Chapter Eighteen
Tommy’s teaching colleagues from overseas invariably remarked about the number of public holidays Hong Kong citizens enjoyed, the region commemorating Chinese and English celebrations. On the first day of July, a public holiday called the Hong Kong Establishment Day to celebrate the return of Hong Kong to China, Tommy and his friends had created a tradition of meeting for a Handover Day lunch. Some laughingly referred to the event as Hangover Day on the rare occasion the holiday fell on a Monday and leisurely celebrations took place the day before, often dragging on late into the evening.
That particular Monday’s Establishment Day, just over a week since Zane had been the last passenger herded onto the plane for his flight home, Tommy met Mitchell for his image transformation beneath the Times Square clock in Causeway Bay. As Hong Kong malls went, this popular one would do nicely to shop for Mitchell’s wedding clothes. Once they had those sorted, hopefully before one o’clock, they would meet Oscar, Devon and a couple of their friends for lunch on the tenth floor. For the afternoon, Tommy had already planned out the places to take his makeover subject.
In preparation, Tommy had sent Magenta, his hairdresser, phone photos of Mitchell and emphasised his friend’s somewhat conservative nature. Magenta, in turn, had sent back shots of a series of model and celebrity hairstyles, ranging from outrageous and clearly unacceptable to short, clipped and even shaven. Tommy had vouched for something in between that would push Mitchell’s boundaries but not freak him out. And, of course, no colouring—as instructed. He hadn’t told Mitchell yet that the day would conclude with a full grooming, including a wet shave, eyebrow waxing, a mani-pedicure, and culminate in a ninety-minute shoulder, back and foot massage.
Mitchell seemed tired and subdued when they met—like a lamb to the slaughter, perhaps? Tommy hoped not. He suspected Mitchell’s working week had not been kind. The last time they had been together, Tommy had spent much of his Sunday helping find Mitchell’s nephew. Tommy wondered if their time together had made Mitchell feel obligated, because he had made no bones about Tommy’s plan to reinvent him.
Zane crashing at Harold’s place still made little sense, but Tommy hadn’t pushed for an explanation. With William’s help, Mitchell had managed to get Zane to the airport just in time for his flight. Zane had texted Tommy the moment he’d landed at Heathrow, thanking him for his friendship, making clear his intention to return at the earliest possible opportunity and asking Tommy to look out for Mitchell—as if he needed looking after.
“Once we’ve picked out the right suit,” said Tommy on the long escalator leading up into the mall. “I am convinced everything else will fall into place. If we had enough time, I’d take you to see my tailor in Tsim Sha Tsui. But he’d need at least a week for fittings and adjustments. And, more importantly, we’d need to have a style in mind and I have no idea what suits you best. At this boutique we can pick out a selection in your size and get you to try them on.”
Before he’d moved back to Canada, a friend of Tommy’s had worked at one of the men’s designer fashion stores. They specialised in off-the-peg branded clothing and Tommy still had a discount card. Tommy tried to read Mitchell’s expression as he pulled one suit after another from racks, but Mitchell seemed distracted that morning.
“Okay, catwalk time. We have a decent selection to be getting on with. Try each of the six I’ve hung in the dressing room. Let’s check out the styles, and see what feels and fits you best.”
After a full five minutes and a fair amount of huffing and grunting from the small changing room, the door opened and Mitchell stepped out. Tommy almost dropped his iced caramel macchiato. The first suit comprised a tuxedo jacket and matching trousers covered in scarlet sequins with black velvet trimming—an outfit that might have looked good on a Cantonese pop singer, but not on Mitchell.
“How’s the fit?” said Tommy.
“I appreciate that I should be grateful you didn’t pick anything out in hot pink, but there is no way on God’s green earth—to borrow your turn of phrase—that I would be seen wearing anything like this in public.”
“Red is an auspicious colour in Chinese culture. My family—”
“Tommy.”
“Okay, okay. Try the next one.”
Fair play to Mitchell, he donned Tommy’s choices obediently and patiently, without once refusing or complaining. Mitchell looked more relaxed when he stepped out wearing a traditional black tie ensemble, but while Mitchell cited James Bond, Tommy considered the look too dull, too much like Mitchell’s usual business attire. Moreover, his old uncles would be wearing similar outfits. Neither the sage nor the tan suit appealed to either of them. Tommy smiled and nodded at the burgundy two-piece, but Mitchell shook his head and, after a huff, Tommy waved him back inside. As the hour ticked on, and Tommy loudly drained the last dregs of his drink, Mitchell finally stepped out wearing a distinctive blue three-piece number that even drew the male salesclerk’s attention.
“It’s a brighter tone than I would normally choose,” said Mitchell, the single-breasted jacket open as he smoothed a hand down the front of the waistcoat while looking at himself in the full-length mirror. “What shade of blue is this?”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Royal.”
“I like the fit.”
“Me, too. And the colour. Not an obvious choice for you. Everything works. This is the one. We’re going to need to coordinate and accessorise—”
Mitchell’s head whipped around.
“I am not carrying a male clutch bag or whatever you call—”
“Shirt, cufflinks, tie, shoes. Have a little faith.”
