chapter seven

           It has been two days in the hospital and Ken was with me all the time like Tinkerbell and Paris. Of course, Ken is Tinkerbell and I am Paris. Ken is now watching football and has been shouting like a mad coach whenever his favourite team spoiled or made a touchdown. It was so loud that I am worried the nurses had to chase him away and nobody else would come visit me again.

            According to the doctor, I will be discharged tomorrow and I could not wait to go home. I hated the green robe draped around my body like a curtain, I miss eating China takeaways and I need to manicure really bad. It was 3.oo pm at that time and I was so bored. Suddenly, a woman came in with a man in her hands. That must be Sandra. A crazy trench coat, Dior shades, mustard top tucked in a grey high-waisted pants, black Louboutins and a Hermes scarf. She looked thinner in fact. She just froze as she saw me. Do I look that bad?

“Hey, you hot bitch. What did you do in Canada? And you did not tell me? How dare you!” I was so happy to see Sandra coming to visit me. But, there was no movement or words from her.

“Did you dye your hair red? You do look good. Stop standing there like you are the statue of Liberty and gimme a freaking hug, Sandy.”

            She sighed and she was not giving me the expression I wanted. Then, she took off her shades and I almost died instantaneously. No way! Kill me Jesus.

           

It was not Sandy. It was my mom!

“Mom? No, shut up!” I said in disbelief. My mouth gaped in disbelief.

“Oh, honey. I miss you. I am sorry my flight got delayed.” She said, then hugging me. Tears were glistening in our eyes. Darn, I miss her!

            While I was hugging, I could see Ken at the corner of my eyes, looking at my mom as if Gisele Bundchen was naked in front of him and I could hear him whispering ‘hot’ to himself and making this expression of seeing a hot chick. I coughed and gave him a stern stare and he was embarrassed that I caught him eyeing my mom like a hyena hunting for meat.

        

           I could not stop thinking, what happened to my mom? She is so beautiful now. She is even thinner than Sandy which is an accomplishment and look at what she is wearing. I was hoping that Adriana Lima did not possess her because I want to get possessed by her first.

I mean, come on. You are talking about a 49 year old lady who loves knitting with her friends, baking cakes like normal moms and obsessed with Jerry Springer and now she is wearing Louboutins? For real? Something must have happened and I was not informed. That is for sure. We were still hugging, when she asked me a question.

“Are you wearing Tiffany?”

“Yes mom. Are you wearing a Burberry top from last fall?”

“Yes honey. I hope wearing something from last season is not a crime.” She answered

“ It is actually but it is okay. At least you are not wearing your Easter Bunny sweater.” I giggled.

            We let go of our hugs and her mascara smudged her eyes like a wet crayon. She held the man’s hands beside her. I slowly had a glance at him. Oh, no she didn’t!

That man was an art. The face was exquisite, the bone structure was unbelievable and the facial hair was sexy. Then, I went to the next station, torso. I thought I was going to faint again. The suspense of watching his sections of body was more nerve-wrecking than trying a new dress (I swear). He looked liked he had 68 packs on his abs. Very muscular, with the biceps bulging from his fitted tee and he looked damn good. Wait, how did my mom get her? Not fair! He was so hot that I did not realize I was biting my lips and took Vogue beside me to fan myself. When I heard Ken coughing, only then I realized I was fanning myself as if I was in labour. Shit, how embarrassing. 

“Hello, I am Brendon.” The guy offered his hands to shake mine.

No way!

chapter six

I opened my eyes and I could see Ken sleeping on a chair not far from me. What happened? Where am I?

I was wearing a green uniform which looked disgusting and I was still thinking what was I doing in a shabby room and in a green uniform. Something was not right. I searched frantically for clues in the room and found tissues with something written on it. I grabbed the tissues on the table and read the prints on them.

“St. Michelle’s…Hospital.” I read quietly.

Wait! Did I just say hospital? As in the building which has dying people in it? I unfolded the tissues and read the prints again. This time, I spelled them, alphabet by alphabet.

“H-O-S-P-I-T-A-L. Hospital.” Oh my god, I am in a hospital.

“Ken, wake up. Am I diagnosed with a breast cancer stage 4?  I knew it. There were lumps on my boobs 2 days ago and my left breast was bigger at that time and I put some tissues to cover it and you knew it was bigger. I swear to you I have never done a boob job and I wear the breast firming lotion every morning though the cream is ginger-scented. Maybe, it was the cream which caused my breast to form cancer cells because it had ginger in it. I hate gingers!” I wailed hysterically. Tears were gushing out of my eyes.

I sobbed like a girl who lost her Barbie and I was waiting for Ken to respond.

No response. Silence.

I looked at Ken. Shit. He was snoring. I was talking alone. I was ready to wail even more to create more dramatic effects and I wanted to know so badly. So, I was at the highest pitch.

“Ken, wake up. Am I diagnosed with a breast cancer stage 4?  I knew it. There were lumps on my boobs 2 days ago and my left breast was bigger at that time and I put some tissues to cover it and you knew it was bigger. I swear to you I have never done a boob job and I wear the breast firming lotion every morning though the cream is ginger-scented. Maybe, it was the cream which caused my breast to form cancer cells because it had ginger in it. I hate gingers!” I repeated everything again and I felt it was exactly the same with the previous wailing. I swear there was no prompter.

“Darling, thank God you woke up. Ah, don’t cry honey. It is all going to be fine.” Ken stood up and started to comfort me.

His face looked terrible, maybe because he did not have enough rest. He walked and stood beside me and he wiped my tears.

