The Conclusion of the Golden Point Awards 2013
I guess I will conclude the Singapore Writers Festival (SWF) with the previous post (on the entertaining Fringe debate). I did attend two more panel discussions and although highly interesting, I find it hard to put my takeaway into words.
The Golden Point Awards 2013 also came to an end recently. For the uninitiated, it is a local creative writing competition for poetry and short story in all four official languages. You can read more about it here. You can also see from the website that my name is not in the list of winners under the English short story category. My short story was not shortlisted. But no matter. It is my first time and I don't expect to win. Especially when I am up against heavyweights like Joshua Ip (you might remember me gushing about his wit and poetry finesse in this post). He won first prize and you should click on his name (at the Golden Point Awards website) and read the winning piece. It is imaginatively brilliant and warrants my small praise (who am I after all, to offer praise?). He won my admiration yet again.
As mentioned, I participated in the English short story category. It took me about a month to complete the story (the first time I completed any story at all) and I submitted my work on the day of the deadline. Since the competition has ended, I will post my short story here (read if you wish to, it has less than 5,000 words). I must say, compared to the winning piece, my work is like an exercise in description. It reads more like a descriptive essay, without real substance and seemingly no meaning. But I am spurred to write more, produce more and hopefully be ready when the next Golden Point rolls around. Click 'Read more' below for my short story.
THE INSURANCE AGENT
I strode into the swanky art deco-inspired lobby with my black worn-out leather briefcase. Removing my five-year old coat at the reception, I enquired if Mr Robinson is in.
“I’m sorry Mr Robinson is out,” the sweet young thing at the counter informed.
It suited me fine. I asked to speak to Mrs Robinson instead. After a quick call, I was directed to the penthouse suite at level fifty-three. Classy.
The elevator ride was nauseating. The glaring day glow lights, the all-round mirrors, the yellow gold gilding and the awful elevator music. Much too swanky. When I finally exited at level fifty-three, a fine film of perspiration covered my face and neck.
A huge double door with ornate gold handles loomed over me. I rang the bell and took out my handkerchief. The door swung open just as I wiped my eyes. When I removed the handkerchief from my eyes, a sight for sore eyes greeted me. Standing at the door is a tall voluptuous blonde, her tresses curled to the nines, cherry red lips set in a tight smile, bright blue eyes that gazed from under long lashes. She looked almost unreal, doll-like, near perfection in its dazzling porcelain beauty. She was clad in a silk robe of a dark wine colour.
“Yes?” Her voice was deep and throaty, undoubtedly conditioned by years of heavy smoking.
“Mrs Robinson?”
A slight nod, almost imperceptible. I would have missed it had I not been staring. I cleared my throat and introduced myself, Gary Burns from Reinhard Insurance. I held out my hand and she shook it. She signaled me to follow and was led to the sitting room.
“Would you like any refreshments?”
“No thank you, I’m fine.”
She nodded to her servant and was back with a jug of lemonade and two glasses.
The double-height sitting room was spacious. Sparse to be accurate. There are two black leather sofas facing each other, an oval glass coffee table in the middle, and full-length curtain-less windows that rewarded a spectacular view of the grey cityscape. A cluster of bare bulbs hung from the ceiling in the middle of the coffee table and a lone brick fireplace stood behind one of the sofas. It was dreary and unwelcoming. I surmised that the sitting room was purposefully decorated to drive away unwanted visitors. Visitors by the likes of me.
From the other side of the hallway, I can clearly hear music, those senseless compositions that the entertainment industry passes off as music and a young immature voice squeaking along to it. Miss Robinson Junior I supposed.
Mrs Robinson plopped down on one of the sofa and crossed her legs, her silk robe sliding off to reveal a long smooth hairless limb. It damn nearly took my breath away. She took out a cigarette and lit it. Hands shaking, I poured two glasses of lemonade and took a big gulp. My senses returned. She left hers untouched. She leaned back and stared at me, waiting for me to begin. I cleared my throat and explained why I’m here (Mr Robinson’s car insurance is near expiring and if he wants a renewal?). She looked at me long and hard. Ahhh, the cogs must be beginning to turn in her brain, the greasy slyness slowly working them to speed. I sighed inwardly, must be another run-of-the-mill loveless marriage that would have ended if not for the kid. She is probably thinking if she should lace Mr Robinson’s usual morning coffee with a little arsenic, or tinker with his car so that he’ll get into a fatal accident. No, I will not agree to name her the benefactor unless Mr Robinson said so.
After a long minute, she said that she will inform Mr Robinson and ask him to get back to me. I nodded; relieve trickling into the bowels of my stomach. Thank God that she didn’t choose the path that will inevitably end in tragedy. I stood up and held out my hand. She shook it gently. As we walked back to the entrance, I gave a quick glance into the other room and saw a fat young toddler in pigtails wearing a miniskirt shaking her bottom to the music. The volume is ear-splitting. I wondered if the kid is already half-deaf. Suddenly the kid lost her balance while attempting some acrobatic dance move and fell on her diapered bottom. She looked around, realized she had audience and began flapping her arms and screaming her head off.
Mrs Robinson gave a loud “tch” and cursed under her breath. I gestured for her to attend to the kid and let myself out. Back at the overdone swanky elevator, I released the breath that I have been unconsciously holding. As I walked through the lobby, I reflected on the Robinsons. Their house may cost an arm and a leg, but it reeked too much of average-ness. The décor is too purposefully sparse, the sophistication unnatural and the style-cred too phony. I pitied them, the obese toddler, Mrs Robinson; her blonde hair with the luscious cherry red lips. It is not difficult to guess how she ended up like this.