“Fine,” said Mitchell before turning to the clerk. “How much are we talking?”
“Don’t be vulgar,” said Tommy. “The right fashion choice does not come with a price tag.”
“I think you’ll find it does. More importantly, my savings account is not bottomless.”
“Think of this as an investment.”
“In what?”
“In you, the new Mitchell. Worth every Hong Kong cent.”
Tommy noticed Mitchell’s smile broaden as he admired himself in the mirror again before nodding to the clerk and heading back into the room to change.
“What about you?” came Mitchell’s voice.
“What do you mean, what about me?”
“Are you going to buy anything?”
“My whole outfit was chosen, bought and paid for two days after my sister announced her big day.”
“Of course it was.”
Once Tommy had the suit colour, everything else felt instinctive. For him, at least. Convincing Mitchell to accessorise with a white wing-tip shirt, dark red bow tie with matching top-pocket hanky and cufflinks took some doing. Mitchell cited sustainability and lack of opportunity to reuse. Even the light shade of brown shoes and matching belt had him pulling a face. Eventually Tommy got his way and, after asking the clerk if they could store the bags in the boutique—Tommy did not want Devon questioning any of his fashion choices—they made their way to the top-floor restaurant.
“I hope you’re fine with Japanese. This tiny ramen noodle bar called Oishi Ramen is tucked away in the corner. Devon calls the place his secret haven. One that everyone seems to know about—”
“I’ve been there. Many times. I know the place well.”
“I know he’s my friend, but Devon’s hopeless at keeping secrets.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mitchell cryptically. Tommy peered around at Mitchell, but his gaze was elsewhere, scanning a poster outside the glass front of the building.
They arrived a little after one. The head waiter informed Tommy that the rest of their group of six had already been seated, causing him to wonder who else Devon had invited. Hopefully not Aaron, who would surely make a snide remark about Tommy being out in public with Mitchell. As he rounded the corner and caught sight of the other guests, his jaw dropped open in shock.
Sammi and Daley sat at the back of the semi-circular booth—as though holding court—with Oscar and Devon to their right, leaving room for Tommy and Mitchell. They had already ordered a pot of green tea and clay cups. Tommy felt a creeping dread seeing Sammi and Daley sitting there, solemn and maybe even nervous.
“Why are you two here?” he blurted before either had a chance to speak. “I thought you would be doing last-minute—”
“Sammi asked if they could join us,” said Devon.
“Is everything okay?” asked Tommy, fearing the worst. He looked directly at Daley. “I’ve been trying to call you—”
“Sit down, Tommy,” said Sammi. “We need to talk to you. Both of us.”
A cold dread filled Tommy and for a moment he felt unable to move. Until Mitchell nudged him into the booth and scooted in next to him.
“Do you know what this is about?” Tommy whispered to Mitchell.
“I think so,” said Mitchell, touching Tommy’s knee. “And I think you do, too.”
“Oh, shit,” said Tommy, throwing himself back in his seat and putting his hands over his eyes. “Please don’t tell me the wedding’s off.”
“What?” came Devon’s voice.
Mitchell gently pulled Tommy’s hands away from his face. “Don’t be so melodramatic. Sammi, for goodness’ sake, whatever you have to say, speak up and put your brother out of his misery.”
“Tommy, I knew about Daley’s condition. But neither of us had read the magazine article, not until one of my bridesmaids showed me. Later on Alec told us about your concerns, my silly but darling brother. Daley and I have spoken privately with Mum and Dad and we wanted to talk to you in person at the after-show party. But you disappeared before we had the chance. Apparently, you—and the rest of Asia—got to see a photo of my husband-to-be holding hands with some supposedly random woman. I had no idea, by the way, when I handed you that garbage magazine. But there is a story behind the photo. Daley, do you want to explain or shall I?”
“No, I’ll take over,” said Daley. “Let’s start at the beginning. Everyone knows that I’ve had trouble with my eyesight. What most people didn’t know—including me—was just how serious it had become.”
Daley went on to tell them almost word for word what Alec had divulged, and about the friend called Ellery, who had helped Daley negotiate the uneven lawn.
“What you need to understand, Tommy, is that I love your sister beyond measure. And I would never keep something this serious from her. I told her as soon as I knew. In case she wanted to rethink our wedding plans.”
“And I told him he doesn’t get off that easily. I had to remind him that we’ve been in love since college and that our vows would include the words in sickness and in health. But I am also insisting on two things. Firstly, that we get second opinions from other ophthalmologists. Daley’s specialist tells us the Czech Republic has become a world leader in ophthalmology. He’s already in contact with some global experts on Daley’s condition. We aren’t giving up hope of a cure, are we, love?”
“No, bride-to-be,” said Daley, smiling. And at that moment, the truth he had always known hit Tommy hard. His sister and Daley were meant to be together.
“And the second thing we wanted to announce is that we’re going to waste no time starting a family, to ensure Daley gets to see his firstborn.”
Tommy felt as though the whole restaurant had fallen silent. He rarely showed emotion, but seeing Devon burying his head into his napkin and a tearful Oscar leaning across to give Daley a friendly hug, he felt the sting of tears, made worse when Mitchell placed a warm arm around his shoulders.