“Ken, am I diagnosed with cancer stage 4? I knew it. There were lumps…” I swear again there was no prompter. Ken stopped me.

“Honey, no, you are not diagnosed with cancer. You fainted in the acupuncture centre. Remember?” he explained with his hands stroking my hair.

I fainted? Oh, now I remember Nicole Richie tried to kill me. I mean, tried to locate a needle on my forehead. I was trying to recall what happened but I could not.

“Mallory, it is okay. Do not force yourself if you could not recall.” He said. How did he know I had difficulties remembering the incident? Is Ken a psychic? Or maybe, the difficulties were translated at my face.

“Anyway, I have called your mom and Sandra. I told them you are in the hospital.” He continued.

“No, you didn’t. You are just joking. You did not call my mom. How do you know her number? Where is she now? If she is coming, can you book me a flight to Afghanistan today?” That was the last news I want to hear before I die. I did not mind Sandy but my mom?

My mom lives in Utah. Yes, I know. UTAH. She is professional at nagging and she had a bad taste in fashion. The problem with my mom is she would tell everything about me to my friends. And that includes I was a lesbian when I was in high school, I peed on my skirt on stage while performing a theatre and my mom caught me bringing cucumbers to my room (you know, for personal use). She knew everything about me and I was not ready to see my mom bonding with Ken. It was too early for him to meet my mom and for him to know all my dirty secrets.  Do not get me wrong, I love my mom but she should be barred from seeing my friends.

“Mallory, you fainted and of course your mom needs to know about this. She should be the first to be buzzed.”

“Ken, where did you get her number? And I am telling you, I am not ready to face my mom.” I sighed.

“Honey, I scrolled through your phone and there is nothing much you can do. She said she was in Las Vegas and she would move right away with Brendon.” He added.

“What the hell is my mother doing in Las Vegas? And who the fuck is Brendon?” I was pissed. I hoped my mom was not there as a stripper or an escort. And I would kill this Brendon by bashing him with my red clutch if he is behind this. I mean, my mom was supposed to be knitting sweaters in Utah, and suddenly she was in Las Vegas? I was not even informed about this. Now, I felt the urge to see her.

“Mallory, I thought Brendon is your father. She put it in a way that they are together. I thought your sister lives there?” He looked like a confused kid.

“Ken, my father had passed away 10 years ago. Yes, my sister lives there with her husband.” Clearly, Ken did not know much about me and I could not blame him.

“I am sorry honey. I did not know. Maybe she was just visiting your sister with her friend. Or possibly a boyfriend.” He added.

“ Whatever. What about Sandra?” I needed Sandra more than anything for time being.

“She is in Canada now. She said she could not be here since she is staying there for a few months.” He clarified.

“What? What is she doing in Canada? And I am not informed? Oh my God, you are killing me so softly.” I was in an endless maze, trying to figure out what actually happened.

“Honestly, I have no idea. She said she was in a hurry and she asked you to call her once you are okay.” He said. He pat my shoulders a few times.

I was speechless. Instead of Sandra visiting me, I will have my mom. Wow. I felt raped by dozens of men. My hands reached for his as I was sad. He hugged me ever so tightly, planted a kiss on my cheek and comforted me, telling me that everything would be just fine. I could not thank him more.

“Dolce, why don’t you go home and clean up? Have some rest. You look terrible.” I suggested.

“No, it is okay. I wanna be here with my Gabbana.” He affirmed, hugging me again.

“Ken, I am going to be okay. Trust me. Just go home, rest and come visit me tonight.”I smiled. I wanted him to rest

“I don’t think I want to. My apartment is far from here. I’d rather stay here and rest here. Don’t you worry about me sweetheart.” He said.

“Ken, I insist. Take my apartment keys. Take a cab, go to my apartment and rest. You cannot sleep on a freaking chair honey. It hurts. And you better sleep because you look like frozen pies right now.”

“Okay, but I will be back at 6. I promise. If you need anything, just ring me okay? So, do you need anything from your house for me to bring later? Your Ipod or your books?” he asked me.

“My five inch Nine West. That’s all.”

chapter five

I was lying on the uncomfortable bed with that satin robe on. Wished the robe was pink with some embroidery. Ken was lying on the bed beside me.

I was still figuring out what does a ‘full package’ mean. The term sounded spooky and creepy.

“Darl, I just want to tell you if anything happens to me, please give all my high heels to my sister. Her name is Claire and she lives in Las Vegas, near Venetian. Please water my cactus at the balcony.” I said to Ken.

“What are you talking about honey? Are you okay? What is in your head?” He was curious.

“Nothing. I was kidding. What are we waiting for Ken?” I laughed. I did not want to tell him I was going to die. If it was to happen, he had an idea what to do.

“Mr. Chung. He is still with one of the customers.” He said firmly.

He must be a good practitioner, I thought. I would be in good hands. This is just an experience and I am sure I can do this, you can do this Mallory.

Wait, no I can’t! Suddenly, a man came in. I was so nervous and it was even more nerve-wrecking than waiting for the door of the store (during sales) to open.

“Mallory, meet Mr. Chung.” Ken said.

I sat on the bed nervously and my heart just stopped beating. A man was sitting on a wheelchair, his hands were holding different sizes of needles, his hands were trembling like a leaf, he was as skinny as Nicole Richie and he was wearing big sunglasses in the dark room just like Nicole. I had a quick glance in the room. There was only one person other than Ken and I. Oh My God, that man was Mr. Chung. My jaw dropped as if I have a dumbbell in my mouth. 

