could pull something extraordinary out of the bag.
“Ugh. In which case I’ll pass, thanks,” said Aaron, taking his seat. “But mark my words, Tommy. I’ve heard people saying you’re off your game. Maybe you and I should go out sometime.”
“Maybe. I have your number.”
“And before you ask,” he said, smiling triumphantly and royal waving his phone, “that was a call from a cabin crew hottie I met a few months back. He’s in town and wants a repeat hook-up tonight. The thing is, I already have one in the bag this evening. Kirk from High Five Fitness. Might have to juggle things around to fit them both in. Have I told you about Kirk?”
Without waiting for a response, Aaron launched into a tale about the personal trainer who had—apparently—all but stalked him. Eventually the hour nudged four and Tommy, realising he would never get the chance to talk privately to Devon, decided to escape. Aaron finally stopped wittering when he rose to leave.
“Where are you going?” asked Aaron. “Cocktail hour starts in half an hour.”
“Not for me.”
“Since when?”
“Since I have better things to do. Devon, are you coming?”
“I’ll stay. Oscar’s meeting me here. Call me tomorrow.”
“Come on, Tommy, darling,” whined Aaron, hands on hips now. “I haven’t told you about flyboy yet. I’ll even buy the first round.”
“Sorry, Aaron, I need to go,” said Tommy, lifting his bag onto his shoulder and giving Devon a quick wave. “I’ve got to get home, shower, and make myself look respectable before my Five Guys date tonight.”
And with that little morsel hanging in the air, Tommy marched away without turning back, absolutely sure he could feel Aaron’s glare burning into him.