Seek. Engage. Destroy

My Boss: X meet my friend, Eric… And Eric’s friend…
I shook Eric’s hand warmly, but my gaze was fixed on his friend firmly.
The friend had the sweetest smile. Charming. Poised. Confident. He let Eric give me an extended handshake, (extended being the operative word) and turned to continue chatting and laughing with some other guys. His hands, I noticed, he kept one relaxed by his side, one firmly on the wine glass. Occasionally, the resting arm gave whoever he was having a conversation with a swift and manly pat on the back and went back to its relaxed position. When he ordered drinks, he was friendly to the waiter. When he laughed, he threw his head back. When he spoke, he leaned close and relied on his voice. When he was interrupted (which happened only because a girl tapped him on the shoulder), he welcomed it. He looked into her eyes like she was the only one in the room – but only for 5 seconds before he went back to his conversation with the boys – and dismissed her like any American idol reject. That, I thought to myself, is how a cool guy’s body language should be.

Mainly because he openly IGNORED me.

So Agent Provocateur says TARGET locked.

When Eric finally let go of my hand and wiped the lusty smile off his face with whiskey, I was relieved. But I also realized I was standing there like an idiot, waiting to be noticed. As I quickly looked around for a contingency look-cool plan, Mr. Confident looked at me quizzically, squinted his eyes like he just spotted a Siberian husky in India and said:
“Oh you broke free... I didn’t think my friend was going to let go of your hand.”
“That cos I him there were free jolly shandys at the bar”
“oh? I thought tonight is Hooch night?”
“Hooch? Ha! You just gave away your age, without even giving away your name”
“I did not.”
“well, tell me, and answer me very… very honestly” I said, leaning in closer and looking deeply serious into his eyes “do you. like. U2?”
“I’m the biggest fan in this room” he smiles and says confidently, but carefully curious about what he was getting into.
“ok. Fair enough. Well, who’s darker, Sundram Moorthy or Sasikumar?"
He threw his head back and laughed heartily. “Sasi… you know Sasi…” he mumbled
“right. think I got what I want. Thanks padawan.”
“ahh… the force is strong in you…!”
“thirty-two”
“what?”
“you’re thirty-two years old”
“you’re sure about that?”
“super sure. I just administered my self-drawn age test on you.”
“I’m 31, and my name’s T”

We shook hands. It was firm and warm and lingering. He looked right into my eyes and smiled appreciatively.

Agent Provocateur gets target ENGAGED.

***

The red car in front of me crawled slowly to the left turn. The impatient me does a swift overtake, and a swifter left turn and enters the kiosk before the red car. I got out, popped the cover and said:
“Uncle, 98, forty dollars”
Owner of the red Alfa steps out, and says “V power, full tank”
I took one quick scorned look at the mofo that was trying to upstage me and I see a familiar face.
“Hey, it’s you!” he says happily. And put on a deep look, like he’s been waiting by the banyan tree for 15 years for me to show up.
“It’s me” I said, the scorned look, quickly replaced by a crazysexycool one.
“how are you?”
“very good. And you?”
“good good.”

*Awkward silence. Cue to flirt*

“Hey, I never took your number that night”
“biggest mistake of your life. But I’ll let you redeem yourself”

Agent Provocateur SEEKs out target (by chance)

***

*insert polyphonic psychedelic tone* I’m driving. But because I am a multi-tasker and an outlaw, and I had a feeling it was him, I read it while engaging the fourth gear.

His SMS: Next time, just ask me out. No need to follow me.
My reply: it’s my pleasure. You look much better from the back.
His SMS: Are you going to the event at Velvet tomorrow?

I didn’t reply. What a disappointing SMS.
Asking me to a free-flow event shows - He’s not brave enough to ask me out. Not into-me enough to ask me to dinner. Not generous enough to support my drinking tab. Afraid of rejection.

He never SMS-ed again.