“Hi Mr. Chung.” I smiled, I offered my hands to shake. Truly professional.

“Honey, he is blind.” Ken whispered.

“What the…” I stopped. Now, I looked like the cast in Ju-On.

 I was not sure to let an old man who was older than my grandmother, his hands trembled like a Parkinson patient to stick a stack of needles on my body. What if he made a mistake and stuck them up in my fucking vagina? I would never conceive after the incident.

Is Ken making a practical joke here or is this really happening? My feet were shaking and I prayed to God I would not embarrass myself. I lied on the bed, my face to the ceiling, my hands clenched in fear.

“I am going to rub some oil on your face to lubricate your skin and open up your pores.” An Asian girl said.

I nodded hesitantly. She rubbed the oil which smelled like rotten eggs. A minute after she massaged my face, fingers perched on my face. I was positive it was Mr. Chung. I could feel the wrinkles against my flawless face and the fingers were shaking. I promised to myself I would not shout no matter how painful it would be.

“Lady, I am going to start with your forehead. Please relax a bit and no frowning. It will be difficult for me.” The blind man said.

I did not say a word. I was terrified. I was thinking I could compromise donating my Louis scarf and a Miu Miu clutch to homeless than doing this treatment.

I could feel there was a needle on my forehead. Mr. Chung was locating the right spot. My brain was going to ooze out just like the Niagara. He found the spot and carefully located the needle. I could feel it penetrated my pore. I panicked. I ran out of breath.

Pitch black.

chapter four

It was the night of hell. I was walking to the acupuncture centre with Ken in my black jacket, a pair of DKNY jeans and black boots. The jacket did not help me at all. I was still cold. Maybe, I was scared to death with this whole thing.

“Mallory, I am so excited. It has been a while I haven’t been coming here. Busy schedule.” Ken said with a smile.

Did he say the word ‘excited’? God, help me.

“Yeah. Me too. Had a rough day in the office and nothing is better than some needles.” What a lie.

“It is the best treatment in the world when you are stressed, don’t you think?” He asked.

“Exactly Ken. We are so on the same page. I would rather go for acupuncture than manicure in Saks. Plus, you can really forget your problems.” Rule number three: Exaggerate the excitement especially if it involves activities he love.

“Are you sure, Mallory? I thought you are the type who loves manicure and shopping and all those girly stuff?” he frowned.

“Well, of course I love shopping. But manicure? Come on baby.” I replied. Another lie. I would do manicure once a fortnight. Having fire red nails is a must and it makes me feel sexy.

“Okay then. I was just curious because your nails are red.” He said. He could not make me flip just like the other day.

“I would do it once in a while. Not as often as going to acupuncture centres. Do you like my nails, Dolce?” I asked, winking my left eye at him.

“Dolce? Suddenly my name is Dolce? Why Dolce?” he smiled. Stop smiling or we would have sex at the street.

“Dolce is a cute name. Since you are special to me, so you deserve a cute name.” I explained.

“I am special to you Mallory?” he blushed. Okay, wait, I was blushing too. I was walking with my heads facing the pavement, hiding my smile.

“Em, I guess so. And it sounds like I am not special to you Ken.” My face was still facing the ground, nervous.

“Of course you are special, Gabanna.” We were both blushing under the dim light. I would prefer Gucci than Gabbana. But that was cute and it made sense to call me Gabanna. Dolce & Gabanna is a perfect brand for us, and the name is inseparable. It could not be Dolce & Gucci right? He held my hands and I gripped his big hands. I was happy.

“Here we are, Gabanna. Our second home.” He continued. Shit. The acupuncture centre. Okay, my red flush has vanished and my face turned as white as sheet. We climbed the stairs and though I was not in my heels, my feet felt heavy and it felt so difficult to walk. 

He pulled the door for me and we were at the waiting area. Ken was talking to an Asian girl at the counter. The place was full with frames with Chinese writings on it. There was a frame right in front of where I was, with a diagram of a naked man with needles penetrating him. And I am telling you, there were hundreds of needles on him. Okay, I was freaking out. Hopefully, we would do the treatment in different rooms. Then, I could sneak out.

My eyes bulged when I saw hundreds of needles in a transparent box on the coffee table. This place is psychotic, I thought. Are all of those needles are going to penetrate my skin? Wouldn’t I bleed? Wouldn’t it hurt? I could feel I would shout like a mad man. But, I had to compose myself. I could not let Ken laugh at me and knew I was lying. Ken walked from the counter and sat beside me on the couch.

“So Ken, what is the treatment today? A 30-minute treatment?” I asked.

“We are going to have the full package Mallory.” He answered.

I did not understand. What did he mean by a full package? Does it mean that the needles are going to penetrate my brain, my armpits, my vagina and my butt? I needed a fucking dictionary at that time to check the word ‘full’ and ‘package’. We were waiting to be called and while waiting, he held my hands.

“Mallory, is it just me or are you sweating madly? Look at your forehead honey. And your hands are so cold.

 Are you okay?” He asked in a concerned expression. Hell yeah, I was sweating profusely.

“Yes, I am sweating honey. This place is so hot. Can’t you feel? It is so stuffy here.” I pulled some tissues from my bag.

“Oh good. I thought you are nervous. We can always do this later Mallory.” He suggested. I felt like shouting ‘Yes!’ and do a pole dance there and then. But, I would not do that. I had to do this and it was not the time to drop the ball. It was too early.

”No biggie, Ken. I am totally fine.” I said convincingly.