The next day, I received a phone call at work. The deep throaty voice at the other end greeted me. Long smooth legs and cherry red lips came to mind. She asked me to pay a visit to their house again to speak with Mr Robinson. Tonight. The bells went off in my head. She waited silently for my reply. I looked out of the window to the grey tall skyscrapers and imagined the Robinson’s penthouse suite somewhere in there. I imagined her long smooth legs, the way her robe falls that shows her cleavage, her nipples gently protruding from beneath the silk. I imagined her sitting on one of the black leather sofas, cradling the receiver with her neck, her left hand occupied with a cigarette. My mouth went dry, but in the end I croaked, “See you tonight then Mrs Robinson” and replaced the receiver without waiting for her reply.
Night came faster than anticipated. I parked my car and strode through the swanky art deco lobby, not bothering with reception. Exiting at level fifty-three, I hesitantly rang the bell. It took a long while before the door opened. Mrs Robinson. Dressed in a tight strapless long black dress, blonde tresses put up in a bun. Cherry red lips again. She blew a cloud of smoke and opened the door wider. I followed her in.
“You’re early. He’s not home yet.”
I looked at my watch. “That’s alright Mrs Robinson, I’ll wait.”
“You only have about an hour to talk about the renewal; we’re going out for dinner.”
I smiled at her with pretend nonchalance and took a seat at the sofa. The room at the other side of the hallway is silent and dark. Following my gaze, Mrs Robinson explained that Grace is at the sitter. She sat down opposite me and threw me a hard look.
“Are you married Mr Burns?” she asked without preamble. I shook my head.
“Would you liked to be?” she asked again.
I do not know what to say or where this is going, so I remained silent. She sighed impatiently, stood up and walked towards the window, adjusting her already perfect hair. I can see her pained expression reflected on the window and something else, a mounting panic all too clear in her blue eyes.
“Do I look good to you?” she demanded.
Hell, where is this leading to I thought. I decided to keep silent and looked away. I don’t see a point in replying and prayed really hard for Mr Robinson’s return. She did not pursue her inane questioning.
She lit up a cigarette when the phone rang. I sat up, alert. From her side of the conversation, I gathered that dinner was cancelled. And so was my meeting with Mr Robinson. I stood up, ready to accept the bad news and take my leave graciously. “Let’s have dinner together at Alfred’s” Mrs Robinson directed as she slammed the receiver. It was not a question but a statement. She stomped upstairs. I wrung my hand, wondering if I should just slip out quietly. I wandered into the kitchen and drank from the tap. There were bottles of brandy and rum and vodka lying about.
When I returned to the sitting room, Mrs Robinson was waiting for me. She changed out of the black strapless dress and is now wearing a navy blue and white ensemble. She actually looked different, more down to earth. She smelled of jasmine and her cherry red lips were now painted a light shade of peach. I nodded at her and we left.
We went to Alfred’s for steak and chips and it is during the dinner that I realized that I had severely misjudged her. She had a privileged background, being the daughter of a wealthy industrialist. Being born with a silver spoon has its setbacks. Mrs Katherine Robinson (nee James) never had any female friends and boys were attracted to her like bees to honey. Of course, her good looks and voluptuous figure is her blessing and woe. Her family was dysfunctional. Her mom, described as beautiful and glamorous, had a gambling habit and would leave Katherine alone at home with countless servants. Her dad was permanently at work. When she met Mr Robinson, she thought she found the man who could give her everything that wealth could not; warmth, love and constant company.
Turns out that Mr Benjamin Robinson is not the knight in shining armour as intended. After marriage, he worked in her father’s company. Eventually he took over the company when her father died from brain cancer. Mr Robinson was consumed with work. He was at work when Grace was born, at work when Katherine fell at home and had to be hospitalized, at work when Katherine thought of suicide by jumping off their bedroom window with Grace in her arms. Besides being at work, Katherine suspected that he kept a few mistresses around, all installed in posh living abodes.
There is a faint stirring in me. I am surprised. I cannot pinpoint the emotion that is stirring in me. Is it anger? Is it a sense of injustice? Sympathy? It couldn’t be a faint stirring of love because I am incapable of loving. Did I not find that out when Julie walked out of my life and all I did was nestle down on my couch and watch football on the television? I decided that all I am feeling is sympathy and a slight sense of camaraderie, since the both of us had miserable endings to our relationships.
When she is done, she looked expectantly at me. I tried to look understanding and gave her nod. She whispered that Mr Robinson will not be home for the night and Grace can stay over at the sitters. I held her hands over the table and told her that I am not her knight in shining armour and never will be. I am not about to sweep her off her feet and save her from her loveless marriage. She would do well to look somewhere else. As it is, I am having second thoughts about our dinner. She sat back, dejection written all over her face. I apologized (not sure what for) because I felt that I had to. She waved her hands at my apology and told me that she should be sorry instead.
We left Alfred’s and I sent her home.
That night I dreamt of smooth limbs, cherry red lips, blonde curls and sad desperate blue eyes.
I was at a client’s house the next afternoon for a contract signing. When I got back to the office, I was surprised to find that I had a visitor.
“Hello Gary.” The smoke from her cigarette curled into the air before disappearing into nothingness.
She continued, “My husband would like to renew the contract. When will you be available to meet him to sign?”
“Tomorrow at best. I have to draft up the new one.” I sat at my table, picked up my fountain pen and twirled it around. A certain kind of awkwardness hung in the office; the kind that appears when one stranger knew too much of the other.
She stood up slowly. “In the afternoon then.”
She turned on her bright red stilettoes and sauntered out my office, leaving behind a trail of smoke.
The next day I walked through the same swanky lobby, stepped into the same nauseating lift and braced myself for the long ride. My heart pounded within; the thought of seeing Mrs Robinson made my lips dry. I cursed myself for not visiting the toilet before. The lift stopped and the doors slid open.
The same double doors with ornate gold handles stood before me. I drew in a deep breath and rang the bell. The door swung open. It wasn’t Mrs Robinson, but one of their servants.
I introduced myself and was led to the same sparse sitting room. The afternoon sun poured into the room, fierce and blinding. The air was warm and clammy. The servant brought out a jug of ice cold lemonade and set it on the coffee table.
“Mr Robinson will be with you in a moment,” she said.
