"Araminta! Araminta!"
"Araminta! Over here, please!"
The click of camera shutters welcomed me as I walked down the red carpet of The Tattler's 40 Under 40 Gala. White flashes of light licked every single inch of my Simone Rocha floral patchwork silk dress and rose-gold Jimmy Choo pumps like an insatiable beast. I wore my patent half-smile, not looking at any one camera. Well, except for the one on my payroll, of course. Where's that little monkey? Ah, there he is. I turned towards Johnny, my personal photographer, for one last red-carpet shot.
"Araminta Lee, what are you wearing?" A perky news anchor in a cheap suit said, adding ten more e's to the end of my name. It's just two e's, man. It's not that hard. I tried to sidestep him, but goodness, these pesky media people were getting better and better at ambushing people.
"Oh, this?" I said, with a polite chuckle. "Just some of my hauls during my recent trip to New York."
"Absolutely gorgeous. You're a shoo-in for Star Of The Night!"
Yeah, in an ideal world, that would be true. One sweep of the crowd, and it was easy to tell that everyone here was collectively pedestrian. Yes, yes, in an ideal world, I would be a shoo-in. Just write my name on the plaque before I even arrive. But, this wasn't an ideal world. This was a world where Astrid Leong, fashion savant and #1 socialite per the unofficial rankings at , lived and walked and breathed.
"Let's hope so," I said to the interviewer, smiling ever so politely before walking into the reception hall. Forty minutes in, I kinda wished I had stayed home. Why did Mom have to send me to this event, when I could be living it up in Shanghai or Hongkong? For the Paraiso Club, I told myself. For the hotel that I was about to launch two months from now.
I could barely stay awake through the program, so I went out to the al fresco bar to freshen up with a drink. Speak of the devil, who else would I find seated in the darkest corner of the balcony but Astrid Leong herself. Imagine my shock when I found her wearing a cream, run-of-the-mill, Zara jumpsuit and gold strapped sandals.
Has God fallen to earth? Has hell frozen over? What on earth was going on?
I sidled up to the empty seat beside her, and propped my elbows on the counter. I asked the waiter for a bellini, before turning to Astrid.
"Really? Zara?" I asked, unable to mask the dismay in my voice. "You're the only competition I have in this ho-hum crowd. Girl, if you had sent out feelers that you weren't competing, I could have just worn my silk Annabel Lee Hotel monogrammed pajamas and called it a night."
Astrid refused to look at me, instead keeping her eyes trained on the marble counter.
"Nice touch with the Etruscan bangles. But, you know as well as I do that this gen-pop crowd wouldn't know gold-plated aluminum wire from 6 B.C. bling."
She shook the bangles slightly. That was as good a bite as I was gonna get.
"Astrid, you're losing your touch."
Still silent, she gripped her glass of scotch so tightly I feared she would break it. Then, she gulped the whole thing down, with only the slightest of winces. I counted the number of glasses in front of her. There's a flute. A brandy glass. A small gold-rimmed shot glass.
"And finding your liquor, it seems."
I tsk-tsked before I sipped my own drink. Good god, this was a bad batch. What did they put in here? Overripe peaches and piss? I coughed out the awful taste inside my mouth, which Astrid mistook as another attempt to rile her up.
"Can you just leave me alone, Araminta?" she finally spoke, her voice slightly slurred.
Arms half-raised in mock surrender, I jumped off the stool and was about to leave her to a speed-date session with all the alcohol known to humanity, when Michael Teo sauntered into our dark corner. He sported a weird-ass blue-plaid suit that Astrid would have burned and exiled to Antarctica if they were still together.
"Astrid? Why are you here, all sad and alone?" Michael greeted. The condescending way he said 'sad and alone' made me want to punch him in the face. "Come sit with us. I would love for you to meet Patti."
"Michael, thank you, but I have company."
"Where? Who are you with?"
I turned around to leave. I meant to keep myself out of fucked-up ex drama-slash-power-play when smooth fingers suddenly wove themselves with mine. Just at the last minute. Right, at first, I was dismissed so crudely. But, now, I passed for company. I wanted to say "So, I'm company now?" but bit my tongue at the look of panic in Astrid's face.
Michael scoffed, waiting for the right time to expose this sham and bury Astrid a little deeper in. This little poser. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Good God almighty, did this guy deserve a beating with his smug face and underhanded jabs.
"Really? She's your date?" Michael asked, still in disbelief, still waiting for Astrid to fess up. It seemed like Astrid was on the verge of coming clean. Girl, don't give him the satisfaction. So much for keeping out of the drama. In one smooth motion, I untangled my hand from Astrid's and placed it on her waist.
"Yeah, really." I looked him in the eye, my own eyes aching from trying not to blink. Michael probably did a head-to-head of our net worth in that bird brain of his, and made the wise decision to shut up and back off.
"Ready to leave?" I asked Astrid, willing her to nod and say yes. "The air here suddenly feels so…cheap."