Target LOST

***

Many nights and many vodka shots later, I was partying like a rock star at Singapore’s definitive club. I was waving my hands in the air, giving air-kisses to good looking strangers and using my elbows to create dancing space, when a guy, in his late 30s, says: “Hi, can I get you a drink, dancing queen?”
“Sure!” I yelled! Not letting an intruder interrupt my sequence “A mojito please! And vodka cranberries for all my friends” and I laughed like I just threw him a challenge.

The sucker comes back with a mojito and beckoned us to the bar where he ordered a bottle of vodka. “Grey Goose” I told the bartender. And looked at the sucker, slightly offended, slightly annoyed, slightly disgusted. My friends enjoyed the drinks, and I was left to speak with him. I was not interested one bit. But I kept it polite. And by polite I mean,

Sucker #123: “you’re very cute”
Me: “Thanks.”
Sucker #123: “Do you come here often?”
Me: “nope”
Sucker #123: “Well, Can I see you again?”
Me:
Sucker #123: “I mean, I did what you asked. The least you can do is give me your number”
Me: letting out a deep exhalation “here’s my card”
Sucker #123: took it politely with 2 hands “Thank you. You’re a beautiful girl. Remember that.”
Me: rolling my eyeballs at his 1980s lines. “Thanks”

Apparently, sucker #123 left the bar, and his bottle of vodka behind to join his friends. One who whom was T. He flashed my card to T and friends and said “I just met the girl I want to marry”

T takes the card looks at it and says: “Dude, lemme guess. Long hair, short skirt, flirty and rude.”
Sucker #123: “How’d you know?”
T: “ha. She eats guys like you for breakfast. This card doesn’t even have her mobile number!”

1 hour later, after an encouraging SMS from T “You’re position in Velvet has been exposed. Come take cover in Zouk members now” I was drinking and partying like a rock star, nonetheless, with T and a very embarrassed Sucker #123.

Target: FOUND

T grabs me by my waist, pulls me close and says “I’m not losing you again, Miss play-hard-to-get”
I was like “WHAT?!”
And he shouts “Can you drive?”
And I say “Of course!”
And he says “Good!” and he finishes up his beer.
Next thing I know, I’m driving his V-powered car and we approach a fucking road block.

Target: DISARMED

He leans over and pushes the window button for me.
“Good evening ma’am. Where did you come from?”
If I had balls, I just discovered them at my throat. “er… er…”
T leans over me again. And in a drawl, he says “Velvet”

*pregnant pause*

“Have a nice evening” and the TP waved us through.
“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING!?!?!”
“relax… it’s all about confidence” and he rests his hand on my thigh… and rubs it comfortingly… and he leans forward and smells my neck… all this time giving me travel directions… to his place.

We kissed in the car… the nicest kiss ever. He knew when to hold my neck, when to run his fingers down my back, when to grab my hair and pull it right, when to let the kisses go soft, go hard… linger… or tease… we kissed hungrily, tenderly, and hungrily again. I had one palm on his chest, the other behind me, propping me up from the seat he smoothly wound back. My hand pushed him away, but my kisses pulled him closer. We were snogging in full blown Hollywood fashion and I said, in between breaths “you, are, suuuuuch a gooooooood kisssser.” And he said, “it takes two.” And kissed me again. We kissed from the carpark to the apartment. From the kitchen table top to the sofa. From the sofa to the bathroom. From the bathroom to the bed.

I know this because of the litter of clothes we left on the way.

Target: CONQUERED

The Short Date

Er… he’s short. i.e. vertically challenged. Try to keep up. Tsk.

Horkay, so I went against some rules because it was a lame Thursday night.

On hindsight, I’m always prey to those post-ladies’-night nights when the loneliness of the night wind lulls one into settling for second best. Like how you travel 18 kilometres for wanton (no pun intended) noodles only to realize it’s closed. Then settling for the yummy hor fun (no pun intended again) albeit satisfying, is never considered a prized treat.

Point is, I accepted a drinks date with Frodo, the witty one I met at the Martel Party. Witty. Check. Clever SMSes. Check. Looks. Sigh. So I guess he deserved a Thursday night – cos there’s nothing good on TV and it’s the night with the lowest probability of getting caught by the paparazzi.

