Chapter 10

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It took me a week of going back and forth inside my head, before I finally decided that I should hold on to the Hermes clutch for the meantime. I do not think that Damia would be especially happy if she knew I had actually bought the damn purse, even if she adores it half to death. And on my behalf, what sort of message would I be sending? I mean, what would the gift mean?

I, myself, am confused. And slightly irritated by the fact. It wasn’t the money I had spent that irked me. It was something else. This nagging feeling that… nevermind.

As for Damia. Well, I’ve been seeing her a lot. Of course, by virtue of working in the same fucking office and same fucking company, we were bound to see each other. But so far, I have gone out for lunches with her pretty often. Often enough that one day my secretary, Sharmini, threw this my way:

“You’ve been seeing her a lot, Mr. Dhani. Is something going on?” she said, a wide, wide smile plastered on her face.

“Haha,” I said in my best sarcastic tone… but without the conviction I wished it had. “No, she’s just a friend.”

“Really Mr. Dhani? She’s a lovely lady you know…”

“Shar, diam before I ask you to make tea for the whole office AND ask HR to dock your pay.”

Sharmini laughed, knowing I wasn’t serious. A bit. She was a nice secretary, meticulous and a hard worker. I could count on her for anything. For instance, I could count on her to not make my lunches with Damia a big deal. Apparently, she said people in the office have been talking. It wasn’t so much about whether Damia and I were seeing each other. It was more towards, Dhani actually having lunch with an office mate.

You see, in building this image I am very much proud of today, I have also managed to alienate most people. By choice. I have rarely socialized with my fellow co-inhabitants of this office, with the exception of my very rich, very influential boss (lets call him Dato’ T) and Sharmini, who I often treated to lunch once a week, at least. They were the only people I could be seen outside with from my office. The rest, I couldn’t give a shit. And they’ve tried before; some guys once asked if I wanted to tag along to play futsal after work. No. A group of ladies, older than I, once invited me for lunch so they could, in their words, ‘interview’ me. No. No. No. Sometimes I wonder what people thought of me. In the end I didn’t care. People don’t matter. The only ones that do are my sister and my nieces. The rest are disposable by function: shit to step on, stairs to climb on, and asses to fuck.

So my lunches with Damia has somewhat thrown the office into speculation, it seems. Sharmini has been doing her best to diffuse rumors, and I thanked her for that.

“Don’t worry Mr. Dhani. But have you given thought if it might be a good thing?” she teased.

I rolled my eyes.

Whether it was the rumors or the speculation, or whatever it is, I decided to maybe cut back on my lunches with Damia. Don’t get me wrong, I have enjoyed them, tremendously. More than I would ever admit to anyone except my sister. My lunches, since I’ve had them with her, have been great in the sense that… what, exactly? I don’t know. Maybe having company has made lunch less of a sustenance thing, more of a social thing. Maybe because our conversations are always interesting… maybe… nevermind. Odd thing was, though I feel more comfortable talking to her now (and her, talking to me, as well), I also felt that I have barely scratched the surface of what I know about her. At times, Damia can seem quite guarded.

Anyway, to cool down these fucking rumors (why do I get irrationally angry at it, anyway?), when Damia called my extension asking if I wanted to go for lunch, I gave her an excuse that I have a prior meeting with someone over lunch period. She said that was okay, maybe next time then. To this, my heart fluttered and panicked for a ridiculous split second as my mind pondered if I should go the next time or come up with another pathetic alibi.

So today, lunch will be as it was always before.

Alone.

I took my lunch at the fourth floor food court in Suria, a simple plate of fried rice that tasted crappy. In truth, I had no idea where to go and just settled on the lousy and expensive (for what is crappy food) food court. I had my lunch quickly, and decided to kill time walking inside Suria KLCC. Maybe I could make up for that ‘lost’ round of shopping the day I bumped into Damia at Pavilion. After about an hour or so, I had two bags from Raoul and Calvin Klein in my hands. Feeling rather content and happy, I bought a chocolate ice cream cone from Haagen Dasz and proceeded to take the walk back to my office. The walk would take me pass fountains and the park. My office would be just before the Mandarin Oriental.

It was a pleasant day, slightly overcast but with enough sunlight to not make everything grey. Beyond the wisps of clouds, bright blue peeked through. Even on a weekday afternoon, I could see the park is crowded with people; tourists, office workers, sampah remaja KL and so many others. I caught the eye of several girls, even some Arab ladies who I managed to catch peeking at me behind those veils and burkhas. It was then that I noticed Damia, clad in her pink baju kurung and deep crimson hijab, talking on the phone. She was sat on a stone railing, and as I walked closer, I saw her eyes were puffy and red. She was crying. I saw her wiping her eyes as she ended her phone call, and when she looked up, she saw me. She quickly got up and walked away into the park.

