Chapter 9

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One of my biggest indulgences are in clothes. To that effect, I do have a walk in wardrobe in my apartment. It is organized in this way:

On the left hand side, hanging on coat racks, are my suits. All of them are tailored, in colors dark, subdued colors. These are my work clothes. On the same rack, I have my designer shirts, all in European fit, without front pockets. My shirt colors are more eclectic; blacks, whites, blues, the occasional reds, pinks and violets. Most are unpatterend, save for a few striped ones.

Still on the left hand side, arranged neatly in two drawers, are my socks and under garments. They are color coordinated and sorted out by day. Another drawer holds neatly rolled ties, cufflinks and tiepins.

Below, on the bottom are a range of my work shoes, all covered with protective plastic bags. They are mostly leathers in black, tan and brown, and none of them are below seven-hundred ringgit.

In the middle of the wardrobe is an island cabinet with a glass top, and drawers. The top most drawer is segmented, and that is where I keep my watched; I have quiet a collection. I skew more towards modern styles compared to hefty Rolexes though. My favorite watch is the Bell & Ross BR-01 Raid edition. The second drawer are my sunglasses, whilst the third and last holds belts, again of various colors and styles.

On the right hand side of the wardrobe are my casual clothes; t-shirts, shirts, jeans, jackets and everything else. I still arrange them neatly, according to color and type of material or style.

Every three months I take out what I don’t wear that often anymore and sell it off. A lot of people out there exist that want relatively new designer threads but don’t want to pay full price. That’s okay. I get back some of my money; I usually discount the items by about 30% - 40%.

The catch is of course, once I clear out some space, I instantly feel the need to repopulate my wardrobe with new garments. So I go shopping. And I’m not afraid to indulge in things that I feel are worth it, and make me look and feel good on the inside and outside. A thousand ringgit shopping spree is minimal, for me. I’ve got spare change to burn. If you could call it spare change.

In fact, why not I go shopping now? It’s only 1800hrs on a Monday evening. I’m done for the day in the office after a pretty tiring day. Maybe some retail therapy is what I need.

***

Today I biked to work, but since Pavillion is just walking distance away, I might as well walk. Leaving my stuff at the office, I took of my coat and undone the top two buttons of my shirt (today, charcoal grey and a burgundy tie), took of my tie and rolled up my sleeves. I wiped my face with a cool towel from the mini fridge I keep in the office, and put on some aftershave. I checked my face in the mirror and saw a five-o-clock shadow, but nothing too shabby. I still looked as dashing and charming as always, and the stubble just lended me a rougher, grittier look.

I walked the 6 minutes or so to Pavilion, using the elevated walkway. It was pretty crowded with the denizens of Kuala Lumpur making their ways home or to go makan and wherever. I saw makciks, pakciks, college and school kids and beggars and immigrants. What a colorful city we live in. Along the way, I saw some pretty girls and ladies. Even an elder lady who looked lovely in her business suit. That reminded me of the time I checked into a hotel with this elegant woman, in her mid forties. She was the managing director of a company that imports luxury foods, and I had met her at this social function organized by my company. She was a Datuk, unsurprisingly, and age had treated her well. Was she married? I’m pretty sure, but I couldn’t care less. When we fucked it was good, solid and satisfying. She knew her stuff.

I smiled at the thought as I arrived at the posh shopping center. But first I stopped by for a coffee, which I took to go, and planned my shopping route. I always pass by the haute couture row first, before making my way upwards. The retail assistants and managers know me by name by now, and are always happy to see me whenever I step in, because I always buy at least one thing from them. Not to mention that I’ve slept with almost all of them at one point; Tina and Lily from Prada, Jessica and Azie from Hermes, Shasha from Aigner and so on. There’s always a new girl, every few months. Maybe I could bring a new, fresh one tonight.

As I walked down the row of shops, I saw a familiar looking lady peering into the window of Hermes. She was in a grey hijab, a white blouse that was fitting without being too tight, straight cut black pants held up by a wide, white belt, and a pair of white stilletos. I walked up to her.

“Shopping, I see,” I said and surprised her. She whirled around to look at me and put a hand to her chest. Now I saw that she wore a long necklace with an owl pendant. Her grey eyes were as captivating as usual.

“Dhani!” she said, smiling. “You surprised me. Don’t do that!”

“I’m sorry, couldn’t help but notice your concentration,” I said and looked into the display window of Hermes. Inside the display were several handbags, scarves and clutches, in addition the their paraphernalia and stands. “See anything interesting?”

“Oh, the whole shop, maybe?” Damia laughed. “Just window shopping. That yellow purse is drop dead gorgeous.”

She pointed to a mustard-yellow clutch, set in a box.

“Nothing I could ever afford, though,” she said. A small sigh, so small you’d have to have really paid attention to catch it, escaped her breath. I was paying attention. I didn’t say anything. I knew money was sensitive to some people. Heck, I didn’t always have the dough I seem to be rolling in now.

So all I said was, “Well one day you’ll get it,” and smiled in what I thought must have been a lame, comforting way. She returned the smile with one of her own, but one that said sure, like that’s gonna happen.

“Well, Dhani,” Damia said. “Shopping, yourself?”

I cleared my throat. For some reason I didn’t want her to know that I frequent these designer boutiques. It was like, I didn’t want her to think of me as some sort of moneyed bastard. I don’t know why I thought it, I just did.

“Na, just looking around, trying to imagine what the 1% lives like,” I said.