We walked away, my hand slowly approaching necrosis under Astrid's nervous, vise-grippy grip. Astrid stopped, said something in my ear that made me smirk, and turned back around. I walked within earshot, arms folded across my chest, mentally cheering Astrid on.
"Wait, where are my manners?" Astrid announced, sarcasm dialed to 11. "I forgot to congratulate the Man Of The Year."
I watched her pull Michael by the lapel of his jacket in an I'm-gonna-get-you mafia kind of way. I was close enough to catch every delicious word out of Astrid's mouth. Look at kindly Astrid Leong, shutting her former flame and kicking him down several notches.
"Sad and alone? Really, you're going with that, Michael? I mean, when a woman upgrades from CEO of a tech start-up company who can't even break into the Fortune 50 to the heiress of a global chain of luxury hotels, sad and alone aren't exactly the words I'd choose." She let go of his jacket with a nice, subtle shove. "And burn that suit. It looks ridiculous."
I braved one last look at Michael and caught him tugging his suit back in place. Even in the low light, I could see him glowering at us, completely flustered and embarrassed at being one-upped. It didn't help that the people, some of which he was trying to impress, started talking in hushed whispers.
We waited down the private lounge, while the valet fetched her ride. As she scrolled through her phone, it was my turn to give her a look. A stab of envy pierced through my heart. Only Astrid could make from-the-rack Zara look this cool. I suddenly felt stupid in my much-too-busy Simone Rocha, and felt the urge to go home and dress into something more laidback.
"That was cold, Astrid." I laughed, impressed and a little dumbstruck at what just happened. "You do know there were other people there that saw and heard you, right?"
"I'm sorry I got you into this. I panicked! And you were there. It was either you or 100-year-old Jack Ling! I had one second to decide between someone who hates me, or someone who is a boner away from death!"
"Was the decision at least unanimous?"
She pinched her fingers together and threw me a wink. "It was closer than I thought, not gonna lie."
The thrill of mischief coursed through me, as an idea popped in my head. "You want to twist the knife a little further in? We could have drinks somewhere, and have my personal paparazzi take photos."
"Your personal what?"
"Personal paparazzi. Like an official photographer, but for when you want to generate hype or kill a story?" I said, matter-of-factly, like every other household in the city had a personal pap in tow. "So, you in?"
"Thanks," Astrid said, shaking her head and gently laying a hand on my arm. "But I think it's best that I head home. I think I've troubled you bad enough."
"Trouble? No trouble at all. I mean, you just kept me from accepting my Best-Dressed award, which could have afforded me two minutes to plug our newest hotel in an island off the South China Sea coast, which by the size of this crowd, could have raked in 100 million dollars in revenue on our opening month. But, whatever, right?"
Astrid looked dumbstruck and about to recite a litany of apologies. Not gonna lie, it was cute. "I'm just kidding. 75% kidding. No, wait. 25% kidding."
Her car finally arrived, a dark-blue Acura MDX. Good, she brought a driver. Judging by how much she had to drink, I didn't want to have to chauffeur her to that snooty-ass cabin in the woods at the other end of the city. I beat her driver to it and opened the passenger door for her.
"Now, go on. Have a better night. Even if you hit your head on a lamp post right now, or suffer a mad case of diarrhea from rotten sushi, or barf until the afternoon after all the booze you just downed, it would still be better than watching your ex gloat about his 40 Under 40 Award and whisk around his new girlfriend."
"You know, he'd be 40 in a week," Astrid whispered, as if revealing a secret between friends. Were we friends now? Not by a long shot. But, people made friends in the unlikeliest of places. Maybe this was one of those places. Then again, maybe not.
"His almost-disqualified 40 Under 40 Award, then." I self-corrected. "Good night, Astrid."
I instructed the driver to go a little slowly. "She's a little drunk, but still alright. Please give her two aspirins and don't tell Mommy and Daddy."
"Ha ha."
I closed the door and watched her drive away, a strange sense of disappointment squeezing itself into my chest. The hum of the Acura broke through the air, threatening to fade into the sounds of the city. I waited for the night to swallow the sound, while I contemplated on my own plans. It was relatively early; it wasn't too late to shuttle to Hongkong or Shanghai, party hard with the free-spending China-rich crowd, have mind-blowing sex. Astrid's car didn't disappear, though. It stopped right at the end of the hotel driveway, before going on reverse to where I stood. The passenger window opened halfway.
"If I say yes, where would you take me?"
"Say yes first." I replied, a half-smile on my face, calling her bluff.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three seconds.
Ten seconds. She bit her lip, probably mulling over her life choices and history of bad decisions. Unofficial statistics would show that, to 80% of those who knew me, I was a bad decision waiting to happen.
"Yes."
She smiled calmly. It dawned on me that I had never seen her smile like this. Not in boarding school. Not in social gatherings. Not in pictures. I mean, bitch held a gag order on all photos of her and made sure her face and name were a hundred miles away from the papers. But, still. Somewhere in my tactless, careless, cold-hearted soul, I felt a tiny circle of warmth.