I followed.

I found her on a bench, in a quieter section of the park, near where the wading pool and bridge is. Not THAT quiet, there were still people walking around and kids splashing about and playing and tired looking parents nearby looking for all the world like they were praying for rain so they could take the kids home.

Damia sat, chin cupped in her hand, looking away from my direction. I approached her cautiously.

“Damia, are you alright?” I said, stopping a few feet away from her. She didn’t turn to look at me. I went in closer and sat next to her.

“Damia?”

Suddenly she whirled around, threw her arms around my neck and buried her face in my shoulder. She sobbed. The first thing that came to my mind was ‘She’s gonna ruin my shirt!’. But then my mind sharpened its focus to the weeping lady on my shoulder. Shirts can be washed anyway. I hope.

“What’s wrong?” I said. I was feeling awkward, and I didn’t know what to do. Should I put my arms around her? I don't know. She didn’t answer me. I let her cry for a good five minutes before she pulled away, eyes redder than before, and (I found this very, very cute) her nose red, too. I offered her a handkerchief, which she accepted.

“I’m sorry Dhani,” she said, wiping her tears.

“It’s fine,” I said, suddenly feeling very bad I blew her off for lunch. Wait, I felt bad? I do? I did. “Listen, I, uh, if there’s something you want to get off your chest, I could listen, you know.” I could? I will? I will.

Damia turned to me, and even through her sadness, I saw her beauty. Somehow the tears, the smeared eyeliner and mascara and lipstick failed to smudge what was naturally borderline perfect. She gave me a smile, and it was one that would sear itself into my head (heart) for all time.

“I’m alright,” she said, her husky voice slightly hoarse. “The past sometimes catches up to you, off guard, you know? Even when you think you’re strong enough, and ready enough.”

I just listened, because I felt that she was going to tell me more. I didn’t know how I felt it, or why she would tell me, but all the same, it was true.

“That call was from my ex-fiancee,” she said.

“Fiancee?” I couldn’t help but ask.

She nodded. “Yes. We were supposed to get married this year. He’s a pilot with MAS. And turns out it wasn’t just aeroplanes he was riding, if you know what I mean.”

I kept quiet, let her continue.

“It turns out,” she said,  her voice calm, but her eyes watery. “It turns out he was… he was sleeping with his stewardesses.. and dating three of them…. And one of them, Suraya, was who I thought was my best friend.” That last part she said with an abrupt full-stop.

“And how did I find out? Because I was so gatal to surprise him on his birthday last year, I made a cake, drove to his house, only to see the door was open and there he was, with that stupid bitch Suraya doing it on the coffee table,” Damia said, not without venom in her voice. “That was a nasty day. My first ever cat-fight,” she said, laughing without humor.

“What happened then?” I said. I didn’t really want to know because it was obviously hurting her to even tell me this. But I also felt like she needed to get this off her chest.

“Well obviously we called off the engagement and five months worth of wedding plans,” Damia said. “Our families took great pains to discuss the matter… but in the end I could’t forgive him. Neither could my family nor his family. He was outcast. And further, uh, investigation revealed that he was like that even before he became a pilot. Even when we were in school. Even when we were in college. I couldn’t forgive that. How could I forgive that? Playboy like that. Such a flower heart.”

I was silent. What’s the Malay term? Terasa.

“Anyway, that was him. Begging for forgiveness. For reconciliation. I didn’t know how he got this number. Sigh. Must be time to change numbers again. For the 1000^th time more like,” she said, and suddenly smiled. “Don’t worry, you will have it.”

I returned her smile. Damia folded the handkerchief neatly.

“I’ll hold on to this for awhile, so I could remember the nice gentleman who gave it to a lady in her time of need, but more so so I could wash it before returning it to him full of mucus and tears,” Damia said, and I saw some of the sadness leave her lovely grey eyes. I wished there and then that I could stare into them forever.

(What?)

“Come on, let’s go back to the office,” I said.

She nodded and said, “I’m sorry you had to see me like that just now, Dhani. And I’m sorry you had to listen to my sad little tale. I just.. I just felt that I could trust you, you know?”

I bowed my head ever so slightly, stood up, and without thinking, I offered her my hand. She took it, and as we walked back towards our office, she didn’t let go.

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