We met at a bar I will not mention, at a time I will not reveal and I was wearing a dress I will not take off. (at least that’s what I swore to myself). He was surprisingly laid-back. Who wouldn’t be, compared to me? I was as nervous as I would be, going on a date with Sting, Feeling like that on a date is great news. But it was for all the wrong reasons. I kept wondering if I should’ve wore shades, a fake mole and an oversized straw hat.

The first thing he said was “hey gorgeous, think you forgot the rest of your skirt.” I was wearing a long skirt which I pulled up as a mini tube dress - cinched at the waist with a fat leather dominatrix belt and dear me, I had no clever reply. So I did what I did best - I deployed a disarming smile and hit him playfully on the chest.

And I looked nervously around, ready for a reputation whipping.
Which happened fairly quickly.

Bartender yelled:
“Hey! Miss Whiskey Water!” I looked up and saw my favourite bartender from another bar.
And I said “Oh hello! What are you doing here?”
“Same management.” He quickly replied, waving his finger in the air, dismissing my question.
“your boyfriend ah?” he jerked his head up towards my date, raised his eyebrows and gave a cheeky grin.
“NOOOOOOOOOO” I said too quickly.
“Not yet. But I’m working on it buddy” he butts in. “help me out and get me a beer and give the lady her whiskey water will you?”
“Sure sir. Good choice” And the bartender winks at him.
“make it strong, so I have lesser work to do, she’s a tough one” and we all laugh.

I was mildly impressed. Here sits an ugly guy. With no looks, no height, but a pocket full of cash and a brain full of crack. He’s really very suave. And like the first time I met him, I found myself constantly studying him with renewed interest. Every time he spoke, he ignited the charisma his looks extinguished. And after 3 whiskey waters and one of the most-engaging and stimulating conversations I’ve had in a while, I did something that shocked even myself.

“Give us a tray of sex on the beach shots” I said to the bartender.
“I thought someone wanted to step down from the AA?” he said.
“Parting shots” and I giggled at my own joke.
“we celebrating anything?”
“my incredible legs and good conversation.”
He looks down condescendingly at my legs “hmm… give it another 2 months, we’ll drink to good conversation first”
And I did it again – I smiled and hit him playfully on the chest. Gestures like these irritate me tremendously. I still don’t know why from time to time I do bimbotic things like that, just like times I say “Oh dear” and realize it’s not cool.

“Come on little drunkard, game of pool.”
“I’m not sure your ego can take a beating”
“it’s ok,” he slides up close to me, breath on my face “there’s no one here to see you win”

So he racked up and as he did, he looked up at me and smiled. My stomach was a knot. And I found myself angrily wondering WHY CAN’T HE BE CUTE?!?!?! WHY WHY WHY???

I won the first game. Balls and me? Come on.

“let’s play for something. Best of 3 games. It’s 1 0 for now”
“ok… loser will have to rip his underwear out and cut it into shreds”
“and if I’m not wearing any?”
“it’s gonna be painful then.”
“deal.”
“okok. Loser just takes the underwear off for the rest of the night.”
“deal. Winner keeps it?”
“no la. Don’t be sick. I don’t want your crocodile underwear in my bag”
“Deal”

And he won the next two games. Fucking Hustler.

I had so much fun. It was so simple, so casual, so unpretentious. Maybe because I had no expectations. Correction. Maybe because I had bad expectations… I laughed a lot. I talked a lot and I asked a lot. I listened a lot and I hit him on his chest a lot. I wasn’t even flirting the whole night. And he certainly wasn’t trying very hard. I was me and he was him, and we both know we can be great together. Again I talked a lot. And I asked a lot. He listened a lot and he asked a lot. He had all the right answers. He made me feel like a little girl. He played with my hair. He looked in my eyes. He was looking better as the night wore on, and I got more uninhibited.

OH MY GOD. I’m drunk.

Next thing I knew, we were at his apartment. At the rooftop. By the Jacuzzi. (oh yes. Nice pad) I was on the deck chair and he was sitting in front of me. We were facing each other and there were no more words left to say.