I nodded. I filled myself a glass of lemonade and took a big gulp. The cold sour liquid quelled my nerves.
“Burns!” A deep voice rang out from behind.
I turned around and there stood Mr Robinson, a tall dapper man with a neatly trimmed moustache. By his side stood Mrs Robinson, golden tresses tied in a bun revealing her smooth neckline. My eyes involuntarily followed the line of her neck to her smooth shoulders, before flicking up to her cherry red lips and then to her bright blue eyes, which were staring piercingly into mine. Why?
I forced my gaze away and held out my hands towards Mr Robinson, plastering a business-like smile on my face. After the niceties, we sat down, I on one side, Mr and Mrs Robinson on the other. The business went about smoothly and the affair concluded with Mr Robinson signing his renewal. Mrs Robinson did not say a single word. She just sat there staring into the blinding afternoon outside, yawning occasionally. I was relieved. Then, Mr Robinson slapped my back and cheerily invited me to dine with them. I stole a look at Mrs Robinson. She looked genuinely surprised and her eyes betrayed the hope that I will agree to the dinner. Dread filled within me but I declined his offer politely, saying that I had a prior dinner appointment. He laughed and nodded, “Busy man eh?”
I smiled.
“Never mind” he said, hands on my back, “there’s always a next time” and motioned me out of the penthouse.
As I stepped into the office the next morning, I noticed a handwritten note left on my table. It reads, “Entrance at 10am”. The writing was small and cursive. Written by a woman. There was no name and no clue left as to who might have written it. I threw it in the bin and started working.
After working for about what seemed like ages, I stood up and stretched. I caught a glimpse of the clock, fifteen minutes past ten. I strode to the window and looked down. A shiny black limousine stretched across the entire entrance of my office building and a rotund uniformed man is pacing up and down in front of it. Curious, I picked up my hat and coat and closed my office door behind me.
The man pacing up and down stopped and greeted me when I reached the entrance. He opened the door of the limousine and beckoned me to get in. I slithered in, only to find myself opposite Mrs Robinson, wearing a black somber knee-length coat with black stilettos. As usual, she was puffing away at a cigarette, legs crossed and arms folded. The man slammed the door shut.
“Hello Gary,” she purred as the limousine slid into the heavy traffic.
I smirked and enquired if this is how she travels daily. She frowned and stubbed out her cigarette.
“Anyway, I’m leaving Benjamin” she paused, looking at me expectantly.
“Just thought I inform you.” She shrugged.
She had this strange look on her face. If she wants me to wrap my arms around her while she soaks through my coat with buckets of tears, she has grossly misunderstood me. I leant back on the seat and folded my arms. “I’m sorry to hear that” I said, “but I don’t see how it concerns me.”
She sighed, “I expected a reaction like that.” She lighted another cigarette.
“Spend today with me?” she asked, a pleading tear hanging at the corner of her eye. I shrugged and threw my hands up. She is leaving her husband after all. I briefly wonder what would happen to the overweight toddler. She stared out the window, taking long drags from her cigarette and keeping silent.
That afternoon was spent at the hotel restaurant having tea. Halfway through she starting sobbing into her cup of tea and moaned about how her marriage had fallen apart years ago, how they kept it together for Grace, how Grace doesn’t regard her as a mother and how Robinson didn’t treat her like a wife. How he spends many nights a week away from home, probably at various mistresses’ house. The sob session ended when she abruptly stood and excused herself to “powder up”, her eyes all puffy and red.
Finally alone, I looked out the window. The sky had turned grey and nasty, with endless sheets of rain falling outside. I was about to turn away when a redhead caught my eye. She just turned the corner of the street, right hand gripping her umbrella tightly as strong gusts of wind threaten to blow it away, left arm holding onto her green jacket, her long red hair lashing about her face. I stood up in a hurry, toppling over the chair but not giving a damn.
I walked out into the heavy rain, pushing against the harried human traffic, eyes opened for the redhead in green. There she is, standing by the post box struggling against the wind, umbrella tipped low. I hurried over, but upon reaching, something pulled at my heart and I stopped, just a few feet away from her. What am I doing? Didn’t I say that I never wanted to see her again? After which she walked out the door and my life, her luggage rolling noisily along the concrete corridor. I stood there in hesitation, soaking wet, when suddenly the umbrella lifted and her warm hazel eyes locked onto mine.
JULIE.
All at once various emotions rushed in, clouding my head; pain, torment, loss, joy, unease, loss, embarrassment, chaos and a distinct sense that the world is plummeting.
I blinked. She blinked. I opened my mouth to call out to her.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I peered behind and saw Katherine, holding onto a black umbrella, looking at me in absolute puzzlement. I turned back to Julie, but she has already turned around and was walking quickly in the other direction. I followed after her, but could not keep pace among the maddening crowd. I lost her at some point. All this while Katherine was screaming after me, frantically trying to keep up with me.
Rage filled me. I had been rudely interrupted. I had my chance and lost it. My jaws tightened. I just want to know how Julie is doing; if she has gotten married and started a family, had a kid or two. These were the dreams we created together but were quickly torn apart when things went south. When I heard Katherine splashing right behind my back I turned around and slapped her right across the face. She gasped, hand on her reddening face, eyes wide open. The black umbrella fell from her hand. My hand shook as the rage trickled out of my system and was replaced with shame and guilt. I glanced at her apologetically but she turned and stomped away. I thought I heard an aggrieved cry escape her trembling lips.
I bent down to retrieve the fallen umbrella and shut it. I’m all drenched, no point putting the umbrella to use. The rain has gotten heavier and lightning flashed. The human traffic has thinned out, no longer able to withstand the heavy downpour and cold cutting wind. I walked down the street, long after Julie and Katherine have disappeared.