“That, coming from a man who is obviously wearing a tailored shirt and pants and shoes that must have cost a whole months salary for some people,” she said, suddenly. Then her face changed, looking hurt, and she said, “Eh, I don’t mean anything by that. Just teasing. I’m sorry.”

I looked at her for a moment. To be honest I didn’t feel any offence. It was.. endearing to hear her apologize for what was obviously meant as a joke.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Well, are you shopping around? I don’t see any bags yet.”

“I actually just got here, had a coffee date with someone earlier,” she said.

I don’t know why the thought of Damia on a date with someone made my ears turn hot.

“An old friend, we went to Assunta together,” she said, almost defensively. Assunta? That’s a girl school. That was more comforting… wait, what? Snap out of it Dhani!

“Oh okay,” I said. “Well, if you’d like to shop, I don’t mind accompanying you. If it’s okay with you, that is. We can have dinner, too, if it’s alright by you, that is.”

Whatthefuck Dhani?

“Oh I couldn’t possibly, besides, you must have other plans,” Damia said, apologetically, but I thought I saw some color rise to her cheeks and her eyes seemed to sparkle. A bit.

“My plan now is to teman you shopping, and maybe dinner,” I said, turning on some charm.

Damia looked at me, almost observingly. “Okay, sure. I warn you though, I’m a picky shopper.”

“Then we’re in the same boat.” I grinned. 

***

I arrived home at around 2200hrs that night. I felt… strangely at ease, and happy, and confused at the same time. The night had went well.

We had walked together, talking about stuff, and going in and out of shops. At Topshop, she had decided to try on some jeans and a blouse. When she went to the dressing room, I browsed the racks, and then I got a text from her asking me to come over. When I did, she had stepped out wearing a pair of slim fit red jeans, a black shirt and her tudung loosely wrapped around her head. I saw a few whisps of hair framing her lovely face.

“What do you think?” she had asked.

“You… look great,” I had said, not really sure of what to say. But she did look great. The clothes hugged her body closer than her usual work clothes. I could see the cut of her figure and I liked what I saw.

“Really? It’s a bit too… fitting. I should get something looser,” she had said, frowning a bit, and then she smiled. “Thanks Dhani. I’ll change now. Sorry to make you wait.”

And that was the pattern of that night; we’d walk into a shop, she’d try on some clothes, and ask me how she looked like. After four or five shops, she asked me if I was going to get anything. At this point, she had already bought two tops and a pair of jeans. They had cost her, by my observation, a total of RM275. I spend more at just one shop that she just did at five.

“Oh, no, I think I’m alright,” I said. But didn’t I come here to get some stuff?

“Really? I feel bad now, dragging you along like this,” she said, her trimmed eyebrows slanting pitifully.

“Hey, look, it’s fine, I volunteered,” I said, raising my palms. “It's not often I get to accompany girls out shopping anyway.” Why did I even say that?

“Thank you,” Damia said. “I tell you what, I’ll treat you to dinner, okay? I insist.”

“You don't have to.”

“But I want to, and you shouldn’t refuse the request of a lady,” she said. “Think of it as me returning a favor for your dinner treat the other day.”

How could I refuse? We went to a few more shops before she finally made her last purchase, a pair of comfy wedges from Vincci. Then we went for dinner at Madam Kwans. The conversation was lively, smooth and natural. Again, just like the first time I had dinner with her, we could talk about almost anything. She even asked me if I was single, and for the first time in four years, I stuttered to answer. That was, to me, fucked up.

“Well, I, uh, yeah, single. Single,” I had said.

She smiled. “You’re not gay, right?” 

We had looked at each other in silence for a moment, then both of us burst out in laughter.

“No, I’m not,” I said, laughing, despite the potential offensiveness of that question.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I was just teasing. You know, a good looking, smart guy like you, Dhani. I’m amazed that you’re single. And you know what they, say, ‘all the best women are married, all the handsome men are gay?’ But I’m sorry, I really am.”

“It’s okay Damia, eheh. I get that a lot,” and I did. Sigh.

She smiled as she finished her drink. We made our move then, and we said goodbye at the autopay machine in front of that Chinese dimsum restaurant, the one near Mercato.

“Thank you, Dhani, you’ve been really nice to me since I started here,” she said.

“My pleasure, Damia,” I replied, honestly.

“Bye Dhani Ibrahim,” she said and raised her hand in a little wave.

“Goodbye, Damia Isahak,” I said. Then she did the cutest thing; she crinkled her nose at me, just before she left.

I had stood there for a few moments. Then I checked my watch and rushed upstairs. There was a shop I needed to catch before it closed. I made in just in time, by virtue of knowing the retail manager there. I had made my purchase, said thank you and walked back to my office to collect my things and now I’m back home.

I showered and myself a chamomile tea. I sat on my bed, in contemplative quietness, while I sipped at the hot, comforting tea. Beside me was a paper bag containg the purchase I had made.

I looked at it for a moment, as if trying to decide if I had just did what I did. I put the tea on my bedside stand, and fished out the content of that paper bag. Inside it was a neat, rectangular box. Embossed on the box was a logo of a cart being drawn by a horse, with a neatly dressed gentleman standing in front of it. The letters H E R M E S were written below the logo. I opened the box. The smell of leather filled my nostrils; it was a smell I always associated with luxury. As it should be; it cost me a sizeable chunk off my credit card, after all.

I pulled the object out of the box. The craftsmanship and detailing on it was superb; the mustard-yellow leather, the metal clasp, and the stitching; all immaculate and intricate. I could see why Damia had looked at it and fallen in love with it. It was beautiful. And then it hit me:

I just bought a multi-thousand dollar gift.

For her.

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