Tall, tall buildings. Glass. Lights. Water. The view from her booth was unreal 71 floors up in The Stamford hotel. On the table was an eclectic mix of cocktails, all dry ice, real ice and colour, twinkling against the Singapore night sky.
The music was certainly New Age. A mix of low male voices rapping and every so often a distinct female melody ripping through the beats. Not a hit but something so achingly cool it couldn’t possibly have been a commercial success. Not quite loud enough to drown out any conversation. You didn’t have to shout to be heard, but maybe at certain parts of the song you had to raise your voice just a little.
Over near the bar, in one of the angular corners of the building’s glass façade, Suki saw a big group of fans dancing, some of them wearing Suki T-shirts and some of them with silver glitter dresses, which was her trademark. No one bothered her, the VIP area being slightly quieter still. But the four gruff guards at all angles of the ropes had seen off enough autograph hunters for them to know they weren’t getting near anyway, even if they tried. The tall thin girl in one of the silver dresses was the most intriguing, and Suki figured she–he was also a switcher, as the short black crop wouldn’t have looked out of place on one of the guards. The military boots wouldn’t have either, yet the mix of feminine make-up applied to one half of the face and a masculine tone on the other half, complete with black lips and eyes, was a mesmerising site. They—She? He? —could dance alright, and that was adding to the mood that Suki found herself pre-show, with some nerves flying through her system for sure.
She was pensive.
‘What’s up, Suki? Surely by now you aren’t nervous?’
She jolted a little, as if being awoken from her spell, the comforting voice of her fiancé, who was half worried, half joking. ‘No, I’m fine, honey, it’s just… this view…’
The view was indeed one of the best anywhere in the world. The majesty of the Marina Bay in Singapore was well known for the colonial excellence of The Fullerton on the corner of the Bay next to the bridge, which still hosted the Grand Prix. Into the Bay itself and there was the still magnificent boat atop the cricket stumps of the Marina Bay Sands hotel and the twinkling light show that lit up the flower that is the ArtScience museum. This was indeed one of the greatest views anyone could witness anywhere.
Kelly was nonplussed. ‘But surely it’s a lot like Tokyo?’ he said.
Kelly was her boyfriend of two years now, at first a hugely kept secret to ensure her share of the global music industry stayed, well, massive, but of course Suki’s adoring fans had found out about her dalliance with a man. Recently, it had been carefully stage managed. It was known that she had a close male ‘friend’, but no one knew about the engagement. Maybe this is why she was so nervous, as that night’s gig at the Singapore National Stadium was being broadcast around the world, and it had been decided to release the news live on stage.
‘No, no, it’s just this view! It’s very different to Tokyo. The water and the criss-crossing roads and the mix of the small and the tall… It’s lovely. I love coming to Singapore. I’m so lucky—lucky to have you,’ she said, inching right into his side and nuzzling his neck.
Suki was a global phenomenon, the first Asian megastar that had cracked the West. In part, this was due to her untypical Asian hair, her blonde being very familiar to a Western audience. That along with the androgynous soft face and the impossible figure to die for. Her career had been one long lesson in marketing prowess with a series of raunchy YouTube videos going viral and grasping attention globally before a megadeal with Apple comprising songs, TV shows, cartoons and live gigs catapulted her into the forefront of global style. Her safe features and almost un-Japanese appearance, coupled with a hint of Asian accent, and a broad-brush appeal to the masses, had made her the biggest star around. Guys wanted to be with her. Girls wanted to be her. Mums loved her intelligence and New World attitude to lifestyle and fitness, and dads lusted over the impossible figure and the carefully hidden innuendos that smattered her work occasionally to draw the guys even further in.
‘Hey, play CNN, at the screen near table 17,’ interrupted Bob, the tour manager.
‘You are both gonna want to see this…’
Suki’s face appeared right in the middle of the maelstrom of graphics and texts, the yellow ticker and the constant position of the red and white logo a familiar sight. And her stomach dropped as she took in what was being shown and said:
‘Speculation is just reaching us at CNN that Suki Yakamoto, The Asian Princess, is preparing to end her career of live touring around the world. She is due on stage at the National Stadium in Singapore tonight for another one of her sell-out gigs, and we are hearing that she will use the show to announce her closely guarded secret.’
‘Yes, that’s right, Lisa,’ chimed in the other talking head as they continued, while Suki and her guests were silent and dumb-struck, and left staring at the giant screen in front of them.
‘And her secret is? She’s finally got a boyfriend!’
‘Or perhaps a girlfriend, right, Steve?’
‘Yes, that’s right, Lisa. The identity of this mystery beau is none other than famous YouTuber and Insta influencer, Kelly Pieterson, who, as well as being famous for his love of fast cars, cocktails and the insane social media pranks that made him millions, is also one of the pioneers of the gender switching movement.’
‘Yes, Steve, though the details here are sketchy. Born biologically male, Kelly first switched gender aged six years old when he transitioned to be a little girl and took on the name Kelly. He then transitioned back to male, aged 16, just as his social media career took off, and he is said to have inspired a generation of switchers who like to change their physical gender as dictated by their mental health.’
‘Expensive business that, Steve, huh?’ guffawed Lisa as she looked hard right to her fellow host and allowed him the floor once again.
Suki held her head in her hands and started scanning the table for indications as to who might have made this public. Someone had leaked this, but who? She ran to the rest room while the talking heads continued the story.