I awoke the next day to a throbbing headache. My throat was sandpaper dry and I felt weak. I called in sick at the office and continued sleeping. When I woke the second time, the orange sun was shining into my bedroom. The sheer intensity of it hurt my eyes, causing my head to explode in pain. I squeezed them shut. I forced myself up and shuffled heavily to the toilet. I look a mess, eyes hollow and withdrawn; a film of perspiration covered my forehead and nose; my complexion pale green. I concluded that I must be sick. Probably from the long walk in the heavy rain. I filled a cup from the sink and tossed a couple of aspirins into my mouth. I stumbled back to sleep.
The next time I woke up, I was in a hospital ward. My employer, Mr Reinhard towered over me.
“You’re awake” he bellowed.
I shifted my head to a more comfortable position. “What am I doing here?” I rasped.
He shrugged. I looked hard at his expression. It was weird. One more time he shrugged and sat down. He wiped his face with his hands and sighed.
“You did not turn up for work two days in a row,” he explained, “so I stopped by your place.”
Apparently he knocked on my door and shouted my name a few times but got no response. He knew that I was home because my shoes were haplessly strewn at the entrance, caked and crusted with dried mud. When he ran out of patience he called the cops, who proceeded to break down my door. They found me lying on the bed, a patch of vomit beside my head. I had also urinated while comatose and the place stank.
I nodded weakly towards Mr Reinhard and muttered a thank you. He shrugged again, then got up and prepared to leave. As he walked towards the door, he turned around and looked at me, concern written all over his face.
“Did you try to kill yourself?”
I blinked at him. It never occurred to me to kill myself. I shook my head, “Never.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my reply and left.
I was upset, yes. I was angry. But not once did the thought of ending my life cross my mind. Did I subconsciously want to end my life? I shook my head and let out a cynical sigh. There is a slight aching in my head and I’m still feeling drained. I plopped my head back to the pillow and slept almost immediately.
I dreamt of Julie and Katherine. Both of them walking side by side in the rain, whispering to each other’s’ ears, eyes glinting with amusement. They were drenched but they didn’t seem to notice. I was behind, running after them, trying to keep up. I called out their names, but got no response. They continued their whispering and turned a corner, disappearing from sight. Upon turning the corner myself, a strange sight greeted me. There was Mr Robinson, who somehow appeared and installed himself between both women. He had hooked his left arm over Katherine’s waist and his right hand is on Julie’s bottom, circling in a slow caress.
I jerked awake, the dream fading into a distant memory. I tried recalling the dream but to no avail. Only one detail stood out in my mind, bright as day sharp as knife; Julie is one of Mr Robinson’s mistress and she recognized Katherine. That must be why she turned away in a hurry. I am not sure if it is at all true, but I feel the truth of it in my guts. I stood up shakily and paced the room slowly. My curiosity is roused and my suspicions set. I need to know.
After my discharge, I took one more week off from work. I woke up early one morning, put on a nondescript brown trench coat and a brown hat. I drove to the Robinson residence and parked myself across the entrance. Then I sat back and waited.
Mr Robinson finally appeared. He exited the building and stood at the curb, waiting for his limousine to arrive. Then he left for work. I left my spot and tailed him, keeping a safe distance. I followed him like this throughout the week. He rarely left the office except to go for lunches and meetings. He always leaves work on time but doesn’t go straight home. He makes a detour to the upper part of the city, spends an hour or two in a posh residential apartment, sometimes the whole night, before leaving. I took down the address. Now I know where he keeps his mistress or mistresses. At least I know they are all living under the same roof.
When my week is up, I stopped following Mr Robinson. After work I will head straight to the ‘mistresses lair’, as I termed it, and waited there for his appearance. On a windy Tuesday night two weeks after I was discharged, I was waiting at the same spot, confident that I’ll see him again. But after an hour there was still no sign of him. I was about to give up and leave when his limousine sidled up the entrance. Mr Robinson stepped out of the apartment guiding a red haired lady in a sleeveless long green dress into the limousine. My heart skipped a beat. Julie. Her appearance jolted my senses and shook my world. Although my guts have told me that my dream is true, I never really quite believed it. It had been nothing but a dream and a gut feeling. But seeing her in the flesh, smiling to Mr Robinson, his hand on the small of her back, shot my spirit. I was devastated. She left me to be a second class citizen to someone else?
That night I followed them around. They watched a play, dined at a Michelin-starred restaurant and had drinks at a hotel bar. All these things I would never be able to afford. When the night ended, I followed them back to her residence, watched in silent anger as they made out passionately at the entrance and in helpless resignation as they hurried into the building, unable to keep their hands off each other.
Well, if that’s the life she wants. If that is what she’s looking for, then I am glad that we are no more. During the drive home the more I thought about it the angrier I got. Proving my dream and my guts right did nothing for me. I didn’t want to return home and didn’t want to get myself drunk at some bar. I drove through the night blindly, no destination in mind. Somehow I ended up at the Robinsons. I realized that Mr Robinson might not be home, might not even return home tonight. I rode the elevator up to the penthouse and knocked on the door. I am not sure what I’m going to do but I knew I had to see Katherine. A servant opened the door. I enquired after Mrs Robinson and learnt that they have separated and has since moved out. My heart did a little flip. Good for the girl. I asked if they might know her whereabouts and I left the premises with a slip of paper in my breast pocket, Katherine’s new address written on it.
As I was about to drive off I took one last look at the building and the unlighted penthouse above. This will be my last visit. Then I pulled out into the night.
It turned out that Katherine lives at the fringe of the city, a tiny suburb devoid of any tall grey buildings. It was 2am when I reached the house, but I saw a single lighted lamp at the second floor of the house. She is awake. I got out of the car and up the flowered walkway. I stood in front of the doors, took a deep breath and knocked. Moments later I heard footsteps padding down the stairs. The door opened and Katherine’s face peeked out from behind, illuminated by the moonlight that shone past my shoulders.
I smiled tentatively at her and said my apology. I prayed fervently that she will forgive me.
Without a word, she threw open the door, stepped forward and kissed me deeply. I responded in kind. Then I pulled back. I stared into her blue eyes for a long moment, and then gave her a final nod. I walked back to my car and drove off.
