At 8:46 p.m. Robert Lee came out of the lift, alone. He drove out of the parking lot with Cha-li tailing him through heavy traffic to Orchard Road and the Hilton. She did not follow him into the hotel this time. Instead, she drove home to collect Saddam Hussein. Tonight she would try a new strategy.
At ten p.m. she parked her gray Toyota near the playground on Butterfly Avenue and got out. “Come on, Saddam boy. Okay, okay! Let’s go!” Her fox terrier jumped out of the car, pulling at its leash. Laughing, Cha-li jogged after Saddam Hussein — taking the dog out at night was good camouflage. Running down the lanes gave her a chance to observe the corner house on Butterfly Avenue from different vantage points. She could see a pattern beginning to emerge.
As she came around the corner, Robert Lee’s white Mercedes stopped in front of the corner house. His passenger, a well-groomed Indian male in a long-sleeved blue shirt and dark trousers, stepped out and pressed the buzzer on the gate. When it opened, Robert Lee drove off.
Back inside her gray Toyota with Saddam Hussein panting in the backseat, Cha-li checked her notes again. For the past several nights, Robert Lee had brought a different Indian male to the house. Sometimes, Robert went in with his guest. But last Tuesday night, he had dropped his Indian guy off and driven away, and Cha-li had tailed him back to his home. Last Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights, Robert had parked his car and followed his Indian guest into the house. About two hours later, the two men had returned to the car and driven back to the Indian’s hotel. Just this week alone, she had followed Robert to several high-end hotels. On Monday night, it was the Fullerton. On Wednesday night, it was Marina Bay Sands. On Friday night, the Ritz-Carlton. On Saturday night, the Shangri-La. But all these details hardly spelled adultery. Robert Lee was simply the chauffeur for his rich Indians. She’d not seen any women coming out of the corner house yet except the one in red who looked like Rose.
She flipped over several more pages in her notebook. Nothing important in there. Her surveillance of Robert’s office had yielded little except a list of his dinner appointments with Indian clients, who inevitably ended up going to the corner house for dessert. Which was interesting. Is the house a brothel? Unlikely. Butterfly Avenue was not Geylang Road. Sennett Estate was in one of the city’s respectable middle-class areas. It’s true that some wealthy Chinese had bought houses here for their mistresses, but this had not dented the estate’s respectability. Besides, Cha-li had not seen any young women emerging from the corner house. Was the woman in red the sole magnet that attracted the Indians? But if the woman was Rose, she’d be fifty-five and considered over the hill, no? Unless... unless she was offering something kinky.
4
On Sunday the matron phoned. Kai-yeh had taken a turn for the worse. When Cha-li arrived at the home, Kai-yeh was hooked up to a ventilator and drip.
“Is he in pain?”
What she really wanted to know was: Is he going to die? He was all the family she had.
“He’s stable for now. The doctor has given him an injection.”
Cha-li slumped into the chair next to the bed. She stroked the old man’s hand. His eyes opened. He raised his forefinger with some effort, and tried to speak. But all he managed to croak was “Rose.” After that, he had to breathe hard to make up for that expense of energy.
“Kai-yeh, I’ll find her.”
Cha-li parked the rental van outside the corner house. Pulling a cap on her head, she got out, pressed the buzzer on the gate, and shouted into the intercom, “Karang guni! Collect old newspapers!”
The gate opened, and she walked up the driveway. The front door was ajar.
“Come in!” a woman shouted from the kitchen.
Cha-li stepped inside the spacious living room. Its walls were apple white, and the floor was made of white marble. A large white sofa and two armchairs upholstered in white leather sat on a thick beige and gray carpet. The woman who came out of the kitchen didn’t seem surprised to see her.
“I knew you’d find me sooner or later.”
“Rose.” That was all Cha-li could manage. Her throat was dry.
Rose, meanwhile, said nothing. She had not moved from her spot near the kitchen. Cha-li peered at her. Wearing a pink housecoat, she looked like the aunties who came to the temple to pray. At fifty-five, Rose was no longer the young dark beauty queen who had held men spellbound as she gyrated onstage with a python in the Great World Cabaret and broke Cha-li’s heart. A hard glint appeared in Rose’s eyes as she looked at Cha-li, who searched for something to say now that she was face to face with the girl — no, the woman — she had once loved.
Scenes from their past came and went in her head. She saw their two naked bodies, tinted red by sunlight shining through the red tablecloth covering Lord Sun Wukong’s altar, as Rose’s fingers reached into the deep moist recesses between her thighs, stirring feelings of love, guilt, and shame. Ashamed of what she felt, and conscious that she was Kai-yeh’s chosen successor, while Rose was just the temple’s waif, she fought hard to suppress her feelings. Until one day, Rose was gone. Gone without a word. Frantic with worry, and sobbing her heart out, Cha-li went to the police. A missing person’s report was filed but nothing came of it. She wept long and hard every night. For months she haunted the places they used to visit. Kai-yeh was philosophical. Rose is a temple stray. Strays come and go. It’s their nature, he said, and encouraged her to study hard.
Five years later, Cha-li became a private investigator. She was on duty in the Malaysian town of Ipoh when she chanced upon a large black-and-white photo of Rose in the Great World Cabaret. It showed a scantily clad sultry beauty with long, dark tresses, and a large python curled around her. Shocked, Cha-li sat through Rose’s show before charging into her dressing room backstage. Fuck off, Cha-li! I don’t owe you an explanation! The cabaret! Now, that’s my temple! It’s where I dance like a woman. Sexy and beautiful. You! You prance around that temple like a dressed-up monkey! Stung, Cha-li left the cabaret, and hadn’t seen Rose again.
“You might as well take off the cap.”
Cha-li pulled off her hat and stuffed it into the pocket of her jeans.
“Why have you come?” Rose asked in a hard voice.
“Kai-yeh is dying.”
“Good! May he rot in hell!”
“He gave you a roof over your head, Rose.”
“Keep your pious shit, Cha-li. You’re blind, and a fool. He gave me more than that. Come.”
Cha-li followed her into the kitchen. Rose threw open a door, and Cha-li walked into the kitchen of the house next door. She followed Rose into the dining room where an old woman was trying unsuccessfully to feed a young man strapped to his chair. The young man’s large shaved head was lolling on the back of the chair as though his neck was too soft to support it. Spit was dribbling from the corner of his mouth, which was making guttural sounds. The old woman wiped off the spit with a washcloth, and shoved another spoonful of rice into the gaping hole as though to stop the ugly sounds coming from it.