“Glad to hear that. Don’t you worry. You will have the best treatment. I have requested Mr. Chung to do the treatment for you. He is the best practitioner here.” His hands perched on my elbows.

I had no idea who was Mr. Chung. He better be handsome or at least wear a nicely tailored Versace suit. Only then, I would consider doing this freaking treatment.

“Ken Albert.” A woman stood in front of a door.

Oh my God. It was too late to run. I had to do this. I gripped Ken’s hands so tight and walked with him into the room. Shit. He was going to be in the room with me. How was I going to sneak out? There was no Plan B. I had no option but to do this treatment.

I was going to die. In an acupuncture centre?

Maybe.

chapter three

It was Friday. I love Fridays like how I love putting my hands around a mug of hot chocolate when it is freezing cold. It gives you warmth and happiness but the warmth does not last forever. In this case, it loses when it is Monday. Friday symbolizes partying and boozing till the sun rises.

I was walking to my office with my oversized black blouse, black leggings and my bright yellow wedges. I felt confident, happy and could not wait till 5 p.m. Then, I would be free.

Wait, I have a date tonight. Not a date, bitch. Or maybe it would be a date? In an acupuncture centre? I wonder if God is laughing with what is going to happen tonight.

Well, besides that ‘date’, I was happy with myself. I love my job. I am currently working as a human resource manager in a law firm. I type some documents and reports, copy, file them accordingly and most importantly, handle the workers salaries. I love the aura in a firm. It makes you feel smart and brainy. However, at the interior aspect of it, people do not laugh. Everybody would look like walking robots, talked about stupid cases and the firm looked like there was an international conference to stop wars around the world. They also make very lame jokes. One day, Sam my officemate came to me and invited me for lunch.

“Yes, why not? Where Sam? Marie’s?” I asked.

“Wall Street!” he joked and some geeks around us who overheard laughed like there was no tomorrow. They even hit the table with their fists and kept laughing.

Wall Street? A joke? Seriously?

“God, bless these fools with a functional heart and give them a sense of humour.” I whispered to myself while seeing my mates still laughing their hearts out.

There was another incident which made me laugh to death. There was this one lunch where I was sitting with Sam, Luke and Brandi. Three geeks and a fashionista. It was my first week in the firm, so I tried to start to a conversation with them.

“Do you know that Paris just dumped her boyfriend? Plus, she just established her own clothing line. She is my idol though she can be bitchy sometimes.” I said enthusiastically while shaping my nails with a Revlon emery board. I knew this would spark some interest. Who doesn’t want to know about gossips right?

They were quiet and I felt like I was talking to three ugly cows. No response. They were looking at each other as if I was lying.

“Isn’t Paris in France?” Brandi asked curiously. She frowned like a confused kid with her big glasses perched on her crooked nose.

“No. Don’t you read People? She is in Las Vegas!” I replied, proud that I was the gossip feeder.

“Paris is a she? You mean there is such a person named Paris?” Luke continued. Three of them laughed and looked as if they could not accept the fact.

I felt like poking them in the eyes with my Louis Vuitton heels. I screamed so loud that three waiters and the manager ran to our table. A waitress also dropped her tray of food and it spilled on the thigh of a lady. My eyes were red. I was confused for a microsecond whether to laugh or to cry. These guys do not even know Paris Hilton. I wonder if they have a television in their houses. Are workers in law firms not allowed to read People or have a television? If that was the case, I wanted to resign on the spot. There was no way in the world I would live without a television.

I was at my desk and Claudia, a famous attorney came to me with some bulky files. I have never liked her and I knew she has never liked me too. I just could not accept that she has committed a very heinous crime. She had a fake Coach tote bag. I repeat, a fake one!

One fine day, I asked her “Claudia, you have a very nice satchel bag. Coach?”

“Yes, I bought it from the boutique two days ago. It was around a thousand.” She smiled and told me the price which I did not ask for.

Bullshit. I knew it was a lie. I could tell it was fake at first glance. And one fine afternoon, she left her bag in her room for lunch. She brought a smaller purse with her which it could store some money and a handphone. I was so pissed she lied about the bag and I was dying to inspect the inner tag of the bag. I was going to prove to her I am a brilliant girl. That attorney was so wrong.

I was imagining myself as Nancy Drew that afternoon. I had to get in before lunch break ended. Without wasting any time, I took some files with me, hugged them like they were ruby gems and walked confidently to her office. Sweats coursed down my neck, I was nervous. I was close to the door. I could smell the whiff of fakeness. I could smell that fake bag.

I held the door knob and opened it.

“Mallory, what are you doing?” A voice from behind shocked me. I dropped all my bulky files to the ground and papers flew everywhere like a confetti.

It was Felicia, Claudia’s assistant. She is blonde, loves to flirt with old men and such a nosy bitch. I felt trapped. I had to compose myself. Go Mallory!

“Felicia, you shocked me. Claudia asked me to type and check on some files and I am returning them now.” I convinced her and made a very professional expression.

“Okay. Why don’t you leave them on my table? I will pass it to her when she is back. Thanks a lot Mallory.” She said.

Mallory, calm down. There must be a way. I was arranging the papers on the floor while thinking.

“Are you sure? Because she asked me this morning to put in on her table before the lunch break ends. It is about that Dubai contract.” I frowned a bit.

I made that up. There was no contract with any Dubai companies, I just picked Dubai because it is a grand place. It was do or die. She had to buy that lie or Claudia would continue smiling like a peacock clutching her hideous bag in front of me. What an eyesore!