I never saw Katherine again.
(4, 894 words)
The Golden Point Awards 2013 also came to an end recently. For the uninitiated, it is a local creative writing competition for poetry and short story in all four official languages. You can read more about it here. You can also see from the website that my name is not in the list of winners under the English short story category. My short story was not shortlisted. But no matter. It is my first time and I don't expect to win. Especially when I am up against heavyweights like Joshua Ip (you might remember me gushing about his wit and poetry finesse in this post). He won first prize and you should click on his name (at the Golden Point Awards website) and read the winning piece. It is imaginatively brilliant and warrants my small praise (who am I after all, to offer praise?). He won my admiration yet again.
As mentioned, I participated in the English short story category. It took me about a month to complete the story (the first time I completed any story at all) and I submitted my work on the day of the deadline. Since the competition has ended, I will post my short story here (read if you wish to, it has less than 5,000 words). I must say, compared to the winning piece, my work is like an exercise in description. It reads more like a descriptive essay, without real substance and seemingly no meaning. But I am spurred to write more, produce more and hopefully be ready when the next Golden Point rolls around. Click 'Read more' below for my short story.
THE INSURANCE AGENT
I strode into the swanky art deco-inspired lobby with my black worn-out leather briefcase. Removing my five-year old coat at the reception, I enquired if Mr Robinson is in.
“I’m sorry Mr Robinson is out,” the sweet young thing at the counter informed.
It suited me fine. I asked to speak to Mrs Robinson instead. After a quick call, I was directed to the penthouse suite at level fifty-three. Classy.
The elevator ride was nauseating. The glaring day glow lights, the all-round mirrors, the yellow gold gilding and the awful elevator music. Much too swanky. When I finally exited at level fifty-three, a fine film of perspiration covered my face and neck.
A huge double door with ornate gold handles loomed over me. I rang the bell and took out my handkerchief. The door swung open just as I wiped my eyes. When I removed the handkerchief from my eyes, a sight for sore eyes greeted me. Standing at the door is a tall voluptuous blonde, her tresses curled to the nines, cherry red lips set in a tight smile, bright blue eyes that gazed from under long lashes. She looked almost unreal, doll-like, near perfection in its dazzling porcelain beauty. She was clad in a silk robe of a dark wine colour.
“Yes?” Her voice was deep and throaty, undoubtedly conditioned by years of heavy smoking.
“Mrs Robinson?”
A slight nod, almost imperceptible. I would have missed it had I not been staring. I cleared my throat and introduced myself, Gary Burns from Reinhard Insurance. I held out my hand and she shook it. She signaled me to follow and was led to the sitting room.
“Would you like any refreshments?”
“No thank you, I’m fine.”
She nodded to her servant and was back with a jug of lemonade and two glasses.
The double-height sitting room was spacious. Sparse to be accurate. There are two black leather sofas facing each other, an oval glass coffee table in the middle, and full-length curtain-less windows that rewarded a spectacular view of the grey cityscape. A cluster of bare bulbs hung from the ceiling in the middle of the coffee table and a lone brick fireplace stood behind one of the sofas. It was dreary and unwelcoming. I surmised that the sitting room was purposefully decorated to drive away unwanted visitors. Visitors by the likes of me.
From the other side of the hallway, I can clearly hear music, those senseless compositions that the entertainment industry passes off as music and a young immature voice squeaking along to it. Miss Robinson Junior I supposed.
Mrs Robinson plopped down on one of the sofa and crossed her legs, her silk robe sliding off to reveal a long smooth hairless limb. It damn nearly took my breath away. She took out a cigarette and lit it. Hands shaking, I poured two glasses of lemonade and took a big gulp. My senses returned. She left hers untouched. She leaned back and stared at me, waiting for me to begin. I cleared my throat and explained why I’m here (Mr Robinson’s car insurance is near expiring and if he wants a renewal?). She looked at me long and hard. Ahhh, the cogs must be beginning to turn in her brain, the greasy slyness slowly working them to speed. I sighed inwardly, must be another run-of-the-mill loveless marriage that would have ended if not for the kid. She is probably thinking if she should lace Mr Robinson’s usual morning coffee with a little arsenic, or tinker with his car so that he’ll get into a fatal accident. No, I will not agree to name her the benefactor unless Mr Robinson said so.
After a long minute, she said that she will inform Mr Robinson and ask him to get back to me. I nodded; relieve trickling into the bowels of my stomach. Thank God that she didn’t choose the path that will inevitably end in tragedy. I stood up and held out my hand. She shook it gently. As we walked back to the entrance, I gave a quick glance into the other room and saw a fat young toddler in pigtails wearing a miniskirt shaking her bottom to the music. The volume is ear-splitting. I wondered if the kid is already half-deaf. Suddenly the kid lost her balance while attempting some acrobatic dance move and fell on her diapered bottom. She looked around, realized she had audience and began flapping her arms and screaming her head off.
Mrs Robinson gave a loud “tch” and cursed under her breath. I gestured for her to attend to the kid and let myself out. Back at the overdone swanky elevator, I released the breath that I have been unconsciously holding. As I walked through the lobby, I reflected on the Robinsons. Their house may cost an arm and a leg, but it reeked too much of average-ness. The décor is too purposefully sparse, the sophistication unnatural and the style-cred too phony. I pitied them, the obese toddler, Mrs Robinson; her blonde hair with the luscious cherry red lips. It is not difficult to guess how she ended up like this.
The next day, I received a phone call at work. The deep throaty voice at the other end greeted me. Long smooth legs and cherry red lips came to mind. She asked me to pay a visit to their house again to speak with Mr Robinson. Tonight. The bells went off in my head. She waited silently for my reply. I looked out of the window to the grey tall skyscrapers and imagined the Robinson’s penthouse suite somewhere in there. I imagined her long smooth legs, the way her robe falls that shows her cleavage, her nipples gently protruding from beneath the silk. I imagined her sitting on one of the black leather sofas, cradling the receiver with her neck, her left hand occupied with a cigarette. My mouth went dry, but in the end I croaked, “See you tonight then Mrs Robinson” and replaced the receiver without waiting for her reply.