‘Yes, Lisa, he famously had a relationship with fellow tuber Dave Huntsman—the one who does those NFL player skits online—while he was still male, aged 20, and then transitioned back to female while still dating Dave. However, they did split up a year or so later. His social media career then went into overdrive as he became known for make-up techniques for gender-fluid humans, and he transitioned back to being physically male in 2034. He’s certainly never mentioned Suki in any of his posts or on his channels, and this is a hugely kept secret that no doubt will be the talk of the town for weeks to come!’
‘Switch that off, HIM!’ barked Suki as she returned to the table and slumped in the corner, Kelly shuffling his backside along the suede-backed banquette to be next to her.
‘Hey, come on, babe, that’s insane publicity. CNN at prime time? We are going to be massive together, darling. Massive,’ chirped an anxious but excited Kelly as he was actually relieved that their secret was finally out.
Suki rolled her eyes, and softly murmured, ‘But this is not what we are doing this for, Kelly. We want privacy. A life. Anyway, I can’t think about this now, I have to get my head space into the show.’
Her show of strength seemed to calm her entourage somewhat, and the chatter sparked back up around different corners of their tables as though nothing had actually happened.
‘Come on, drink up. We have to leave in 10 minutes. They’ve cleared the road, so the journey will be 12 minutes,’ said a gesturing Kelly, his right shirt sleeve pulled up to show the map broadcast down his arm, and the location of their ride underneath the skyscraper.
‘You OK with the set list, Suki?’ boomed Bob. ‘Here, have another look,’ he said as he elongated his arm to point his finger at the window pane, the once opaque night sky now filling with his projection of the set list, a dozen songs she knew off by heart in any case, as she feigned interest at the window, all the while stirring her olive around for the millionth time.
‘Are we opening with ‘Dreamer’ again, Bob?’ she grumpily chirped, the big gulp of water having shifted her malaise and indifference somewhat.
‘Of course, dear. It really gets the crowd going and besides, it’s too late to change now. We’ve already set the program for the lights at the start.’
Her wrist buzzed as her own arm now lit up with a reminder. Water. Ah, yes, performing was going to be stressful, and hot. And the two cocktails had sapped her desired pH levels, meaning she needed to drink 300 ml of water in the next five minutes.
The elevator did not make a sound, the view still incredible as the metal wall opened up to reveal Singapore’s night sky once again as she descended to the car. The Tesla Model 33230 was indeed a stylish beast, a new age Ferrari of automation, comfort, and a metronomic accuracy record. From the GoogleHealth integration, she knew her water balance was now good and the HIM’s research enabled her favourite media to sync from home to the car. Her choice this evening: a recording of her last concert, by the park in Sydney, during which 150,000 people had braved the outside world at night, no less, to marvel at her stage genius. Tesla cars were never late, never too hot or cold, and never failed to sync with your world. They just… worked! They were the cars of the rich and famous. Since they had bought out Ferrari in the late twenties, they had cornered the executive market, and were now way too expensive to ever be a GCab or be hired or owned by anyone less than a multi-millionaire.
Winding around the streets of Bugis, crossing Nicoll Highway and on towards the stadium, the in-car review of her last gig was interrupted by a security alert:
‘WARNING!’
Her entourage of cars at once surrounded her own. She was seeing scenes of panic and of people being crushed up the stairs as though ants were swarming out of their nest, faces filled with panic and terror. CNN burst to life on the dash and reported some sort of public transport ‘event’, a failure of some description, right there in Singapore. Reports of explosions and of trains simply being ‘stuck’, terrified passengers bailing through the smoke-filled tunnels and trying to find their way above ground. Since the privatisation of most of the world’s public transport, who else but Google had a 100 per cent record for safety and punctuality over 10 years!
‘What on earth is going on?’ shrieked Kelly, who seemed infinitely more panicked than Suki, who seemed, well, in a trance.
‘Six minutes to the destination.’
‘Tesla, defence formation with the pack. Maximum speed,’ he commanded as the cars hurtled forward in a magnificent swell, hitting well over 100 mph, despite being inches from each other. The protection formation was all computer-controlled and just, well, magnificent, having them swooping around corners at the optimum angle to avoid any in-car discomfort, the auto balanced suspension counter acting on the exterior movement.
‘…each and every station is offline and no trains are moving. We can now go live to City Hall MRT....’ Then the picture cut to thousands of people all running up the moving staircases, smoke, soot, terror in the eyes.
‘Re-route, CIM. Avoid MRT stations. Get off Nicholl Highway. Maximum defence formation with the pack.’
The Tesla roared as they took a sharp left, the pack cars all following within inches in front and behind even though the speed through an urban zone was well in excess of 60—even around the ninety-degree corners so common in this city. Suki looked to her right and saw a street vendor struggle to pull his cart from the edge of the street up the step. The speed of the Tesla inches from him made the poor guy fall backwards and drop the cart, leaving cooked chickens and soup spilling onto the road. Geylang Road was filled with traditional Singaporean hawker stalls, family businesses going back generations, with a renowned reputation for amazing food, one of the stalls even getting a Michelin star back in the day.
‘Come on, let’s get inside,’ screamed Kelly as they made for the 10-yard dash to the VIP suites. Too late, no time, as in an instant the BANG was heard.
Then the water came…
So much water, so hard, as though an angry God had just poured a bucket the size of London right over their heads. The weight of it sent Suki crashing to the ground before she was picked up in one swoop by the guards. And then they were inside, safe, though confused, and scared. And wet.