Full Of It

"He fucks good," she purred, pushing stray hair behind her ears. Not for the first time that evening, the lady sitting at the next table had my undivided attention.

Let's start from the very beginning, a very good place to start. A couple of us convened for dinner after work at a tiny Japanese restaurant in Far East Plaza (you know the one) and because we hadn't made any reservations, we were squashed right up against a couple who had just come in as well.

The woman, whom I'll call Apu for convenience, was togged out in designer gear, least of all a floaty Loewe scarf, and had the kind of coarse attractiveness you get in Chinese women with skimpy dresses, too much make-up and orange-streaked hair. Her dining companion (henceforth dubbed Mr Burns) was dressed down in jeans and a t-shirt, spiky hair and black-framed glasses.

All right? All right.

So, Apu, being one of those women who cannot keep their voice down to save a drowning puppy, started gushing as soon as her couture-covered ass touched the seat and consequently, we were treated to a long, incredulous tale about how she had come to be such a fashion plate.

To summarise, Apu and Mr Burns had dated a long time ago. Mr Burns was now happily(?) married and Apu, who had gone on to a string of casual sex flings, had just met a HongKong businessman of untold wealth who wanted to, get this, marry her. So she was bringing Mr Burns out for dinner to ask him to attend the wedding and simultaneously flaunt her unbelievable riches and unforseen luck.

Therein lies the rub. At some point of the evening, much to our amusement, it became evident that Mr Burns was not quite over his infatuation for Apu, who was quite content to fan the flames and bask in the centre of lustful male attention. Every now and then, he would reach over to pat her on the head or brush some hair out of her face while she simpered like a grotesque kitten.

And so the conversation went:

Apu: (in the kind of fake Western accent people tend to pick up when they've suddenly rolling in the Benjamins and are forced to act classy) "I just cannot believe I'm getting married. Me! Can you believe it? Me! And this guy who wants to love me forever and buy everything for me. I'm so HAPPY!"

Mr Burns: "Mmhmm. That's great."

Apu: "I just want to tell you EVERYTHING. But I don't know where to start!"

Mr Burns: "Shhh. Not so loud." (smiling indulgently) "You can tell me everything."

Apu: "He wears these typical HongKong businessman suits? Heeheehee. And he's like 160cm. So that's shorter than me cos I'm like 170cm. I just can't believe it!"

She was sitting so close beside me that I accidentally sat on her scarf at the beginning of the evening. We could hear every word like a bell and by this point we were getting so into the storyline that we couldn't carry on a conversation of our own anymore. And then came that fateful line:

Apu: "But he fucks gooood."

I choked violently into the warm towelette I had been applying to my face and dissolved into uncontrollable giggles, the kind that would visit frequently over the rest of the evening. My dinner buddy looked equally disbelieving. Mr Burns, to his credit, was completely unfazed.

Mr Burns: (completely seriously, reaching for her hand) "Well, that's great. I know how important that is to you."

We nearly toppled from our chairs. I had to turn my head to stop from spitting laughter into her face. Just when I couldn't get more gobsmacked, she proceeded to detail to Mr Burns just how she knew.

Apu: "We fucked once, when he flew down here, right. And then the second time, he came, we did it. And then the third time, he came down and we went up to the suites..."

Mr Burns: (attentively gazing into her eyes) "Uh huh."

Apu: "And then I was wearing a really short, sexy dress and he got angry with me! He said "You look like a cheap prostitute, stop dressing like this!" and I got angry and I shouted at him "You idiot! I'm doing this for you!" and we had a fight, so we didn't have sex and I got tired so I lay down to sleep and he lay next to me the whole night without touching me. But the next morning when he woke up, he didn't touch me, he just looked into my eyes and he cried. Cried! And then he said he wanted to marry me. And I said yes. And straightaway he drove us to Cartier and blew $100,000 on a 2-carat diamond ring! Are you jealous yet? I want you to be jealous!"

Mr Burns: "No, no I'm not..."

Apu: "Anyway! This is a guy who never had a serious girlfriend and fucks four or five girls a year and now he wants to marry me so badly and he loves me so much and can you believe it? I'm so HAPPY! And now I have to look wonderful for HIM! And he bought me so many things, so one week I'll wear my Cartier and next week my Piaget and then..."

I was rolling my eyes, hard. The charm of the carefully skewered and barbecued mushrooms and peppers was somewhat diminished by the squealing blather next to my head.

Apu: "Anyway! I want YOU to come to my wedding because it seems right that you should be there. I mean, I love all of my friends but all of their marriages are FUCKED UP. Yours is the only one that's working. So you should be there. You're not going to get divorced right? Promise me you're not going to get divorced."

Mr Burns: (bewitched, by now, to say anything) "No, no, I'm not..."

Apu: "Great!! Anyway. Can I tell you a secret? I just broke up with my other Indonesian boyfriend last week!!!"

At this point I just about swallowed my tongue. What had started as amusing was getting both ridiculous and distasteful. We were teetering between helpless laughter and annoyance. I was on the verge of excusing myself for the loo when Mr Burns decided that he too had enough.

"Um...why don't we go somewhere else where we can talk?" he asked, eyeballing me slightly. I fear, as I am wont to do in my excitement, I may have snorted my disgust a little too loudly. "Like the Balcony Bar for instance."

"But I want to tell you everything!" she squealed.

"Yes, yes, but you can tell me as we walk, okay?"

"Okay," she shrugged and they got up to leave.

Not before the final coup, though. As she threw a good $70 on the table for a rather pricey dinner, Mr Burns shifted uncomfortably. "Are you sure?" he asked, and she giggled like a milkmaid. "Oh yes! Petty cash. It's just petty cash. Heeheehee. That's what HE always says before buying me things." They flitted out.

The subsequent silence was deafening. We looked cautiously at each other. "Wow," I said. Wow, indeed. It was like something out of The Hills (not that I follow that superficial, gossipy, over-scripted trash). We were so lost in the choppy wake of the drama that we were momentarily unable to say anything. For a moment, swept along in the soap opera, my buddy said: "Maybe we should follow them to the Balcony Bar and see if..."

But thankfully, no. After all, $1 macarons at Bakerzin are far too tempting for me to resist, even in the face of an MTV-like reality show. I may be a dumb blonde, but I'm a dumb blonde who eats, too. A very big, curious part of me wonders if Apu did end up spilling everything, and if Mr Burns ever got past stroking her hair and made a huge love confession ala Seth and Summer in The O.C. (I don't watch that either). Another part of me wonders what his presumably meek, timid wife at home is going to think when he sweeps in past midnight covered in perfume and... what is that, the smell of regret?

Mostly, if we're going to be all moralistic about it, I guess I've realised that money can't buy class.

Although, I gotta admit that I might be equally triumphant and garrulous if I ever nab some random business man that dangles a $100,000 diamond ring that way. So, kids, if you ever see me dressed in Loewe and pan-stick with some sad Chinese sod in some restaurant, you now know what's coming.

Rest assured he'll fuck real gooood too.