Night came faster than anticipated. I parked my car and strode through the swanky art deco lobby, not bothering with reception. Exiting at level fifty-three, I hesitantly rang the bell. It took a long while before the door opened. Mrs Robinson. Dressed in a tight strapless long black dress, blonde tresses put up in a bun. Cherry red lips again. She blew a cloud of smoke and opened the door wider. I followed her in.
“You’re early. He’s not home yet.”
I looked at my watch. “That’s alright Mrs Robinson, I’ll wait.”
“You only have about an hour to talk about the renewal; we’re going out for dinner.”
I smiled at her with pretend nonchalance and took a seat at the sofa. The room at the other side of the hallway is silent and dark. Following my gaze, Mrs Robinson explained that Grace is at the sitter. She sat down opposite me and threw me a hard look.
“Are you married Mr Burns?” she asked without preamble. I shook my head.
“Would you liked to be?” she asked again.
I do not know what to say or where this is going, so I remained silent. She sighed impatiently, stood up and walked towards the window, adjusting her already perfect hair. I can see her pained expression reflected on the window and something else, a mounting panic all too clear in her blue eyes.
“Do I look good to you?” she demanded.
Hell, where is this leading to I thought. I decided to keep silent and looked away. I don’t see a point in replying and prayed really hard for Mr Robinson’s return. She did not pursue her inane questioning.
She lit up a cigarette when the phone rang. I sat up, alert. From her side of the conversation, I gathered that dinner was cancelled. And so was my meeting with Mr Robinson. I stood up, ready to accept the bad news and take my leave graciously. “Let’s have dinner together at Alfred’s” Mrs Robinson directed as she slammed the receiver. It was not a question but a statement. She stomped upstairs. I wrung my hand, wondering if I should just slip out quietly. I wandered into the kitchen and drank from the tap. There were bottles of brandy and rum and vodka lying about.
When I returned to the sitting room, Mrs Robinson was waiting for me. She changed out of the black strapless dress and is now wearing a navy blue and white ensemble. She actually looked different, more down to earth. She smelled of jasmine and her cherry red lips were now painted a light shade of peach. I nodded at her and we left.
We went to Alfred’s for steak and chips and it is during the dinner that I realized that I had severely misjudged her. She had a privileged background, being the daughter of a wealthy industrialist. Being born with a silver spoon has its setbacks. Mrs Katherine Robinson (nee James) never had any female friends and boys were attracted to her like bees to honey. Of course, her good looks and voluptuous figure is her blessing and woe. Her family was dysfunctional. Her mom, described as beautiful and glamorous, had a gambling habit and would leave Katherine alone at home with countless servants. Her dad was permanently at work. When she met Mr Robinson, she thought she found the man who could give her everything that wealth could not; warmth, love and constant company.
Turns out that Mr Benjamin Robinson is not the knight in shining armour as intended. After marriage, he worked in her father’s company. Eventually he took over the company when her father died from brain cancer. Mr Robinson was consumed with work. He was at work when Grace was born, at work when Katherine fell at home and had to be hospitalized, at work when Katherine thought of suicide by jumping off their bedroom window with Grace in her arms. Besides being at work, Katherine suspected that he kept a few mistresses around, all installed in posh living abodes.
There is a faint stirring in me. I am surprised. I cannot pinpoint the emotion that is stirring in me. Is it anger? Is it a sense of injustice? Sympathy? It couldn’t be a faint stirring of love because I am incapable of loving. Did I not find that out when Julie walked out of my life and all I did was nestle down on my couch and watch football on the television? I decided that all I am feeling is sympathy and a slight sense of camaraderie, since the both of us had miserable endings to our relationships.
When she is done, she looked expectantly at me. I tried to look understanding and gave her nod. She whispered that Mr Robinson will not be home for the night and Grace can stay over at the sitters. I held her hands over the table and told her that I am not her knight in shining armour and never will be. I am not about to sweep her off her feet and save her from her loveless marriage. She would do well to look somewhere else. As it is, I am having second thoughts about our dinner. She sat back, dejection written all over her face. I apologized (not sure what for) because I felt that I had to. She waved her hands at my apology and told me that she should be sorry instead.
We left Alfred’s and I sent her home.
That night I dreamt of smooth limbs, cherry red lips, blonde curls and sad desperate blue eyes.
I was at a client’s house the next afternoon for a contract signing. When I got back to the office, I was surprised to find that I had a visitor.
“Hello Gary.” The smoke from her cigarette curled into the air before disappearing into nothingness.
She continued, “My husband would like to renew the contract. When will you be available to meet him to sign?”
“Tomorrow at best. I have to draft up the new one.” I sat at my table, picked up my fountain pen and twirled it around. A certain kind of awkwardness hung in the office; the kind that appears when one stranger knew too much of the other.
She stood up slowly. “In the afternoon then.”
She turned on her bright red stilettoes and sauntered out my office, leaving behind a trail of smoke.
The next day I walked through the same swanky lobby, stepped into the same nauseating lift and braced myself for the long ride. My heart pounded within; the thought of seeing Mrs Robinson made my lips dry. I cursed myself for not visiting the toilet before. The lift stopped and the doors slid open.
The same double doors with ornate gold handles stood before me. I drew in a deep breath and rang the bell. The door swung open. It wasn’t Mrs Robinson, but one of their servants.
I introduced myself and was led to the same sparse sitting room. The afternoon sun poured into the room, fierce and blinding. The air was warm and clammy. The servant brought out a jug of ice cold lemonade and set it on the coffee table.
“Mr Robinson will be with you in a moment,” she said.
I nodded. I filled myself a glass of lemonade and took a big gulp. The cold sour liquid quelled my nerves.
“Burns!” A deep voice rang out from behind.