“Oh, okay then. Just put it in her pink file beside the computer.” She reminded.

“Sure darl.” I smirked and inside of me felt orgasmic.

I closed the door, put the files on the table and snatched that bag. My hands were furious, searching for a tag somewhere inside that bag. It was quite hard because she brought all items in a pharmacy and put them in that bag. There were three shades of eyeshadow, lip gloss, hand sanitizers, sanitary pads, wet tissues, mirrors, vitamins, lavender lotion and three sets of toothbrush. What is she? A walking pharmacy? Does she sleep here that she had toothbrush in her bag? Maybe her breath smells like a cow dung.

Oh my god. I could feel that tag at the bottom of it. I analysed it carefully but I could not read anything. It was not written in English. I became clueless, trying to decipher the writing. I thought I was acting in the Da Vincci Code. It could be a mix of Tagalog, Urdu and Hokien. I had no idea what it meant but what for sure, it was fake. Gotcha bitch!

Satisfied, I transferred some papers from the file and put them in the printer slots. The papers in the files were empty A4 papers. I got out of the room feeling happier than ever.

            

The next Sunday, I woke up early. I felt that day was the best day of my life. It was the day to smile because there was a huge sale by many designers. This sale was like a dream come true. This kind of sale only happens once in four years. So, it was a huge deal.

While I was sipping my thick coffee, I smiled alone in my kitchen. I could imagine the Gucci denim vest and a Hermes pleated skirt with mouths were saying hi to me. They were smiling and they were telling me I looked beautiful like a rainbow and I would look better with them on me. Until, I felt hot on my thigh.

            

“Crap!” I shouted. My eyes were looking frantically for a napkin to wipe the coffee on my thigh. It was hot and my thighs were already red. I was daydreaming too much that I did not realize I spilled it.

         

   Now, I had to change my shorts to a new one. I could never go to a sale looking like a Latin maid. At last, I decided to wear my Topshop grey tee matched with a low cut, skinny jeans, a pair of brown gladiator heels and a brown tote bag. I also accessorize my outfit with a colourful scarf hanging from my neck. I looked good and I was pumped to grab as much items as I can into my trolley.

       

     I was at the Birmingham Street, queuing in front of the store. Hundreds of other women were also lining up, smiling, chatting with other women and all of them looked as ready as ever. Sales are like a battlefield. If you don’t battle and you are not aggressive, you are going home with just sweats all over your body. I was nervous and afraid that I would not be able to buy anything. Honestly, girls can be really mean when shopping during sales.

        

    “Open sesame!” I heard a voice from the door.

        

    God, it is now open! Do or die Mallory.

          

  I sprinted hurriedly in my heels to the door. There was no such thing as first come first serve basis for me. Poor those other women lining up in front of me. I could not care less. I ran with eager until I felt my face has smacked into something solid. I hit the entrance door. Ouch! It was a transparent glass. I did not realize it.

         

   I sat helplessly in front of the entrance caressing my lips and my nose. I could see my lipstick shade had stained the glass. It hurt! Shit. All of the women were also running to the entrance. I could die in a stampede in a sale. I did not want to die that way.

          

  I crawled backwards leaning myself to the wall, folding my legs and thought I looked like a stylish beggar. ‘I am not going to lose!’ I said to myself. I stood up like a hero usually does in movies and strut into the store. My lips suddenly felt wrong. I walked to the nearest mirror and almost fainted. My nose was bleeding, making its way to my lips and my lips looked swollen. Oh my lord, now I looked like Rihanna when she was beaten.

         

   Every other woman stared at me in disbelief, some laughed and I could see some other were whispering.  I felt like I needed to go home and cried in my bedroom with my pillow on top of my face. I was embarrassed as all of them literally stopped from holding the items, it was pin-drop silent and everybody stood there like waxes in Madame Tussaud, staring at me. Mallory, this happens once in four years. Remember the denim jacket you saw in Marie Claire and also the classic Chanel earrings. Are you bloody sure you want to leave and one day, you would see some ugly cows(girls) walking down the street with the earrings?

            

“No way! You are not going to get my Chanel earrings, fat bitches!” I shouted emotionally. A sudden reaction to what I was imagining. The chaos turned to silence again and everybody was eyeing me like I was a lunatic. Did I just shout in a store with hundreds of women shopping in it? I was embarrassed. Again.

         

   Three workers approached me, held my hands tight and asked me to calm down. Now, they really thought I was a mental disordered patient who escaped from an asylum.

           

“I am so sorry that I caused a commotion. It was accidental. I promise it will not happen again. And yes, I am not crazy.” I explained to the workers who looked scared to death. Maybe they thought it would be their first time handling a person who was mentally disabled.

           

       They let me go. I pretended that I did not hit the door, bled my nose and shouted in the middle of a sale, and walked to the clothes section. Whatever. All I was looking for is that denim jacket. God, pour me some love. It was so hard trying to search for it as I was hustling through the crowd. There was a sea of people and all I could see was their heads bobbing and moving furiously like hungry dogs.

           

“I love you Jesus.” I said when I saw the denim section. I walked with difficulties hugged the panel like I was hugging men. I scanned through the panel and saw the vest. The Gucci vest! I kissed the vest and without realizing, I had a tear in my eyes. I caressed the vest and placed it on my cheeks. I was smiling.

          

  “Oh my God. Look at Rihanna. She is crazy. She is crying because of that jacket.” I heard a woman hissed in front of me. Some women looked terrified. They were just jealous.