"OK." The perfect revenge in this situation was go to a place that Michael's money or newfound fame or his dumb-ass pop award couldn't buy. "Name a club that Michael is not a member of."
"Let me think," Astrid said, her brows furrowed in concentration. "He's pretty much in every club. Oh, except the Old Marina."
I called Johnny to meet me at the Old Marina in fifteen minutes.
"Good evening, Ms. Leong, Ms. Lee. What can I get you this evening?" We chose a private booth and squeezed together on one side. This was more intimate than sitting across each other. Of course, even then, I maintained a considerable distance between us. This wasn't a real date. I had manners.
"I'll have a bellini."
"And you, Ms. Leong?"
Astrid winced and shook her head, gently rubbing her left temple. "I don't think I can handle another drink."
"Try the barako coffee. It's the ultimate cure to a drinking binge."
"Sure, I'll get a cup of that."
"Will that be all?" the waiter asked.
"And salted-egg chips. And greasy fries. And French macarons with the coffee. And…" I palmed a wad of paper bills on the waiter's hand. "Thank you for keeping a secret." Not that he wouldn't rat us out as soon as he made it to the kitchen. It was all calculated, all part of the show.
As we ate and drank, I instructed Astrid to pose for the camera. Move a little closer. Pretend I'm the funniest little piece of shit she had ever had the chance to meet. Brush my fingers while reaching for the macaron. Exchange a few throwback stories to our boarding-school days.
"I hated every minute of boarding school," I lamented. "I was the short, scrawny kid that nobody liked."
"Hey, I liked you."
"You liked everybody, Astrid. You were the bare minimum benchmark of likability."
She gave my arm a backhand slap that stung in a weird, is-it-pain-is-it-pleasure sort of way. "I am not the bare minimum."
"Yes, you are. I mean, permanently sun-kissed skin, a cute little mole right by the corner of your upper lip, those god-awful perfect cheekbones they almost look fake. Bare minimum all over."
"Did you just-compliment me?"
I whistled Rihanna's Wild Thoughts nervously; it was the last song in my head. I shifted my gaze to the sea of yellow lights before us. My cheeks burned as I felt her eyes studying me. Thankfully, she gave up and reached for a macaron.
"This whole personal paparazzi looks really weird to me, Araminta. And even weirder that it looks like normal procedure to you."
"There are many ways to bury a story, Astrid." I replied, with a light chuckle. "You phone in favors. I create gossip. Yours is the shortcut. This is the long-gamey, fun way. Trust me, after we're through, nobody's gonna talk about the 40 Under 40 gala tomorrow."
She drank her coffee, looking more and more sober with every sip. She was on her second cup, a testament to the underrated goodness of Philippine barako coffee. "So, what's the deal with this stealth photographer of yours? I don't know of any other family that had a - what do you call it? - a personal paparazzi?"
I leaned back on the sofa and draped my arm across the backboard. "My mom figured she couldn't mold me into the perfect little obedient daughter every family seemed to have. So, she used my wild child ways to generate hype for the company. Publicity is publicity, good or bad, right? Like right now, we're leading up to the opening of the new hotel. So, I have to go to all the parties and jump through all the social-gala hoops to plug and pap away."
"Where is he now?" Astrid asked, looking around.
"I can't tell you. You'd be too conscious and ruin the shots. But, he's here now."
Astrid laughed. "I feel like we're in a séance with a ghost. Can you ask him to send a message to my grandpa? Ask him where my Ah Ma hides her jewels. I need to grift a pair of heirloom jade earrings to go with these bangles."
"He said he'd be happy to, if you split the loot with him. Until then, he's done for the day and will disappear from the world of the living." I raised my hand in oath. "I will send you the photos. I won't post anything you don't approve of."
"Wait!" She gripped my arm. Wow, why did every grip feel like she wanted to strangle the life out of me? I rubbed the spot where her fingers left a red mark. " Tell him to take one more shot."
"And, do tell, what shot do you have in mind?" I asked, half-amused, half-surprised. I decided to humor her.
After a moment's hesitation, Astrid leaned into me and cupped my cheeks with warm hands. I braced for the same death grip, but the way she held me was the complete opposite. Gentle. Tender. Mere inches separated us, so close I could smell the coffee on her breath. I could sense the quiver in her lips. She held herself at that distance, gaze flitting from my eyes to my cheeks to my lips, searching and waiting for my consent. This was unnecessary. This was overkill. We had Michael Teo's story buried well and good. I should pull away right now.
Don't you dare fucking nod, Araminta. Don't you dare.
The rebel that I was, even to my own sensibilities, I met her gaze and nodded. She brushed her lips against mine, the pressure light as a feather, lingering on my lower lip. A sigh escaped my lips as she broke away. I immediately regained my composure, and masked it with a throat-clearing cough and a half-flute swig of bellini.
"For all your troubles," she whispered into my ear, before standing up to leave. "Do with it what you will."