I turned around and there stood Mr Robinson, a tall dapper man with a neatly trimmed moustache. By his side stood Mrs Robinson, golden tresses tied in a bun revealing her smooth neckline. My eyes involuntarily followed the line of her neck to her smooth shoulders, before flicking up to her cherry red lips and then to her bright blue eyes, which were staring piercingly into mine. Why?
I forced my gaze away and held out my hands towards Mr Robinson, plastering a business-like smile on my face. After the niceties, we sat down, I on one side, Mr and Mrs Robinson on the other. The business went about smoothly and the affair concluded with Mr Robinson signing his renewal. Mrs Robinson did not say a single word. She just sat there staring into the blinding afternoon outside, yawning occasionally. I was relieved. Then, Mr Robinson slapped my back and cheerily invited me to dine with them. I stole a look at Mrs Robinson. She looked genuinely surprised and her eyes betrayed the hope that I will agree to the dinner. Dread filled within me but I declined his offer politely, saying that I had a prior dinner appointment. He laughed and nodded, “Busy man eh?”
I smiled.
“Never mind” he said, hands on my back, “there’s always a next time” and motioned me out of the penthouse.
As I stepped into the office the next morning, I noticed a handwritten note left on my table. It reads, “Entrance at 10am”. The writing was small and cursive. Written by a woman. There was no name and no clue left as to who might have written it. I threw it in the bin and started working.
After working for about what seemed like ages, I stood up and stretched. I caught a glimpse of the clock, fifteen minutes past ten. I strode to the window and looked down. A shiny black limousine stretched across the entire entrance of my office building and a rotund uniformed man is pacing up and down in front of it. Curious, I picked up my hat and coat and closed my office door behind me.
The man pacing up and down stopped and greeted me when I reached the entrance. He opened the door of the limousine and beckoned me to get in. I slithered in, only to find myself opposite Mrs Robinson, wearing a black somber knee-length coat with black stilettos. As usual, she was puffing away at a cigarette, legs crossed and arms folded. The man slammed the door shut.
“Hello Gary,” she purred as the limousine slid into the heavy traffic.
I smirked and enquired if this is how she travels daily. She frowned and stubbed out her cigarette.
“Anyway, I’m leaving Benjamin” she paused, looking at me expectantly.
“Just thought I inform you.” She shrugged.
She had this strange look on her face. If she wants me to wrap my arms around her while she soaks through my coat with buckets of tears, she has grossly misunderstood me. I leant back on the seat and folded my arms. “I’m sorry to hear that” I said, “but I don’t see how it concerns me.”
She sighed, “I expected a reaction like that.” She lighted another cigarette.
“Spend today with me?” she asked, a pleading tear hanging at the corner of her eye. I shrugged and threw my hands up. She is leaving her husband after all. I briefly wonder what would happen to the overweight toddler. She stared out the window, taking long drags from her cigarette and keeping silent.
That afternoon was spent at the hotel restaurant having tea. Halfway through she starting sobbing into her cup of tea and moaned about how her marriage had fallen apart years ago, how they kept it together for Grace, how Grace doesn’t regard her as a mother and how Robinson didn’t treat her like a wife. How he spends many nights a week away from home, probably at various mistresses’ house. The sob session ended when she abruptly stood and excused herself to “powder up”, her eyes all puffy and red.
Finally alone, I looked out the window. The sky had turned grey and nasty, with endless sheets of rain falling outside. I was about to turn away when a redhead caught my eye. She just turned the corner of the street, right hand gripping her umbrella tightly as strong gusts of wind threaten to blow it away, left arm holding onto her green jacket, her long red hair lashing about her face. I stood up in a hurry, toppling over the chair but not giving a damn.
I walked out into the heavy rain, pushing against the harried human traffic, eyes opened for the redhead in green. There she is, standing by the post box struggling against the wind, umbrella tipped low. I hurried over, but upon reaching, something pulled at my heart and I stopped, just a few feet away from her. What am I doing? Didn’t I say that I never wanted to see her again? After which she walked out the door and my life, her luggage rolling noisily along the concrete corridor. I stood there in hesitation, soaking wet, when suddenly the umbrella lifted and her warm hazel eyes locked onto mine.
JULIE.
All at once various emotions rushed in, clouding my head; pain, torment, loss, joy, unease, loss, embarrassment, chaos and a distinct sense that the world is plummeting.
I blinked. She blinked. I opened my mouth to call out to her.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. I peered behind and saw Katherine, holding onto a black umbrella, looking at me in absolute puzzlement. I turned back to Julie, but she has already turned around and was walking quickly in the other direction. I followed after her, but could not keep pace among the maddening crowd. I lost her at some point. All this while Katherine was screaming after me, frantically trying to keep up with me.
Rage filled me. I had been rudely interrupted. I had my chance and lost it. My jaws tightened. I just want to know how Julie is doing; if she has gotten married and started a family, had a kid or two. These were the dreams we created together but were quickly torn apart when things went south. When I heard Katherine splashing right behind my back I turned around and slapped her right across the face. She gasped, hand on her reddening face, eyes wide open. The black umbrella fell from her hand. My hand shook as the rage trickled out of my system and was replaced with shame and guilt. I glanced at her apologetically but she turned and stomped away. I thought I heard an aggrieved cry escape her trembling lips.
I bent down to retrieve the fallen umbrella and shut it. I’m all drenched, no point putting the umbrella to use. The rain has gotten heavier and lightning flashed. The human traffic has thinned out, no longer able to withstand the heavy downpour and cold cutting wind. I walked down the street, long after Julie and Katherine have disappeared.
I awoke the next day to a throbbing headache. My throat was sandpaper dry and I felt weak. I called in sick at the office and continued sleeping. When I woke the second time, the orange sun was shining into my bedroom. The sheer intensity of it hurt my eyes, causing my head to explode in pain. I squeezed them shut. I forced myself up and shuffled heavily to the toilet. I look a mess, eyes hollow and withdrawn; a film of perspiration covered my forehead and nose; my complexion pale green. I concluded that I must be sick. Probably from the long walk in the heavy rain. I filled a cup from the sink and tossed a couple of aspirins into my mouth. I stumbled back to sleep.