            

“Shut up you old lady. You have some bald patches on your head and you are jealous I got this vest because all you have is just some Mom Jeans. FYI, Mom Jeans are only for desperate housewives like you who are dying to show your droopy ass.” I hissed at her back, rather ferociously.

           

“And yeah, what are you doing in a sale? You do not belong here. You should be cleaning dishes or baking some cakes.” I continued while rolling my eyes.

          

  “You rude bitch! Not only you cried for an ugly vest, you do not even have values.” She was pissed.

      Firstly, the vest was not ugly. I swear. And to say I do not have values was too much. She is not my mother. My mother is not ugly. She is just old.

           

“Whatever granny. Anyways, you look super hideous in this orange suit. Just like a mental patient.” I said in a very sarcastic tone, passed her trolley and headed to the accessory station.

    They were hundreds of earrings, hanging on the white panels. My eyes were wild, searching for the Chanel earrings. I was crossing my fingers and was praying to the god of Karl Lagerfeld’s to be nice and kind. I spent fifteen minutes scanning those panels and I was disappointed. No Chanel. Somebody must have bought them. To ease my remorse, I took a trolley and wandered in the store. Those taken earrings must be replaced with something else. I must be fair to myself. I was sad and I deserved a pear-shaped skirt or a maxi dress. And girl, I was not lying.

    

    Three hours later, I got a bohemian dress by Etro, a Dolce bag, DKNY leggings in pink, black and green, a clutch, Max Mara stilettos, an oversized jacket, my Gucci jacket(yes!), 3 pairs of earrings and a black pear-shaped skirt by Versace. I was happier than ever. I had already forgotten those Chanel earrings. Wait, no I haven’t. But, all these darlings could compensate my sad feelings. I was pushing my trolley and now queuing to pay. The line was so long. I could not even see the cashier. Maybe she was not wearing heels?

   

    Thirty minutes have passed and I was still lining up. My feet felt numb, I felt tired and I could sleep on the floor. My eyes were droopy and I could not wait to get home. Until, my eyes saw something I was dying for. Those Chanel earrings! They were in a trolley of another customer. My mind was racing. I could not see who was the owner of the trolley because she was facing the other way. I had to get my Chanel!

    The person was queuing in another line but rather parallel to where I was. She was blonde, quite tall and had a nice body. I was scanning everything she wore. A trench coat, a pair of jeans, a Coach bag and green heels. Wait! I knew that bag! It was Claudia’s.

Hell yeah, it was Claudia. She saw me too and we exchanged fake smiles just like her fake bag.

“Nice earrings. Very classic taste.” I complimented. Those earrings looked parfait.

“Chanel.” She smiled and she looked so proud as if she was the only girl in the world who has earlobes.

“I searched for them quite a while. Had no idea they were with you”. I took the earrings from the basket on top of her trolley and began caressing the gems.  She looked uneasy.

“Yeah, I took them. I was the first girl who got to the station.” She took the earrings back from my hands and clenched gently in her fist.

“Claudia, I know you lied to me about your bag.” I said. Revenge is sweet. I could sense some ladies were already eyeing us and found what I said interesting.

“Which bag? Spill me in Mallory.” She knew I was talking about that bag. She rolled her eyes and I was annoyed by that.

       

“Claudia, I am talking about the bag you are clutching now. I know that is a fake Coach bag. Only fools would say it is real. Everybody knows that is fake honey. F-A-K-E!” I raised my voice, with the hope of drawing attention to Claudia and her bag.

            

“Oh my, what a crime! How embarrassing!” A woman hissed behind me. Some were holding their chests, breathing in disbelief that Claudia had a fake bag. A young girl near us who was holding a knee-length boots dropped them on the ground as she heard I spelled the word fake. Claudia did not what to do. She looked stiff and she had no idea what to do.

  “What are you talking about? Do you have anything to proof it is fake?” she asked, rolling her eyes again, Chanel still in her hands. Other ladies were staring at me, waiting for an answer.

            

“Firstly, the material speaks for itself. Not only it looked cheap, and yeah it is cheap by the way, the inner tag was also in Urdu, Tagalog and Hokkien. How real is that?”I shouted. Take that you slut!

            

“What!” Suddenly, a black woman who was about to pay at the counter smashed her wallet on the floor. She could not accept that, I suppose. I mean, who could?

            

“You know you are not helping the economy, don’t you?” A woman in her fifties in her Mom Jeans asked. She looked pissed. I could imagine her teaching Maths and History.

            

“Chinatown? You are a disgrace to all human beings!” the lady behind her scolded.

            

    Claudia gritted her teeth. She was so angry and she looked ready to battle with five Sumo guys. I smirked. I made my point. That Coach was fake.

            

    I smiled with my heads held high. Though I did not get the earrings, I was happy as a lark. I paid and went home.

I told you, girls could be mean.

chapter two

Ken and I were walking together from the café to my block. I love walking during sunset. The colour pastel across the sky is undeniably gorgeous and so romantic. It made me appreciate how beautiful nature is and how blessed we are.

We did not hold hands since we were not even official, but his big hands gripped my waist. I just love guys with big hands. So sexy. Once, I had a boyfriend named Gill and he had such small hands. His hands were as small as mine. I left him because I felt insecure. He could not protect me.

What if a burglar broke into my house? All I could imagine he would only scream like a crazy girl while his small hands lifted up high. Or maybe he would scream like when I got my first Dione von Furstenberg trench coat. I literally screamed till I lost my voice and I did not go to work for the next two days because I lost my confidence. That coat was given by my ex-boyfriend, John for my birthday.