“How do you feel about being Uncle Tommy?” asked Mitchell, which at least raised a few chuckles. “Now there’s a sobering thought.”
“Can we please order?” announced Daley, finally breaking the mood. “I had lukewarm scrambled eggs for breakfast on the plane ride over and could frankly eat at least three bowls of ramen.”
A huge weight lifted from Tommy’s shoulders. Feeling back to his old self, he winked at the young waiter to catch his attention before waving him over to give their order. Everyone appeared to relax into lunch. Once the food had reached the table, they finally asked what he and Mitchell had been doing. Tommy explained and, as expected, Devon and Sammi demanded to know where the bags were, insisting on inspecting the purchases.
“No can do. You’ll have to wait until the big day.”
“Surely you already have suits, Mitchell,” said Oscar.
“Boring work suits,” answered Tommy before Mitchell could respond. “And before you ask, I had his permission to help smarten him up for the wedding.”
“Tommy believes my sense of style is questionable,” said Mitchell.
“Really? I think you look perfectly fine,” said Oscar.
“Fine, but unremarkable. And, in my opinion, he could look so much better,” said Tommy, refusing to become defensive.
“I think what Oscar is trying to say is that if it ain’t been fixed, maybe it's because it ain’t broke,” said Devon.
“Don’t you mean, if it ain’t broke—” began Daley, but Oscar placed a hand on his shoulder.
“He knows exactly what he means.”
“But the way things are going, Oscar,” said Mitchell, “with Tommy’s expensive tastes, I’m likely to be broke before the day’s out.”
“You’ll thank me one day,” said Tommy to Mitchell before returning his attention to the rest of the group. “Anyway, we have more to do. Look forward to seeing you all Saturday.”
Daley insisted on picking up the tab, and after Tommy gave everyone hugs, they made their way to Mitchell’s apartment to drop off his purchases before heading out again. While there, Mitchell told Tommy to sit while pouring them a couple of cold drinks.
“What do you think?” asked Tommy, taking a glass of water from Mitchell. “About Sammi and Daley?”
“Like you said before. They’re meant for each other.”
“I know, right?”
“But it’s not going to be easy. They’re going to need your love and support, Tommy.”
“That goes without saying.”
Mitchell’s smile seemed sad as he sat beside Tommy and spoke in a lowered voice.
“Look, I know what happened after the show doesn’t change anything between us. I’m not delusional. Anytime we go anywhere, I see how people single you out. The salesclerk and the waiter in that restaurant. Whereas I might as well be invisible. I like you, Tommy, genuinely, but I need you to know that I have no expectations. And I don’t want there to be any weirdness between us.”
Tommy wasn’t sure how he felt about Mitchell’s explanation. Was he trying to let Tommy off the hook, to convince him he had no expectations? Their night together had meant something to Tommy, but he had yet to process exactly what and how much.
“There isn’t. You do realise the flirting is all for show? Nothing more.”
“I do. But if you get your shot with Alec, I would recommend you reel in that particular quirk. I’ve never had that problem, but some people might come to resent their partners getting that kind of attention.”
“If I were to get a shot with Alec, I imagine he’ll get just as much attention as me.”
“Fair point.”
“Come on, let’s go. We’ve got a lot more to do.”
Magenta’s salon happened to be a short walk from Mitchell’s place. Tommy noticed Mitchell’s eyes widen when Magenta met them at the door. With black spiked hair containing pink and purple streaks, black-painted fingernails and deep purple lipstick, he looked more like a punk rocker than a hairdresser. But Tommy knew that Magenta had an impressive list of loyal clients who used him and talked him up regularly.
Tommy had barely settled Mitchell in the stylist’s chair when a call came through. The musical group hired for the wedding had planned to rehearse the number with him on Sunday afternoon. But one musician had been asked to fill in at a last-minute church event that afternoon.
Tommy felt insecure about his abilities and had been the one to insist they practice together before the ceremony. The trio had made a special arrangement around the melody his sister had chosen, and he needed the reassurance that he would not cock anything up.
“Magenta, darling. Can I leave my friend in your capable hands?”
“Of course, darling.”
“Where are you going?” asked Mitchell, turning to him in a panic.
“An emergency to do with my sister’s wedding. If it wasn’t urgent, I wouldn’t go. I want more than anything to see this transformation. I’ll call you during the week, but I probably won’t see you until the day of the wedding. Hope that’s okay?”
“No colouring!” said Mitchell sternly.
“No colouring. Tell him, Magenta,” said Tommy.
“Don’t worry, darling,” said Magenta, pulling a white cloth around Mitchell’s neck. “I have my instructions. Masculine style, with a full manicure. Now take off your shoes and socks, love.”
“What? Why?”
“Because while I style your hair, my assistant, Ophelia, will wash your feet, then give you a pedicure followed by the best foot massage you’ve ever had.”
Tommy turned as the door closed behind him, catching a glimpse of Mitchell’s alarmed expression through the shop window. He couldn’t help but laugh and blew an exaggerated air kiss to him before continuing on his way.