The next time I woke up, I was in a hospital ward. My employer, Mr Reinhard towered over me.
“You’re awake” he bellowed.
I shifted my head to a more comfortable position. “What am I doing here?” I rasped.
He shrugged. I looked hard at his expression. It was weird. One more time he shrugged and sat down. He wiped his face with his hands and sighed.
“You did not turn up for work two days in a row,” he explained, “so I stopped by your place.”
Apparently he knocked on my door and shouted my name a few times but got no response. He knew that I was home because my shoes were haplessly strewn at the entrance, caked and crusted with dried mud. When he ran out of patience he called the cops, who proceeded to break down my door. They found me lying on the bed, a patch of vomit beside my head. I had also urinated while comatose and the place stank.
I nodded weakly towards Mr Reinhard and muttered a thank you. He shrugged again, then got up and prepared to leave. As he walked towards the door, he turned around and looked at me, concern written all over his face.
“Did you try to kill yourself?”
I blinked at him. It never occurred to me to kill myself. I shook my head, “Never.”
He nodded, seemingly satisfied with my reply and left.
I was upset, yes. I was angry. But not once did the thought of ending my life cross my mind. Did I subconsciously want to end my life? I shook my head and let out a cynical sigh. There is a slight aching in my head and I’m still feeling drained. I plopped my head back to the pillow and slept almost immediately.
I dreamt of Julie and Katherine. Both of them walking side by side in the rain, whispering to each other’s’ ears, eyes glinting with amusement. They were drenched but they didn’t seem to notice. I was behind, running after them, trying to keep up. I called out their names, but got no response. They continued their whispering and turned a corner, disappearing from sight. Upon turning the corner myself, a strange sight greeted me. There was Mr Robinson, who somehow appeared and installed himself between both women. He had hooked his left arm over Katherine’s waist and his right hand is on Julie’s bottom, circling in a slow caress.
I jerked awake, the dream fading into a distant memory. I tried recalling the dream but to no avail. Only one detail stood out in my mind, bright as day sharp as knife; Julie is one of Mr Robinson’s mistress and she recognized Katherine. That must be why she turned away in a hurry. I am not sure if it is at all true, but I feel the truth of it in my guts. I stood up shakily and paced the room slowly. My curiosity is roused and my suspicions set. I need to know.
After my discharge, I took one more week off from work. I woke up early one morning, put on a nondescript brown trench coat and a brown hat. I drove to the Robinson residence and parked myself across the entrance. Then I sat back and waited.
Mr Robinson finally appeared. He exited the building and stood at the curb, waiting for his limousine to arrive. Then he left for work. I left my spot and tailed him, keeping a safe distance. I followed him like this throughout the week. He rarely left the office except to go for lunches and meetings. He always leaves work on time but doesn’t go straight home. He makes a detour to the upper part of the city, spends an hour or two in a posh residential apartment, sometimes the whole night, before leaving. I took down the address. Now I know where he keeps his mistress or mistresses. At least I know they are all living under the same roof.
When my week is up, I stopped following Mr Robinson. After work I will head straight to the ‘mistresses lair’, as I termed it, and waited there for his appearance. On a windy Tuesday night two weeks after I was discharged, I was waiting at the same spot, confident that I’ll see him again. But after an hour there was still no sign of him. I was about to give up and leave when his limousine sidled up the entrance. Mr Robinson stepped out of the apartment guiding a red haired lady in a sleeveless long green dress into the limousine. My heart skipped a beat. Julie. Her appearance jolted my senses and shook my world. Although my guts have told me that my dream is true, I never really quite believed it. It had been nothing but a dream and a gut feeling. But seeing her in the flesh, smiling to Mr Robinson, his hand on the small of her back, shot my spirit. I was devastated. She left me to be a second class citizen to someone else?
That night I followed them around. They watched a play, dined at a Michelin-starred restaurant and had drinks at a hotel bar. All these things I would never be able to afford. When the night ended, I followed them back to her residence, watched in silent anger as they made out passionately at the entrance and in helpless resignation as they hurried into the building, unable to keep their hands off each other.
Well, if that’s the life she wants. If that is what she’s looking for, then I am glad that we are no more. During the drive home the more I thought about it the angrier I got. Proving my dream and my guts right did nothing for me. I didn’t want to return home and didn’t want to get myself drunk at some bar. I drove through the night blindly, no destination in mind. Somehow I ended up at the Robinsons. I realized that Mr Robinson might not be home, might not even return home tonight. I rode the elevator up to the penthouse and knocked on the door. I am not sure what I’m going to do but I knew I had to see Katherine. A servant opened the door. I enquired after Mrs Robinson and learnt that they have separated and has since moved out. My heart did a little flip. Good for the girl. I asked if they might know her whereabouts and I left the premises with a slip of paper in my breast pocket, Katherine’s new address written on it.
As I was about to drive off I took one last look at the building and the unlighted penthouse above. This will be my last visit. Then I pulled out into the night.
It turned out that Katherine lives at the fringe of the city, a tiny suburb devoid of any tall grey buildings. It was 2am when I reached the house, but I saw a single lighted lamp at the second floor of the house. She is awake. I got out of the car and up the flowered walkway. I stood in front of the doors, took a deep breath and knocked. Moments later I heard footsteps padding down the stairs. The door opened and Katherine’s face peeked out from behind, illuminated by the moonlight that shone past my shoulders.
I smiled tentatively at her and said my apology. I prayed fervently that she will forgive me.
Without a word, she threw open the door, stepped forward and kissed me deeply. I responded in kind. Then I pulled back. I stared into her blue eyes for a long moment, and then gave her a final nod. I walked back to my car and drove off.
I never saw Katherine again.
(4, 894 words)
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