Sarong Party Girls Read Online Free Page A

Studemeyer’s and we’d all never been. So somehow we ended up there on a Friday night—­Louis had started reserving a table there on weekends the moment it opened, so we had a VIP spot. I didn’t mind going for that. Otherwise, I confirm won’t go.
    When Louis saw me at Studemeyer’s, he was nice as usual, holding up the bottle of Chivas after we double-­kissed. “Better faster get high,” he said, starting to pour even before I could find a place to put my handbag. “Where have you been? We’ve all been here since eleven drinking already. You’d better catch up. No fun being sober when we’re all so high.” After that, he just kept pouring. Every time my glass was even half-­empty he would bring the Chivas over. I can’t remember whether he was also pouring so much for Sher, Fann and Imo. He must have—­I think—­but then in the end, it was only me, about one hour and six double-­shot whiskey sodas later, who was suddenly feeling like not dancing anymore.
    â€œEhhh,” a voice came, so close to my ear I could feel a sticky hotness. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. I could feel him already, the front of his bulky jeans rubbing against my bum. Sher and Imo were convinced that Kelvin stuffed his crotch with socks—­no way someone so short could be so big. “Aiyoh, please lah,” I said, turning my head around to shout so he could hear me. “Guniang here mabuk almost to the point of throwing up already and you still want to be like that.” But he just kept rubba-­ing and didn’t go away. By the time I fully turned around so I could actually push him back, I could see from his saggy lids and big smile that he was quite gone. Kelvin just blinked and stumbled off to try his luck with some fresh girls near the next table.
    â€œJazz, you OK?” Sher had finally come back from wherever she’d gone. Neither of us had seen Imo—­or Louis, for that matter—­in a while.
    â€œYou look a bit . . . too high,” she said, cupping my face.
    â€œNo lah, I’m OK. Don’t worry. I just need some air.”
    I turned back around again, leaning against the cool stainless steel railing that kept us from falling over onto the sprawling dance floor beneath. I could feel Sher rubbing my back. It felt good. Her face leaned in next to mine. We both looked over at the floor beneath us, filled with bodies jammed next to each other. I couldn’t remember the last time we went to a club and didn’t have a VIP table—­we were all getting older already lah. Going clubbing on the main levels is for the youngsters—­us old birds have no energy anymore to push and squeeze and get noticed in such a crowd. Sher was pointing at something below, a group of Ah Bengs in a small circle with one of them in the middle. Each one stood firmly in a spot, holding on to his pleated pants waistband with his right hand, as if trying to steady himself while he rocked violently from the waist upward. The other hand was raised up high waving above his head. Even though we were one floor up, we could hear them shouting, “Yo ah yo! Yo ah yo!”
    Aiyoh—­this phrase so old already still want to say! Back in the eighties everyone was lousy at dancing lah, so the main way was just to yo back and forth to the music and shout “Yo ah yo!” Nowadays, everyone knows much more about dancing, but these Ah Bengs somehow are still out there doing this nonsense.
    â€œOi!” Sher suddenly shouted, leaning over slightly as she waved and pointed at the group. “Yah—­you, Ah Beng! This one not 1985 anymore, you know. You still Yo ah yo? Lau pok lah!” The Ah Bengs stared up, looking confused. When they saw Sher waving her third finger at them, they started to whisper to each other, holding their hands up to cover their mouths as they talked. Typical brainless