My image was facing me wearing a combination of the cashmere and the AC.
“That’s the formal — short collar, cuffed with five black pearl buttons on each cuff, and a single black cut palladium button. More on that later, as you can see.” As she said this the image spun around to show the back. “I have kept the single silk red threads in the back and one running down the inside of each sleeve. The AC inner outer, is set for white, but you can change its ambience to a more subtle burgundy or a midnight blue, depending on the mood or occasion.” The image changed. “For casual, I’ve gone with AC throughout and as you can see I’ve included inners for your extremities as well.”
“And the palladium button?”
“Ah yes, sorry.” She smiled, back in form now, in her element. “That controls the height of the collar and the width of the lapel. It allows for greater configuration of the top outers, say if you’re going to a slightly less formal event. But if you still have a need to perform then you can adjust.”
“So am I going to be a pauper?”
She smiled wider, her nose scrunching up in a cute way, flicked her eyes down to the corner of the iDev sitting on the glass table and said, “Most probably.”
Two hours later, I walked slowly up the steps of the UNPOL Executive Club on the Topside of the UNPOL Complex. Security was discreet but heavy due to its patrons, and I guessed because of the recent terrorist attacks. A hard-looking young man gave me a nod as I passed through the entrance. Firearms were rarely seen, so it was a shock to see one riding casually on the right breast of the UNPOL staffer. Another rarely-seen item, upon an old wooden desk next to the entrance to the club, was the sign-in book with a pen lying in the crease between the pages guarded by an old Chinese man wearing a white outer top and black trousers. He bent slightly at the waist as I approached.
“Good afternoon, sir. You must be Jonah Oliver. Please follow me, sir — the Director only arrived moments ago and informed me that you would be joining him for lunch.” The man turned and walked through the three meter high double doors of dark varnished mahogany, across the black and white polished granite floor into the restaurant. The domed white interior of the ceiling soared above me and, belying the stern entrance, the interior was light, spacious and alive with green palm trees and other foliage. It had the essence of a summer park.
The maitre d’ led me to an alcove corner hidden from the main door by a golden palm in the shape of a fan. I saw my uncle sitting at a table next to the window preparing to place the white linen napkin on his lap. Sir Thomas looked up, his head suddenly jerking back, and dropped the napkin on the floor as I, dressed in my new formal, walked around the palm. Sir Thomas rose, ignoring the fallen napkin, and came around the table to greet me, his hand held out in front of him. The Chinese maitre d’ recovered the napkin with a quick swoop as my uncle shook hands formally with me. The maitre d’ then peeled off, and with a smile and a little nod at me, walked backed to his guard post at the entrance.
“Jonah, so very good of you to come and join me. Sorry for the short notice, but I will be leaving New Singapore soon and I wanted to catch up with you before I left. Come, come, sit down and tell me all about what you have been up to.”
Saying this, my uncle led me over to the table and, rejoining his seat, waved at the opposite one for me. I sat with my hands in my lap, straight-backed, and waited for my uncle to continue.
“Well it’s been quite some time since we had the chance to have a good chat, hasn’t it? Why, I think the last time we met was over that troublesome mess with that runner, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, Uncle,” I said, and smiled, but wondered inwardly if he was going to ask me about my trip to the Moon. Instead he picked up the menu and smiled at me. Everything in here was old-fashioned, I thought. Paper menus, wooden tables, even my uncle, it all creates an illusion of the past.
“So Jonah, would you like an alky? As I understand that you have left your contribution, it shouldn’t corrupt your thoughts too much, I hope?”
“No, Sir Thomas. I mean yes, I would like an alky, and no it won’t corrupt my thoughts too much.”
The Chinese maitre d’ appeared again, this time with a napkin folded over his arm which was across his stomach.
“Charles, I’ll have a single malt. Make it a double.”
The maitre d’, who I now knew was called Charles, turned his head, his body remaining perfectly still. For a brief sec, I wondered if Charles was a Servbot and almost laughed out loud at the thought.
“I’ll just have a beer, thanks.”
“Would you like our draft or bottled beer, sir?”
“The draft would be fine, thank you.”
Sir Thomas leaned forward in his chair and clasped his hand together with his forearms on the table, tilting his balding, short cropped grey haired head towards me, and softly chided in a voice that evoked a hundred memories, “You could have told me of your decision to quit your contribution. It was a little embarrassing finding out from Bill that you had decided to move on, hmm?”
“Yes, Sir Thomas, that was thoughtless of me. Please do accept my deepest apologies,” I said, tilting my head forward in slight formal bow.
Sir Thomas gave me straight hard look, and then his eyes softened and he smiled, “Apology accepted, and please accept mine for also not informing you of my resignation.” Sir Thomas’s smile turned into a grin, the horizontal slash set in the Moon-white round face turning up slightly as he registered the shock on my face.
“Resignation? Are you retiring, Uncle?”
Sir Thomas straightened fully in his seat, the grin disappearing to be replaced by his stone look. “Hah! Me retire? No, far from it — I will be busier than ever. The only time I’ll retire is when my work is done, and that shall be after I expire.”
“Yes, of course, uncle. Forgive me for the foolish suggestion,” I said with just a little trace of sarcasm in my voice. It brought a different kind of grin to my uncle’s face. This one more competitive in nature and accompanied by another hard stare.
“So if you’re not retiring, what are your plans?”
“I’m moving on from UNPOL, that’s for sure. As for other plans? Well, I have a few irons in the fire, shall we say. And what are your plans, Jonah?”
I waited before answering as Charles came back with our alkys balanced on a silver tray. He placed the single malt within reach of Sir Thomas’s left hand. Coming around the table, he set the tall, frosted schooner glass at my right hand. He also placed a menu on the white table cloth in front of me, and departed with a slight bow of the waist, his arm providing a fulcrum.
“I really don’t have any plans. I was just not happy doing what I was doing. It wasn’t my calling. You could say that it was an impulsive decision.” On saying this I picked up the frosted schooner and brought it to my lips. Sir Thomas raised his drink with his left hand in my direction and I pushed the schooner out from my lips in response, toasting him. Forestalling the need to say anything more about my plans or the lack of them, I picked up the stiff white card menu and started reading. Sir Thomas gave me a look with a quirky uplift of one corner of his mouth and also picked up the menu.
Charles appeared back at the side of our table. He moved silently. I hadn’t noticed him until he came into my peripheral vision. He must wear very soft-soled footwear, I thought, not looking up from the menu. Sir Thomas cleared his throat, a harsh rasping sound, and turned his head to Charles, passing him the menu at the same time.
“I’ll have the chicken with the gruyere sauce, and the lobster bisque to start.”
Charles turned to me. “And I’ll have the stuffed aubergine and the salmon,” and also handed over my menu.