We were already a block away from my apartment and I was hoping to death that he would kiss me. A plant on the cheek would do. Despite of him tripping me at the café, I just wanted a little teaser. A kiss.

“ So, I assume you have been dating a lot. You are attractive Mallory.” He said.

“Not really. I am quite busy with my work and usually I do not have time to date,” I replied, trying to sound humble. He was into me. I could feel this.

“I see. I also assume you love to impress a lot on your first date.” He continued.

What is wrong with this guy? He and his assumptions. It was kind of true though. But I did not like that. More of sarcasm than a question.

“Really Ken? Why is that?”I was curious.

He remained silent and his perfect rosy lips smiled. I could not read his mind. I did not know what he was thinking about. I was dying to know. Perhaps because I used a green eyeshadow? He did not know I used my Bobby Brown foundation stick and my Walmart eyeliner right? Or did he? This does not make sense.

“You think I am overdressed, don’t you?” I asked. Maybe with the heels, dress and make up for a first date in a café was too much for him? I would say that is ridiculous. This is how I dress. What is a girl if she does not wear heels? It is like what is a human if she does not buy a Furla bag which is already fifty percent off?

“No. I honestly think you look smoking hot.” Thanks. I would have slaughtered him if he said I looked like a lazy cow.

Now we were already in front of my apartment. We stopped, stared each other like we have been dating for years.

“Thanks baby. Do you want to come in?” I invited but I was hoping that he would say no. My house looked like a brothel with my g-strings clung to the curtains, condoms scattered on the floor and my untouched, unwashed dishes which looked like they were smothered with mud. I had to clean them some other time before he comes to my house.

I would buy some Chinese food for him and claimed I cooked them, spray some cans of air-freshener and hire a Latin cleaner to spruce up the house. Lies are delicious.

“No thanks darl. It is already dark and I gotta get going.” He said.

The sky was already purplish-black and I was leaning at the marble wall. It was so romantic. Come on, Ken. Give me a peck of love.

“Do you know why did I ask do you love to impress on first dates?” He asked. His body was close to mine.

“No, I don’t. “ I said. My eyes stared at his lips. Hoping. Praying that Jesus would be kind to me.

Jesus has always helped me in my first dates. That made me believe more in God though I do not go to churches. Believing is good enough for me rather than being a free-thinker. At least, I have somebody to pray to when I am in trouble.

“Well,” he continued. His body leaned gently on mine, his lips was just an inch away from mine and his big hands were placed somewhere near my breasts. At first, I thought it was too much. It was the first date and he wanted to cup my boobs in the public? What a pervert. But whatever, Ken is hot. I closed my eyes and tried to enjoy this moment.

“I accept you the way you are Mally.” He whispered into my ears.

 What the hell? He was not close to me anymore. What happened? I opened my eyes and I almost had a heart attack. I felt like my aorta was clogged with chunks of Thanksgiving chickens.

He smiled to his ears and his hands were holding some tissues which most of them were wet. Wait. Where did he get tissues from? Something is wrong.

He took it from my bra. Fuck! Maybe the tissues were not neatly tucked in my right bra. He knew my left breast is bigger than the right one.

Kill me, Jesus.

chapter one

There I was standing in front of the mirror. Naked. That was my usual routine before every date, before I wear my clothes. Staring of what I have, I smiled elatedly but suddenly, it faded as if I saw a horrific accident. Or maybe it was one?

            “Oh my Lord, don’t tell me my left breast is bigger than the right one!”I panicked, my eyes bulged in disgust and I was staring in disbelief at my breasts as if they were diamonds from Africa. This could not be right. My body was supposed to be flawless and now, I have an instant fever trying to digest this shit.

            “Mallory, calm down. You cannot panic and cancel your date just because your boobs. Ken is a hunk and you will regret to your deathbed if you are not seeing him today.” I told myself. Still naked and pretended that it would not bother me.

            Ken is 29, I met him at a bar which I usually go to and hell yes, he is ultra hot. Today is the first date and I have to see him by all means. Losing him is like losing a pair of ankle-length Pucci boots and no, I will not let that happen especially if the boots are fire engine red.

            Okay fine. My left breast is bigger, so what? I grabbed my yellow dress which was very exposed at the centre from my pink hanger and tried it on. I would always wear sexy clothes to my first dates. Girls should be blessed with their assets and as for me, why not flaunt them? I stood in front of the mirror.

            “Shit! The difference is obvious. God, why me?” I could not relax and my mind started racing. My breasts looked like an unfinished boob job. As if the doctor only meddled with my left breast and right after the last jab, he was shot dead. This cannot be real.

I grinned suddenly. I took tissues from the box and stuffed it in my bra. In fact, a lot of them. Now, I looked great with my proportionate boobs(yes!), snatched my 3-inch white heels with a big ribbon at the front(loved it), slipped them at my feet and headed to Matin Café. That café is the regular cafe I go to on my first dates. The ambiance of the café is casual, with a great scenery of the town. I walked briskly to the café since it was only 4 blocks away.

When I got there, Ken was not there yet. So I sat alone at the table reserved, took my loose powder out and dabbed it on my sweaty face.

“Oh my god! Mally, are you on a first date again? Where is Dan? I just saw you here 2 days ago right?” That was Sandra. My best girlfriend, my ex-roommate, my shoulders when I cried.

“Sandy, oh my. Stop calling me Mally. I sound like a toddler. Yes I am dating another guy. His name is Ken and Dan was nothing but crap. He was a total jerk. What are you doing here anyways?”

“I am here with Robert to have lunch. Dan was a jerk? What did he do?” Sandra was curious.

“Well, he said he loved my belly. What does that mean Sandy?” I sighed.

“No he didn’t! You know you are not fat honey. That scruffy dog. How dare he!” Sandra was always good at dramas and my eyes were just staring at her earrings. I knew those earrings. I saw them in Vogue. They were from Chopard and the earrings looked so great to the extent that I did not realize Ken had already seated in front of me.

Ken is an accountant working in the Prime Towers. He looked hot in his green tees and faded jeans. The sunglass he wore hid the blue eyes which I could stare all night long. They are so powerful and I thought yesterday if I stared too long, I could be in the world of Narnia. Of course, I did not want to be there because a) there is no salon I can go to, to have a treatment, b) it is not funny to talk to talking animals and c) I could not go to Saks to manicure.

“Sandy, this is my boyfrrrr….i mean my friend, Ken.” I was blushing, embarrassed with what I almost said when this is only the first date.

“Hello Ken. Nice to meet you. Mally, oops, I mean Mallory has talked a lot about you.” Shit. She called me Mally, in front of Ken. Thanks a bunch Sandra for helping me in my first date with him. Ken chuckled a bit and Sandy gave me a ‘I-did-not-mean-to-call-you-Mally’ look. We waved goodbye and now it is the most interesting part, bonding with a guy.

I just love bonding with guys. I love to lie a lot, please them and with that, voila, a relationship. I am never serious with my relationship. I change my boyfriends like I change shoes. Seducing men is my forte and nobody could do that like I do. I never got dumped because they believe the relationship is real when in reality, I was never serious. Sometimes I ponder, am I being a mean bitch? Maybe. Dating is fun and dumping men can be satisfying, a stress-reliever and an anti depressant stimulant.

I am Mallory and Mallory is dating. This means she is having some fun. I grinned. Let us get the ball rolling.

“Hi sweetheart. You look hot today.” I smiled casually, tossing my brunette hair back, showing some skin. I know my shoulder is glowing or supposed to glow because I applied the loose powder before I left the house. I find the shimmer sexy to men.

“Thanks Mally. I mean Mallory.” He chuckled. He smiled while staring right into my eyes. This son of a bitch is clearly testing me. It was his first word on our first date and I find it already challenging to hit this guy. In fact, I did not know what to say. I was embarrassed by the name Mally. It felt like when somebody knew you are wearing a fake Chanel purse and giggled when seeing it. Darn.  Should I say ‘Mally is a cute name isn’t it?’ or ‘Shut up you Ken. Don’t you dare mess up with me because I am dumping you in a few days?’ or should I just leave?

Hell no, this guy is obviously not defeating me. I still smiled when part of me felt I want to hit him with a hammer and nail his lips. “Sandy is my best friend and she did not like me calling her Sandy, so she called me Mally. How atrocious.” I laughed a bit, cracking a joke and he did not even smile. That was not funny? This guy is rude.

“Anyway, what do you like to do when you are free?” I asked in a sultry voice, in a way, hoping I could change the topic.

“I love acupuncture. I find it relaxing and spiritually enhancing.”

“Really? I love acupunctual too!” I said in an excited tone. Wait, it was not acupunctual. It was acupuncture. I knew it had something to do with needles and I screwed that one. Rule number one, always fake your interest in favour of theirs. It helps. But now, it is a complete mess.

I looked at him and he was trying so hard not to laugh. I felt stupid saying that word and looking at him struggling to be polite just lit a fire behind my vivacious hair. Fine, it was acupuncture. I said it wrong but whatever! My face reddened like a cherry.

“So, since you like acupuncture,” Ken said cynically. “Which acupuncture centre do you go to?”

This cannot be happening. Not only I do not have any idea what the hell acupuncture is, now he is asking me which centre do I go to? This is worse than when the Titanic hit the iceberg. My lips froze like ice cubes. What should I say?

“Em, around Rail Square, the one facing Boots. Have you been there?” I asked convincingly. I did not know what I was talking about. Pure shit, I made that up. He looked as if he was thinking though. Yes, I am dominating this game now. Kudos to the prettiest, vogue and the most beautiful lady in the world(that is me,duhh.)

“Oh, I haven’t. Maybe you can bring me there some other time?”Gulp. That place does not even exist.

“Sure sweetheart. You will love it.” I faked a smile.

“Anyways, are you free tomorrow night?”He asked. I was sipping my tea. My heart pounded slightly. I was delighted. Has he fallen for me? Maybe he wanted to have some intimate time and thought tomorrow would be a perfect time. No problem at all. Who doesn’t want fun especially with this guy who has rocking abs? Rule number two: never say no when he invites you to his place for the first time. It signals sex. Unless he is as ugly as a sick dog and he is a jerk, then say no. But definitely, not in this case.

“Of course honey. Any plans?” I stared him in the eyes, a very seducing stare. I might have nailed this. Easy.

“Okay then. I thought of going to my regular acupuncture centre. Since you love them too, why not we have the treatments together?” He suggested.

My tea suddenly felt like acid. What the hell? No sex but some needles penetrating my skin? This is not funny. That rule did not help. I felt helpless. I felt like a fat mermaid who could not swim anymore. Yes, that bad.

“ Sure Ken. Sure.” I said rather hesitantly but I knew I could not lose in this battle.

I am not going to lose. I am not going to lose. I am not going to lose. Period.